St. John's

Weather on Slieau Whallian

Monday 21st October, 2013

Another walk when the most memorable aspect was the weather.

I sometimes suspect that my friends, living in other - hotter - countries think that our British weather is always cold, wet and gloomy.  We do have days like that but we also have wonderful, warm, sunny days which I wish I could show  them to prove that they are wrong to feel sorry for us.  But this last week has been a series of “days like that”.  The past week has produced a mixture of warnings about gales and localised flooding, with at least some rain forecast every day, and the island has reached saturation point.
  
We agreed to a Monday walk after getting this message from Dorothy on Sunday morning: “Monday starts off OK from this morning's weather forecast.     Tuesday is rain and I can't walk on Wednesday.     We think a walk from the car park at the Farmers Arms at St. Johns, on Monday and take the climb up the track past where the tractor fell and then back down through the woods.      Not too far if the rain comes in.     Perhaps we could extend it depending on how the morning looks.”

Monday morning's forecast hadn’t changed much:
Weather: Dry at first. Rain at times late morning / early afternoon onwards, some heavy later.
Wind: S 10-15 backing E-SE this morning and increasing 15-20, then veering S-SE 20-25 this evening.
Visibility: Good, becoming moderate or poor.
Temperature: Min. Air 11°C and Max. Air 15°C
Rainfall (mm): 10-15 but 20-30 over hills.
Comments: Risk flooding especially tonight. Strong winds.

There were a few drops of light rain before we even left the glen – soon after eight.  And a few more as we drove down to St. John’s but it wasn’t quite raining when we set out from the car park.

Warm air rising from the plantation on Slieau Whallian appeared to be creating its own little patch of mist.

We walked up the Gleneedle road and then turned onto the footpath which has been known as “the track past where the tractor fell” ever since we came across a tractor which had fallen down a bank and blocked the path during a walk in February.  No unexpected tractors this morning – just a lot of water running down the schizophrenic path which didn’t know whether it was a path or a stream.

There were a few drops of rain at times but nothing serious.  Mist was hovering over higher ground.

Then we caught up with about half a dozen cows ambling around on the path ahead of us.  They seemed quite placid and eventually most of them turned off into a field above the path.  

One cow decided to stay on the path.  I suggested that she joined her friends but she just stepped through a gap in the fence on the opposite side of the path and gave me a dirty look.  I tried to start a conversation with her and she obliged with a few disgruntled moos.  I think it was a sort of linear conversation . . . I was talking to her and she was talking to her mates in the other field . . . and they were ignoring her. 

The incident reminded me of a paragraph in a novel that I am reading (The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan).  It is written in the first person, in the character of a Scottish teenager, with a drug habit and criminal past.  Her thoughts amused me.

“I’m suspicious of silence, and reality, and social 

workers.  I’m suspicious of teachers, and police, and

psychologists, and clowns, and apples, and red meat and cows.

Cows are too big and they’re telepathic  You walk past a

cow field and they all just turn as one being, and stare.  And

they do chase people.  I’ve fucking seen them.  Bovine grass-

munching hippies – my arse!”

When we reached the service reservoir, where a couple of water department vans were parked and some “ushtey” men were mowing the grass, it was decision time.  We had thought of walking a little further along the road because Dorothy wanted to take photos of some old farm buildings in the mist. But the mist wasn’t obliging . . . it was still  too high.  So we turned up the path towards the top of Slieau Whallian, where we found more than enough mist.  Unfortunately no ruined buildings - just a pile of stones to mark the summit.  

The “view” from the top reminded me of a joke postcard which used to be stocked by the newsagents in Ramsey.  The card was plain grey and the title was “Foggy day on the Isle of Man”.  There was also a plain black one – “The Isle of Man at night”.

I was worried about my camera.  The lens was tending to mist up with condensation and I didn’t want to get it too damp.  A couple of years ago, after a cold damp walk on North Barrule, our small camera developed a couple of blemishes which must have been due to condensation on the inside of the lens. The blemishes (a couple of light spots) aren’t too bad as they are only visible against a plain background but they are annoying.  

I usually carry the bigger camera in a bag strapped around my waist.  I have heard them referred to as “bum bags” in English speaking countries but discovered that they are known as “fanny packs” in the United States and Canada (which don’t quite qualify as being English-speaking!)  I sometimes feel like a mother kangaroo with my precious baby in my pouch.  Up on the cold, wet and windy hill, I decided that I needed to keep the camera warm as well as dry so I zipped up my waterproof anorak over the camera.  This changed my kangaroo image into one of a pregnant geriatric.  Not a good fashion statement!

After we climbed over the stile on the way down the hill, the path wasn’t easy to follow and we couldn’t see the distant trees that we were aiming for. Dorothy decided that she would prefer not walk in front.  I suggested that we let Trevor lead the way so that we could blame him if we got lost.  If I have learned anything after years of watching politicians on TV, it is that what happens doesn’t matter – the vital thing is being able to blame someone else for any disasters that occur!

We had to pick our way carefully down the slope because the ground was wet and slippery in places.  The rain was still light but it was falling steadily and we were glad to reach the shelter of the trees.

Walking down the slope between these tall conifers reminded Tim and me of a previous hike up Slieau Whallian in near gale-force winds when the trees were swaying and groaning in an alarming way.

We passed this recent victim, which probably came down in the gales last week.

Further down the path became more civilised and Tim took this photo as I paused to look at a small bracket fungus on a conifer trunk.  We had passed some other small mushrooms earlier in the walk.  They were just small and beige and mushroom shaped . . . not worth risking my camera.

It was raining seriously by this time so we walked back to the cars as fast as possible.  The morning definitely didn’t look good enough to tempt us to extend the walk.  It wasn’t a long walk but it was good exercise because the summit of Slieau Whallian is 333m (1093 feet) above sea level – almost a thousand feet above St. John’s.