Uphilldowndale

Watching nature take its course, from the top of a hill in northern England


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Standing Alone

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

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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,

From Corney Fell, this morning

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.


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Ethereal, Ephemeral

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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 .

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* 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.


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That Monday Morning Feeling

Clearing skies over night meant that this morning we had  the first of the autumn frosts, as soon as the boys were out of the door, I grabbed the camera and legged it down to the reservoir, anxious that I might have missed the magical moment as the sun hit the water; I hadn’t.

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I had such a good time

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It was so still, quiet and tranquil, not a breath of wind, I heard the 08:13 train commuter train to town, chugging down the valley, (probably struggling with the wrong sort of frost on the line, by the sounds of it) poor commuters, I thought and lucky me. Then the train was gone,  all I could hear the rustle of the birds feathers and the plop of jumping fish as they hit the water (didn’t managed to photography any though)

Such a treat and I was at my desk by 09:00, lucky lucky me.

Still point


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Rain Clearing Later

As I mentioned in the previous post, Sunday didn’t start out too promising, Tom took this photo from the car, when we driving along  a local ‘A’ road  river

A road or river

Some flooding was inevitable really, after a further inch of rain falling overnight, on an already sodden ground; this is the field earlier in the week, a wet, muddy, mucky mess (but very nice for rolling in if you are a dog.)

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But by the afternoon it was glorious, and the sunshine was appreciated by the chickens, who were basking in the warm sun.

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They take on a very strange posture, flopping over to one side in a ‘play dead’ sort of stance

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and after arranging their plumage very carefully, they just lie back and soak up the sun, watching them there could be no doubt this blast of autumn sun was heavenly.

Sun kissed chicken