19th May 2010 Celebration Time – COME ON!!!
Today started strangely with a cascade of water heard from my sleeping bag slumber at around 5:00 a.m. It turned out to be a rather large horse having a pee next to the tent! So much for it being an empty field.
Up onto the moor, after a crunchy nut breakfast, east of Lady Bower Reservoir and a couple of hours searching and hoping for a reported Montagu's Harrier. No sign of it unfortunately, another dip. There was a pair of Ring Ouzel though, a few Curlew and lot of Red Grouse [200]. Celebration Time …. a terpsichorean moment! I almost trod on one of the Red Grouse as one took off in a hurry right by me. Looking down there were a few eggs in a nest. This being the reason for the bird's delayed departure.
On leaving the Moor, and having cycled and pushed the bike about six miles
further, a phone call from an Upton Warren friend, Phil Andrews to say that the
Montagu's Harrier was now re-found on moorland about ten miles south east of
where I was. I must be honest, despite wanting to go, I was too exhausted from
yesterday's efforts to face the twenty five mile round trip to the new location
of the harrier. I would probably regret that later but at that moment sitting
there listening to Phil's directions and realising that I had Holmfirth and
Saddleworth Moor to reach and cross yet, the wisest, well laziest, decision
seemed to soldier on.
Crossbills and Siskin, Cuckoos and Stonechats, all decent birds well seen and
another celebration was in order when I received a phone call from my
fabulously brilliant daughter, who had just passed her driving test first time.
Well done Rebecca! I failed my first driving test because I did not have a
driving license. Oops.
To Holmfirth and a cup of hot chocolate in Sid's Café, exactly as one might have seen it on the television in Last of the Summer Wine. A little later and further on I was invited in to look at Nora Batty's kitchen by two lovely people from Middlesbrough, Geoff and Margaret Johnson. Nora Batty's house was a Bed and Breakfast! Great idea but where were those famous saggy tights?
I bought a new pair of trousers at a charity shop in the town; the previous pair were a tad dirty. The lady who served me, Jan Widdop, had a son who taught at The Bromsgrove School, about a mile away from the school I was absconding from at that moment, Rigby Hall Special School. Bromsgrove School is a Private school and I had been there a couple of times when they had been kind enough to lend Rigby a minibus. Beautiful grounds and buildings, it always seems such a shame to me that this sort of educational system is hidden away from the main populous and left exclusively for the rich; an elite that creates social divisions. Now do not get me onto my political stance. No why not? Soap box time . . Ban Private Schools!
This
is a gentle birdwatching book, isn't it, yet I would love to see a British
society for all of its people, unlike it is at the moment.
Back to the birding and site seeing, one hundred miles cycled in two days. “Not
bad for an old slap-head of fifty three,” I told myself.
Tea of sausage and chips at Compo's chip shop, Compo, a nickname some
schoolchildren gave me back when I was that Secondary biology teacher in
Wolverhampton. Then up and over Saddleworth Moor, to a RSPB reserve named Dove
Stone, towards Oldham. Nora Batty's Bed & Breakfast, Compo's Chip Shop,
Sid's café. Where were Cleggy and Foggy?
Later
as I cycled along the long, straight road over the moor and not knowing any
better, I wondered if the large white polythene sacks along one section were
search holes and spoil from the infamous and evil Myra Hindley and Paul Brady
murders that have been in the news yet again.
Still having reached the splendid views of Dove Stone RSPB Reserve, as
the road dived down towards the Greater
Manchester conurbation, I pitched camp amongst some trees with the area
overlooking the large reservoirs far below and settled down for the night. This
was after having a quiet evening enjoying the company of another tent laden
traveler who had a violin with him. I cannot recall his name but I do remember
enjoying the music before time meant that sleep was in order.
Tickle My
Feathers
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