At The Stumpy Oak Cross

This is Hawson Cross: a wayside marker for the old monastic route the ‘Monks Way’. Its stood side by side with that ‘Stumpy Oak’; one of only two on Dartmoor that are officially recognised as being, “historic oak trees”.

The tree is still alive but with a hollowed out trunk.

Its easy to imagine the cross and the oak becoming as one – given enough entropy to mystically merge them together.

I happened upon this stumpy oak and cross ‘memorial’ just outside Scorriton.
It was being a mildly munificent Spring afternoon.
I could hear all the song birds twittering about. But I couldn’t get at them with the camera. Birds don’t want to be seen. Leave them be.

See the sheep instead. Like this pair of scruffs.

Whoever’s sheared them didn’t do a very good job (probably shorn by that blind old bat in the Specsavers ad)

Walking on a bit further and what do I see? Yet more scruffiness.

Poor chap couldn’t see what he was doing. Kept bumping into trees.

In need of some serious barbering these shaggy haired toy ponies.

Even this tiny titch, spied through a little gap in the hedge.

Could have done with a good shampoo and set.

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Woolly Mommeths

A walk to Hembury Woods yesterday morning didn’t fetch up any feathers to film. So in the absence of good bird I resorted to default option B: photoing sheep.

A ton of wool on offer. You could make a couple of cardigans out of that ewes back and still have enough left over for a scarf and 6 pairs of socks.

The springtime lambs were bouncy with tea cosy cuddliness too.

This lamb clocked me and gave me what looks like a little sheepish smile.

Another lamb gave me a bit more of a sniffy look.

In the meantime the wollly mommeths (their munching mothers) chomped relentlessly on.

Chomp chomp chomp. Hardly picking their heads up to look around let alone be bothered by somebody as silly as me.

If they keep chomping at the rate they’re going these curly wooleths will be looking like this by Easter.

(underneath all that tonnage of wool is an Australian chap called Chris. Got himself into the news a few years ago for breaking the world record as the biggest, woolliest, heaviest, sheep ever sheared. Read about it here)

Words & Pics: Ian Nisbet

There was this tortoise crossing the road ….

Walking down Parkfield Rd towards Torquay coach station yesterday I nearly stepped on this.

It was actually much nearer the kerb than pictured there (I’d moved it back a bit)

It had been about to cross the road.
Not a good idea.

I re-picked it up to ascertain if it was still alive.
It was.

As you can see very much still alive.

Where had it come from? Had it just woken up from its long winter hibernation? Was it an escapee? And was it really going to cross that road?

No it wasn’t. Because I wasn’t going to let it. The sweet little fella would have been crunched under the wheels of a car and totally splattered.
I carried it off to a small copse at the back of the street. Placed it down carefully in some scrubby vegetation. Blew it a kiss. Quietly waved it goodbye.

Hopefully its happily still up there munching through the greenery. Content to have been rescued from the concrete jungle below.

At The Games of Lambs

Out to Ela Woods this cloudy afternoon.

And there, just over the hedgerow, is a meadowful of lambs. Maybe only a couple of weeks old.

Looked like they had plenty pop and pep in their springy steps. A nonstop Games of Lambs it was. No hint of bloody slaughter anywhere.

Words & Vid: Ian Nisbet

Sealing the Bay

Seal seen fishing in what might well be his patch (of sea) last Saturday.

Left to right, back and forth, right to left, across Babbacombe Bay he went all afternoon. As easy as you like.
Sealed to the sea he was, as one wedded entity.

What a perfect way to spend your Saturday afternoon.

Also, a little Common Scoter was bobbling about (with what appeared to be plenty of his own fish to fry)

(Or was it a Velvet Scoter?! Too far away to get a positive id)

Words & Vid: Ian Nisbet

Some extra bits from Avon Dam Walk

I didn’t see a lot of bird yesterday, but kept eyes open for whatever else might be around the next nook or cranny.

And there’s always something on offer, something you least expect to see.

Such as these diddy little brown bundles; peering at me through the gauze of their hairy fringes.

Turns out they were a small herd of Scottish Highland cattle relocated, for some no doubt very viable commercial reason, to the bubbly hills of Devon.

Like toy cows, but apparently hardy little buggers.

Perhaps these scruffy fringes help protect their eyes from all those pesky Scottish midges.

A mile from Habourneford you have to go through this dense Tree Tunnel

I’ve often felt slightly spooked whenever I’ve walked through it.
And there always seem to be crows or other portentous black birds flapping furtively about deep inside, as if warning you off.

On the way back from the Dam I could have ended up in
South Bent

Or Fuckfastleigh.
I chose neither.

Despite aching feet, I contentedly tromped my 7 mile walk back

Especially as, when looking across the horizon, I saw this

The sun setting over Brent Hill.

Don’t know that I’d do this long walk to Avon Dam again in a hurry.
But just for yesterday, it was exactly what I needed.

Lambs giving me an earful

Whenever I look at sheep I see something daft going on.

With this lot (of long lambs) – its the ears.

Sticky up and overly enlarged ears, looking purposely megaphonic.

Wide awake ears, immediately too alert to the merest disturbance, the slightest danger.

And yet there is no danger. Just me quietly, unobtrusively, watching them.

Don’t worry you daft apeths – I won’t shoot you with my camera!.

Pics & Words: Ian Nisbet