… it has been a quiet week in Beaufront Woodhead. If people on bicycles go cycling, those who drive go driving, those who golf go golfing, why do those who ride horses, not go horsing. This astute philosophical observation is not mine but my eldest’s. I was reminded of it at the weekend as I was briefly horsing about with the camera above Allendale – where is the logic in that!
This is a handsome beast but I confess I am not that keen on these over-sized quadrupeds. They are delightful to look at but, anything this big and this powerful which lacks handlebars/steering, accelerator and, most importantly, brakes, is not for me. My Ducati Monster has 147 horses but none of them have a mind of their own.
Have a grand week everyone and enjoy the horsing …
… can a horse/pony be doe-eyed
… there was another but he/she wasn’t getting a look-in
… above Allendale on a dull January afternoon.
… you know you are in tough company when he uses barbed-wire to scratch
… the bikes have taken me in the last few days in search of images. The old rolling stock being put to an agricultural use sits in a field above Allendale. Thorneyburn is way over yonder in the minor key – between Bellingham and Kielder. Linnels Bridge and the Mill are on the road between Hexham and Slaley. The transport for most of this can be seen in the last. What an unpredictable summer it has been.
Old rolling stock
The gates at Thorneyburn
A cross at Thorneyburn
The Mill at Linnels Bridge
Above Allendale and Catton
December in old England has been mild and easy, the quiet before the storm? I am still playing golf, walking with the camera and, very occasionally, venturing out on two wheels. At heart, I am a fair-weather rider and there are plenty of reasons to keep the machines safe in the garage – ice on the roads, salt that creeps and corrodes and, not least, the wind chill factor when riding at 70mph into the face of a cold northeasterly.
Nevertheless the desire to be out eventually over-rides common sense and off I go – only ninety miles this month, better than nothing. These are some images from the month to date, including yet another timelapse sunrise across the fields. Northumberland has finally lost its autumnal glow:
The roads are still salty, on most days they are uncomfortably wet and the air is still piercingly cold but, there is no resisting the call of the wild and the open road. Against better judgement I ventured out on two wheels on several occasions in March and was never disappointed. The still image is from a ride out to Carrshield and the video from a late afternoon ride to Allendale Golf Club – Home of Golf in the Wild. This is now accessible from the club’s website just in case visitors have difficulty finding the course – follow satnavs to NE47 9DH and you will be taken to High Studdon Farm.
“The course is tucked away in the hills of an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and must therefore be discreet. The road south out of Allendale winds down the Allen Valley along the B6295 towards Allenheads, following the course of the East Allen River. A mile or so south of the town, as the road breaks free from overhanging trees, a sharp left turn is signposted to the club. The track is rutted, rabbits run for cover and depending on the time of year, will wear a layer of rich agricultural muck. The track climbs 167 feet in a third of a mile which is more or less the difference between the high and low ground on the course; it helps to be fit. The clubhouse sits at 1077 feet above sea level on the west facing side of Green Hill which peaks at 1374 feet – it is not entirely inaccurate to say the course is situated on the side of a mountain. A wind turbine installed in 2010 marks your arrival. On a plain 9-metre tower with dark coloured blades, it blends into the agricultural landscape in a manner reminiscent of the iconic multi-bladed windpumps of America’s central plains.”
An accidental selfie, captured by the GoPro – I am wearing a backpack, just in case you were wondering 🙂
This will probably be my last post until after Christmas Day so a very Merry Christmas to all my followers, many thanks for taking the time to like and comment on my ever random thoughts throughout the year and all the best for 2016.
Our plan had been to be lazy on Christmas Day and eat at the Boatside Inn, just over Warden Bridge. Sadly, especially for the owners, the building was flooded in the recent storms and will not open again until the New Year. Consequently we are eating at home and chef will be catering for five, possibly seven – my normal limit is two 🙂
This year’s Christmas card reflects my passion for hitting small balls with unsuitable sticks in wild places – hopefully the snow provides a sufficiently seasonal touch. This is the second at Allendale, a place you can now fly over at Aerial Golf Caddy. When you have a spare moment between the main course and the pudding, take a look; you may begin to understand my obsession with the place (two of the best ‘flights’ are at the 3rd and 12th, both par 3s).
It was only recently that I became aware of the connection between Philip Larkin and Haydon Bridge, the next town along the Tyne, west of Hexham. For some reason I take some delight in his shared knowledge of the area. Since the by-pass was built a few years back, the town has returned to the pace of life which Larkin would have remembered. The second set of patio doors, overlooking the Tyne, is the back of 1A Ratcliffe Road:
Writer Philip Larkin and Monica Jones, his companion of 40 years, shared this secret love nest from 1961 to 1984.
“I thought your little house seemed … distinguished and exciting and beautiful … it looks splendid, and it can never be ordinary with the Tyne going by outside … a great English river drifting under your window, brown and muscled with currents!”
Philip Larkin April 1962
On this bright, frosty, December day, the Tyne was anything but brown and muscled – a sleeping giant. This is almost, but not quite, the view from the back of 1A Ratcliffe Road:
According to Wiki: “One of his better-known later poems Show Saturday is dedicated to the 1973 Bellingham Show, which they attended. They also went to the tar barrel ceremony in Allendale, and dined at Blanchland. It was a record of Tommy Armstrong’s Trimdon Grange Explosion which Larkin heard at the cottage that prompted him to write his own late poem The Explosion.”
“I am always trying to ‘preserve’ things by getting other people to read what I have written, and feel what I felt.” – Philip Larkin: Letters to Monica
Like many of us.