Low water

I've been on a recce to Widdop Reservoir in preparation for taking a group of A level students from Titus Salt School on a creative field trip there soon.

Despite the ferocious downpours we've had recently the reservoir is lower than I've seen it for ages.
So here's a view you'd never normally be able to take as you'd be well under water.

A few minutes after taking this photo the ground suddenly gave way and we sank up to our knees in cold peaty mud, so venturing onto the shore is not something I'd recommend.  For a moment I thought we were going to disappear into the Grimpen Mire, it was scary.

All sorts of interesting textures and colours have been revealed by the retreating water, big sheets of golden red stone and lumps of disintegrating wood.

The lichens on the dam wall still look amazing but the micro landscape of moss I photographed much earlier in the year has mostly been dessicated.  This is what it looked like in late January:

Now the little green pincushions are mostly shrivelled. Its strange to be surrounded by all these signs of dryness, whilst struggling to keep my camera out of the rain and getting soaked by walking through damp ferns and rushes.  There's just no predicting whats in store from one week to the next.

Leeming Reservoir Valve Tower

For such a long time I've been curious about the valve towers on many of the reservoirs in the Watershed Landscape area.  They come in lots of different styles, some like cute little bandstands or gazebos such as this one at Leeming Reservoir and others like castles, chapels, watchtowers and prisons.

I always wondered what criteria governed their design aesthetics - what was the motivation for making them ornate or not and what exactly are they there for. I guess their function is something to do with controlling the water outflow and I like to imagine maybe a giant sink plug inside or some kind of Heath Robinson whirring mechanism.

Of course the enticing little bridges that connect them to the shore are strictly out of bounds, with locks and bolts and razor wire to keep you out.  Being forbidden only serves to make them more appealing to me and I really want to see whats inside!

All being well I'll get my wish on Monday when I've got permission from Yorkshire Water to accompany an engineer over the water into Leeming.  I feel childishly excited at the prospect and hope for kindly weather and a co-operative camera.

Interconnections

Down here in the dark is the perfectly formed nest of a skylark with 5 brown eggs, each a tiny universe full of potential.

And down here amongst the grasses is a tiny pool of water reflecting the boundless blue sky where the future larks will blaze with feverish energy.

The interconnections between all things are revealed and reiterated within the enfolding landscape.

Cotton Grass

The fabulous walks along the tops I took in early June coincided with the cotton grass in full swing.  I love cotton grass and this year its been especially luxuriant.  All along the conduits the little nodding white heads bow down to admire their own reflection in the water below - wonderful.

The Enfolding Landscape

I've been busy experimenting with a new piece of work - a kind of sculptural book form.  Its difficult to photograph well as its quite dark in the studio and the piece extends to over 8 feet when its open. It folds down to about an inch thick when its closed.

For quite a while I've been having this idea about what I call the 'Enfolding Landscape' -  that when we journey up to the moors and reservoirs we are enfolded within the landscape as it surrounds us and we become part of it. This artwork takes that idea and relates it to the way the land and the water are enmeshed together.  The starting point is two woodcut prints, one of cotton grass and the other Widdop water.  I'm not totally happy with the outcome as the cotton grass feels too heavy and black, but its a good starting point for further experimentation with printmaking into 3D.

Green

In my mind the colours most commonly associated with the high moor and the reservoirs are blue, grey, black and gold but every now and then there's a jolt of bright green.

 Grass regenerating after fire on Ovenden Moor - I love the way it looks like spreading green flames.

Part of an unbelievably extensive patch of moss on the way to Green Withens appropriately enough. The wildly undulating contours mirror the rippling surface of that reservoir.

A seemingly delicate fern growing through the bare, stony bank of Light Hazzles Reservoir.

Horsetail growing in profusion at the far end of Leeming Reservoir, looking like prehistoric palm trees and indeed a 'living fossil'.

The sawn stump of a fallen tree at Gorpley Clough refuses to die and sends out masses of new growth.

A clump of Cotton Grass growing in a tiny pool on Oxenhope moor shivers in the wind and looks like some kind of furry sloth.

The sound of light

A late afternoon of transcendent beauty yesterday in Calderdale inspired me to catch the 500 Keighley bus up onto the moor above Crimsworth Dean. If you get off at the turning circle, the Limers Gate path takes you even higher up into the domain of the elusive Curlews and Skylarks.  I brought my sketchbook and paints for a very rapid impression of the view with three distant Reservoirs, Widdop on the right and the two Gorples to the left.  The Gorples in particular were pouring out light in a way that was difficult to photograph, the sketch gives a truer impression of the contrasting gleam against dark hills.

Having borrowed Pennine Prospect's digital recorder, I had the chance to try to record some moorland birds. Once you tuned in, there was so much going on, the Lark song was as intense and sustained as the Gorple beams.  If you could record the sound of light rays, I think that's what it would be like - a Lark singing.

The Curlews and Golden Plovers were more distant and mournful, and overlaying all that was the chattering of the Pipits. However, even though it was such a calm afternoon, the restless wind was always swirling through, so I'm not sure how well my recording will turn out.  I did have a quick listen last night and there was a kind of magic in hearing larks in the kitchen.

Puddles small and large

No Shortage of water on the moors now!  The steady rain has replenished every rock pool.

And all that water is channelling downhill.  This distant view of the Gorples reveals how the larger landscape is just the micro environment on a different scale.

I never noticed before how much higher Upper Gorple is.  When you walk along the dam on lower Gorple you don't really get a sense of all that contained water above.  The two dark pimples on the dams are of course the valve towers.

Printed textures

My studio space is filling up as I experiment with different printmaking processes to best convey the feel of the watery expanses and flickering grass. The longer you spend on the tops, the more your eye becomes attuned to the nuances of the changing seasons and the effects of light.  The other day up there I got caught in a sudden, heavy shower that swept in from the south east.  I could see it coming, a misty blurriness I thought was smoke at first... by the time I'd got the camera in its raincoat and started legging it down the hill I was soaked. That kind of rain is fun if you don't get cold and its great to see some refreshment coming to our parched moors.

Black and Gold

I've been away in the wetlands of North Norfolk - a delightful contrast with our uplands, yet many subtle correspondences and similarities of colour and texture in the landscape.  The news of further fires on Calderdale's moors has been a worry and as soon as I got back I had to rush up to High Brown Knoll to check the area where the Curlews and Plovers nest.  As soon as I started up the hill there was a very strong smell of burnt moor so it was a relief to find no signs of fire nearby.  Of course I know that many other nests of Curlews, Twites, Skylarks and Golden Plovers will have been destroyed on Ovenden Moor and Blackstone Edge which is very upsetting.

I'm sure that many people think the moors are bleak and deserted places but there's a whole mysterious, secret world of life up there if you really look and listen. A pair of Golden Plovers were pottering around in the newly sprung cotton grass.  They are very beautiful and incredibly well camouflaged for this environment. This is the only (partially) successful photo I could manage with the very heavy long lens.

I think this must be Mrs Plover as the male has more black on his belly. In Norfolk I saw a grey plover on the beach, equally gorgeous but in a silver, white and black colourway. Listen to the sound of the golden plover here.