Vacation Notes, Aug 01-02
Aug. 2nd, 2005 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellarienMonday was a rather grey and gloomy day. We took our traditional walk up through Ecclesall
woods to Whirlow. The woods are a sizeable
tract of more-or-less primordial woodland that survived the middle ages by virtue of being
in the inaccessible corners of three parishes. Once the territory of charcoal burners, the
woods are now the haunt of dog-walkers and horseback riders and grey squirrels. It was rather
dark in there that morning; we found some fungi on a fallen branch, but my attempts to
photograph them weren't a wild success. We climbed up to the top of the hill where the
sweet-chestnut trees are, sat for a while contemplating the vista of leaves and undulating
branches, and then walked on. There was an opening and a path we hadn't seen before, so we
explored it, and found a more open area, with hogweed and rowan berries and a spray of
angelica just bursting out of its sheath.
Our usual walk takes us out of the woods and across a playing field much favoured by moles;
we were pleased to find a seat -- one of those 'in memory of' benches -- where there hasn't
been one for years. From there, one crosses the main road and enters Whirlow Park. This was
once the grounds of a middling house; the house is now a cafe and catering venue, and the
park has been falling into slow decay for the last twenty years or so. We ate our lunch on a
bench under a tree, sheltering from the gentle rain and entertained by a distant chorus of
pigeons, and then wandered around the gardens. What was once a delightful rock garden of
winding paths above a lily pond is sinking into bramble-choked neglect, with the pond mostly
silted up though still supporting a population of small pink-white waterlilies, and even the
red maple by the pond is looking sickly these days. The rose garden was once on two levels,
terraced into the hillside below the house. The upper level has been getting some attention
lately, and had quite a fine display of roses, sadly battered by the rains of last Thursday;
the lower level has been 'repurposed' with some displays of heathers and conifers that are
presumably intended to be low-maintenance. On the other hand, the area close to the cafe's
car park has been extensively refurbished, with a 'children's corner' featuring crude wooden
animal sculptures and a maze of foot-high coloured palings.
The way back through the woods was so gloomy that I could hardly stay awake. We got home
about 2.30, and occupied ourselves with needlework for the rest of the afternoon. The clouds
stayed thick until nearly sunset, and then thinned enough to allow a few gleams of sunlight
to pass.
I did get some photos out of this excursion. I'll probably post a few when I have bandwidth
again. (This entry was again composed off-line. I feel crippled without constant access to
broadband, but it's probably good for me.)
On Tuesday I woke to blue skies and sunshine, and we decided to do the Round Walk -- or at
least the half of it that we usually do. We started off in town, though, to drop off my last
film -- maybe the last ever -- at Boots, strolling through the Winter Gardens where the tall
conifer tree is already encountering the roof and pausing to admire the pair of steelworkers
fashioned in flowers and houseleeks outside the Town Hall.
The walk starts in Endcliffe Park, by bright beds of begonias under the impassive gaze of
Queen Victoria, and winds up through woods and beside the little dams that used to power the
original steel and silverware industry in Sheffield: Wire Mill Dam, Forge Dam. The lowest
dams in the string have been adapted into duck ponds for the parks, while the upper ones
offer fishing. The waterfowl tally today included mallards, moorhens, coots, and Canada
geese. We also spotted a heron presiding over the ducks and moorhens at Forge Dam. The woods
were threaded with the thin sharp songs of wrens and robins, and once we glimpsed a wagtail
by the stream. We have seen a dipper along there in the past, but only once or twice. From
Forge Dam the route goes up the Mayfield Valley, among fields and woods and little rivers,
culminating in a steep pull up a wooded ravine and a roadside walk past the alpaca farm to
the hamlet of Ringinglow. Along the way are horsetails, meadowsweet, and an aniseed-scented
umbellifer that grows nowhere else I know of. From Ringinglow, one has to cross a large and
often cow-infested field with a bog in it, the least pleasant part of the walk. This time the
cows were absent, and we managed to skirt the bog, passing in the process closer than we
usually do to the ruined stone cottage. After that it's downhill most of the way, through the
wooded Limb Valley, under towering beeches and horse chestnuts, past Whirlow and back to
Ecclesall Woods and so home again.
woods to Whirlow. The woods are a sizeable
tract of more-or-less primordial woodland that survived the middle ages by virtue of being
in the inaccessible corners of three parishes. Once the territory of charcoal burners, the
woods are now the haunt of dog-walkers and horseback riders and grey squirrels. It was rather
dark in there that morning; we found some fungi on a fallen branch, but my attempts to
photograph them weren't a wild success. We climbed up to the top of the hill where the
sweet-chestnut trees are, sat for a while contemplating the vista of leaves and undulating
branches, and then walked on. There was an opening and a path we hadn't seen before, so we
explored it, and found a more open area, with hogweed and rowan berries and a spray of
angelica just bursting out of its sheath.
Our usual walk takes us out of the woods and across a playing field much favoured by moles;
we were pleased to find a seat -- one of those 'in memory of' benches -- where there hasn't
been one for years. From there, one crosses the main road and enters Whirlow Park. This was
once the grounds of a middling house; the house is now a cafe and catering venue, and the
park has been falling into slow decay for the last twenty years or so. We ate our lunch on a
bench under a tree, sheltering from the gentle rain and entertained by a distant chorus of
pigeons, and then wandered around the gardens. What was once a delightful rock garden of
winding paths above a lily pond is sinking into bramble-choked neglect, with the pond mostly
silted up though still supporting a population of small pink-white waterlilies, and even the
red maple by the pond is looking sickly these days. The rose garden was once on two levels,
terraced into the hillside below the house. The upper level has been getting some attention
lately, and had quite a fine display of roses, sadly battered by the rains of last Thursday;
the lower level has been 'repurposed' with some displays of heathers and conifers that are
presumably intended to be low-maintenance. On the other hand, the area close to the cafe's
car park has been extensively refurbished, with a 'children's corner' featuring crude wooden
animal sculptures and a maze of foot-high coloured palings.
The way back through the woods was so gloomy that I could hardly stay awake. We got home
about 2.30, and occupied ourselves with needlework for the rest of the afternoon. The clouds
stayed thick until nearly sunset, and then thinned enough to allow a few gleams of sunlight
to pass.
I did get some photos out of this excursion. I'll probably post a few when I have bandwidth
again. (This entry was again composed off-line. I feel crippled without constant access to
broadband, but it's probably good for me.)
On Tuesday I woke to blue skies and sunshine, and we decided to do the Round Walk -- or at
least the half of it that we usually do. We started off in town, though, to drop off my last
film -- maybe the last ever -- at Boots, strolling through the Winter Gardens where the tall
conifer tree is already encountering the roof and pausing to admire the pair of steelworkers
fashioned in flowers and houseleeks outside the Town Hall.
The walk starts in Endcliffe Park, by bright beds of begonias under the impassive gaze of
Queen Victoria, and winds up through woods and beside the little dams that used to power the
original steel and silverware industry in Sheffield: Wire Mill Dam, Forge Dam. The lowest
dams in the string have been adapted into duck ponds for the parks, while the upper ones
offer fishing. The waterfowl tally today included mallards, moorhens, coots, and Canada
geese. We also spotted a heron presiding over the ducks and moorhens at Forge Dam. The woods
were threaded with the thin sharp songs of wrens and robins, and once we glimpsed a wagtail
by the stream. We have seen a dipper along there in the past, but only once or twice. From
Forge Dam the route goes up the Mayfield Valley, among fields and woods and little rivers,
culminating in a steep pull up a wooded ravine and a roadside walk past the alpaca farm to
the hamlet of Ringinglow. Along the way are horsetails, meadowsweet, and an aniseed-scented
umbellifer that grows nowhere else I know of. From Ringinglow, one has to cross a large and
often cow-infested field with a bog in it, the least pleasant part of the walk. This time the
cows were absent, and we managed to skirt the bog, passing in the process closer than we
usually do to the ruined stone cottage. After that it's downhill most of the way, through the
wooded Limb Valley, under towering beeches and horse chestnuts, past Whirlow and back to
Ecclesall Woods and so home again.
