Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Old Harry and Kimmeridge

From studland bay me and Willow walked,With the sturdy post behind, we knewwhat the walk entailed, long coastal paths with plenty of steep climbs and sheer drops to boot, but we were ready for the challenge, and feet and paws eager and steady!
The weather was sunny, though cool and the "path" was sandy beeches meandering in and out with inlets of fresh water meeting the sea.
The coastal path is not flat, don`t be fooled and the the weather can turn, as we found out.
We wandered along the beach with Willow bounding ahead, tail and ears up searching for every sound.
The sea calm with gently rolling waves, you wouldn`t think it could be harsh and take lives with a change in the tide and wind, but you can`t be complacent.
On a corner we found, Old Harry standing proud.
His big white rock surviving ravages of time, with Old Harry having plenty of tales to tell, but don`t be fooled by what you see as Old Harry is an old white rock standing tall and jutting out, get too close and he`ll sink you, there`s no doubt!
Passing Old Harry we did see many places of disused mines still standing, square entrances remnants of days gone by as the many men that worked them would take the stone from the mines to be used for buildings or pottery, as this was old portland, very popular strong, sturdy stone used everywhere.
As the weather got worse, fog came in, we could hear horses galloping behind.
Me and Willow stopped to let the horses past, but when we turned to look, no horses were to be found. Had we just imagined the galloping that came from behind? If so then why did Willow react too? She just stopped and stared but with ears up and tail wagging, off she bimbled again with not a worry in the world!
We never the horses again.
Along the misty, murky top, it looked like someone had built the leaning tower of pisa in Kimmeridge!
Someone lived there and what a view, though we couldn`t see too much today.
As we ambled along, the clay that was collecting upon my boots felt like I was carrying old diving boots! Occassionally it would drop off and relieve me of my burden.
This was a route of many snails, they littered the path with their many colours and shells, but sadly I couldn`t avoid some as the crunched underfoot! Where were they going and what were they doing? I don`t know but we just kept going.
Kimmeridge was here, its thatched roofs and real fires going as smoke filtered through chimney pots.
The smell of good cooking could be found, especially on this dank and dismal ground, but after a fresh cup of tea and scone we downed, it was back to the camp site, for dry clothes and a good rest.

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