Tag: mist

June 3rd – The photography was as lousy as the weather. The light was grim and every interesting shot was into the rain. Splashing despondently along the canal to Chasewater, something caught my eye. There was, in the midst of the rain, a temperature inversion going on. It was colder than it had been for days, and the canal water was clearly warmer than the air, and it was gently, almost imperceptibly, generating mist. I stood in the rain, watching the steam form and disperse, mesmerised. There’s beauty everywhere if you look for it. Even in Brownhills. In the rain. 

March 28th – Misty mornings are the order of the week, and I’m so glad that I’m cycling to Lichfield throughout this distinctly summery spell. The days are warm, still and glorious, the evenings deceptively chilly. But the mornings? I see the countryside just after sunrise. Shrouded in lazy mist, golden light and curious patches of grey. I wouldn’t have missed the last few morning commutes for anything. Today, I had time to spare and dropped off Pipe Hill down the back lanes, down over the old level crossing to Deans Slade. Captivating. 

March 26th – The morning fog, as Kate Bush would have it. A gorgeous speedy ride into Lichfield to catch the train to Leicester. I came out at sunrise, and there seemed to be some kind of inversion. An ethereal, patchy mist clung to hollows and hedges, in places only a couple of feet high. I could have photographed it for hours, but my train was due…

February 12th – Another headache grey day. The chill had lifted, but the canal was still frozen as I spun out at 4pm. It had been a grey, grim, dank and misty day. It felt warm, though, and as I rode up from Brownhills and over Catshill Junction toward The Anchor it felt oddly pleasant. I noted that the fishermen had broken the ice here so that they could fish – that seemed a bit hardcore. I pottered on, darkness descended like a muffler, bringing with is thicker mist. Not the best day for photography, and I didn’t see a soul. An oddly lonely, desolate ride.

January 29th – I went to bed last night wholly expecting to wake up to a frosty, crisp, bright day. I was to head to Cannock Chase, maybe over Shugborough. Sadly, I hadn’t bothered to check the weather. What I woke up to was a miserable, dank, dark and dismal day. I busied myself with other things and headed out for a spin late afternoon, just before the light began to die. I went up around the new pond at Clayhanger, then back into Brownhills and up the old Railway Line to Ryders Mere. Not a soul about, only the old fox I normally see here at sundown, looking bedraggled and fed up. We both stood stock still for a few seconds, and then he turned tail and trotted off. That fox always fascinates me – I think that to him, humans are just unpredictable, odd looking foxes, tolerable company if we keep still and mind our own business.

He looked grey today. The landscape was grey. Everything looked the same. I hate days like this.

November 21 – Back in Telford today. I had hoped for a change in the weather, but it was still lightless, grey and misty at 9am. At least on Telford’s network of traffic free cycle routes I didn’t have the drivers to worry about. Just like Redditch, there are miles and miles of this kind of track around the town.It’s such a shame that hardly any of it is mapped…

November 20th – The daylight, such as it managed on this grim, mist-sodden day, gave up early and headed for the pub. At 4:15, it was nearly dark, and at Shenstone, the pumping station lights were on full blast – someone must have been working in there, they aren’t normally on. It’s nice to know that even on grim, grey, lightless Sundays, the essential services are working to keep things flowing smoothly.

October 26th – It was with some surprise that a noticed quite a dense mist over the countryside south of Birmingham as I zipped through on the train. I love misty mornings like this, and when they happen, I try to get near water where the mist is most beautiful. Fortunately, today I was passing through the Arrow Valley in Redditch anyway, and it didn’t disappoint. The park as a whole was gorgeous, wreathed in a thin, billowy mist, but the lake stole the show. I was so absorbed by it, I was very nearly late… but it was worth it.

September 1st – An hour and a half later I was cruising to work down the Arrow Valley cycle route in central Redditch (Part of route 5, the same one that traverses Walsall from last weekend) and the morning was blessed with a mellow, hazy sunlight that lit everything in a kindly glow and highlighted a remaining, soft mist. I stopped to watch it rising of the boating lake. This part of Redditch is rather beautiful, and all credit to the authorities for that.

I often see that guy with the dog running beside his bike. The dog is free and not on a lead, and loves to run with his mate. He looks back at me smugly every few yards – I swear that mutt is laughing. I rarely have the heart to overtake these friends enjoying their morning communion.

September 1st – Autumn continued to tap me on the shoulder as I left at sunrise for work. The cold night air had caused the finest, lowest of mists that hung in hollows, against hedges and huddled round houses. This was truly magical, and I seemed to enjoy it almost alone. I saw few others – if only the people of England could see it. I was very nearly late for my train as I spent too long taking pictures. By the time I reached Four Oaks, the mist had burnt off and this rare beauty passed unknown to the yawning commuters who joined my train, bleary and yawning.