Bellingham, Northumberland. Changeable weather, windy and showers, 6C
Walking up the sheltered river valley to the waterfall on a damp Wednesday morning. The old, moss enrobed trees were a joy after driving to Bellingham over exposed moorland.
Such vivid shades of green and yellow.
The river was running high after heavy rainfalls, rushing down the valley maiden with peat. The water looked like liquid amber. Lots of foam and froth too.
The path crosses back and forth over the river six times, on wooden bridges. A good walk on a wet day as most of the route is paved with fossil flecked stones. Bare earth sections were squelchy with rotting leaves and mud.
Birds were singing all around but kept out of sight. The white rump of a deer, startled by a barking dog, flashed passed at the top of the valley. The trees were mostly leafless, some starting with buds already, though.
At the fall, plants dangled and water dripped from the clifftops. Rocks were scarred and slick with water. Misty droplets added to light rainfall. Everything under the thrall of the gushing water. The noise was awesome, water tumbling foaming and spilling over dark, shining stone. Carving and curving a way through the cliff into the valley. The constant motion of the water contrasting with the stoic, unmoving rock. Trees growing, impossibly from some of the rocks, their trunks curving out to the centre of the valley, and the best light.
On the return journey, coin encrusted fallen trees glint as sunlight breaks through into the valley.
Back in Bellingham, to have warming soup at “Tea on The Train” with the usual thought of how wonderful it would be if the train still ran to Bellingham!