Heron Wars

This is my fish pond... or rather, it was.  Now it's just a pond. My neighbour spotted a heron on the garden fence a few mornings ago, and sure enough he had helped himself to all my lovely fish.

I originally wanted this to be a wildlife pond. Having dug it out and lined it, I added some water-loving plants then waited to see what creatures would make it their home. Before long I had pond skaters, waterboatmen, frogs, tadpoles and the occasional newt.

Dragonflies were frequent summer visitors and I thrilled at watching them lay eggs in the water or on the waterside stones. But when the eggs hatched the bugs ate the tadpoles and almost everything else! My lovely pond had become an attractive dragonfly breeding ground – not exactly what I'd hoped for.

A friend offered me a few goldfish from her over-stocked pond. Two had babies, together they ate the next year's frog spawn and soon we were giving away fish to anyone who would have them.

Then along came Mr Heron.

Subsequently I've been searching the Internet for ways of keeping herons at bay. It seems that the only 100% secure method is to place a net over the pond, like this...

or even this...

The cure, it seemed to me, was worse than the problem and would surely spoil the beauty of my lovely pond. 

After much pondering (sorry – couldn't resist that one) and head scratching I've gone for two methods, neither of which is guaranteed to work but, in combination, will hopefully do the trick.

The first is a plastic heron, who I've named Henry. Opinion is divided over whether he will work, but in theory herons are strongly territorial and won't encroach on another heron's patch. But of course they must do occasionally, or how else would they have babies? 

Solution #2 is an electric fence – a bit extreme, perhaps, but less of an eyesore than a net. 

Installation wasn't straightforward as the mains powered transformer-shocker thingy has to be kept dry. Ours is in the kitchen larder, which necessitated running wires through the wall and under a concrete path. After much drilling, chiselling, cementing and cursing, it's in. 

That's the garden budget exhausted for a few weeks but I hope to begin restocking the pond later this month. If Mr Heron comes back in the mean time to search of stragglers, and defies Henry, he's hopefully in for a surprise. 

The Slaughters and Bourton-on-the-Water

Expunge from your mind visions of sheep stealers hanging from giblets or cattle being driven unceremoniously to the local abattoir. 'Slaughter' derives from the Old English word slough, meaning 'wetland'.  When the River Eye is in flood, Upper and Lower Slaughter can doubtless still be wet places but last Monday they were delightful.

We were in the Cotswolds on the hottest day of the year (so far) for one of our favourite 'gentle' 9 mile walks that would take us along the banks of three rivers – the Eye, the Dikler and the Windrush.

This is the Warden's Way footpath, running  beside the gently-flowing River Eye. After about ¾ mile it brought us to the superbly picturesque village of Lower Slaughter where, thankfully on this blisteringly hot day, they sell refreshing 'real' ice-cream cornets. None of that 'Mr Whippy' rubbish!

That's the old mill in the centre, with its undershot water wheel. Tranquil days such as this were clearly all too common in operational days; the tall chimney evidence that they often had to resort to steam power.

Try to remember this scene, with its little bridges and a handful of sightseers enjoying its splendour, as our walk continued.

Just outside Lower Slaughter we turned off Warden's Way to stay on the banks of the Eye, then crossed the Foss Way (A429) and an old railway line to walk beside the River Dikler. This led us down to an area of former gravel pits, now flooded to become the Bourton-on-the-Water lakes.

One disappointment here was that long stretches of lakeside were in private hands and cordoned off with barbed wire (perhaps relics from the days when these were operational gravel pits) so we had little option but to keep our distance. There were compensations, however...

Skirting around the lowest lake, we turned north and made our way into Bourton-on-the-Water. The World and His Wife were there to greet us!

Carefully we threaded our way through throngs of Americans, Japanese and natives as they wandered in and out of pubs, cafes and gift shops. We had but one place in mind – the Londis store, where we could buy food for a picnic lunch.

Rucksacks filled with cheese, crackers and fruit, we briefly rejoined the sightseers, trying hard not to come between their cameras and one of Bourton's bridges or an over-fed duck. Yes, it is a lovely scene but where would you rather be – here or in Lower Slaughter? No contest. Just beyond a motor museum, a snicket between a house and a pub led us out to a broad water meadow.

It was truly surreal. Less than 200 yards away crowds were jostling for their own square foot of pavement. Here... nobody, save the occasional dog walker. Grateful for the solitude and the shade of a tall tree, we laid down our loads and enjoyed a leisurely lunch.

Beyond Bourton the footpath followed the River Windrush for a mile or so, then began the climb back to Upper Slaughter.  In truth it was quite a gentle ascent but in the souring temperatures – by now it must have been 30°+ in the sunshine – it felt a lot steeper.

Our final view of the Windrush

For reasons unknown the Simply Walking app I use to plot my walks threw a wobbly on this one, declaring that we had only walked 2.6 miles in 4½ hours. Perhaps it didn't like sharing computing power with BackCountry Navigator. So here is the route, plotted on an OS map.

 For the record, the final distance was a shade under 9 miles. 2mph in that heat was well up to standard.

Table Mountain

Not the one in South Africa; this Table Mountain is in the Black Mountains, near the little town of Crickhowell.

The footpath starts just north of the town and is barely a mile long to the summit – hardly enough to justify a hour's car journey from home. To turn it into a 'real' walk we planned to follow the orange route in our book Walking in the Brecon Beacons. That would give us a 5 mile walk with a total climb of about 3000 feet, which felt like enough of a challenge to me.

I wanted to park Bluebird at the Start/Finish point (see map) but ever-sensible S-- judged that there wasn't really enough room. Reluctantly I agreed, so down we went into Crickhowell, leaving us a stiff climb back to the 'start' and a farm track to The Wern. But hey!, what's a bit of road walking to a pair of seasoned hikers? From this side the mountain really did look like a giant table.

After the farm we turned left, away from the direct ascent, and made our way up the pretty wooded valley of Cwm Cumbeth. At the top the paths diverged again – a short climb to Table Mountain on the right, and the steep ascent to Darren and Pen Cerrig-calch on the left. Our walk book sounded a cautionary note: If weather conditions are poor, the low-level alternative route can be taken. Well the sun was shining and visibility was good, so up we went, threading our way through thick bracken.

That's Crickhowell in the valley below

Darren Crags.  Not far to go now!

The view from Darren Crags was not a welcome one – thick mist shrouding Pen Cerrig-calch.  We toyed with walking towards the mist then making our way along the ridge and over to Table Mountain (roughly the 550 metre contour line), but decided to play it safe and descend to the main path (blue on the map).

Here's the view as we turned east, with not a wisp of mist in sight. If you click it to get a clearer view you'll see Table Mountain in the middle distance, just right of centre, the pointed peak of Sugar Loaf behind it and Skirrid in the far distance, with it's steep slope on the left-side.

The 'blue' route is part of the Brecon Way. From this side Table Mountain didn't look at all table-like.  By now, though, I was grateful that, whatever its shape, it was an easy climb to the top.

Looking east from Table Mountain with Sugar Loaf and the tip of Skirrid clearly visible.

One thing these photos don't show is the strong wind that blew across the mountain top... so how about these? Definitely two for the Rogues Gallery!

By starting and finishing in Crickhowell, and retracing our steps at Darren Crags, the walk turned out to be a shade under 5½ miles. The speed looks rather slow, but that climb to Darren was a stiff one, and much time was also spent photographing and simply drinking in the splendid views.

Galloway and Five Red Herrings

I feel somewhat ashamed to admit it, but the inspiration for my next holiday came from one of Dorothy L Sayers' novels. More accurately, it came from the 1975 BBC adaptation of Five Red Herrings, staring Ian Carmichael as super-sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey.

Devotees of Dorothy L Sayers' who-dun-its will probably agree that Five Red Herrings is not her best. The solution, when it comes, is very complex and beggars belief that Ferguson (the unwitting perpetrator of the dastardly deed) could have conceived it in such detail.  The BBC version omits much of the complexity and in the process makes for a much better plot.

In her introduction to Five Red Herrings Dorothy L Sayers writes:

All the places are real and all the trains are real, and all the landscapes are correct, except that I have run up a few new houses here and there.

Re-reading the story last year, I had great fun working out the various locations on an Ordnance Survey map of Galloway. "How lovely it would be," I mused, "to have a holiday in the area." Its scenic beauty is undeniable, whilst the Lord Peter connexion would add an unusual dimension to my time there.

Thanks to the BBC, I've already made a start...

High Street, Kirkudbright

High Street now, on Google Street View

Mrs Smith-Lemesurier (right) plucks up courage to enter Wully Murdoch's Selkirk Arms

The Selkirk Arms Hotel looks a lot smarter now

The murder scene – supposedly at Borgan, near Bargrennan. I wonder whether it is? 

Wimsey and Strachan on the Carrick shore

The holiday cottage has been booked and paid for, and in a few weeks' time I will head north to Dumfries and Galloway. I've promised my long-suffering family that I won't spend the whole week tracing Lord Peter's movements, for there are countless rivers, burns and footpaths to explore, including the Southern Upland Way. It should be a great week.

On my doorstep

This is Towan Head in Newquay. It's less than 3 miles from the place that was my home until I married at the age of 21. Yet I was 19 years old before I stood next to that old Coastguard lookout on the highest point of the headland and beheld the glorious view across Newquay Bay.  Why? Because I could go that at almost any time; today, tomorrow, next week, next year....

A couple of weeks ago I realized that I was in danger of making the same mistake in my present home town. Less than 3 miles from my home lie the remains of a Roman temple in Lydney Park; a place I've been promising myself to visit ever since we moved here, almost 6 years ago. Not that a visit is entirely straightforward, for the place only opens to the public on two days a week, from April to mid-June. If I didn't act soon, yet another year would pass.

To my untrained eye the ruins proved hard to interpret but there is an informative notice board on the site and since my visit I've been reading more about it. Indeed, armed with this knowledge, I really must return in 2019.

I've 'borrowed' the drawings above from humanitiesweb.org. I hope they don't mind. The drawing on the right is the temple at Caerwent and is typical of Roman temples. Lydney's is clearly very different and was dedicated to the god Nodens – a Celtic deity rather than the usual Roman variety and associated with healing and the sea. A Wikipedia article suggests that the site was probably chosen because it offered a clear view of the massive Severn Bore – but the bore only becomes visible further upriver from Lydney. Whoops!

Interestingly, the three shrines at the top (north) of the temple, and two side chapels, anticipate the design of early Christian churches. The information board calls it 'the ultimate achievement of one of the early lost rivals to Christianity.' A bold claim indeed for little Lydney!

Nearby lie the remains of Roman baths that were somewhat easier to interpret.

O what fun it would have been to bathe here. After running quickly through the frigidarium you would find me relaxing in the tepidarium (warmer) or the caldarium (much warmer), each with their under-floor heating. Lovely.

Actually, most people don't visit Lydney Park to see the Roman remains. For them the star attraction is the gardens, which burst into magnificent colour when the cherries, magnolias and rhododendrons flower in the Spring.

Lovely they undoubtedly are, but it's those Roman remains that hold my fascination. There are also traces up there of a Norman castle, whilst in the park museum is the Lydney Dog – an impressive piece of Romano-British sculpture.  O dear, I missed both of those. Roll on 2019!