You keep on knocking, but you can't come in
16th February 2016
16th Feb
"You keep on knocking, but you can't come in"
Slowly, but surely the days are lengthening. Though the weather is still unsettled, with a mixture of very wet or very cold conditions, there is just a slightest and most subtle hint that things are changing.
As you meander along the southern facing valleys, following fast flowing streams, there are small indications of Spring. These seasonal markers include the 'drift' of snowdrops, adorning the grassy banks, or filling the lawns of adjacent cottages. There are the ubiquitous Daffodils, Spring's quintessential emblem, found alongside the azure, gold and purple brilliance of Crocuses. These jewels provide a kalidoscope of colour to the bare hills and woods, and represent life coming back into the Fells.
However, any journey this time of year feels also like a journey in time, as seasons can advance or retreat depending on where you are.
Heading up the Duddon Valley was like being on a conveyer belt of time, but going backwards. The low winter sun, offered a tepid, though warming glow to the day. However, further the journey more winter the scene became. Where the hint of Spring warmth was felt at the opening of the valley, as I journeyed further into the depth of Duddon, this heat was blocked out by the valley walls suddenly hiding the sun. Hiding in this shade was a cold and unsympathetic wind, that uncovered any gaps in clothing and bit at exposed skin.
However, despite these harsher conditions there was still symbols that the season was changing. There were flocks of finches (a mixture of Chafficnch, Goldfinch and Greenfinch) swooping from one tree to the next. Their chatter indicating that the soundscape of the year was changing, heralding a new, and hopefully warmer, more settled period.
However, as I ascended the slopes of Harter Fell, the line between Spring and Winter became painfully obvious. There was a definite terminator, a dividing line between Winter and the slow advance of Spring and as I stepped across this line a bitterly cold wind bit.
Further I climbed deeper the season reverted back and on reaching the summit I had fully entered the realm of Winter. All around me was snow and ice clinging to every rock and buttress. Where lower down there was the golden crowns of freshly emerged daffodils, now there was icicles. Like the teeth of winter and as hard and cold as steel, they hung from every crag and stream like portcullis. All thoughts of Spring seemed a distant memory.
Whilst on the summit I dawdled for a brief time to take some photos, but soon the cold was all I could bare. My exposed fingers had quickly become very cold and were numb and struggling to function. The bite of winter was still cruel, so I quickly headed back down into the valley, chasing time to catch up with Spring.
And Spring is most welcome, as the cold dark days have had their day. However, though Spring is standing at the threshold, knocking on the door and waiting with some impatience, at the moment she cannot come in.
"You keep on knocking, but you can't come in"
Slowly, but surely the days are lengthening. Though the weather is still unsettled, with a mixture of very wet or very cold conditions, there is just a slightest and most subtle hint that things are changing.
As you meander along the southern facing valleys, following fast flowing streams, there are small indications of Spring. These seasonal markers include the 'drift' of snowdrops, adorning the grassy banks, or filling the lawns of adjacent cottages. There are the ubiquitous Daffodils, Spring's quintessential emblem, found alongside the azure, gold and purple brilliance of Crocuses. These jewels provide a kalidoscope of colour to the bare hills and woods, and represent life coming back into the Fells.
However, any journey this time of year feels also like a journey in time, as seasons can advance or retreat depending on where you are.
Heading up the Duddon Valley was like being on a conveyer belt of time, but going backwards. The low winter sun, offered a tepid, though warming glow to the day. However, further the journey more winter the scene became. Where the hint of Spring warmth was felt at the opening of the valley, as I journeyed further into the depth of Duddon, this heat was blocked out by the valley walls suddenly hiding the sun. Hiding in this shade was a cold and unsympathetic wind, that uncovered any gaps in clothing and bit at exposed skin.
However, despite these harsher conditions there was still symbols that the season was changing. There were flocks of finches (a mixture of Chafficnch, Goldfinch and Greenfinch) swooping from one tree to the next. Their chatter indicating that the soundscape of the year was changing, heralding a new, and hopefully warmer, more settled period.
However, as I ascended the slopes of Harter Fell, the line between Spring and Winter became painfully obvious. There was a definite terminator, a dividing line between Winter and the slow advance of Spring and as I stepped across this line a bitterly cold wind bit.
Further I climbed deeper the season reverted back and on reaching the summit I had fully entered the realm of Winter. All around me was snow and ice clinging to every rock and buttress. Where lower down there was the golden crowns of freshly emerged daffodils, now there was icicles. Like the teeth of winter and as hard and cold as steel, they hung from every crag and stream like portcullis. All thoughts of Spring seemed a distant memory.
Whilst on the summit I dawdled for a brief time to take some photos, but soon the cold was all I could bare. My exposed fingers had quickly become very cold and were numb and struggling to function. The bite of winter was still cruel, so I quickly headed back down into the valley, chasing time to catch up with Spring.
And Spring is most welcome, as the cold dark days have had their day. However, though Spring is standing at the threshold, knocking on the door and waiting with some impatience, at the moment she cannot come in.