Tag: junction

May 28th – I got to the floating market at Fazeley about 3:30pm, when the sun was out and conditions were good. It was a much smaller event than the year before, but still quite lovely, but I was struck by the lack of visitors. I have no idea why folk weren’t here; maybe the local advertising was poor. Perhaps earlier showers had put them off. Perhaps previous years had been disappointing.

Whatever the cause, it was sad as it was a nice event that I think potentially could have been larger and better attended. As usual, the boater dogs were the stars of the show and were charming and funny.

The boaters too were welcoming and friendly and I’d love to see this event prosper, but serious work is going to have to be done somewhere to make it happen.

May 24th – Sorry for the surfeit of wildfowl chick photos, but the families are fascinating me more than usual this year, and they make a lovely distraction from some of the awful events in the human world.

The Canada goose family at Catshill Junction is thriving, with the goslings growing every time I see them. This week they have very nearly doubled in size, and as they grow larger, they’ll be out of prey range for most predators. This group have fared well, and still number 12 chicks.

I love to see this little guys dozing. You can’t not adore them.

May 19th – Much of the journey was an errand in Digbeth. I visited the Custard Factory, the hipster area that once promised so much, but these days seems to be a sort of holding area for a failed urban arts dream; but beyond it I found the River Rea, skulking through Digbeth like a dirty secret. 

Also in the backstreets, the bizarre, never finished abandoned Duddeston Railway Viaduct, partially built by the Great Western Railway to gain access to Birmingham New Street, but abandoned half-built when they built their own station at Snow Hill instead, now standing as a sort of infrastructure curiosity, barely noticed by most people who visit.

Returning through Aston and Gravelly Hill, I passed from Salford Park to Aston itself, along the cycleway by the Tame, snaking under the motorway and Cross City Line viaducts. The 1960s motorway revolution heard you liked viaducts, so they put another viaduct over the one you already had.

Birmingham is about it’s arteries: river, canal, rail and road. They both bisect the city, and give it character and history, and I love them all.

May 9th – A terrible, hurried phone photo, but I noticed that the Canada geese had hatched a new brood in the last 24 hours near Catshill Junction. In the dawn light they were resting, and dad was stood guard nearby, whilst mum had the rest of her clutch under her right wing.

Canada geese get such a hard time from wildlife purists but they’re fascinating creatures. With a very tough day ahead, the sight of this new family really brightened my day.

May 9th – I had to be out very early for something I couldn’t cycle to, so took in an early circuit of the canal at 5:30am. Not seeing a soul, I enjoyed the peace and quiet. Fascinated at the moment by the sheer quantity of organic flotsam and jetsam in the canal, with everything from blossom petals to dead reed foliage. I suppose it’s a feature of the season, but never really noticed it to this extent before.

There’s something very otherworldly about breaking out of your routine and just riding for the hell of it very early in the morning.

April 30th – Heading back to Brownhills I crossed Catshill Junction and noted that whilst it was hello spring and green leaves for me, the emergence of foliage meant goodbye daylight for the unfortunate residents of the new flats where Bailey House used to stand.

The failure of the landlords – Walsall Housing Group – and the Canal and River Trust to at least agree a management plan for this scrub is baffling to me. It must adversely affect the residents, and destroys what would be a decent view for them.

Meanwhile, the sculpture placed at Catshill Junction when the towpaths were refurbished in the same scrub is being enveloped once more.

I find it baffling that no plan for this, or better placement of the sculpture, wasn’t worked out by the developers. It’s a genuine and real failure.

March 20th – With the start of my beloved British Summer Time less than a week away now (not that I’m counting the days at all) it was strange to get as far as Brownhills on a normal time commute and it still be pretty much light.

The morning commute had been awful – driving rain and a headwind – but the late afternoon had been sunny, if much colder than the previous day.

Hopping onto the canal at the Black Cock Bridge the towpaths were sodden, but I enjoyed the ride.

Stopping to photograph the view from Catshill Junction before my return to Brownhills, apart from the huge expanses of standing water, you’d not have known that most of the day had been so intemperate.

March 3rd – A bad day when it barely stopped raining all day.

I had to be in Birmingham early, and took short rides in the morning and early evening. The weather was foul, and my mood little better.

Thankfully, good news, a mind at rest and the company of a very good friend helped no end.

Some days make you glad they’re over.

March 1st – For me now is the time of the half-light. My morning commutes are well into light now, and most welcome that is; but evening commutes are mostly on the cusp of day and night, light and dark, optimism and pessimism. 

This commute started in a grey, overcast light with a strong tailwind and and the threat of rain that arrived as I rode the canal back to Brownhills. The sky though, transformed from a grey murk into a remarkable, beautiful, luminous blue which captivated me.

Even though it was raining, I couldn’t miss capturing this.

Within 10 minutes, the light had died and night had fully fallen – but I was so glad I caught the moment.

January 30th – A thoroughly uninspiring day’s riding. I travelled to work on a murky, damp Monday morning and there wasn’t even visible trace of the dawn. 

In the evening, I left Darlaston in light but persistent drizzle that found every not-quite done up zip and flap in my clothes, with a crosswind that made the whole journey an ordeal.

Still, it’s staying late much later now than a month ago – a whole hour – and I keep looking at the green shoots on verges and in parks and know that darkness will reach it’s end soon.

I contented myself with a handful of shots of the canal on my way back to Brownhills, all the time dreaming of warmer, lighter, better days.