Stanage
Yesterday afternoon, I drove over to Stanage Edge. Leaving Butch parked up by a road called The Dale at the southern end of the escarpment, I then walked three miles north to the triangulation pillar at High Neb. As per normal, a lot of the walk was squiggly and up and down as I negotiated puddles and ancient stone slabs. It was bitterly cold with the prevailing winter wind buffeting from the south west. I was wearing my orange "Mammot" coat with a hood and I was also glad that I had remembered my woolly fingerless gloves. For me, fingerless gloves are best because they allow me to operate my camera properly. I watched a kestrel expertly hovering on the wind above the rocks. Intermittently, the bird plunged down with its wings tucked in. It was clearly on the look out for prey but I do not know exactly what it was after. Perhaps a weasel or a resting songbird. Nearby eleven sheep were half-hidden in the heather as they sought nourishment At this latitude in mid-w...