A little latitude…

Having said in a recent blog post that “I tend not to write that often about walks around our local patch”, this is now the second such post in the space of a few days.

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As well as being used for recreation, the hills are also a place of work. Today it was cutting, clearing and burning to promote regeneration

The climate of the UK is sometimes described as temperate; an odd word to choose when you consider how volatile it can be, even within the space of a single day. It didn’t feel particularly temperate this afternoon; decidedly nippy in fact. Then again, we’re into December and we were walking today at approximately 52.5º north: it’s an interesting thing this latitude lark; interesting and, up to a point, relevant.

 The ground, after 14 or 15 hours of darkness takes a long time to warm; if indeed it warms perceptibly at all. The effect of 9 or 10 hours of feeble sun is then quickly lost when dusk returns. Short northern days: the price we pay for the almost endless daylight of high summer.
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Timber cut during woodland management gets used for building and repairs around the hills.

Taking a line of latitude from your own locality and extending it east or west throws up some interesting revelations. Take 52.5º north, just as an illustration…

Extend the 52.5º line in an easterly direction and you’ll find it passes no more than 70 miles south of Hamburg (a notoriously parky place at this time of year), about 100 miles south of the Baltic coast, right through Poznan, and north of Warsaw; indeed north of about half of Poland – a country famed for its bitterly cold winters.

Swing round 180º and stretch the line out west: Canada’s southern border mostly follows the line of the 49th parallel, so every one of the North American states, apart from Alaska, lies well to the south. The 52.5º line passes through Newfoundland and Labrador, The Hudson Bay, then the gulf of Alaska before reaching the Bering Sea.

That’s where we are in the world, and even allowing for the fact that there’s more to it than just latitude – continental land masses; oceanic drifts and currents; prevailing winds – there’s no escaping the fact that, come winter, this far north it’s sometimes going to get cold, dark and a bit hostile. Easy to see on a globe; it can sometimes get a bit lost on a flat wall map projection.

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The spacing of the trees on this part of the hills makes it possible to walk between them, rather than having to skirt around the edges

We took the path from National Trust visitor centre car park, and immediately negotiated the first difficulty – resisting the temptation to abandon the walk and substitute a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. Having crossed the top of the nearest (Clent) hill, we dropped down, via a slightly circuitous route, into St Kenelm’s pass, which runs between the two main hills, and made our way up and across Walton Hill; fingers belatedly becoming warm on the steepish ascent through the woods.


Clent & Walton - 06.12.14_12 06 14_0015And that was pretty much it: with the light already fading, we returned to the visitor centre to complete a short, uncomplicated circuit, having paused only for photographs. At the high point we’d just about reached the 1000 foot mark; these hills don’t go much above that – 1037 feet is the absolute top, although there’s nothing higher for over 20 miles in any direction.

In  the two pictures below, The Cotswolds are just an indistinct smudge on the far horizon. The photographs don’t really do justice to the complexity of the layers stretching away into the distance. The two masts just visible in each shot are those at the BBC transmitting station at Wychbold, near Droitwich.
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Coming around slightly to the west and the hazy outline of the Malverns is the most prominent feature of the skyline and about 25 miles distant. Again, the layers are sold short by the camera and the photographer; but for all the advances in technology, there’s still no lens compares with the human eye.
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Two trees, taken less than a minute apart: one backlit by the dipping sun, the other irradiated by the last low rays as it slipped towards the horizon.
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Postscript: Monday, 9:00 am, out running: the sun is still low enough for my (slowly) moving shadow to stretch halfway across a decent sized field. And there is a dusting of snow on the eastern flanks of The Clees.