Saturday 12 July 2014

Camping . . . in the Wye Valley

Camping! I haven't been camping in years . . . but it seemed like a good idea when it was suggested that Mr B and I join my brother and his missus on a short trip to the Wye Valley. I have long wanted to visit Symonds Yat Rock, up for adventure, Mr B agreed the dates and bags were duly packed.

Dinner was booked on our first evening at the Saracens Head - what we hadn't realised though, was that it requires a hand pulled ferry to get us to our table!  
Morning, walking down through the woods to the Wye.
There is a small suspension footbridge over the Wye near Symonds Yat East, narrow and very bouncy - first built by the forestry commission in 1957. 

Naturally, you feel the urge to walk with a bit of a bounce in your step, but it does feel a little flimsy and with a weathered sign requesting no more than 6 people cross at one time we behaved ourselves!
A steep footpath leads from the village (where the Saracens Head is) up to Symonds Yat Rock.
Our campsite is on top of the hill in the middle of this scene.
The views are well worth the walk up . . .
Enjoying a little rest before we trot back down the hillside.
It is possible to trace human habitation in the area back to about 12,000 years ago. King Arthurs cave on the Great Doward (very close to the campsite) is a site of archaeological interest, both hyena and Sabre-toothed tiger bones have been uncovered here.
The footpaths are quirky . . . from steep passageways between buildings,
to impressive cliff faces.
A patient Rufus waits in't pub.
Returning over the Wye after supper for a moonlit stroll back up to our campsite . . . magic.
A post breakfast relax prior to packing up, and both puppy dogs wait patiently to be taken for a walk before getting back in the car for the long journey home.

Tuesday 8 July 2014

The Power of Plants

We've been away for an awful lot of this year, and the garden has been left mostly to it's own devices. 

But, even with such benign neglect I am rewarded with a harvest for the grey, wet months that will come. I sit picking black currants, which are hidden among the borage and late forget-me-nots, and contemplate the marjoram that is romping about the vegetable beds, and the emergent rosebay willowherb and feel happy because I can hear so many bees working the flowers.

I know that nothing will be cleared as today I'm off again, this time to go camping near Symonds Yat and I can't wait as I love that part of the country.
I can allow myself these jaunts because plants will get on with it whether I'm around to weed and water or not . . . being away for part of April and May I thought I had a bit of a disaster on my hands, in as much as I hadn't planted the spuds until 6th June, by the 25th June they looked promising . . .
and now in early July they look much as I would have expected had I planted them in mid April. The power of plants eh!