West Keal & Old Bolingbroke

On Saturday Rachael and I headed out for a spot of walking, just a bit over six miles, although I firmly believe that you get extra credit for walking uphill!
Or maybe the bonus for walking uphill is getting to see the stunning views. Never let it be said that Lincolnshire is really flat.
We started off at West Keal, although were somewhat unnerved to discover that it wasn't even on the map. I made the fairly safe assumption that if we headed to East Keal (which was on the map) that West Keal couldn't be too far away!

I love old churches, I just do, although I'm sure these little gargoyle fellows were crossed with owls.

I'm such a sucker for old things even the lantern looked pretty to me.

I think my camera favours bad weather though, it's somehow managed to make it look stormy out there and although it was pretty windy on occasion, it was a lovely warm day and not in the least stormy, don't believe the grey clouds!

We had ourselves a picnic lunch with this view:

I'll admit it doesn't really look that impressive, but this is Bolingbroke Castle, the birthplace of King Henry IV and to be fair, I'd be fairly ruined if I'd been created in 1220.
However, the walls are carved with the name of a different King:

I like to believe that I can really imagine how it was when this was all moat, when they got to pull up the drawbridge and keep out those damned marauding invaders.

Is it just me or does anyone else find those vintage petrol pumps really attractive? I have no idea what it is, I just really love them. At least I don't have room to start collecting them...

The Wolds are an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Goes without saying really doesn't it?

Okay, so I love vintage petrol pumps and I love tree stumps.

This walk marked the virgin expedition of my foraging bag, superbly created by my Mum so that I could collect fruits and nuts easily. It swings over my shoulder, sits on my hip and I can slip all my bounty in there and carry it off home with me.
As we walked I spotted a lovely little apple tree on the side of the road. The apples were quite small but I decided that they looked so good I had to risk it.
I did the gentle lift and twist and they came away in my hand, ripe and ready.
However, aforementioned tree was at the top of a gentle slope populated with nettles, I was scarcely balanced, holding one end of a branch as I picked a few apples. I had not chosen well, the branch I was relying on for support was past its best and decided to leave the rest of the tree. Or rather the twig part I was holding on to gave up and headed for greener pastures, trying to encourage me to join it.

I did that classic arm windmill in a desperate effort not to become one with the nettles, regained my balance, glanced at Rachael and decided that maybe it was time to move on and leave the rest of the apples just where they were.
See how shiny and red it is though?
See how easy it was to be tempted?

For me, the nicest thing about a good walk is when you get to the end and you're not ready to fall over, when you feel invigorated. You've seen the countryside. You've seen it up close, picking those nuts and fruits and you've seen it far off in the distance when the skies are clear, the sun is shining and you can see for miles and miles.
I've realised I'm not a group walker, I want to walk at my own pace, sometimes quickly and sometimes just sauntering along, looking at the butterflies, flowers, grasshoppers and trees. I want to sit on the hillside, eat an apple I picked just moments ago and appreciate the beauty of where I am.

Baslow Edge - The Peak District

On Friday Rachael and I went for a wander in the Peak District, now it might look a little overcast, and it was a little windy, but my goodness it's beautiful:


It didn't take at all long to get there and it's remarkable how the scenery changes in such a relatively short distance. From the almost flat Lincolnshire, to the distinctive hills and valleys of The Peak District in just a couple of hours.
I loved these rocky outcrops, the way they appeared to have been positioned, whilst they leave me wondering just how long they've been there. Some have some wonderful shapes to them, as if they've been carved out by a human hand.
I have no idea why I didn't expect to see cows, but I didn't, and this one was interested in the scenery too. Or me.
Whilst this one was clearly disinterested in me. Harsh.
Now I know I'm only short, but those there boulders are bigger than I am, and that's the footpath that runs between them. It got pretty intimate between those rocks and I at times, let me tell you.
Then I found this:
I'm not at all sure what it is, we'd wondered about it being a plague stone but it seemed a long way from any developments. Or maybe that's the whole point.
I'd really like to know what it was for, and in fact what those carved letters represent. I find myself becoming more and more interested in the history of these things, in a way I never was before.
Now, this is Eagle Stone:
Apparently young gentlemen would have to climb it in order to show their fitness to marry. Rather them than me. It's hard to see the scale here, but I guess it's at least 6 or 7 times taller than I am. As we slowly made our way towards it, there was a man definitely attempting to climb it and he didn't appear to be doing very well, so I'm guessing he's going to remain unmarried for a while yet.

I'm such a genius. I was standing and staring at this carved stone sign trying to work out what on earth it said. I stood there uttering the words as they were carved:
CHESTE
RFEILD
ROADE
Chesty? Arfield? Roadey? What the hell?
Oh no, wait.
Chesterfield Road.
Of course.
I won't embarrass myself by admitting how long it took me to get that.
They totally spelt field wrong though. That was what confused me. Ahem.

And then there were more cows. With big horns. Really big horns. With sharp points. However it would seem grass holds far more interest than ladies with rucksacks.
Although this might be how a cow looks disdainful. Got it down hasn't she?
I have a feeling that she might be smirking at my windswept appearance.
Anyway, our walk progressed, I moaned petulantly each time there was an uphill stretch. I like the flat, I'm not built to clamber over boulders. I'm just not, I know my limits!
That said, I will accept it's good to stretch myself, even if I do end up a little puce in the face. Or rather, glowing in a ladylike manner.
It was a really good walk, we went through the heather, then through the boulders, through woods (I'd like to thank the mosquitoes for all of their attention) and we made our way down gashes in the hillside.
At one point the instructions told us that the way would be clear but overgrown.
They weren't kidding.
The path in front of me became precarious and I felt obliged to photograph it.
Now, it doesn't look that bad, however, those dead leaves, they're like inches and inches deep. Your whole foot disappears, causing you to be a little wobbly.
I must have sensed something as I took this photo, as immediately after it was taken I attempted to descend, which I did, albeit faster than I'd intended and made a graceful landing into those ferns at the top of the photo.

I sat there for a second, one leg in front, one behind, totally (impressively) uninjured and started to giggle. The giggle became a full blown guffaw and I absolutely couldn't stand. I could barely breathe through the laughing. I had no idea where Rachael was as she'd descended before me and vanished from sight. Apparently she heard me go down, I probably swore (profanity is my friend), which was swiftly followed by my hysterical laughter, so she figured I was ok. She said afterwards that she could tell I was laughing so hard there was no way I'd be getting up.
I swear, I have not laughed that hard in a really, really long time.
There's something about those real belly laughs that are really good for your soul.
Even now, I'm having a wee giggle to myself.

We apparently were only walking for 6 miles, but I'll tell you it felt a lot, lot longer. With the heat and the climbing and clambering I was absolutely shattered. As we rounded the corner to the road that led back to the car park, I repeatedly called for Jeff in the hope she would become like Michael Knight's car KITT and come and fetch me, but alas no, she waited for me to emerge, somewhat ruffled and pink.

As we were almost at the car park I noticed something in the road.
"Look!" I said to Rachael, "someone ran over a snake! What are the odds of running over a snake? It's an adder too, they're not even that common! Did you see it? A snake, I mean I've only even seen an adder once or twice before, that's amazing."
At this point in my babble I remembered that Rachael has a snake phobia. I'm a good friend, me.

Finally Jeff's lovely turquoise features appeared on the horizon, I stumbled into the car park, flung open her doors and hugged her. Because the rear door slides, like a van, you can actually hug her when the front door is open too.
It was a good walk, but by crikey I was pleased to be done.