Photos - Wheeldale beck

The photos below came through this morning.  A favourite place Paul and I would  drive to with Lucy who also adored it. And yes I have written often of it before, but will still go on doing it!  You drove through Pickering on the road to the village of Newton-on-Rawcliffe and then a narrow country lane till you reached the moors and then dipping down to the beck.  Carry on past the stopping place, here you would rise again sharply up the hill till you once more traversed the straight road.  On either side occasional standing stones.  Probably as a reminder when the snow fell of the road to follow. 

One photo shows a cottage we viewed in Rawcliffe.  Pretty village with plenty of good walks but the cottage was a disappointment. Although long, it was broken down into two rooms downstairs and one very large bedroom and then two smaller ones.  What with hardly any garden at the back and a shared drive we did not buy.  The people who were selling this place were converting the rest of 'the garden' and the barn that resided on it. Close neighbours.  Cables for underfloor heating for the barn (from the ground) was also underway, and rather worryingly a gate from the cottage's garden into their land. 

Photos from my daughter keep popping up on my phone.  Missed flight yesterday meant courtesy hotel room from the airline, and a rather dodgy looking courtesy breakfast this morning.  Now another photo of a  corridor appears, "hopefully get to Switzerland today" is the tag.

So to the photos, probably another favourite place on this earth for me, wilderness untrammelled by houses.  Rowan trees, their berries taken by birds and spread around so that eventually the Rowan tree dominates, and then mushrooms, growing strangely by the intrusive firs that had been planted by the Forestry.

Paul would not allow Lucy into the beck, wet dogs were not allowed in the car!  but she would sneak off, not listening to him.  It was a beautiful place, the great tumble of rocks in the beck, millenium had made it happen, though of course the slopes were covered in bracken and heather.  Some would say scrub land but on part of the moor was an old 'Roman road'.  Though it could have been older or a later Saxon one.  It came from the Cawthorn Camps on its way to the coast.

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Jump of joy for being in her 'happy place'