A Whole New World!

Yes, a little cross-posting between here and my website blog, but I am totally justified, for although I do spread my words quite liberally across the blog posts of PORTAL (click on the link, go on - I dare ya!) I suspect going my usual BLAH down the screen might scare away potential clients. One must appear at least a little normal for the paying public, donchathink?

But you lot know me better, for which you all win one Internet each. Well done! I'm proud of you!

And of course you already know that I am nothing if not a creature of habit! A typical Taurean (should your beliefs meander in that direction) who is happy to follow foot-paths already well-worn. Taking the road most travelled, as it were. But I'm slowly learning that sometimes outside influences of the positive variety can lead us to take that road not previously taken, and when one doesn't fight against the instinct to stay safely in one's rut, there's a wealth of photographic opportunities of which to take advantage!

So where did my anti-rut travels take me then, I hear you mutter? Well, thank you for asking! This counter-custom excursion took me to ... ENGLAND! Dun dun DUUUUN! (With a side of SHOCK! HORROR!)

Just banter, dear readers, just banter! I'll have you know that some of the dearest people in my life happen to have been born south of Hadrian's Wall! Mind you, talking of said wall, I do have to admit that my foray into foreign climes didn't actually make it that far down the country, as I got no further that the border county of Northumberland - specifically the coastal village of Alnmouth, and the delightful market town of Alnwick (which is pronounced ‘Annick').

Yes, as you can see below, the weather was pretty naff at times, but (as my father says) skin is waterproof, and anyway, who cares about a little rain when you can get skies like this as a backdrop to somewhere as enchanting as Church Hill on Alnmouth Beach?

The beach itself makes for a lovely walk (and the sand makes for some well-worked leg muscles!) and although the river itself changed course out to sea in 1806 after a storm which caused much of the fishing and trade to go into sharp decline, there are still boats to be found up the estuary, ‘resting' or otherwise! 

You can also find evidence of anti-tank concrete cubes from WWII making a long snaking line up the dunes, and a many-varied bird population to keep the most Twitchery of Twitchers happy! Including a majestic barn owl who flew elegantly, and surprisingly languorously, around us while we traversed the beach. 

Five miles inland and you arrive at Alnwick, a rather pretty little market town sitting on the River Aln, which lies in the shadow of Alnwick Castle, the ancient seat of the Earls (and now Dukes) of Northumberland. 

There are quite a few tourists traps, including the austerely marvellous castle, but I have to say that the river walk is a MUST. Seriously. It's not obvious where to find the start of the path leading to the Aln, but if you walk into the grounds of the castle and instead of walking towards the castle, turn right around the perimeter of The Alnwick Gardens you'll find a pathway leading down towards the river. It's somewhat counter-intuitive, but absolutely worth the search.

And you might find it pretty much deserted, too! A beautiful morning in the light of a hazy sun, and we were the only two people there taking advantage of both the scenery and the decided lack of rain. It's a beautiful walk, with plenty of captivating views, plentiful wildlife, deliciously loud and bubbly weirs, and elegant bridges spanning the Aln.

And the odd folly/guard-house hiding amongst the trees!

The Anlwick Gardens was another delightful destination, and a must-see for anyone down in this direction, and although the rain and dreich conditions proved to be too much for my poor phone camera on the day of my visit, there was still enough magic in the air to capture something of the essence of the place. I'm looking forward to going back and discovering more sweeping panoramas, and secret arboreal corners to share with you all!

And yes, of course there were doors! Many doors! Both Alnmouth and Alnwick were stuffed to the gunwales with wonderful examples, most of which have been added to the Portals page on the website, but one of my favourites was entrance to what will now always be called The Most Wonderful Place On Earth™ if you're like me and a fiend for a good book or ninety...

Barter Books. Oh. My. Word. (Pun possibly intended.)

Barter Books is a wonderful second-hand book shop situated inside Alnwick's old railway station, and is stuffed (although in a very organised way) with books on all subjects by every author. (Probably!) Tall shelves are everywhere, reading nooks abound, the cafe sells everything from a relaxing cup of tea to the most delicious haggis, neeps and tatties soup that has to be tasted to be believed, and it is just the best way to spend an hour or two (possibly) should you be overtaken by a bout of bibliophilia!

Now I know that bookshops aren't normally in the scope of a blog about walking and losing weight, but really, you have to see this place to understand that an hour or four (realistically) under its roof will definitely add a good few thousand steps to your pedometer. And relieve you of a few pounds. Sterling, not lbs. (Especially if you want to partake of Barter's delicious food!)

I'm going back. Considering Alnmouth is a mere two hours by train (or three should you choose the route that changes in Edinburgh) that statement will probably come as no surprise, but there's still so much more to see, walks to take, gardens to visit. And I'm really looking forward to it!

With Verdure Clad...

... the trees appear,
delightful to the ravish'd sense...*

As you'll have already realised, I'm a huge fan of the Clingendael Estate in the eastern part of Den Haag. So east that it's technically in Waasenaar. And I say ‘Clingendael Estate' but really there are several parks and estates incorporated into my generalised description: 

† Landgoed Clingendael (‘landgoed' meaning ‘estate' in Dutch);

‡ Landgoed Oosterbeek; 

the § Japanse Tuin (photo from May last year); 

and the ‖ Oud-Hollandse Tuin. 

I do have to admit here that I occasionally include a completely different park that's perhaps a mile closer to the centre of The Hague on the walk to Clingendael, called ¶ Landgoed Oostduin en Arendsdorp.

Worthy of inclusion, in my humble opinion!

Wikipedia tells me that ‘Clingendael' means ‘valley in the dunes', so I'm guessing ‘dael' is the Dutch equivalent of the English ‘dale', or the Scots ‘strath'. Just, yannow, a much less undulating version than the ones we know and love in the UK! ;) 

I was a good few weeks too early for the azaleas and rhododendrons to be doing their colourful path-enhancing fiesta when I was over, but Spring already had her green on, and was in the process of happily (at least for me) festooning the parks with her verdant bunting.

I love this time of year so much. (Oh, okay, I know you know I love all seasons except for Summer, but indulge me a moment or two...) You can still see the beautiful framework of the trees against the sky (something I find hauntingly alluring) but now smudged a little with the colours of new growth and Spring.

Tender, half-formed leaflets slowly opening to cloak black boughs in colour,

and bright, fresh greens softening the harsher greys of stone.

Likewise, a hint of rose-gold to draw together early blossom and the beautiful red bricks of an old Tea-House into a homogeneous whole.

It's true I get a little sad once Spring has completely clad her arboreal minions in green, meaning I lose sight of the esoteric structures I so love. I know, I know - it sounds somewhat topsy-turvy, as surely the bare branches are easier to comprehend without the all-encompassing shroud of Summer green? I have yet to come to a discernible conclusion, but for me, partly anyway, it may be because I think that if there is no mask of camouflage to hide behind, the inner, truer being must surely be given a chance to be recognised for its own beauty, not just as a simple framework waiting for something else more wonderful, or indeed, more disagreeable, to cover it, but truly just for its complicated self. And that's perhaps a thought to pursue another day...

* Lyrics shamelessly stolen and slightly amended from the work of Gottfried van Swieten.
† g pronounced like the ch in the Scottish ‘loch'. This is pronounced ‘Landt-choodt Kling-en-dahl.
‡ g pronounced like the ch in the Scottish ‘loch'. This is pronounced ‘Landt-choodt Oaster-bake, and means ‘Estate of the East Stream'.
§ pronounced ‘Yapansuh Town' and means ‘Japanese Garden'.
‖ ‘ou' in this case is also pronounced like the ‘ow' in ‘town'. This is pronounced ‘Owdt Hollandsuh Town' and means ‘Old Dutch Garden'.
¶ pronounced ‘Oast-Down' and ‘Arendsdorp' pretty much as written, and means ‘Estate of the East Dunes,
and the Village of Arend'.

Going Back To My Routes

Ah Sorghvliet. The perfect oasis of arboreal peace and tranquillity amidst the hub-bub of city life!

And bluebells. 

And there was I, worried that I might not see any Sorghvliet bluebells this year, but Fate kindly stepped in and decreed otherwise. 

Mind you, after all the tree conservation and tending over the Winter, my favourite shady bluebell path was slightly denuded of the long and elegant branches that used to sweep majestically over the flowers.

Boo-hiss. 

I know, I know. It's for the health of the trees, and like all bad haircuts, it'll eventually grow back. But still... :: pouts ::

But Mama Nature was just getting on with things, despite my sentimental predilection for how things used to be.

I'll let her off.

This time.

I was perhaps a couple of weeks early for the full show, it must be said, but a dreich April day didn't detract from the beauty of blue and fresh green, nor from the promise of more to come.

Or, indeed, the beauty of white, blue, and fresh green (one of my favourite combinations),

lilac, blue, and fresh green,

or, indeed, black and ivy green!

And, yes, the sun came out the next day and I do confess to going back for a sunlit shot, or two...

I mean, how could I not?!

Walking On Water

The Lade Braes in St Andrews has a long, long history - as long as the town itself, I suspect. ‘Lade' means a body of water artificially channelled from an established river to a waterway that supports a mill, and the Lade Braes follows the mill lade that came off the Kinness Burn, which originally flowed to the priory at the edge of the sea. Braes are merely steep banks, or hillsides, running alongside a river, or coast.

This lade was constructed to take water from the Kinness Burn to the priory grounds, which were built on higher ground than the burn which burbled away further to the south. Although the St Andrews Cathedral Priory was established in 1140, there appears to be evidence of a mill on the site beforehand, so it may be that the lade is indeed older than the town!  

The Priory Lade itself now runs through pipes directly underneath the Lade Braes Walk, which runs next to the Kinness Burn, and then splits up from the burn nearer the shore - the burn burbling its way to the harbour then out to sea, the Lade diverting further north through the Priory grounds.

A springtime walk along the Braes is always a pleasure; daffodils nodding their heads as you walk by, blossom and bracken filling the air with perfume, trees beginning to bud.

You can, of course, start the walk at the back of Madras College, but apart from a couple of pretty gardens along the route, there's not much to see, so I tend to start my walk at Cockshaugh Park - ground that was part of new landscaping work in the late 19th Century.

Just round the bend from the park you'll see a rather well-kept lawn with ponds across the burn complete with an interesting-looking structure or two, which is just a small part of the St Andrews Botanic Garden, and absolutely worth a visit should you venture to the East Neuk of Fife!

And then there are trees; 

trees that give very decorative shade,

trees that reach across the burn,

trees surrounded by daffodils.

But, as you would expect, there are still remnants of some of the five mills (at least) that used to use the water off the lade, the most obvious being Law Mill near the outermost part of the Lade Braes. According to town records, there has been a mill on this site since Medieval times, its current form is from 1757.

Law Mill is mostly ruined, but the Law Mill Cottage next to it sits on a beautifully picturesque join of the Kinness, and Cairnsmill Burns, and worthy of a photo in any season.

The mill does keep several of its features, despite it being in somewhat of a decrepit state. The pyramid roof of the drying kiln is still visible, as is the metal frame of the wheel. Unfortunately the mill and cottage are both on private land, but you can still get a good nosy-in from the lade pathway!

The area around the mill is particularly pretty in Spring, thanks in part to the flowering cherry trees! I'm a sucker for blossom!

The last mill to avail itself of water from the lade closed at the beginning of the twentieth century, but water from the lade continued to be used until the 1950's; a sluice (that is still noticeable from the path) was opened up to feed a skating pond situated in a flat patch of ground between the lade and the Kinness Burn. Nowadays, it's just a flat area covered in young trees, but if you know the history it becomes very clear where the pond used to be!

The Lade Braes is a lovely walk without knowing the background of the area, but you know me, a little history makes Nic a happy walker!

And daffodils. Daffodils are happy-inducing too!

A Hazy Shade of Winter

There's nothing like a bit of hazy, yet chilly, sunshine to make your phone's camera go all ‘ooh-shiny', and sparkly-lensed with picture-taking possibilities!

Although, to be fair, there's a lot to be said for after-shot editing, because this baby was quite dull (except for our obvious Day Star) and needed a little tweaking in the light and dark balance department.

But what can I say? 

Hazy winter light does wonders to what could be quite a tonally flat view!

Contrast is our friend. If not in real life, then definitely in cyber life!

Although why I chose a contrast-light photo to follow that, I'm not one hundred per cent sure... Ah, this one is better:

Kemback; always an exercise, and photographic inspiration!

Walking In A Winter Wonderland

“Nicola hasn't seen snow in person since before she started walking for weight-loss, so never had the chance to indulge in splurging social media with snowy nature pictures! UNTIL NOW!!!  Mwahahahahah!

And yes, she seems to enjoy taking photos of fallen trees that have been artfully striped in snow by Mother Nature!"

It snowed! It really snowed! My inner seven-year-old was squeeeing with delight! That it actually hadn't snowed very much at all didn't stop me haring it up the hill towards Magus Muir (or as much as one can hare it up a hill through slidey, beginning-to-melt slush-snow, wearing very stout, very heavy boots) and stopping near the entrance to turn around and take a photo of the village in Winter Wonderland mode. 

Yes, yes, I've seen it whiter after a mid-Summer hailstorm.

Thankfully, the woods had kept more of their share of the white stuff, and little girl mode kicked in again!

Every time I walk to Magus Muir I take a photo of this fallen tree. It's one of the first things that catches my eye fifty metres or so into the woods, and I find the juxtaposition of its final resting place against the upright living trees incredibly beautiful. I'd never been successful in transferring that beauty to 2D until this dusting of snow was just enough to let my camera catch the criss-crossing of the boughs.

My timing couldn't have been more perfect - the rising sun (yes, 10am, but this is Scotland in Winter!) had just made it above the tree line but hadn't yet touched the snow in the hush of the woods, so what had fallen during the night was still lying undisturbed.

And lots of fallen trees that I'm pretty sure hadn't just fallen overnight with the snow. Fallen trees EVERYWHERE!! Not that any of them have actually ruined the lives of those growing up amongst, or indeed through, them!

It must be said that although many of the trees are quite young - the majority seem to be silver birch perhaps up to 50 years old - it's an ancient woods...

... which becomes obvious when looking up to see stark branches of old, old trees reaching up towards the bright sky, the tips of which gilded by the rising sun!

I do prefer this time of year to any other. No, I lie. I prefer Autumn, Winter and early Spring to the over-abundance of Summer. You can't see the woods for the trees in Summer!

Oh, how I make myself laugh. 

I loved how the stripes of snow added an extra dimension to the tangle of undergrowth that made my detail-loving self exceedingly happy! You can imagine how these woods would look if painted by Klimt or a young Van Gogh! 

And I couldn't pass my favourite old lady of the woods without a visit, to see her reaching out towards the rising sun. Just don't tell my other favourite near Kemback that there's a rival for my arboreal affections!

Not that they'd care one way or the other, but my imagination's on a roll now...

I'd show you this photo (above) in the original colour, but, if you remember from posts past, the camera on my phone does have a tendency to add more hues to white than actually seen with the human eye. Not that it's so fancy-schmancy that it has infra-red or whatever technology is needed to see more than what's there, it just has a dodgy lens that adds pink to the middle, and green to the edge of any photo that is overly-blessed in the white department. A pastel shot of the woods might be lovely for an 1980's themed post (mmm-mmm those ‘Whiter Shades Of Pale' I believe they were called by Dulux*...?) but an arty-farty photo attempt late 2010's? Nope.

Pastels and greys aside, the light was quite beautiful in itself:

creating beautiful yellows and oranges beside the blues of the shadowed snow.

Or beautiful pinks (greys) against the greens (greys) of the shadowed... nope. One day I really am going to get a decent camera!



* Mwahahahah!