February 15th – A grey, lightless day, but still atmospheric. I popped out at lunchtime, not wanting to go too far as I was still resting and in recovery mode.
I slid up to Chasewater on the canal, and my favourite tree at Home Farm looked skeletal against the mist. The canal itself was deathly still, and I saw few people around. A tough day to take photos, and not a great riding day, either; but I did enjoy the spin.
Hopefully the weather will brighten and we’ll get a touch of spring soon…
February 7th – The season of sunsets continues, with a lovely hazy one that I chased from Lichfield to Hammerwich. It was a beautiful, ever changing sky, and sadly, it was passed by the time I got to the spot I really wanted to see it from.
But, as it happened, the pictures didn’t turn out to bad.
January 31st – A sunset return on a very cold evening, with little energy. I came from Burntwood with leaden limbs, but the wind behind me; the combination of sunset, street lights and traffic made me think of the cover of Green on Red’s ‘Killer inside Me’ – beautiful, but hard.
I found it so hard, I hopped onto the canal, and wound my way on that back to Brownhills. I couldn’t deal with my tiredness and the traffic.
January 30th – These images don’t look much, but click on them and take a look at larger versions. Fifteen second exposures over the canal to the east at Clayhanger, one catches orion in the sky beautifully.
These were an experiment I didn’t expect much from. They worked better than I ever hoped.
January 30th – A long day. Out early, the commute was odd. I wrapped up for very cold, a thin layer of snow still on the ground here. But as I got to Rushall, the air felt warmer and there was less and less snow. In Walsall, hardly any sign at all. I was sweating. I guess I rode over a weather front. It’s not every day you do that.
On the way back that evening, it was chilly in Walsall and warmer as I got closer to home. The snow had melted during the day, and the sky was clear. With a little moonlight and long exposure, Clayhanger Bridge looked fine in the night.
Strange weather, lately.
January 27th – Heading back to Brownhills, dusk now getting later and later. Tis pleases me, and the opening out is now well underway. Another cold month or two, and then, hopefully, spring. Right now, it’s still a battle, but it’s one I’m winning; this winter hasn’t seemed as dark as others in recent years and I’ve felt a lot better about it.
I am looking forward to leaves, colour and warmth again, though.
All in good time.
January 27th – It’s been over a year since I reported the brickwork n the local canals collapsing into the water – both on the bend between Pier Street and Catshill junction, and on the stretch between Catshill and Clayhanger Bridge.
The Canal & River Trust came out once, and erected safety tape, which the guys cutting the grass removed.
Since then, loads of other spots have deteriorated.
This cavity is large enough to trap a bicycle wheel or child’s foot. If you rode or stepped into it, you’d fall into the canal.
Watch out folks – the C&RT don’t give a toss so you’d better be on your guard.
January 25th – This had turned into Lloyd Cole’s lost weekend. Little was going right and I’d spent hours trying to battle with technology, and achieved little.
I escaped in the evening, into a desolate, somnambulant Brownhills, and cruised around the town centre happily lost in my search for a picture.
Sometimes, it’s good just to put the stuff down, get on the bike, start pedalling and stop thinking.
January 23rd – A warning to fellow cyclists and walkers on the canal near Clayhanger Bridge in Brownhills. Some kind of work has been undertaken on the sluice set into the towpath, and the sheet steel covers now are proud with a void around the edges.
It’s a real trip hazard, and I can’t imagine what the people who left it like this were thinking.
Take care.
January 23rd – on a grey, murky afternoon I cycled down the canal from Aldridge. I’d headed for the canal as I often do to escape the traffic, which seemed overly aggressive as I’d hit it during the school run.
Passing the Weinerburger Brick marl pit at Stubbers Green, I took a look into the void through the fence. It doesn’t get deeper, but it grows steadily, by gradual removal, dumper after dumper of red marl heading to the moulds and then the kilns.
That’s a lot of bricks come out of there. And what a huge scar on the landscape. But the one ever-present thing here – the familiar, warm smell of bricks being fired – is, like Burntwood’s permanent smell of vinegar – one of the ways I know I’m near home.
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