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Christineredgate's Patch (2 Viewers)
- Thread starter Anntan
- Start date
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
yes,it is,Anntan,I was reading it today when outside with Alfie.It is a poem for sailors.When the weather improves I may be able to photograph it in sections,then I will copy the contents.
Tanny
Well-known member
Autumn on the Lazy River.
Many years ago when I was a young man and had the ability to wander throughout the fells, fields, woods around Blackcoombe, and the Duddon Estuary, Hodbarrow and sandhills along the coast near Haverigg where I used to live. I would find the Autumn an enchanted period. The hedgerows would be festooned with blackberries, the Hawthorns adorned with their little red globes and changing coloured leaves would make the hedges glow like a painting. The Lazy River up past the Tannery would sometimes look like a millpond on still days, and the slow drift to the river-mouth could only be discernable by the odd one or two leaves that floated on the surface like minute boats rowed by fairies and imps.
In the evening the sun drifts down below the water of the Irish sea, throwing huge swathes of orange, gold and red onto gathering clouds, and at its final red tip the sun reflected a stairway to the beach over the water and sandbanks. In the deep orange red glow can be seen the sillowet of Geese flying south on their annual migration to more southerly feeding grounds, The enchantment of the sight bringing to mind the memory of Peter Scotts wonderful paintings. The Curlew's haunting call drifting over the mudflats in an Autumn moonlit night and the Dog Fox calls from behind the sea wall of Hodbarrow.
Many years ago when I was a young man and had the ability to wander throughout the fells, fields, woods around Blackcoombe, and the Duddon Estuary, Hodbarrow and sandhills along the coast near Haverigg where I used to live. I would find the Autumn an enchanted period. The hedgerows would be festooned with blackberries, the Hawthorns adorned with their little red globes and changing coloured leaves would make the hedges glow like a painting. The Lazy River up past the Tannery would sometimes look like a millpond on still days, and the slow drift to the river-mouth could only be discernable by the odd one or two leaves that floated on the surface like minute boats rowed by fairies and imps.
In the evening the sun drifts down below the water of the Irish sea, throwing huge swathes of orange, gold and red onto gathering clouds, and at its final red tip the sun reflected a stairway to the beach over the water and sandbanks. In the deep orange red glow can be seen the sillowet of Geese flying south on their annual migration to more southerly feeding grounds, The enchantment of the sight bringing to mind the memory of Peter Scotts wonderful paintings. The Curlew's haunting call drifting over the mudflats in an Autumn moonlit night and the Dog Fox calls from behind the sea wall of Hodbarrow.
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christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Tanny,that is a beautiful tribute to Haverigg.You can now add the call of the KF!!!.In the morning mist when the tide is in,as it is at the moment in the morning and early evening ,it is especially spectacular,even more so,when it is calm.
These early mornings and evenings,the bay is host to Herons,Cormorants,a multitude of waders,Mergansers,many many species.If anyone is in the area,this is a good time of year for a visit.
These early mornings and evenings,the bay is host to Herons,Cormorants,a multitude of waders,Mergansers,many many species.If anyone is in the area,this is a good time of year for a visit.
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christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Not so many species today.Lots of Teal in the reserve, plus a solitary Heron. Redshanks /Cormarantx2 and couple of Curlews in the bay.A seal far out on a sandbank,too far too digiscope,and KF in the river with a family of Pied Wagtails,with one Yellow W hanging out with them.I only managed a rear view shot of the Wagtail.that was about it,very quiet.
Tanny
Well-known member
I've just been sorting through some of my old writings and discovered this story I wrote, around about 1985. I used to live in Haverigg in the early 1960s and one could say that it was my patch then but now it's Christines and im'e green with envy
-----------------THE LAZY RIVER in 1962.
Meadow grasses whisper, each leaf a tune in the eddies of a breeze that drifts over the fells. Trickles of water softly gurgles between the ancient stones, pulsating from a spring beneath an old dry stone wall, built many centuries ago. The water “murmurs” and “ “splashes” down the stream to the river. ‘The Lazy River’, that swirls slowly down the valley, sneaking it’s way through the cultivated fields, past ancient farms and isolated grey stone houses till reaching the village. At last it awakens, and as though eager for sights and adventures new, it rushes and tumbles over boulders under the bridge and cut’s its way through drifting beach sand to join the main channel of the estuary that takes it to the Irish sea and then onwards to the Atlantic Ocean.
Near the bridge stands the Harbour Hotel, painted a deep colour of green, in stark contrast to the surrounding houses which are built with the grey, Cumberland slate and the walls are pebbled dashed with grey stones and shells.
Where the river reaches the channel the birds gather at low tide, dashing hither and thither, poking and probing, Oystercatchers piping and Curlews wailing their mournful call that is also heard high on the fells where it makes its nest. The Great Black-backed Gulls call echoes off the sea wall and seems to bounce on the water. Small flocks of waders twist and turn in the air like wisps of smoke. Out on the sand banks the musical song of the Grey Seal can be heard drifting in waves on the breeze.
At the mud banks by the sea wall, an old man digs for succulent red hairy worms to use as bait for catching the Mackerel fish, he will sail as soon as the tide reaches his small boat that is now lying on its side in the mud, its old and battered, but to the old man it’s his greatest possession, he paints it regularly but the wind blown sand and mud takes it’s toll of the paint-work.
There is a joyous tinkle of laughter from children fishing for Eels among the rocks in the river beneath the bridge, and squeals of delight as one successful child endeavors to extract the squirming, slimy creature off the hook. Leaning on the rail of the bridge above were two men giving advice and encouragement to the desperate child, wishfully contemplating the time of their youth when they too fished for Eels under the Bridge.
It’s opening time at the pub and the men drift over to join their mates for a game of dominoes or darts and a couple of pints of beer. There is a hum of conversation, an atmosphere of familiarity and friendship, and so be it, as each man knows intimately the life and problems of each other. This is the clique, a family, many of them related. These men of the village, born together, schooled together, work together, and drink together. A stranger will never be accepted, even if he lived among them for forty years, he will always be known as the outsider. The three main industries are the Tannery, Ironworks and the Hodbarrow Mine. Wages were poor but at least brought stability to the Town of Millom and the village Haverigg.
In the window of the miners cottage at Concrete Square across the river from the pub, sat a wizened old man, ancient wrinkles etched his wind-weathered face, watery eyes looking wistfully at the younger men going into the pub. Old memories stirred, of the good times he had in there before he became bedridden. Each day he’s propped up with pillows by the window so that he can watch the world go by. He can see into the shed of the next doors garden where four young lads of about ten or eleven were taking turns puffing on a fag that one of them had nicked from his dads pack. The old man muttered and shook his head, “them’s lalluns smoking and there’s nowt ah can do”, then he smiled to himself as he remembered the first fag he smoked, and that was in the back garden shed of this house where he has lived all of his life.
The old man turned to look over the estuary to the far distant coastline where he could see the cranes of the Shipyard at Barrow. His eyesight was still good for distance. Out on the water he could see small boats of the local fishermen, although at that distance he could not make out any detail but he knew they were anchored, he knew in detail what they were doing and knew the spot they were fishing at, also what kind of fish they would be catching. With a lifetime of doing the same thing his knowledge was invaluable to those who sought it. Dreamily his mind wandered back to the time of his first boat and of the time he became shipwrecked. He knew of the dangers out there, many men have died in the treacherous currents and sudden squalls. Yet the old man preferred the dangers of the sea to the danger of the Hodbarrow Mine where he had worked all his life. He coughed, a racking, chest aching cough, caused by years of accumulated iron oar dust from down the mine.
Recovering, he let his eyes wander over the land to the top Black-Coombe, the large hill that’s only a few feet shorter than a mountain. He closed his eyes and visualized the crisp, clean air, the vast view, and the silence at the top, where all visitors on reaching, place a stone on the cairn. Today as he looked, the Coombe was capped under a heavy cloud of somber grey. He visualized the fields in the valley beneath Black-coombe, the lush meadows and thick hedgerows where the Pheasants nest and the dense woods where the Badgers come out in the evening to “snuffle” among the bluebells, looking for the succulent, juicy worm. There also he could see the Lazy River, so crystal clear with it’s surface showing hardly a ripple, only the fronds of waterweeds waving beneath the surface show the movement of the water. He dreamed of the times he caught the large, speckled Rainbow Trout by hand, tickling Trout was one of his favorite pastimes. He could feel the chill of the water and see the fish under the bank where he lay, carefully he moved his hand beneath the water, the fish weaving in the current touched his hand and he slowly stroked it along the stomach, then when it was cupped in his hand he would heave it onto the bank. He felt it again, the skillful action of a poacher.
The Lazy River sings a placid song of tranquility most of the year as it meanders to the sea, it’s bank-side a refuge for the Water Vole who sits chewing grass stems in contentment, and the Mute Swan swims majestically to and fro in regal splendor on the silent surface. Yet in the spring, the river periodically erupts in anger as though letting people know that they should not takes things for granted. The combination of heavy rains up in the fells, the strong Westerly winds behind the high spring tides causes the Lazy River to back up and overflow it’s banks, swirling and gurgling across the road into gardens and the doorways of houses where the people frantically erect boards and bags of sand in an endeavor to prevent the water from entering, but on many occasions to no avail, the water rises and sweeps down the back allies and into the back doors. It pushes into the hotel and shops up the street. People evacuate to the rooms above to wait for the ebb tide, shouting to each other from the upper windows. Remarkably, it’s an air of excitement that prevails throughout the community. The tragedy is there, yet is accepted as part of life. The philosophical view is, “It’s been before and will be again and there is nothing one can do about it”. Years later, amusing stories are told, like the time a fish was found behind the counter of a shop up the main street. The Lazy River soon settles down. It too has seen it all before and will see it again. Forever.
-----------------THE LAZY RIVER in 1962.
Meadow grasses whisper, each leaf a tune in the eddies of a breeze that drifts over the fells. Trickles of water softly gurgles between the ancient stones, pulsating from a spring beneath an old dry stone wall, built many centuries ago. The water “murmurs” and “ “splashes” down the stream to the river. ‘The Lazy River’, that swirls slowly down the valley, sneaking it’s way through the cultivated fields, past ancient farms and isolated grey stone houses till reaching the village. At last it awakens, and as though eager for sights and adventures new, it rushes and tumbles over boulders under the bridge and cut’s its way through drifting beach sand to join the main channel of the estuary that takes it to the Irish sea and then onwards to the Atlantic Ocean.
Near the bridge stands the Harbour Hotel, painted a deep colour of green, in stark contrast to the surrounding houses which are built with the grey, Cumberland slate and the walls are pebbled dashed with grey stones and shells.
Where the river reaches the channel the birds gather at low tide, dashing hither and thither, poking and probing, Oystercatchers piping and Curlews wailing their mournful call that is also heard high on the fells where it makes its nest. The Great Black-backed Gulls call echoes off the sea wall and seems to bounce on the water. Small flocks of waders twist and turn in the air like wisps of smoke. Out on the sand banks the musical song of the Grey Seal can be heard drifting in waves on the breeze.
At the mud banks by the sea wall, an old man digs for succulent red hairy worms to use as bait for catching the Mackerel fish, he will sail as soon as the tide reaches his small boat that is now lying on its side in the mud, its old and battered, but to the old man it’s his greatest possession, he paints it regularly but the wind blown sand and mud takes it’s toll of the paint-work.
There is a joyous tinkle of laughter from children fishing for Eels among the rocks in the river beneath the bridge, and squeals of delight as one successful child endeavors to extract the squirming, slimy creature off the hook. Leaning on the rail of the bridge above were two men giving advice and encouragement to the desperate child, wishfully contemplating the time of their youth when they too fished for Eels under the Bridge.
It’s opening time at the pub and the men drift over to join their mates for a game of dominoes or darts and a couple of pints of beer. There is a hum of conversation, an atmosphere of familiarity and friendship, and so be it, as each man knows intimately the life and problems of each other. This is the clique, a family, many of them related. These men of the village, born together, schooled together, work together, and drink together. A stranger will never be accepted, even if he lived among them for forty years, he will always be known as the outsider. The three main industries are the Tannery, Ironworks and the Hodbarrow Mine. Wages were poor but at least brought stability to the Town of Millom and the village Haverigg.
In the window of the miners cottage at Concrete Square across the river from the pub, sat a wizened old man, ancient wrinkles etched his wind-weathered face, watery eyes looking wistfully at the younger men going into the pub. Old memories stirred, of the good times he had in there before he became bedridden. Each day he’s propped up with pillows by the window so that he can watch the world go by. He can see into the shed of the next doors garden where four young lads of about ten or eleven were taking turns puffing on a fag that one of them had nicked from his dads pack. The old man muttered and shook his head, “them’s lalluns smoking and there’s nowt ah can do”, then he smiled to himself as he remembered the first fag he smoked, and that was in the back garden shed of this house where he has lived all of his life.
The old man turned to look over the estuary to the far distant coastline where he could see the cranes of the Shipyard at Barrow. His eyesight was still good for distance. Out on the water he could see small boats of the local fishermen, although at that distance he could not make out any detail but he knew they were anchored, he knew in detail what they were doing and knew the spot they were fishing at, also what kind of fish they would be catching. With a lifetime of doing the same thing his knowledge was invaluable to those who sought it. Dreamily his mind wandered back to the time of his first boat and of the time he became shipwrecked. He knew of the dangers out there, many men have died in the treacherous currents and sudden squalls. Yet the old man preferred the dangers of the sea to the danger of the Hodbarrow Mine where he had worked all his life. He coughed, a racking, chest aching cough, caused by years of accumulated iron oar dust from down the mine.
Recovering, he let his eyes wander over the land to the top Black-Coombe, the large hill that’s only a few feet shorter than a mountain. He closed his eyes and visualized the crisp, clean air, the vast view, and the silence at the top, where all visitors on reaching, place a stone on the cairn. Today as he looked, the Coombe was capped under a heavy cloud of somber grey. He visualized the fields in the valley beneath Black-coombe, the lush meadows and thick hedgerows where the Pheasants nest and the dense woods where the Badgers come out in the evening to “snuffle” among the bluebells, looking for the succulent, juicy worm. There also he could see the Lazy River, so crystal clear with it’s surface showing hardly a ripple, only the fronds of waterweeds waving beneath the surface show the movement of the water. He dreamed of the times he caught the large, speckled Rainbow Trout by hand, tickling Trout was one of his favorite pastimes. He could feel the chill of the water and see the fish under the bank where he lay, carefully he moved his hand beneath the water, the fish weaving in the current touched his hand and he slowly stroked it along the stomach, then when it was cupped in his hand he would heave it onto the bank. He felt it again, the skillful action of a poacher.
The Lazy River sings a placid song of tranquility most of the year as it meanders to the sea, it’s bank-side a refuge for the Water Vole who sits chewing grass stems in contentment, and the Mute Swan swims majestically to and fro in regal splendor on the silent surface. Yet in the spring, the river periodically erupts in anger as though letting people know that they should not takes things for granted. The combination of heavy rains up in the fells, the strong Westerly winds behind the high spring tides causes the Lazy River to back up and overflow it’s banks, swirling and gurgling across the road into gardens and the doorways of houses where the people frantically erect boards and bags of sand in an endeavor to prevent the water from entering, but on many occasions to no avail, the water rises and sweeps down the back allies and into the back doors. It pushes into the hotel and shops up the street. People evacuate to the rooms above to wait for the ebb tide, shouting to each other from the upper windows. Remarkably, it’s an air of excitement that prevails throughout the community. The tragedy is there, yet is accepted as part of life. The philosophical view is, “It’s been before and will be again and there is nothing one can do about it”. Years later, amusing stories are told, like the time a fish was found behind the counter of a shop up the main street. The Lazy River soon settles down. It too has seen it all before and will see it again. Forever.
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Steve,yes,Tanny loves this area,somewhere I have another poem he penned re the river Lazy(25yds from our front door!!!),but this story he has posted on this thread,I had not seen.Tanny many thanks,it is amazing,your memories are so vivid,even though Concrete Square has long gone,you can see it in your mind so clearly.Today it was a very stormy sea.The boats were being tossed around in the bay,large waves and huge spray beating agains't the sea defences.
Yes,Steve,I guess Tanny could give W Wordswoth a run for his money,as it were.Tanny seems to see things so clearly,he really gets into the minds and lives of the people,and he ,himself is part of the wildlife.
Tanny very good.an accolade from Steve is top notch!!!.
Yes,Steve,I guess Tanny could give W Wordswoth a run for his money,as it were.Tanny seems to see things so clearly,he really gets into the minds and lives of the people,and he ,himself is part of the wildlife.
Tanny very good.an accolade from Steve is top notch!!!.
Tanny
Well-known member
A day trip to Christine Redgate’s Patch.
On Monday 2nd of June I dropped off my wife at Chester who was going to Oxford with her son for the day and I headed north intending to spend the day at Martin Mere but when I reached the turn off on the M6 I realised I was too early so continued on up the motorway with the idea of spending time at Leighton Moss but again on reaching the area I noticed the time was only a quarter past eight and as I haven’t driven the car long distances for over a year, (the wife does all the driving) I got the driving bug and decided to carry on up the highway until I reached the turn off for the Lake District. What a good idea I thought if I could get as far as Haverigg and explore around my old stamping ground. I was stationed there many years ago as a National Serviceman and Haverigg was where I met my first wife. I even lived there for a time and was employed in various jobs around the little Towns of Millom and Haverigg. Ann my second wife and I spent half of our honeymoon four years ago at Ravenglass and we visited Christine Redgate for the first time then. Two years ago Christine put us up for a night and thanks to her it was a memorable time we had.
The weather during this trip was dull with slight rain showers but as I continued into the district the misty atmosphere seemed to lift although Skafell and the Langdale Pikes were obliterated. Driving along the A590 is so easy these days with its expansion and I soon reached Newby Bridge at the bottom of Lake Windermere, this time I didn’t stop but continued on until turning right up the A5092, and upwards it really is, ever upwards, twisting and turning until reaching the top. Sadly there was no view because of the heat mist that covered all the mountains. The steep decent down Grizebeck brought back memories of when I drove a truck for the first time down here in the night. In those days there was a stop sign at the bottom and on many occasions trucks failed to stop because of burned out breaks and ploughed on through the fence on the other side of the A595 Barrow-In-Furness road. The road has been modified and there is now a wide bend making it easier and safer to negotiate. After Grizebeck I headed on through Foxfield where the road has some of the greatest twists and turns in the country, I was doing about forty, (I think that was the legal speed at this place) and it was quite exciting spinning the steering wheel first right then left because the bends were so close to each other, thankfully the road was clear of all other traffic as I sped through. I was soon past the Duddon Bridge and turning off to the left onto the A 5093. The little hamlet called The Green was one of the places I had always wanted to live at; it was so peaceful and had an enchanting river flowing alongside the road where I remember seeing the Dipper plunging beneath the rushing water hunting for food. Alas, I didn’t stop but continued on till reaching Millom and then Haverigg where I parked opposite the bridge where in the old days once stood an old church hall. The Harbour Hotel was on my right and so many memories of the great times I had in there flooded back. Looking to the left one couldn’t help seeing the large derelict building that was once the Tannery where I worked for a time as a Toggler. Togglers were the blokes who stretched the animal hides that had first gone through the long process of curing. I remember always looking at the wooden horse that came out of the lift covered with the latest hides and when seeing that they were calf hides, rushing like mad to finish the one on my stretching frame so that I can get a calf hide because they were so easy to stretch. We were on what was called peace work and any extra hides we finished meant more money. The time I arrived was ten past nine so it had only taken me two hours to get here.
Picture’s (1) Haverigg. (2) Harbour Hotel. (3) The derelict Tannery. (4) Someone’s pride. (5) The Lazy River being very lazy.
On Monday 2nd of June I dropped off my wife at Chester who was going to Oxford with her son for the day and I headed north intending to spend the day at Martin Mere but when I reached the turn off on the M6 I realised I was too early so continued on up the motorway with the idea of spending time at Leighton Moss but again on reaching the area I noticed the time was only a quarter past eight and as I haven’t driven the car long distances for over a year, (the wife does all the driving) I got the driving bug and decided to carry on up the highway until I reached the turn off for the Lake District. What a good idea I thought if I could get as far as Haverigg and explore around my old stamping ground. I was stationed there many years ago as a National Serviceman and Haverigg was where I met my first wife. I even lived there for a time and was employed in various jobs around the little Towns of Millom and Haverigg. Ann my second wife and I spent half of our honeymoon four years ago at Ravenglass and we visited Christine Redgate for the first time then. Two years ago Christine put us up for a night and thanks to her it was a memorable time we had.
The weather during this trip was dull with slight rain showers but as I continued into the district the misty atmosphere seemed to lift although Skafell and the Langdale Pikes were obliterated. Driving along the A590 is so easy these days with its expansion and I soon reached Newby Bridge at the bottom of Lake Windermere, this time I didn’t stop but continued on until turning right up the A5092, and upwards it really is, ever upwards, twisting and turning until reaching the top. Sadly there was no view because of the heat mist that covered all the mountains. The steep decent down Grizebeck brought back memories of when I drove a truck for the first time down here in the night. In those days there was a stop sign at the bottom and on many occasions trucks failed to stop because of burned out breaks and ploughed on through the fence on the other side of the A595 Barrow-In-Furness road. The road has been modified and there is now a wide bend making it easier and safer to negotiate. After Grizebeck I headed on through Foxfield where the road has some of the greatest twists and turns in the country, I was doing about forty, (I think that was the legal speed at this place) and it was quite exciting spinning the steering wheel first right then left because the bends were so close to each other, thankfully the road was clear of all other traffic as I sped through. I was soon past the Duddon Bridge and turning off to the left onto the A 5093. The little hamlet called The Green was one of the places I had always wanted to live at; it was so peaceful and had an enchanting river flowing alongside the road where I remember seeing the Dipper plunging beneath the rushing water hunting for food. Alas, I didn’t stop but continued on till reaching Millom and then Haverigg where I parked opposite the bridge where in the old days once stood an old church hall. The Harbour Hotel was on my right and so many memories of the great times I had in there flooded back. Looking to the left one couldn’t help seeing the large derelict building that was once the Tannery where I worked for a time as a Toggler. Togglers were the blokes who stretched the animal hides that had first gone through the long process of curing. I remember always looking at the wooden horse that came out of the lift covered with the latest hides and when seeing that they were calf hides, rushing like mad to finish the one on my stretching frame so that I can get a calf hide because they were so easy to stretch. We were on what was called peace work and any extra hides we finished meant more money. The time I arrived was ten past nine so it had only taken me two hours to get here.
Picture’s (1) Haverigg. (2) Harbour Hotel. (3) The derelict Tannery. (4) Someone’s pride. (5) The Lazy River being very lazy.
Attachments
Tanny
Well-known member
I thought about knocking on Christine’s door for an early cuppa but I was drawn away to the river mouth where the tide was coming in and I could hear the unmistakeable call of a male Eider Duck and as I have never seen these ducks here before, I was very excited. The ducks were out on the water and I walked as near to them as I could and took many pictures. As I walked along the tideline I managed to get a picture of the ducks with the lighthouse in the background, this lighthouse is situated on the Sea Wall that surrounds the freshwater lake that is the RSPB Nature Reserve; I will be going there later. Swallows were flitting along the tideline seeking the little flies that seem to be disturbed by the incoming water. Out on the sand spit that seems to be spreading out from Haverigg were many different species of birds, the largest being the Cormorant, then the Great Black-back Gull, then the Herring Gulls, Black-headed Gulls and also some Arctic Terns were among the group. Ring Plovers, Oystercatchers and Lapwings I suspect were nesting on that spit of gravel and sand. In the old days, meaning the sixties when I first lived here, there was no barrier of sand and the High Tide would come right up to the garden walls of the houses on the front. I wandered along the shore searching for a special stone; I called it a Zebra stone because it had a pale stripe on a deep maroon background. I took a lovely heart shaped piece back to Australia with me in the seventies and had it cut and polished. This stone is one of my treasured processions and I brought it back with me when I returned to England for good. Sadly I never found a sample of this stone and this is the only place I had ever seen it. I wandered up the beach into the sand dunes where I found a lone Orchid flowering in all its glory. There weren’t many flowers to be found because it is still a bit early in the year. The Sea Holly was not yet in flower but the plants looked very healthy and promise a great show for the future.
Picture’s (1) Eider Duck. (2) My treasured Zebra Stone. (3) The other side. (4) Sea Holly. (5) Northern Marsh Orchard.
Picture’s (1) Eider Duck. (2) My treasured Zebra Stone. (3) The other side. (4) Sea Holly. (5) Northern Marsh Orchard.
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Tanny
Well-known member
A pair of Stonechats became excited and I suspect they had some young nearby. A Song Thrush just sat on a gorse bush looking at me without singing a song so I took his picture. The hill in the background called Blackcoombe still had its top covered with wisps of cloud but I expect these to disappear once the sun burns them off during the day. I still don’t know weather to call Blackcoombe a hill or a mountain; maybe it is a mountain now if enough people have placed stones high enough on its top. A little Wild Pansy bravely pushed out its flowers from a sandy dune and close to the entrance of Butterfields camping ground a Common Whitethroat allowed me to take some good pictures with food in its beak for its young that have fledged and were hiding deep within a tangle of brambles and nettles. At the entrance of the Caravan Park a Wren sat singing on the top of a small fir tree.
Pictures (1) Stonechat. (2) Song Thrush. (3) Wild Pansy. (4) Whitethroat. (5) Wren.
Pictures (1) Stonechat. (2) Song Thrush. (3) Wild Pansy. (4) Whitethroat. (5) Wren.
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Tanny
Well-known member
House sparrows “Chirrup” from the houses on the front and Jackdaws wander around the children’s swings searching for bits and pieces that all youngsters seem to drop. I looked over the wall at Seaview and saw the tide had spread across up the banks of the river and a couple of ancient, moored boats were submerged. House Martins were flying up to their new nests under the eaves of the buildings nearby and Swallows were perched on the mooring ropes beneath the sea wall. The tide was almost in and had backed up the river and the surface was so calm that when I saw a large ripple I thought it was some diving bird but then as I looked down into the water I was amazed to see four huge Salmon swimming together, each of them must have been almost three feet long, I lost sight of them as they slowly heading out to sea beneath the bridge.
Pictures (1) An information Poster at the sea front. (2) A House Martin starting a new nest. (3) A Swallow resting on a mooring rope. (4) A view from the beach towards the bridge. (5) A view from the bridge to the mouth of the Lazy River.
Pictures (1) An information Poster at the sea front. (2) A House Martin starting a new nest. (3) A Swallow resting on a mooring rope. (4) A view from the beach towards the bridge. (5) A view from the bridge to the mouth of the Lazy River.
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Tanny
Well-known member
I returned to the car and before driving off I heard the song of a Sedge Warbler coming from across the river so got out to investigate. The bird was in a clump of brambles close to the road by the buildings of Concrete Square and just opposite Christine’s house. I was able to get many pictures of this bird and unfortunately the special picture I tried to get of it superimposed on Christine’s house never turned out clear enough. I parked the car at the beginning of the sea wall and after slinging my pack on my back started my walk to the RSPB bird hide. Before I had gone a couple of paces a bloke who was passing said “What a wonderful day it has turned out to be” and we got chatting. I spoke about the changes around the place and mentioned that I used to work down the Iron Oar Mines in the sixties and then also worked in the Tannery, he said that he also worked in the Tannery as a Toggler, then he took a long look at me and exclaimed, “Skippy, you and I worked there together and you once came to my house”, he then went on to tell me about the things I had said about Australia in those days. Skippy was my nick name, because I was the only Australian in the village at the time. Embarrassingly I couldn’t remember him or the other Togglers he mentioned and even now I have forgotten his name, it just shows how ones memory diminishes with age. After saying farewell I started off along the sea wall and the haunting call of the Eider Ducks drifted up to me from over the water on my right. On the left came the screeching calls of Black-headed Gulls who were nesting on a long spit of land, I searched among them for a Mediterranean Gull but I should be so lucky. There was hardly any wind and the water on either side was as still as a duck pond. Not far along the wall I saw a Chaffinch singing on a small bush on the right and I took a picture, then after taking another couple of steps I took another picture, unbelievably the bird did not fly off but stayed there singing as I slowly passed within three yards from it, all the time taking pictures.
Pictures (1) Sedgewarbler. (2) Chaffinch. (3) The clouds had lifted off Blackcoombe. (4) Birdsfoot Trefoil. (5) A late Hawthorn blossom.
Pictures (1) Sedgewarbler. (2) Chaffinch. (3) The clouds had lifted off Blackcoombe. (4) Birdsfoot Trefoil. (5) A late Hawthorn blossom.
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Grumbledook
Well-known member
I'm keeping up the Cumbrian vote by waving at Christine et al from up the road in Workington. Solway coast, River Derwent and Siddick Pond all 2 minutes from my front door. 
Tanny
Well-known member
As I wandered slowly along towards the lighthouse I couldn’t help noticing the discarded human waste that seem to be accumulated around the place and when I reached the Lighthouse I looked over to the RSPB bird hide and was immediately struck by the similarity of it to a public toilet. It’s a hideous concrete structure with an appearance of neglect. I slowly walked towards the hide and noticed a pare of Oystercatchers showing obvious interest in nesting close to the place, then I saw a pair of Ring Plovers also showing some interest. Just before reaching the hide a Lapwing looked distressed ran through the grass on the right and I assumed it might have a nest there. On entering the hide I was struck by the bare unwelcoming feel about the place, the floor was littered with dirt and each window was festooned with spider webs. I think I am safe in saying that this is the worst bird hide that I have ever been in. There were no posters of birds on the walls for visitors to use in identifying the masses of birds seen. After cleaning the seat and wiping away the webs I settled down to watch the wonderful sight before me. The most noticeable bird was the nesting Great-crested Grebe right in the front, what a rare and exciting sight that was. A drake Eider Duck with two females were swimming very close and just before I was able to take some pictures of them the other occupant in the hide exclaimed, there’s a dog here”. I leaned out of the window and saw a bloke standing outside with what looked like a bag of bread; his dog was wandering below the hide. I was so angry because he had scared away the Eider Ducks that I yelled at him to get away, “I shall not explain the more expletive words I used on him” but thankfully he got the message and disappeared. Although the rest of my stay in the hide was quite enjoyable because of watching so many different species of birds, I just felt that overall it was spoilt by the sorry neglect of the place. It seemed obvious to me that the RSPB Ranger is very negligent in his work and after speaking to other people later who told me that he is arrogant and rude then I cannot consider him to be anything other than incompetent at his job. What this place needs is a young dynamic ranger who can communicate with people.
The view from the hide is of a small island where all the birds can nest in safety, and then there is a large stretch of open water and a strange sight of an old sea wall that has collapsed at one end into the lake. At the far side can be seen the Church spire and beyond that the hills and Mountains of Cumberland. The whole area is a haven for birds and under better management could be a wonderful place for birders.
Pictures (1) A Great-crested Grebe on its nest in aggressive display. (2) Lesser Black-back Gulls in love. (3) The Church spire. (4) The bird nesting island in front of the hide. (5)The old sea wall and Cumberland Mountains in the background. (3)
The view from the hide is of a small island where all the birds can nest in safety, and then there is a large stretch of open water and a strange sight of an old sea wall that has collapsed at one end into the lake. At the far side can be seen the Church spire and beyond that the hills and Mountains of Cumberland. The whole area is a haven for birds and under better management could be a wonderful place for birders.
Pictures (1) A Great-crested Grebe on its nest in aggressive display. (2) Lesser Black-back Gulls in love. (3) The Church spire. (4) The bird nesting island in front of the hide. (5)The old sea wall and Cumberland Mountains in the background. (3)
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Tanny
Well-known member
I left the hide and crossed directly over to the Lighthouse and stood there on the wall looking over the water to Barrow-in-Furness and tried to take pictures of the Arctic Terns that were bringing their catch of fish over my head to the colony below the bird hide, without success I might add. A mobile home passed me on my way back and when looking at the photos I had taken I could see it hidden behind some trees, obviously it had been parked illegally for the night on the RSPB reserve.
Returning back the way I had come I was delighted to see a family of Eider Ducks in the reserve, I never knew that the male Eider Duck stayed with his mate and youngsters but this one does and it made a wonderful sight to see all of them together. Sadly I was shocked to see a power boat towing a skier speed just out from the family and the waves caused the little balls of dark fluff to tumble among the rocks at the edge of the lake. I’m not sure if the speed boats are allowed to go near the nesting island during the nesting period but the couple of other birders in the hide said they made a mistake and visited during a holiday period in April and it was a mad house with children and power boats all around the hide and island.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I counted eleven Great-crested Grebes on the water in a group close to the nesting Terns, this is the largest congregation of these birds I have ever seen, other Great-crested’s were sitting on nests around the area. It was interesting to see the bird on the nest close to the hide fluff her self up and spread her wings when a Jackdaw landed on a fence post close by.
Pictures (1) Pied Wagtail. (3) Meadow Pipit. (4) Oystercatcher. (5) The Eider Duck family
Returning back the way I had come I was delighted to see a family of Eider Ducks in the reserve, I never knew that the male Eider Duck stayed with his mate and youngsters but this one does and it made a wonderful sight to see all of them together. Sadly I was shocked to see a power boat towing a skier speed just out from the family and the waves caused the little balls of dark fluff to tumble among the rocks at the edge of the lake. I’m not sure if the speed boats are allowed to go near the nesting island during the nesting period but the couple of other birders in the hide said they made a mistake and visited during a holiday period in April and it was a mad house with children and power boats all around the hide and island.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I counted eleven Great-crested Grebes on the water in a group close to the nesting Terns, this is the largest congregation of these birds I have ever seen, other Great-crested’s were sitting on nests around the area. It was interesting to see the bird on the nest close to the hide fluff her self up and spread her wings when a Jackdaw landed on a fence post close by.
Pictures (1) Pied Wagtail. (3) Meadow Pipit. (4) Oystercatcher. (5) The Eider Duck family
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Tanny
Well-known member
Before I reached the car I heard in the distance the sound of Swan wings and there flying towards me were seven Mute Swans. What a glorious sound the wings of swans make and what a fitting farewell to my visit of Haverigg
I drove back to the car park in Haverigg and went to see Christine for a cuppa, she gave me a telling off for not letting her know I was coming but we had a laugh together and sat out in the front listening to the Sedge Warbler singing across the Lazy River that was now rushing out to the sea as the tide goes out.
After farewells to Christine I drove out of the village and through Millom and only stopped again alongside an old building close to the bottom of Grizebeck. Many years ago I helped to renovate this old building, it was destined to be made into flats but obviously the plan fell through because it is in a derelict state now. My wife then rang me on her mobile to say she was just leaving Oxford and I said I was also just leaving Cumberland; I had to repeat that because she couldn’t believe what I was saying, she thought I was only going to Martin Mere. Well that’s another story of my visit to Christine Redgates Patch, lets hope it’s not too long before I can write a sequel.
Thank you Christine.
Pictures (1) Where the Caravans are is the place where the mine Shaft used to be. (2) The Lazy River at low tide. (3) A Black-headed Gull searching for food on the Lazy. (4) A flight of Mute Swans. (5) Christine’s front, showing the Redgate.
I drove back to the car park in Haverigg and went to see Christine for a cuppa, she gave me a telling off for not letting her know I was coming but we had a laugh together and sat out in the front listening to the Sedge Warbler singing across the Lazy River that was now rushing out to the sea as the tide goes out.
After farewells to Christine I drove out of the village and through Millom and only stopped again alongside an old building close to the bottom of Grizebeck. Many years ago I helped to renovate this old building, it was destined to be made into flats but obviously the plan fell through because it is in a derelict state now. My wife then rang me on her mobile to say she was just leaving Oxford and I said I was also just leaving Cumberland; I had to repeat that because she couldn’t believe what I was saying, she thought I was only going to Martin Mere. Well that’s another story of my visit to Christine Redgates Patch, lets hope it’s not too long before I can write a sequel.
Thank you Christine.
Pictures (1) Where the Caravans are is the place where the mine Shaft used to be. (2) The Lazy River at low tide. (3) A Black-headed Gull searching for food on the Lazy. (4) A flight of Mute Swans. (5) Christine’s front, showing the Redgate.
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