Where the Wind Blows

Extruded snow, forced through the gaps in the drystone walls and caught in the lea of the wall

Fascinating shapes aren’t they?

Of course if you were in anyway scientifically inclined you could go off Googleing around the topic of

Modeling transient snowdrift development around complex three-dimensional structures

I just think they look interesting, sculptural.

It’s only in the last week I’ve given any thought to the fact that this area used have snow fences, to force the drifts to form where you want, usually in the field and not filling the lanes, (beautiful shot of one on this blog)  they were situated  a few yards back from the carriage- way on  exposed roads. There aren’t any these days.

In some parts of the world they ‘force’ snowdrifts  with fences so that the snow lies in a basin, to make a reservoir of water for the summer, snow farming, you can drop that little gem into the conversation the next time you are stuck in a snow drift

Technorati Tags: Snow drifts, Snow fences, Sculpture, Drystone walls, Exposed roads, Wind

From the East

Sunday February 1st 2009

Dramatic light this afternoon, not for very long though

Indigo sky’s to the east,

lit by a low sun to the west

 

Two fields later it was all over, snow flurries bowled up the valley, tuning all to white blobs.

You might remember the ‘three muses’, the maverick sheep,

in this post I think one of them has been poleaxed, poor lamb.

Passable With Care

 

Snow and mist greeted us this morning, It was one of those days where the thirsty Landrover can pull rank over the aged but thrifty estate car; the boys were as disappointed as ever, that we could ‘get out of the lane’ and pick our way to school and I must admit, I would have been very happy to turn on my heels and go indoors again, this was the school run (taken by Tom)

 

Some roads are notorious for been difficult in bad weather being ‘only passable with care’ as they tell us on the radio  traffic reports, of course the same roads numbers crop up time and time again, it’s the high exposed routes, here’s a popular selection, that I had to tackle today,

 

(the A54 is more likely to be referred to as the ‘Cat and Fiddle’  The Cat and Fiddle is the name of a pub, it’s the second highest pub in England and something of a landmark on that road.)

I sat and looked at this sign for some considerable time, in a queue of standing traffic. At this junction, when the traffic started to move off  was an example of  British queuing at it’s finest, as the two roads combined, drivers  politely took it in turn, one car emerging from the left, one from the right, one from the left, one from the right; our mothers would have been proud of us  for ‘sharing nicely.’  A bit further along the route, the mist was thicker and I changed that view for this sheep, you might have to squint to find it.

Only in my dreams was this achievable

 

I got where I was going in the end, but it was just as well I had my trusty tea mug with me and as they said on the radio it was ‘passable with care.’

Technorati Tags: High level routes, Cat and Fiddle, Snow, Traffic reports, Delays, Tea

Good Morning America, it’s a Beautiful Day

It’s not so very long ago that today’s events would have been impossible, this is how it was in 1957 and this was 1964 when  Dr King predicts an African-American president “in less than 40 years.”

There is not much I can say to follow that. Other than the fact it is a beautiful day here too.

Happy birthday Mr Uhdd xx

Fence

Wool caught on a fence forms dreadlocks.

I was going to call this post, ‘Dreadlock Holiday’ but thought it might be pushing the boundaries  a bit; fence, boundaries, get it? oh well never mind: then I had a look at the video of the music, it’s not very PC by today’s standards I’m afraid (and I’m not talking about the moustache.) But I enjoyed the music, happy days, 10cc a local band, well almost.

First Light

First light last Monday morning.

But back indoors for a mug or two of warming tea (and dry to out) and it wasn’t long before it brightened up.

Standing Alone

A holly tree, with berries; in the back ground, Yewbarrow fell.

Effective Communications Strategy

When it comes to getting the message across, it’s not what you say, but the way that you say it.

Where Do I Begin

We are back home after an adventurous week in the Lake District, after retrieving Mr Uhdd from Cockermouth where he found refuge from the atrocious weather that blighted the Original Mountain Marathon, we went on to spend a week in Wasdale, bliss; we’ve had some great weather, no Internet and no mobile phones, it’s done us the power of good. I’ve enough photographs and things I want to post about to last me a month of Sundays.

Today the Lakeland fells were bathed in Sunshine, the highest peaks dusted with snow, the landscape looked delicious, good enough to eat with a spoon,

a stark contrast to last Saturdays weather (McNoddy has pulled together some of the best video clips here)

Many thanks for all your comments and enquires about Mr Uhdd well being; I’m fighting my way through the inbox, (it may have been a mistake on my part to go away, leaving a Google News Alert running on the Original  Mountain Marathon, as I’ve returned to an inbox that  is somewhat over crowded) I can’t see the wood for the trees; add to that the stack of dirty washing that came home with us, the AGA throwing a moody and refusing to be relit and the bread maker blowing an element, it’s back to earth with a bump; I’ll be back in a bit when I’ve sorted myself out.

Ethereal, Ephemeral

Ethereal, ephemeral, a bit abstract and faintly disturbing, a length of rope, floating, caught in suspension, between the depths of the water* and the reflection of the clouds; ethereal and ephemeral are two words I easily confuse, but it doesn’t matter here, either will do.

The hut on the golf course on the other hand leans towards the ethereal, the rising sun catching a side window makes it appear to have a warm welcoming glow from within, but there is no one home, the place is deserted, just a table three chairs and three bowls of steaming porridge .

* stood on a wobbly floating pontoon, with several hundred pounds of camera gear in my bag, whilst taking this shot, I reflected on fact, that if I returned home wet and dripping, it would be my life that was ephemeral.