February 5th – By heck, it was nippy this morning. We’d had the merest icing sugar dusting of snow, but after the almost humid warmth of the preceding period, the cold was a shock, as was the ice on the roads, particularly Wallheath Lane. I stomped and puffed into my hands as the sun rose at Shenstone Station; it caught the clouds beautifully and I reached for the camera.
Some things are worth getting cold for.
January 28th – The weather continues to be warm and windy. Fighting it coming home from work, it was hard to believe that only a few days before, it was sub-zero temperatures and ling snow. No trace remained as I hauled the bike over Shire Oak Hill. The lights of the pub looked welcoming, and the temptation to pop in for a swift pint was strong.
January 27th – The snow, thanks to heavy rain and a sudden ramp in temperature – had gone. Only the remnants of snowmen remained, melancholy mementoes of the whiteness of the week before. The consequent darkness around St. James Church shocked me in it’s foreboding.
I’d been to drop something off to a friend, and the weather was wet, warm and inclement. I cycled up the dark pathway from School Avenue, up past the cemeteries and churchyard, and the church itself was unoccupied at 5:45pm on a Sunday, which I found oddly sad. Brownhills Church is one I’ve always had difficulty with architecturally; It’s not ugly, and it’s not remarkable. Apart from an odd spire and hideous extension, it’s pretty plain, really. It’s position, however, is excellent. It’s like the centre of the town was built around it, and the warren of streets take curious right angles around the grounds.
January 26 – I’d prayed to Thor, the god of meltwalter, but not much happened. We had heavy rain, then it refroze; but skipping out mid day for a sandwich and a brew, there was a sharp ramp-up in temperature, and the thaw set in with some urgency. It actually felt tropical.
I had to admire the British stoicism of the picnickers with flask and camera. They didn’t even have a dog.
Even the sailing club got their boats out.
The riding was terribly poor; the ice on the paths around Chasewater was unridable as it was too mobile; it was like riding on pea gravel.
The bird life is booming at Chasewater; we recently had the largest gull roost in many years, with upwards of 10,000 birds, and the waterfowl on the boating lake are as persistent as ever. I love the domestic white geese and the way they hector me for food.
The water level continues it’s inexorable rise; on January 11th, the water was at 75com from the top of the scale, it’s now 64cm, a rise of 11cm or just over 4 inches. With the huge increase in lake surface area, that’s a immense amount of water.
The 9-foot pool has now joined the main lake through the new bridge, and it won’t be long until the water overtops the weir into the spillway – that is, if it’s allowed to.
It’ll be interesting to see the effects of the thaw.
January 24th – The thaw started today, just a little. Fragments of the day were almost spring-like, if one avoided the snow. The melting wasn’t dramatic, but it formed long, threatening Damacles daggers that hung ominously from gutters and eaves. By the time of the sunset, it was well below freezing once more. The sunset itself was beautiful and dramatic, and I caught it hurriedly, rushing for the train at Tyseley. Some times, it’s hard to beat a good, urban sundown.
I got to Brum about 4:45pm. And it was still light, more or less. We really are opening out now.
January 24th – For the second day running, there was chaos on the trains. Spotting it before I left home, I headed for Walsall, where there seemed to be more chance of actually finding a train going to brim. As it happened, I was lucky. I noted on the way that the roads were now so clear that it was allowing some people to drive like all-out morons again…
On getting to Brum, everything was out of sequence, and I ended up getting a train to Acocks Green., I like the area a lot, but my usual route through the suburb was very icy. The townhouses looked fantastic, however.
January 23rd – The little camera seems to really struggle with light on snowy nights. I’m not enough of a photographer to make it work quite the way I want. But these two shots show something. When I was banging on about gritting a couple of days ago, I was unaware of what a wide and generally welcome reception the piece would get. A good demonstration of my point – that road salt isn’t the magic solution folk think it is – is illustrated in the upper photo, taken at Shelfield lights. I’d been passed by gritters here several times the previous week. With the lack of rain, the brine strength on the road surface must be very high, yet the triangle of slush in the foreground remains. The reason is because the salt isn’t ground in that part by passing traffic, so although it’s been coated in salt numerous times, because there’s no meltwater, the ice remains. There’s a similar band of virgin snow on the centre of the Chester Road that’s been there since last Friday. it must get coated in grit nearly every day.
Returning via Green Lane, I was interested in how the snow lit up the normally dark, wooded road. This road was very clear, and as I came through, a grittier came past in a shower of sharp crystals. In some respects, this road was clearer that the Lichfield Road, and I struggled to understand why. Then I realised – this is a low point. What meltwater does exist, gathers in this lowland. That lane must be like a brine bath.
Must remember to regrease the wheel bearings when the weather warms up… the bike will need to be washed well, too. All this salt will be eating the metalwork…
January 23rd – I think this is the worst cold snap I’ve known since the early 80s. Have to say, I’m loving it; the snow remains to some depth, even in the city, and I like the way it paints everything a new shade of different. As I arrived in Tyseley, it was snowing very heavily. For a few minutes, I stood on the platform in silence, just listening to the gentle susurration of large snowflakes hitting the canopy above my head. Magical.
The temptation this week has been not to go to the station at all, but just to cycle past it and explore, off into white…
January 22nd – A gorgeous morning. It was bitterly cold, but the sun was out, and small patches of mist hovered in the hollows. Today, it was a real joy to be cold, on such a fine winter’s day. The road through Mill Green was challenging, but better.
I couldn’t think of anywhere finer than here and now.
January 22nd – One of the more revealing things about snowy weather is that you can see the trails of your local wildlife. On a gorgeously sunny, but very, very cold morning commute, I stopped at Mill Green to take pictures, and noticed two convergent trails of animal footprints. Clearly a fox, or foxes, there was evidently something interesting near the fence, judging by the trail.
Even in the bleak cold of a winter’s night, old Reynard does his rounds.
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