A local outing on a grey day

To paraphrase a poem from childhood, ‘Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey. I had nothing to do and nothing to say. We were nearing the end of a dismal day, And then there seemed to be nothing beyond, Then I ran into the pond!’ Well past three small tarns, all of which are artificially enlarged by damming for water supplies and power for the nearby village of Burneside, feeding the paper mill there.  There was nothing spectacular about this outing; I went up through the very muddy woods, along Occupation Road (a job creation scheme of the late 18th / early 19th century I understand) around the tarns, and back along the road in the warm November drizzle.

The skies were decidedly dull, the views moderately interesting, but it was great, just to be out.  If nothing else, there’s the smell of wet earth, of sheep poo, even petrol and diesel, and dare I mention it sweat! My cheap hi-vis top and beanie add nothing to venting, but at least it makes my arrival more obvious so that other people can give me a wide berth! Low scale, local, nothing spectacular. But sometimes these things are just ok as they are.