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March 4th – I was going stir crazy. A bad day – the internet was getting me down, the thaw had set in and the world outside had the slimy, grey, filthy wet feel you only get with melting, heavy snow.

I slipped out on an errand at sunset and something magical happened. I caught a surface-air temperature inversion. I saw it start on The Parade in Brownhills, as it was gathering over the common. I raced to Chasewater. It was stunning.

An inversion occurs when the ground is colder than the air above and mist forms is very low, isolated pockets. I’ve not seen on this strong since I was a kid. Mist drifted around and almost deserted Chasewater, and I was in the middle of it, like a kid in a sweet shop.

March 3rd – One thing it has been nice to see of late is the new house at Highfield, south of Chasewater. Once an active farm, the site fell into decline and most of the original farm was demolished. Permission was applied for a replacement house several years ago and has now been build, and it’s a handsome, four-square place. I wish the new residents well.

In the field nest door, the coos remain as nosy and inscrutable as cows always are. I’m not sure if they’re connected with the house, or just there to manage the heath nearby, but they are lovely. They don’t seem to mind the cold.

March 3rd – I found a herd of 19 fit-looking red deer in the scrub near the outdoor education centre. They were relaxed, browsing the heather and not at all skittish. A fine sight.

I love how thick and woolly their coats seemed, and the occasional snow on the nose. It’s good to know these fine creatures are faring well in the snow.

March 3rd – A mixed-mode day following some of the heaviest, driest falls of snow I’ve ever seen. Like 2013, snow was drifting deeply, but unlike then, the snow was powered and mobile, and it was very cold.

I cycled and walked. Desperate to get out, the canal to Chasewater from Catshill Junction was very nearly impassible on foot, but wonderfully dramatic. Chasewater itself was beautiful and stark, and spotting the lapwing in a colourless landscape was wonderful.

I say colourless, but the gorse was at least trying hard.

March 2nd – The snow arrived in the late afternoon, one of those deceptive snowfalls with very fine flakes that deposits a large amount un a short time. 

I went down to Stonnall to explore as night fell, and the deserted lanes of Lower Stonnall, with skeletal trees and an almost blue light were gorgeous.

There was no sign of trouble as I crossed Shire Oak but 30 minutes later, lorries and cars were stranded on the hill and there was chaos.

A beautiful and unforgettable journey.

March 2nd – The snow remained – dry, powdery, swirling into drifts. A brief call in to work, and then I came home, expecting predicted heavy falls later in the day. The cold was biting, and I pottered around Brownhills on a decent mountain bike enjoying the spectacle.

On the canal, one thing I’m interested in is the way large sections of canal remained unfrozen, with a very sharp end to thick ice. I guess it’s a wind effect but never seen it before. Fascinating.

March 1st – Allegedly the first day of spring, but a better one insomuch as I was better prepared for the cold. I wrapped up better, and rode a more sensible bike. It was just as cold, with more persistent, more powdery snow – but on leaving work early, I did a loop of Brownhills before nightfall to enjoy the spectacle.

Enjoy it I did, although again, the wind and cold were punitive and pugilistic. The powder drifted in clouds like dust devils over canal ice and bone-dry roads. Snow depths went from nothing at all to 150mm. At 4:30pm it was already minus 5 degrees C. When my hair started to develop lumps of ice, I decided to go home.

I noted the gritting operation at the council depot was in full swing, and the grit barn looks very depleted. The coos up at Highfields Farm, Chasewater looked peaceful and unconcerned, and the fox I scared into woodland across the common near Watling Street was as usual for foxes in snow, apparently apologetic for his higher than usual visibility.

These have been remarkable days to be on a bike. They have been very hard, but I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

It’ll be interesting to see what the weekend brings.

February 28th – The run home was no better. I got caught in a prolonged snowstorm, the wind was hard against me and the traffic was mad. 

Temperatures actually got as low as -8.5 degrees C. Despite good gloves and being wrapped up in many layers, it physically hurt to be out there.

It seemed to take forever, but when I finally reached the end of the journey, I was glad to get home.

February 28th – A day with two of the harshest commutes I’ve ever known – both sub zero, both punctuated by snowstorms and ferocious winds.

On the way to work, I followed the canal somewhat unusually for me, all the way down through Moxley, and on the way noted the dagger-like icicles on Scarborough Road Bridge in Pleck, and the hardiness of the animals I saw – mainly birdlife defying Dry Marland’s IC scale, but also a sad but stoical horse tethered by the Black Country Route. At least it had plenty of hay to eat, poor thing.

Snow squalls came and went, but during them, visibility was poor. I don’t think I’ve ever known commuting on a bike this hard. The winter as it moved on from Christmas has been bloody endless. 

Enough already.

February 27th – The coldest early evening commute I’ve known for a long time, I battled a vile headwind and sporadic black ice and made my way home carefully.

My ice tyres worked well, and the roads – like the Green Lane here at the Black Cock Bridge – have been very well gritted. But pavements, backroads and car parks were deadly and I made careful, slow progress.

It’ll be interesting to see how bad this gets.