Mistified again

Today’s guest picture comes from ex archive group member Ken. He was rather unimpressed by this reservoir in Central Park, New York, but I think that I have probably seen it looking better on sunnier days in several films.

We had a stark contrast in the weather today here after yesterday’s glorious sunshine. It rained all day. It was not even heroic or interesting rain, just a miserable drizzle for most of the time.

After breakfast, I had to go up to the Archive Group work room to check on the microfiche reader which was not working. We think that it needs a new bulb. I went into town to try to buy one, but it is an old fashioned machine and I had to go online to find one. I hope that it is the right sort but only time will tell. It cost more to pay for the postage than the bulb!

After I got home, we were in no hurry to get out and about again, and the next thing of interest on a dull day was the arrival of Margaret for coffee.

When she left, I put most of a week of the newspaper index into the Archive Group database and then had a look at the birds. A robin made a bold attempt to be be picked as flying bird of the day but the poor light was against it.

Two blackbirds lurked under the feeder . . .

. . . and the goldfinches returned in numbers.

I might have gone for a cycle ride after lunch, even in the drizzle, but my electric bike still isn’t working even after a night of good drying out. I didn’t fancy being out for the length of time that taking my push bike would have entailed.

So I went for a walk round Whita Hill.

I stared along the Murtholm and was pleased to see modest willow developments . .

. . . as well as a very bold statement about the housing development at the end of the track.

It is easy to be a critic and I would have phrased that bit about low energy standards differently. People might like to live in a house with high energy standards and low energy consumption. I applaud the intent though.

As I walked along the river and up the hill to Broomholm, moss on fenceposts and walls caught my eye.

Once I got onto the road to Cronksbank, the rain got heavier so I kept my head down as I crossed the Tarras at Rashiel, went up to the tree nursery at Cronksbank, wondered at a very pretty lichen covered hawthorn, descended back to cross the Tarras at Perterburn and noticed a group of goats in the distance.

I didn’t have my little Lumix with the big zoom with me as it doesn’t like getting wet, so I didn’t chase after the goats but kept going past Middlemoss and up to the Newcastleton road.

The rough track from Middlemoss, which you can see in the final frame above, poses a challenge to the elderly walker. Which side is the smoother to walk on? In the event, it always turns out to be the other side, no matter which side you choose.

It was fairly bleak when I got to the road back to Langholm, with all the surrounded hills invisible under the low clouds . . .

. . . but just round the corner was the mother of all potholes, famous locally in myth and legend.

Our neighbour Liz recently came across this monster and was so incandescent with rage that she was still seething two days later. I understand that the council are planing on renting out the bigger puddle as a training area for the British Olympic open water swimming team, and that several speleological clubs have volunteered to come and try to get to the bottom of it.

I got safely past it and ploughed on into the persistent rain up to the White Yett. It was hard enough to see the MacDiarmid memorial and there was no sign of the monument at all.

It was all downhill from this point, and I made good speed home past the curving wall round the pines, curious horses, and cherry blossom beside the river.

When I got home, I found the ducks were back in our pond. It was good weather for ducks. Our plastic decoy heron didn’t seem to worry them.

I had put some mince and vegetables into the slow cooker at midday, and Mrs Tootlepedal used this to make a reviving evening meal to restore my energy levels.

In spite of the conditions, I had really enjoyed my outing, and the only slight sorrow was finding that I had walked 9.98 miles instead of the perfect 10 that I had hoped for. I had climbed 1000ft though, so that made up for it.

The flying bird of the day, beating the slightly blurred robin, was yet another chaffinch.