|
|
|
With a weekend of good weather forecasted I had to get out on the fells and secure the last few photographs for the website. It was a Sunday jaunt on the Reeth High Moor Round in perfect conditions. My companion and myself couldn't help notice that spring was in the air. Everything male was chasing everything female on the moor. All these goings on watched by vocal Ring Ouzles from their vantage points on the ruins of the Old Gang, like little disapproving vicars with their black plumage and white collars. ------------------ My old friend and stone mason mentor telephoned me last night to let me know that he had been discharged from the hospital at Northallerton. This was good news indeed, At nearly eighty, he was taken in by the paramedics more than a week ago now with suspected pneumonia. Its good to hear he is on the mend but I warned him that he must have someone help him feed the ducks on the beck and the pheasants over Skeb Skeugh side. I don't think they will go hungry for long, I detected a note of determination in his reply!!! ------------------ We were sat on the village bench this morning discussing when and how many Swallows would return this Spring, their numbers seem to diminish year on year. As we discussed this three were perched on the telephone wires above us. Jack mentioned he had been up to his field barns this morning to open the fork-in hole doors so that they could return to their nests high in the eaves. At this they were off, I think they must have been listening in. If the House Martins understood our conversation, then they too need to look sharp and find a home, I notice the supermarket carrier bags are appearing at the cottages window reveals again. A sure sign that they are back looking for somewhere to build their new nests. __________
Martin called round this morning with a dozen eggs, hi Baz would you like these, another peace offering. He wanted a hand to move the chicken shed a couple of weeks ago and rallied round helpers from around the dale. Eight o'clock sharp we all descended armed with scaffold poles and directed by Martin, like galley slaves we levered and rolled the shed down the field under his instruction until it ended it's journey under a large Rowan. Everyone OK?, Yeh OK. Too embarrassed to make fuss but dripping blood from a couple of skinned fingers and Martin too polite to acknowledge my injury by offering a sticking plaster, we all went our separate ways, quad bikes in one direction and me and the Mondeo in the other. We met a few days later, call up tonight Baz about eight thirty, alright?. As the sun was dropping behind Shunner Fell we stood admiring our achievement and looking up at the Rowan's highest branches full of roosting chickens. They won't use the shed Baz !!!. There's no doubting that these eggs are definitely free range, drop a dozen in anytime Martin.
___________
As I came down off Kisdon fell I met Jen heading for the barn for the umpteenth time that day. Armed with a bucket full of warm milk and bottles she's taken on her surrogate ewe duties again. How many this year?, only six she replied disappointingly. Three have been fostered out over the other dale and Sid has convinced a bereft ewe to take on a couple more. The conversation continued on a sombre note. The lambing started right on cue and so did the bad weather, wet and very cold so we've lost a few more than normal this year. These orphans may not have a four legged woolly mum but I know from previous years they will be receiving 'five star' treatment.
______________
My friend and myself were sat on the grass bank above the Pennine Way footpath on the flanks of Kisdon Hill it was about 7-00 PM and the sun was beginning to drop. This was perfect light for photographing the dale as it accentuates the stone walls and barns and gives the whole dale a shadowy glow. Fending off suggestions that I should take some pictures of the cows, I noticed a solitary figure with a rucksack big enough to win a prize topped off with tent and rolly mat. The tired trekker was obviously 'doing' the Pennine Way, unusually from North to South. This six footer was taking short strides evidence that his boots were full of lead and he was about all in. I could see the pain in his face, our eyes met and we nodded a silent acknowledgement to each other. Photographs taken, we mulled over what we should do, hang back so we don't go skipping back down the path past the walker, offer him help or hang back and observe. We chose the latter. The tent was a give away that he was heading to Usha Gap farm but he had taken the longer route to the site via Thwaite, do I offer advice?, I managed to stop myself and we watched as he doubled back along the meadows toward Muker and a well earned rest. The following morning we decided to do a circuit from Hawes taking in Cotterdale ascending the path from Hardraw toward Great Shunner Fell. Rounding the track just above Hardraw we were greeted with a 'good morning, beautiful day', it was big pack man on the next leg of his long distance walk. With eight miles already under his belt he was striding out with renewed vigour, I hope he completes it.
____________
All the cattle over wintered in doors have finally made their bid for freedom with the farmers assistance. The spring's been slow to get going this year and he tells me that he was down to the last couple of bales of feed. Does this organic fertilizer ( posh term) really help produce these beautiful meadows. Well his work is underway to clear the buildings of their recycled contents on to the fields and the cycle of upland farm management goes on. There will be a couple of spare weeks in July to repair a stone wall or two and probably catch a weeks holiday away with the kids. This is why the area looks so appealing, your work goes on unnoticed but its what you know and love and we are grateful for it.
__________
I've succumbed to the lure of owning a diesel 4X4. I am now a proud owner but slightly self conscious owner of a shinning silver beast that will get me over the Buttertubs at any time of year and up and down the dale in the worst that winter can throw at us up here. So I spent yesterday explaining to it whilst polishing and buffing it's paintwork that it's met its true vocation and avoided further humiliation, having now been rescued from town driving trips to school and the supermarket. It's already been christened, whilst following a tractor and spreader the other day on the road to Muker, those large rear wheels were flicking up and depositing spent straw and the contents from the insides of a herd of Limousin bullocks on to it's bonnet. It's also being painted daily by a mother starling exiting her nest from under the eaves of my cottage. She always seems to fly off in a North Easterly direction, I can tell that from the markings across the truck roof, like little bouncing bombs. I wonder just how many chicks she has in there, I bet a fair few given the aerial fertilizer on my poor new truck. Although the weathers improving I'm surprised how many birds are already feeding their greedy off spring or in the case of the ground nesters noisily seeking out their partners. I sleep with my bedroom window open and am awaken regularly by love lorne curlews calling all through the night for a mate. Taking a break from all this buffing and polishing and the many unprintable comments and jibes from my farmer neighbours, Sid and Ken came and sat either side of me, all three of us like wise old monkeys admiring my gleaming handy work. Totalling more than 170 years to mankind between us, the oldest Sid presented me with a crooked stick and asked me to feel how light it was. He explained that his mate had found it and shaped it for him into a practical tool to catch young lambs. I had to guess the wood, I said Willow or Alder but it happened to be Holly. Much to Sid's delight he went on to explain and show me how it could be fashioned into a tups head and then began a conversation with Ken on the other side of me. 'As tha had many la'l uns with Rattle Belly' I knew what was going on here, this was another lesson for me on dales spieke, and you know what as the days go by I'm becoming more comfortable with it as I begin to understand what they're talking about. I'm eager that they want to coach me just the same as old Jack does but they have to have a little sport along the way and I'm it!. So Rattle Belly: what is it? well apparently it effects very young lambs, they stagger about and loose all co-ordination as if they are in a drunken stupor and I suppose in a way that's what it is. Their lack of digestive ability to the ewes milk causes this problem. Strangely it is more common amongst sheep that graze on lush grass in the dale bottoms and rarely proves a problem with nursing ewes on the moors and fells, the richer mothers milk is, the more prevalent Rattle Belly is. Proving once again just how tough and ideally suited to their environment the swaledale breed is. The vet does have a cure for RB if its caught in time and the ewes are moved to poorer grazing but the fact is there isn't a cure for every newborn and inevitably some don't make it but their skins do!!!!. No not to make you a nice pair of sheep skin mitts or slippers but wrapped around another lamb. Ewes sometimes have three lambs and basic maths dictate that with only two feeding stations to latch on to, one lamb invariably gets no tea, lunch or breakfast for that matter, so fostering is the order of the day. Or 'Mothering On' as its called. Basically the ewe has to be convinced that its her own baby that's trying to feed from her and the only way to convince her is to cover the orphan with her dead lamb's skin. If your not a farmer then this sounds a bit gruesome but remember the actions of a farmer with the dead lamb invariably saves the life of another and is just another way to help nature along.
 |
