The ups and downs of the caped crusader...

It wasn't sunny by a long shot, but at least it wasn't raining. It's been a crap summer AGAIN. You just don't know what to expect when you go out. You may start the day in a T-shirt, find yourself battling a storm by lunchtime, and then sweltering in tropical humidity all afternoon.
Anyway, the environment had stabilised sufficiently to risk going out for a walk. I headed off north west to the hill known as The Wrekin. I decided to give the easy path to the summit a miss and elected to take a more direct route straight up the steep section through the woods. The gravity was particularly strong that day (that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it), and a 12kg rucksack packed to cope with every eventuality probably didn't help, but I found it hard going.

By the time I'd reached the top, I was completely knackered. I lay motionless on the rocks until I'd recovered, only to realise that the resident crows had gathered around me, hoping that I'd died and they were in for a mighty meal. Not wanting to disappoint them I shared some of my picnic. They repaid me with some ariel acrobatics, soaring and skiffling in the increasing wind.

A Peregrine Falcon put in a brief appearance, but not for long enough for me to grab a photo. I've never seen a bird move so fast, pull such G's, or dive in such a death defying way... incredible.

Much recovered, I donned my picnic blanket as a cape (capes are making a comeback) and strode off against the now gale force winds.

The path of choice was steep and direct, and I soon found myself at the bottom. I stood up and made my way back to the car.

Exploring some twisting country lanes, I came across the towns of Coalbrookdale and Ironbridge. This area is known as the birthplace of the 'Industrial Revolution'.

The whole area is bathed in history. Everywhere you look there is some legacy of invention. The famous bridge built over the River Severn (completed in 1781) was designed by Abraham Darby III. It was the first arch bridge in the world to be made out of cast iron, a material which was previously far too expensive to use for large structures. The Darby family developed advances in smelting that allowed cheaper and higher quality casting as demonstrated by the amazing way this bridge is slotted together using mortise and tenon, and dovetail joints.

These new smelting and casting processes allowed almost anything to be produced and led the way for machines to move forward, and outwards across the world.

You realise how dedicated the town was to this newly invented industry when you see that even the kerb stones were made of metal.

I clambered into my new fangled metal perambulation engine, and headed for home...

"All Around the Wrekin", or, "The long way round"....

The Wrekin is a well known landmark hill and is easy to find despite the unhelpful signs.
At 1335 feet it is a bit of a slog, but pretending to admire the view halfway up allows you to catch your breath. It really doesn't help your self esteem, when, as you slowly puff your way ever upwards, local athletes using the climb as part of their training come bounding past like gazelles....
As I got ever higher the view unfurled itself, mist draped across the valleys.
'The Wrekin' is a corruption of the ancient English 'Uriconion', a Celtic name.
For some time after the Norman invasions it was called Mount Gilbert after a hermit that once resided on its slopes.
The summit is occupied by an iron age hill fort thought to be built by the Cornovii tribe, the same people that created the huge fort of 'Castle Ring' in Cannock Chase. The Wrekin was their capital.
To the West, the tips of the Welsh mountains poked through the low cloud.
We sat atop the sun warmed rock peak eagerly awaiting the spectical of the sunset.
I'd hoped to get a great photo of the hills, mist filled valley and perhaps the snaking glint of the meandering River Severn in the golden evening light, but the clouds rose and obscured the view.
We drank our flasked coffee and nibbled some Hazelnuts I'd roasted on a small fire.
Homeward bound, the toposcope more helpful than the local signs, we headed off....

"From little acorns...."

This is Chris and Alex, Russell and Maxines cheeky chappies. See them at http://russandmax.blogspot.com/ . Sitting in their rocking chairs you might think they're ready to retire, but actually they are just about to complete their first year! To mark this milestone I decided to plant them a tree....

Grown from seed and now fully 'hardened off' this Common Ash needs a home. Ash are hardy, robust and grow huge.

They're also very heavy!

So, where do we plant it? It needs to be somewhere that it can have a chance of maturing, undisturbed by developments. 'Rock Hill' near Hints village seems ideal. It may not look that promising from the map, but it is high up, accessible by footpath, and the area is already planted with saplings as a continuation of the 'National Forest', so it should be left alone.

Unfortunately the hill is also nearly 500ft, and I've got to lug a tree, a water carrier, spade and anything else up to the top! I'm pleased to introduce my faithful Sherpa...Jenny.

At the top, once my vision cleared and the palpitations slowed, I began to dig the necessary hole. There were some bad words said as my spade repeatedly bounced off the surface. It was like concrete. Luckily it was only a crust of 'bunter' pebbles and once through it got substantially easier.

These might look like something you would hang in a budgie cage, but actually the soil is a bit sandy up here and in its early years this little sapling will need this slow release fertilizer until its roots are big enough to cope. They remind me of those sesame snaps you can buy in health food stores. I am a bit peckish after all that digging..I wonder...NO, nasty!

All tucked in, and just in the nick of time, the wind is picking up and it looks like rain. Tethered to a firm stake by a degradable sleeve, I give it a final water and, that's it for another 200+ years!

The views up here are great. You can see for miles in most directions, and it's the best place for watching sunsets.

When little Alex and Chris are older this is where they can find their tree.

And because my 7 year old GPS isn't very accurate, look for this sign next to it. It should last, your names are burnt onto a 2 inch thick slab of oak.

Not so sure about the durability of my crude (only had a sheath knife) carving, but should it deteriorate you can whittle your own now you've got your matching rocking chairs!

Another bird falls 'fowl'.....

It was a lovely day today...really warm (18.c). I had a nice long sleep and got up late. I had a cup of tea and something to eat while sitting lazily on the bench outside...I'll go for a walk in the country, I thought. Somewhere not too far. So, I drove down through Little Hay heading towards the village of Hints. A gentle cruise along country lanes, windows down, rural smells lifting my spirits (yes, I know it's just cow poo... but for some reason it smells good....well no, I don't think that's strange..ohh it's just me then!), not a care in the world...AHH, SCREECH, BANG...FEAThers ("oh, the humanity")... 'Baby faced' micra claims another victim. I pick up a floppy pheasant. "Might be just stunned" my inner child remarks. Laid out on the embankment (in the recovery position), I sheepishly drive off; mirror, signal, manouvere, hands at ten to three (might be someone watching).

A lovely walk, lakes, hills, skylarks, views, buzzards...all is forgotten.

On the return drive, the horrors return. A familar stretch of lane, skid marks. I'd better check to see if it woke up alright. Damn, still there. Gentle shaking reveals an unhopeful 'stiffness'. Feelings of guilt are quickly alleviated when as I drive off, yet another pheasant sprints suicidally towards the car. An emergency stop, and angry remanstration with the chap results with its speedy exit. This week as last, the machette will do its stuff, the feathers will be plucked and I will realise that dinner does not always come in a vacuum packed, non suffering convenience tray.