cutting through the white blanket
I wear a huge grin
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes...
Tyre tracks in the snow
cutting through the white blanket
I wear a huge grin
cutting through the white blanket
I wear a huge grin
Friday, November 26, 2010
Quiet time
Skeletal remains
of trees, once full-leaved and green
bend before grey skies.
As the nights close in and the frosts linger later and later, it is time to cook up a big pot of minestrone. Hearty and warm, chasing the winter chills away.
No expeditions for the next few weeks at least as Neil recovers from his shoulder surgery (still two more weeks before he can lose the sling/straightjacket) but we can still appreciate the local beauty - the last few golden leaves hanging on tenaciously, mushrooms popping up in sheltered corners, trees stretching gracefully bared limbs toward heavy grey skies.
And so, home to defrost cold fingers, to warm bread and hot soup, to snuggle up with a good book. Fingers crossed for snow...
*
of trees, once full-leaved and green
bend before grey skies.
As the nights close in and the frosts linger later and later, it is time to cook up a big pot of minestrone. Hearty and warm, chasing the winter chills away.
No expeditions for the next few weeks at least as Neil recovers from his shoulder surgery (still two more weeks before he can lose the sling/straightjacket) but we can still appreciate the local beauty - the last few golden leaves hanging on tenaciously, mushrooms popping up in sheltered corners, trees stretching gracefully bared limbs toward heavy grey skies.
 | |||
| Bare of leaf but buds ready for spring |
 | |
| A splash of colour in an increasingly grey world |
 | |
| Last golden leaves strung out like a line of washing |
 | ||
| Knotted silver birch bole in late afternoon sunlight |
 | |
| Westering sun and ragged remains of birch leaves |
And so, home to defrost cold fingers, to warm bread and hot soup, to snuggle up with a good book. Fingers crossed for snow...
*
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
By Hook or by Crooke
Saturday
Ocean wind blows cold,
thousands of stars shine brightly.
No moon glow tonight.
Driving south from Dublin in the morning, blue skies stretch overhead, sun shining brightly. It can't last.
It doesn't. By the time we are on our bikes at Wellingtonbridge in County Wexford the clouds blowing in from the west are becoming darker and darker. Layering up against the chill wind we pedal across the northern end of the Hook peninsula, heading west into the darkening sky. Just north of Duncannon the heavens open and pour freezing rain over us. We are hoping to shelter at the old Duncannon Fort and have a look around, but the gates are locked.
By the time we have reached Duncannon beach the squall is over and the sun peeking between clouds. Amazingly enough, we find a picnic table so decide to lunch. Hot chocolate warms us nicely.
Meandering south we take small country roads which range from newly laid, gorgeously smooth asphalt to strings of potholes connected by lumps of gravel. There is not much traffic at this time of year. In summer however it is a different story, if the number of Bed and Breakfast signs and holiday villas are anything to go by.
Rolling hills of farmland, mostly dairy cows but occasionally a field of vegetables, pass by with occasional glimpses out to sea, over Waterford Harbour and beyond. Up hill, down hill, through a tiny village, it's one pub closed in the middle of the day, past a ruined church and ruined fortifications. Cromwell's army raged through here on their way to taking Waterford town by Hook peninsula or Crooke town on the other side of the harbour.
Along the way we check out beaches and bays, looking for somewhere pleasant to camp. We find a lovely beach mid afternoon but don't want to set up camp yet so continue riding. Heading further south we make it almost to Hook Head and the 800 year old lighthouse before deciding to turn back. It is getting close to dark and we still haven't found a suitable camping spot. We return to our earlier find - Booley Bay - just as the sun sets.
It is very cold and very windy but the clouds have cleared. There is no moon and the stars are simply amazing. Our Moroccan carrot and lentil stew warms the cockles but we need to retire to the tent for apple crumble - the wind is just too fresh, directly off the sea.
Sunday
What a special sound -
two tyres purring on asphalt.
Roll on forever.
Incredibly enough, Sunday dawns clear. We have our own private beach, shared only with multitudes of sea birds. It is hard to get moving again, especially after Neil cooks the tastiest bannock for breakfast - light and fluffy, full of apple, we eat it with butter and lashings of golden syrup. Energy food.
This time we head over to the east coast of the Hook peninsula, stopping to look out over the cliffs of Baginbun Head. Through Fethard then on toward Saltmines where we turn away from the sea and follow a rough dirt path toward Tintern Abbey.
Our path takes us along golden-leafed hedgerows toward the woods around the abbey and the abbey itself. Actually Tintern de Voto, it was established in the 12th century by Cistercian monks from the original Tintern in Wales. After dissolution in the 1500's it was turned into a fortified manor and it is still being restored as such. It is an impressive building in a lovely setting.
Cycling up the hill from the abbey, we come across a tall stand of wind-sculpted beech trees. It seems a suitable spot to relax for a few minutes before our last stretch back to the car. Hazy cloud is beginning to filter the sun.
Definitely by Hook.
*
Ocean wind blows cold,
thousands of stars shine brightly.
No moon glow tonight.
Driving south from Dublin in the morning, blue skies stretch overhead, sun shining brightly. It can't last.
It doesn't. By the time we are on our bikes at Wellingtonbridge in County Wexford the clouds blowing in from the west are becoming darker and darker. Layering up against the chill wind we pedal across the northern end of the Hook peninsula, heading west into the darkening sky. Just north of Duncannon the heavens open and pour freezing rain over us. We are hoping to shelter at the old Duncannon Fort and have a look around, but the gates are locked.
 | |
| Hook Head lighthouse on the horizon, just before the heavens open. |
By the time we have reached Duncannon beach the squall is over and the sun peeking between clouds. Amazingly enough, we find a picnic table so decide to lunch. Hot chocolate warms us nicely.
 |
| Sun reflecting on the wet grass, cool clouds, Duncannon Beach. |
 | |
| A picnic table ! |
Meandering south we take small country roads which range from newly laid, gorgeously smooth asphalt to strings of potholes connected by lumps of gravel. There is not much traffic at this time of year. In summer however it is a different story, if the number of Bed and Breakfast signs and holiday villas are anything to go by.
Rolling hills of farmland, mostly dairy cows but occasionally a field of vegetables, pass by with occasional glimpses out to sea, over Waterford Harbour and beyond. Up hill, down hill, through a tiny village, it's one pub closed in the middle of the day, past a ruined church and ruined fortifications. Cromwell's army raged through here on their way to taking Waterford town by Hook peninsula or Crooke town on the other side of the harbour.
 | |
| Sun setting behind ruins near Sandeel Bay |
Along the way we check out beaches and bays, looking for somewhere pleasant to camp. We find a lovely beach mid afternoon but don't want to set up camp yet so continue riding. Heading further south we make it almost to Hook Head and the 800 year old lighthouse before deciding to turn back. It is getting close to dark and we still haven't found a suitable camping spot. We return to our earlier find - Booley Bay - just as the sun sets.
 |
| Day's last light - erecting our old faithful tent |
It is very cold and very windy but the clouds have cleared. There is no moon and the stars are simply amazing. Our Moroccan carrot and lentil stew warms the cockles but we need to retire to the tent for apple crumble - the wind is just too fresh, directly off the sea.
 | ||
| Even the birthday beanie (thanks Lisha) and windstopper (thanks Neil) couldn't keep the chill out. |
Sunday
What a special sound -
two tyres purring on asphalt.
Roll on forever.
 | |
| Early morning sun just edging over the hills. |
Incredibly enough, Sunday dawns clear. We have our own private beach, shared only with multitudes of sea birds. It is hard to get moving again, especially after Neil cooks the tastiest bannock for breakfast - light and fluffy, full of apple, we eat it with butter and lashings of golden syrup. Energy food.
 | |
| Neil cooking the best ever bannock - worth lugging the pan ! |
This time we head over to the east coast of the Hook peninsula, stopping to look out over the cliffs of Baginbun Head. Through Fethard then on toward Saltmines where we turn away from the sea and follow a rough dirt path toward Tintern Abbey.
 | |
| There's got to be a self photo ! Baginbun Head in background. |
 | |
| Tintern bridge, Saltmines |
 | |
| Up the garden path - I think this is the way to Tintern... |
 | |||||
| Abbey of Tintern de Voto, through crenellations on the bridge |
Our path takes us along golden-leafed hedgerows toward the woods around the abbey and the abbey itself. Actually Tintern de Voto, it was established in the 12th century by Cistercian monks from the original Tintern in Wales. After dissolution in the 1500's it was turned into a fortified manor and it is still being restored as such. It is an impressive building in a lovely setting.
 | |||
| Neil's trusty steed by the boundary wall of Tintern woods - we stopped to look at some mushrooms. |
 | |
| Porcelain Fungus, Tintern woods. They're edible but so slimey ! |
 |
| After climbing the wall to get to the mushrooms, I managed to get a couple in the helmet :) |
Cycling up the hill from the abbey, we come across a tall stand of wind-sculpted beech trees. It seems a suitable spot to relax for a few minutes before our last stretch back to the car. Hazy cloud is beginning to filter the sun.
 |
| Smooth-limbed, wind-blown beech |
Definitely by Hook.
*
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