We arrived after the cold snap, For a couple of weeks temperatures had dropped down as low as -40oC. And that was in town at 1,400 metres. Even colder on the ski slopes going up to nearly double that altitude. Some days ski lifts were closed, too cold to ski and too cold to be sure of the effect on steel structures. Telling folks that it had been cold in the UK, temperatures having dropped to about -10oC, didn’t cut much ice.
We arrived in a balmy -15oC, warming up at times to -5oC and, on the odd occasion, to 0. A bit fresher than the +30oC when I left Symi in mid-October.
The usual pilgrimage along the river to the Bow Falls was as spectacular as always. The trail over the crags was lethal without cleats on boots, people hanging on to the handrails and sliding. Still, a sign warned us: “Trail not maintained in winter. Use at own Risk”.
Upstream of the town bridge the river was frozen across and snow-covered as usual.
Because of the weeks of very low temperatures, downstream of the town bridge where the river flows faster and maintains a clear channel, there was less open water than the last few times I was here (2019, 1BC) and more ice. The ice fractures as it is pushed towards the falls, tilts in huge slabs and piles up as if pushed by a juggernaut. Large sink holes disappear into the frothing abyss below.
The Canadian Rockies and hard winter have other interests as well as dramatic scenery. Wildlife can be elusive in winter but the ‘warmer’ weather recently has seen much red squirrel activity in the pine forests around Banff. They not only forage pinecones for food but chase each other on the forest floor, around and up trees, between trees – and all at breakneck speed making capturing them in a photo very difficult. Not sure whether this high-speed activity is aggressive or amorous in intent, or simply for fun.
There is beauty at the micro level too. In the bitter cold, ice crystals form on the outside of windows, growing and changing day-by-day, hour-by-hour. Overnight temperatures down to -20oC produce nocturnal works of art.
Reconnaissance and set-up: Steve Waters and Barry Hankey
Descent Team: Nicholas Shum, Barry Hankey, Ejaz Shinwarri
Given that Symi, the ‘Hot Rock’, is made of limestone, there are few caves in comparison to limestone areas in the UK. The main difference is that there is little surface waterflow except in flood conditions, so caves on Symi tend to be ‘fault’ caves, created by seismic movement. Water seeps through the rock leaving calcite deposits but does not ‘cut’ the cave. I have visited a few.
In May 2014 I posted a blog about exploring a cave which a friend had first visited 20 years before.
I have no idea how many had been inside the cave but that people knew about it was clear – rubbish from name-day festivals at the nearby monastery had been thrown down it. Access was simple as it sloped down at about 45o. It was a fairly tight and unstable passage but it didn’t go down very far before it was blocked by fallen rocks. However, as long as you ignored the ecclesiastical rubbish it was great to see the colours and shapes of stalactites and calcite flows.
Then towards the end of June 2019 I took some friends on a walk from Nanou back to the ridge and Horio, spending time on the way to explore the larger Skordhalos Cave marked on the SkaÏ map. It’s a simple walk-in. Climbing up the rock at the back shows no sign of any passages.
A couple of years ago Nicholas stumbled across, but thankfully not into, another cave at the other end of the island. I went to look at it with him at the end of September 2019. It was a vertical drop of indeterminate length and overhanging on all sides. No way into it without much more kit. Potentially a lot more exciting than either of the other two.
Then Covid lockdown got in the way.
Early summer this year I returned to the island with a climbing rope and gear. Steve, a caving friend from home, came to stay in May, bringing a load of caving gear. and we set about the task. With a borrowed cordless hammer drill, we fixed an eye-bolt at the top in the most convenient place for the job. Sadly, Steve fractured his ankle on the path on the way back to the car – so the exploration planned for a couple of days later was deferred.
Early October and everything came together a few days before I was due to return home, having run up against the buffer of my 90 Brexit days. Steve was still crocked, fracture compounded by damaged ligaments/tendons and was stuck in the UK, so the team was me, Nicholas and Ejaz.
We parked the car at a hairpin in The Tarmac and humped the heavy gear in rucksacks up between the rocky mountain-top outcrops of Methystis and Dhafni. We made ‘base camp’ on level ground in the trees where we could sort out the gear and kit-up.
CLICK ON ANY PHOTO TO ENLARGE IT AND OTHERS IN THAT GROUP
The approach to the cave is a steep climb up the crag over what is known by geomorphologists in Arizona as ‘tear-pants limestone’: it’s very sharp! There is nowhere at the edge of the cave to lay things out without danger of losing stuff down cracks and gaps in the rocks, hence the need for base camp. Partly chosen for this reason, the rock we had set the eyebolt to abseil from was relatively smooth, so no danger of fraying the rope over the edge. I’m a climber, so averse to abseiling unless absolutely necessary because of the danger from stones dislodged, therefore a bit of ‘cleaning’ was needed.
Caving-rope clipped in to the eyebolt with a screwgate carabiner, we abseiled in using ‘Figures of 8’, one of the earliest belay devices and the simplest with which to abseil. Getting over the lip of the overhang was a bit if a wriggle but from then in it was an easy drop into the void before arriving on terra-firma about 10 metres below.
The floor of the cave was sloping downwards, unstable with a mixture of loose soil and stones green with algae. The second rope we had set as back-up anchored with climbing ‘protection’ devices (a large ‘hex’ and a MOAC) on the opposite side of the entrance hole had landed at exactly the same spot as the abseil rope – the entrance was not central over the cave but very much to one side. The rectangular opening was high above.
The floor sloped downwards towards a high, narrow cleft to which we carefully made our way down and into.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
That led to another small but even higher chamber with no opening at the top or visible in the sides.
The cleft continued downwards and onwards but very narrow and becoming narrower. It looked as if became too tight within a short distance and, slim as I am, it didn’t tempt us to go any further. There was no ‘draughting’ to indicate it is other than a dead-end.
The floor had no sign of calcite deposits, let alone stalagmites, but was entirely soil and loose stones. Our guess was that material had been gradually falling in, probably since its inception, so calcite, which takes centuries if not millennia to accrete, would not have developed. It may be that the cave originally went much deeper but was partly blocked by fallen rocks and that loose deposits had built up and blocked it.
However, the walls of the cave were another matter altogether. They were covered completely in multi-coloured calcite formations. Much of it looked like coral but with patches of smooth calcite flows and a few stalactites.
Some was at the edge of cracks and crevices, shadows providing contrast.
There were multicoloured calcite deposits like artists mixing palletes on blank walls, some smooth, others textured like mixed oil paints.
Some calcite deposits looked organic rather than mineral. Some were like button mushrooms. One, looking like a gnarled and leathery webbed foot, had a cricket-like creature on it.
The Hot Rock is a harsh environment for animals, with sheep and goat carcases, skeletons and individual bones all over the island. We expected to find some at the bottom of the cave, having fallen in and unable to climb out. Surprisingly there were none, perhaps testament to the difficulty of access to the opening. A single leg bone was all we found, white and desiccated. My guess is that an eagle or raven had dropped it.
We did, however find spiders’ webs hanging down in the main chamber. In the darkest part of the cave were what looked like crickets with antennae three times the length of their bodies, probably an adaptation to living in darkness.
Being in the cave, knowing that almost certainly we were the first to be there, was deeply moving. With the limited camera capability we had, we took photo after photo, using helmet-torches rather than flash. Not all the photos in this blog post are mine and I’m not claiming credit for them so have indicated which were taken by Nicholas and Ejaz.
Eventually it was time to make our exit. Easier said than done as it involved prusiking back up the rope, which proved to be not without its challenges. But, as Alexander the Great said (in Greek rather than English), “Life is only made worthwhile by challenge”.
79
At the entrance we cleared the gear and coiled the ropes almost in silence, carried it back to base camp, packed rucksacks, and trekked to the car, brains buzzing. A truly great day.
**************************
We plan to return next year with a better idea of how to access and exit the cave, with better cameras and lighting, and will measure and record its dimensions.
Reconnaissance and set-up: Steve Waters and Barry Hankey
Descent Team: Nicholas Shum, Barry Hankey, Ejaz Shinwarri
Given that Symi, the ‘Hot Rock’, is made of limestone, there are few caves in comparison to limestone areas in the UK. The main difference is that there is little surface waterflow except in flood conditions, so caves on Symi tend to be ‘fault’ caves, created by seismic movement. Water seeps through the rock leaving calcite deposits but does not ‘cut’ the cave. I have visited a few.
In May 2014 I posted a blog about exploring a cave which a friend had first visited 20 years before.
I have no idea how many had been inside the cave but that people knew about it was clear – rubbish from name-day festivals at the nearby monastery had been thrown down it. Access was simple as it sloped down at about 45o. It was a fairly tight and unstable passage but it didn’t go down very far before it was blocked by fallen rocks. However, as long as you ignored the ecclesiastical rubbish it was great to see the colours and shapes of stalactites and calcite flows.
Then towards the end of June 2019 I took some friends on a walk from Nanou back to the ridge and Horio, spending time on the way to explore the larger Skordhalos Cave marked on the SkaÏ map. It’s a simple walk-in. Climbing up the rock at the back shows no sign of any passages.
A couple of years ago Nicholas stumbled across, but thankfully not into, another cave at the other end of the island. I went to look at it with him at the end of September 2019. It was a vertical drop of indeterminate length and overhanging on all sides. No way into it without much more kit. Potentially a lot more exciting than either of the other two.
Then Covid lockdown got in the way.
Early summer this year I returned to the island with a climbing rope and gear. Steve, a caving friend from home, came to stay in May, bringing a load of caving gear. and we set about the task. With a borrowed cordless hammer drill, we fixed an eye-bolt at the top in the most convenient place for the job. Sadly, Steve fractured his ankle on the path on the way back to the car – so the exploration planned for a couple of days later was deferred.
Early October and everything came together a few days before I was due to return home, having run up against the buffer of my 90 Brexit days. Steve was still crocked, fracture compounded by damaged ligaments/tendons and was stuck in the UK, so the team was me, Nicholas and Ejaz.
We parked the car at a hairpin in The Tarmac and humped the heavy gear in rucksacks up between the rocky mountain-top outcrops of Methystis and Dhafni. We made ‘base camp’ on level ground in the trees where we could sort out the gear and kit-up.
CLICK ON ANY PHOTO TO ENLARGE IT AND OTHERS IN THAT GROUP
The approach to the cave is a steep climb up the crag over what is known by geomorphologists in Arizona as ‘tear-pants limestone’: it’s very sharp! There is nowhere at the edge of the cave to lay things out without danger of losing stuff down cracks and gaps in the rocks, hence the need for base camp. Partly chosen for this reason, the rock we had set the eyebolt to abseil from was relatively smooth, so no danger of fraying the rope over the edge. I’m a climber, so averse to abseiling unless absolutely necessary because of the danger from stones dislodged, therefore a bit of ‘cleaning’ was needed.
Caving-rope clipped in to the eyebolt with a screwgate carabiner, we abseiled in using ‘Figures of 8’, one of the earliest belay devices and the simplest with which to abseil. Getting over the lip of the overhang was a bit if a wriggle but from then in it was an easy drop into the void before arriving on terra-firma about 10 metres below.
The floor of the cave was sloping downwards, unstable with a mixture of loose soil and stones green with algae. The second rope we had set as back-up anchored with climbing ‘protection’ devices (a large ‘hex’ and a MOAC) on the opposite side of the entrance hole had landed at exactly the same spot as the abseil rope – the entrance was not central over the cave but very much to one side. The rectangular opening was high above.
The floor sloped downwards towards a high, narrow cleft to which we carefully made our way down and into.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
That led to another small but even higher chamber with no opening at the top or visible in the sides.
The cleft continued downwards and onwards but very narrow and becoming narrower. It looked as if became too tight within a short distance and, slim as I am, it didn’t tempt us to go any further. There was no ‘draughting’ to indicate it is other than a dead-end.
The floor had no sign of calcite deposits, let alone stalagmites, but was entirely soil and loose stones. Our guess was that material had been gradually falling in, probably since its inception, so calcite, which takes centuries if not millennia to accrete, would not have developed. It may be that the cave originally went much deeper but was partly blocked by fallen rocks and that loose deposits had built up and blocked it.
However, the walls of the cave were another matter altogether. They were covered completely in multi-coloured calcite formations. Much of it looked like coral but with patches of smooth calcite flows and a few stalactites.
Some was at the edge of cracks and crevices, shadows providing contrast.
There were multicoloured calcite deposits like artists’ mixing palletes on blank walls, some smooth, others textured like mixed oil paints.
Some calcite deposits looked organic rather than mineral. Some were like button mushrooms. One, looking like a gnarled and leathery webbed foot, had a cricket-like creature on it.
The Hot Rock is a harsh environment for animals, with sheep and goat carcases, skeletons and individual bones all over the island. We expected to find some at the bottom of the cave, having fallen in and unable to climb out. Surprisingly there were none, perhaps testament to the difficulty of access to the opening. A single leg bone was all we found, white and desiccated. My guess is that an eagle or raven had dropped it.
We did, however find spiders’ webs hanging down in the main chamber. In the darkest part of the cave were what looked like crickets with antennae three times the length of their bodies, probably an adaptation to living in darkness.
19,73,75 unfortunately there was insufficient space to upload these images
Being in the cave, knowing that almost certainly we were the first to be there, was deeply moving. With the limited camera capability we had, we took photo after photo, using helmet-torches rather than flash. Not all the photos in this blog post are mine and I’m not claiming credit for them so have indicated which were taken by Nicholas and Ejaz.
Eventually it was time to make our exit. Easier said than done as it involved prusiking back up the rope, which proved to be not without its challenges. But, as Alexander the Great said (in Greek rather than English), “Life is only made worthwhile by challenge”.
At the entrance we cleared the gear and coiled the ropes almost in silence, carried it back to base camp, packed rucksacks, and trekked to the car, brains buzzing. A truly great day.
**************************
We plan to return next year with a better idea of how to access and exit the cave, with better cameras and lighting, and will measure and record its dimensions.
People often ask which is my favourite Greek island. Given that I spend more time on Symi than any other, the natural assumption is that the answer is self-evident. But it’s more complicated than that. True, I love the walking on Symi, and on Tilos, and on Hydra, and on Amrorgos ….. What makes Symi special is that I know a lot of people. Being on my own, that makes a difference. Since friends moved from Tilos, I haven’t been back there to stay, though look wistfully at the mountains as the ferry passes through. It’s not just about places, it’s about people.
I was put on the spot by a local Greek guy on Symi last week who asked the same question. Which is my favourite Greek island? The answer I gave was ‘Nisyros’. It seemed almost like a betrayal of friendship, a poke in the eye for Symi. The reason why the answer has to be Nisyros is that the walking is more spectacular than anywhere else I have been, thanks to the island being a volcano with potentially active craters breathing out sulphur gases, mountains made of volcanic rock ranging from incredibly soft pumice to incredibly hard obsidian, and amazingly rich historical landscapes. Day trippers from Kos gasp as the caldera and crater come into view on their coach trip ‘to the volcano’, but that barely scratches the surface. I’ve said many times, the island doesn’t have a volcano. It isa volcano.
First blog post of this visit, however, is of a walk on Symi. Friends sometimes ask if I will take their visitors for a walk, and they invariably want to go to the deserted village of Gria. That’s partly because of the fascination of somewhere which was once a living community but is no more, and partly because on an island reputed to be the hottest and driest in Greece and uncompromisingly barren, it has a permanent pond. It must be said that, in size, Gria is nowhere near on a par with Micro Horio on Tilos. It’s considerably smaller. But as it can only be reached on foot it’s just as atmospheric. And very peaceful. Sit by the pond and you can experience a surprising ecosystem on this barren, ‘hot rock’: dragonflies, birds, frogs, snakes, lizards …. rats.
So how do you get there and why is it so little visited?
The first part of the walk is easy. Go up ‘The Tarmac’, the road towards Panormitis Monastery at the other end of the island, and turn left at the second hairpin bend out of Horio at the Agia Marina Cemetery. A rough bulldozed track when we first came here in 2000, from the new bridge behind the cemetery the road is now concreted. In places it’s steep but easy walking with views across the Pedi valley to Horio and the ridge-top windmills and down to sheltered Pedi Bay on one side and steep rocky outcrops on the other.
The road leads to the monastery of Zoodohou Pighis Vrisi, the monastery of the Waters of Life. I find it difficult to understand how money can be found to bulldoze and then concrete roads to monasteries which are accessed only once a year for the Name Day celebrations. The EU funding bodies are obviously very generous. At least in this case the road allows access to the officials of the water board to maintain the miles-long black polypropylene pipe draped on the surface from the spring at the monastery to supply Horio, warming the water nicely as it goes.
The tap in the monastery courtyard supplies deliciously cold water straight out of the mountain, enjoyed in the cool of the huge shade trees. Very pleasant. And it waters the extremely well cultivated walled gardens.
From the monastery the route to Gria changes dramatically. The waterpipes to Horio come out of a cave behind a locked metal door in the mountainside and down a narrow channel at the far end of the courtyard. The onward path to Gria is on the other side of the channel. The first few hundred meters are a test. It’s narrow and very loose, dropping away precipitously, a problem for those with vertigo or agoraphobia. People have turned back at this point but if you get past it, the only problem is finding the line of the path as it meanders up and down over very broken ground.
Arriving in the settlement is a stark reminder of one of the main reasons why places like Gria and Micro Horio on Tilos were abandoned – the water supply ran out. My wife and I first came here over 20 years ago and picked figs off trees now not only dead but desiccated, being destroyed by ants or termites.
Houses survive, some with roof intact unlike Micro Horio on Tilos where the residents left en masse and took their rooves with them. The communal bread oven is still there. A couple of the houses are locked, one recently renovated, still used as day-bases by farmers. One has a partly collapsed roof but inside the fireplace and remains of the sleeping platform survive amidst abandoned and broken beehives. Enclosure walls survive with projecting slabs on top to keep out goats.
The pond is still there, water level dropping through the drought of summer. I have only known it dry up once, the year when a local guy put a pump in it to extract water for reconstruction work on one of the old houses.
Leaving the village behind a broken and narrow path drops down at a lower level. It reaches a gully with the option of dropping down the dry waterfall into Pedi. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, even those whom have passed the ‘bottle’ test beyond the monastery. The alternatives are to either backtrack on the same path back to the monastery or to continue on the lower path beyond the waterfall and leading to ‘The Drakos Ancient Edifice’. I vehemently discount that option as it leads through a section with the seed-bank of all the thistles in the known world. As I walk in sandals and shorts rather than boots and Barbour Thornproofs, I said the first time I did it that I would never do it again. I did. It was worse than the first time. Never, EVER again.
But the waterfall option is great fun, though requiring a good deal of focus and care. And arriving in Pedi is tranquillity.
A bit trepidatious about the travel chaos expected at Manchester Airport so turned up 4 hours ahead of flight departure. No queue at all at check-in, shortest queue at security ever. Waiting in departure lounge three and a half hours – better than queuing outside and missing the flight. Heartfelt ‘thanks’ to Jet2.
Arrived Symi the following morning. Weather cooler than usual but still warmer than the UK. Locals going around in the evening in padded jackets. Then suddenly ramped up to usual summer heat.
A pleasant surprise was that though the fields swathed in Crown Daises (Glebionis coronaria) swaying in the breeze had finished flowering, there were still many smaller spots of colour in the rapidly crisping vegetation, juices sucked out by the sun and the wind. Each plant driven by its own solution to the battle for survival, seeds swelling and dropped or wafted away, ready for the autumn rains and the next progeny.
Most dramatic are the poppies. A fresh flowering every morning, petals dropped by evening as temperatures rise and their flowering comes to an end.
Less eye catching are the blues, pinks and purples, yellows and whites.
Predominant is the white of the oregano, tens of thousands of bees from hives both local and shipped in garnering the pollen. They make traversing many of the footpaths a bit nerve racking, hoping they don’t regard you as a threat. Key is to stay away from the hives. Topping the steep climb up to the monastery of Panagia Hamon, the path leads straight through about 20 hives. Suspecting they were there, I went off to the right before reaching the threshing circle where they are clustered but was still buzzed many times, bees colliding with my head to make the point. I took my time over the climb, partly to not overdo things in the heat, partly to repair some of the directional stone markers on the confused path.
Always a pleasure to see wildlife: tortoises more evident at this time of year than in the heat of summer; billy goats tethered in the shade to keep them out of trouble; even the odd feral chicken with her brood skulking under bushes.
Trying to acclimatise to the intensifying heat, it has been great to visit many of the iconic places from previous visits, the Viewpoint above Horio (Walk 1 on the Greek Island Walks page), the walled garden at the monastery of Zoodohou, the rock slab at Lappotoniou Castle, and the monastery of Nikitas Kotikas with its sundial.
One of the ambitions for the trip was for a friend and I to explore a cave found a couple of years ago. The friend is a caver who has done some climbing, I’m a climber who has done some caving. Between us we fetched out enough ropes and other kit to make the vertical descent and prusik back up (heaviest bag I‘ve ever brought to Greece). The plan was to do the reconnaissance and set up, then return a few days later for the descent. We found the cave and with a borrowed cordless hammer drill fixed an eye-bolt at the top in the most convenient place for the job. Sadly, my friend twisted his ankle badly on the way back to the car – so the exploration will have to wait for another visit.
The Brexit Bonus has nowhere-near met cynically manipulated expectations. Quite the opposite. It has fallen far short and a realistic assessment is that it will continue to do so, despite the Ress-Mogg Magic Wand. One of the negative impacts, which admittedly affects only a tiny minority, is the limitation on the length of stay in EU countries, including Greece.
A far more significant impact is that it has undermined European unity at a time when it is most needed. The 40 or so years since its formation has been the longest period of peace in European history. Russian interference in the Brexit referendum has achieved its aim of driving a wedge into democratic Europe and now the Ukrainians, and to a lesser extent the rest of us, are paying the price. And it’s likely to get a lot higher.
Just about ‘getting back to normal’ after the pandemic and again there is a new uncertainty hanging over us.
Nonetheless, I’m at the early stages of planning a trip back to Greece and Symi. And Nisyros. I won’t be going as early in the year as I have previously, so will miss the full impact of the profusion of Spring colour. Nevertheless, I count myself fortunate that in previous years, I have been able to spend time on the islands from the middle of April. If you can make it this year. Here’s a taste of what you can expect to see, assuming you go off the beaten track.
In the meantime, I’ve been in St Ockport looking after my daughter’s geriatric cat and taking a few local walks. Here are a few images from Abney Hall Park on a sunny afternoon and Heaton Mersey Common on a not-so-sunny one – trees, crocuses …. and Red Elf Cups.
Because of the continuing and growing uncertainties of travel during the pandemic, I’m not going to Canada again this winter, stuck in Grey Britain, so harking back to Christmases Past for a greetings photo. This one, taken high-up at the Lake Louise ski area in The Rockies with temperatures around minus 350C freezing every tiny droplet of water in the cloudless sky, shows a spectacular Sun Dog and, striking down to earth, a Sun Pillar.
Hope to make it back to Banff next winter.
In the meantime – Happy Christmas and best wishes for a significantly better New Year.
Back home in Grey Britain now. Warmer than average for this time of year, cloud acting as insulating blanket kept temperatures up through much of November – but spirits down. Mostly between what mountaineers call ‘claggy’ and ‘very claggy’ – grey or dark grey skies. Guess I suffer from SAD. Thankfully there is the occasional day or two of sunshine.
In the summer, before flights to Greece re-started, I harvested fruit from the garden, enough stored in the freezer for the next twelve months and beyond. But little is left now. Beans finished. Pests have ruined winter veg. Caterpillars ravaged brassicas. Weeds inevitably rampant after weeks away. Deepens the gloom.
Need to get on with Autumn clearing which is never the most joyful of tasks.
One bright spot is the crop of tomatoes. Three plants in the Blue House, reached nearly 5 metres to the roof, climbing through the palm tree and the agave, and produced a huge crop, a final 5 kgs of fruit, when I cut them down. Finished now.
Quite different from arid Symi where summer is the dormant period and Autumn marks the beginning of new growth. End of September and beginning of October sees the emergence of life. Not as flamboyant or as prolific as the flora in April and early May, the flowers of early autumn are perhaps more appreciated because they emerge from months of drought and are comparatively scarce.
In a couple of easily bypassed locations, sharply contrasting with the summer-crisped vegetation, is a profusion of pink flowered Autumn Crocuses, (Colchicum Autumnale), one of the plants also known as Naked Ladies because the flowers, up to 10cms across, emerge from parched soil and bare rock ahead of the leaves. They begin to appear at the end of September and multiply rapidly into October.
Less flamboyant, indeed small and insignificant, seemingly shy and retiring (to anthropomorphise), is the Biarum Marmarisense. Again, I know of them only in a couple of small areas in the mountains on Symi. Pale white suffused with pink and only about 6cms high they are easily missed even though close to and even in paths. They are not missed by bees as they are one of the few sources of nectar at this time of year. They don’t begin to appear until the first week of October but as I head home mid-October I don’t know how long they least or when the foliage comes through. One of the places they occur is on a goat-migration route and they are usually grazed-off at soil level.
With cooling temperatures, wildlife which has been keeping out of the scorching sun during much of the day begins to emerge. Gnarly tortoises (Testudo graeca) amble along jerkily even towards midday.
It’s good to look back. And to look forward to Spring. Meanwhile hunkering down and hoping for bright frosty days and a good dump of snow
Barry's Ramblings 