1 December 2019

Edges

On Friday, I walked along two edges - Curbar Edge and Froggatt Edge. They are millstone grit escarpments that overlook the valley of The River Derwent - a twelve minute drive from Pudding Palace.
Above you can see two photographers standing on a rocky outcrop. They are probably talking about photographic techniques or possibly the meaning of life. Behind them - on the horizon - there's the telecommunications mast that sits on Sir William Hill above Grindleford.

Below you can see part of the Bronze Age stone circle on Froggatt Edge. It is around four thousand years old and though not as imposing nor as important as Stonehenge would once have been, it still speaks powerfully of past times and of the people who populated these islands long ago.
All of the millstone edges near Sheffield are popular with the rock climbing fraternity. It is not a pastime that has ever appealed to me personally though it is easy to admire the courage, patience and sheer ability shown by the sport's adherents. They cling like insects to rock faces, raising themselves upward - reliant upon personal strengths - both mental and physical. This young man was on Curbar Edge with his bare-footed companion above - holding the safety rope.

Above, a finger-like outcrop points the way to infinity and beyond and below the two photographers are continuing their wide-ranging discussion. The agenda has moved on to Brexit now so a tandem leap from the edge is anticipated at any moment..."Geronimo!"

22 comments:

  1. To put it crudely: I avoid "edges" as best I can. I might fall off one. I can just about manage Old Harry Rocks without going all dizzy/woozy but some stretches along the Coastal Path are pushing it. Particularly when it's blowy. OH MY GOD. Give me strength. Then there is that odd, and I mean odd, pull that heights have. The abyss.

    Which reminds me: Do you remember that photograph (I think it was taken early 1920s or so) of workmen dangling their legs, whilst taking a break, sitting on a boulder off a skyscraper being built in New York. If I want my stomach turned to the point of throwing up all I need to do is look at that picture.

    And then there is that recurring dream of mine ...I'll spare you the detail ...

    U

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    1. I suspect that "the detail" may involve bodily fluids and other human substances which are rarely mentioned in polite company so, madam, I shall desist.

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    2. No, not bodily fluids. I leave that to the Johns of this world and their dogs (sorry about the aside - not "nice", I know). You were talking edges and height. The recurrent dream I had some time ago was of me sitting, legs dangling, on a very narrow ledge, conveniently situated in the middle of some desert. Below me, on the ground, was a man (identity unknown to me). Every time he raised his arms to catch me and implored me to jump, and every time I hesitated the ledge gained in height. Great isn't it? The stuff that nightmares are made of. Anyway, eventually there was no hope in hell, and in absence of high water, Of either me jumping or him able to catch me. Not even in a dream. For all I know I am still sitting on that ledge, by now mummified.

      U

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    3. Can daddies be mummified?

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  2. Awesome photos. Yes I need some text.

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    1. Fearing a blast of anger from the suburbs of Red Deer, Alberta... I have now hurriedly added the text.

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  3. I don't think I'd be standing so close to the edge of the Edge. And I definitely wouldn't be climbing the cliff! I'd like to see it from a respectable distance, though.

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    1. In this we are like-minded Steve. I do not mind admitting that when it comes to precipices I am a complete chicken.

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  4. What a view, but I could never be a climber. I've had to work hard to overcome my nausea when looking down from a hotel balcony a few stories up! Falling spinds like a terrible way to go.

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    1. *sounds* (typing this on my phone!)

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    2. I like the word "spinds". Whenever I am close to the edge of a precipice I get the "spinds".

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  5. Amazing views so close to your home! It scares me to watch those climbers but you have to admire their strength and ability.

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    1. Regarding climbing, in your profile it says you like Classic Rock!

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  6. Beautiful photos, but oh so scary.

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    1. More scary than Peregrine's singing?

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  7. My, oh my. I did not expect to see a climber when I worked on over here. My grandson is a climber, and a bicycler. He's climbed much of what climbers consider worthwhile in this country. His parents just drove him to the airport, with his bicycle in a bag, to fly to Vietnam to spend two months cycling the Ho-Chi-Min Trail. He hopes to be a journalist. He will be 18 on Christmas Eve.I hope he attempts the British Isles, but like many G'ma's, I tend to keep out of his agenda.

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    1. Hell! Not yet eighteen and he's off to Vietnam with his bike! That lad has got b***s!

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    2. At the end of the ride, I think he might have sore balls, Yorkie!

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  8. I don't understand the pleasure gotten from rock climbing, mountain climbing etc. And when I hear about people becoming stuck, and others having to risk their lives to save them...I feel angry because of the pointless behaviour of some, causing danger to others trying to save them.

    Similar feelings apply to those who climb Mt. Everest. I can see no point in wanting to reach the point...just my opinion.

    I don't expect others to share or agree with them.

    In saying the above...your photos are, as always, quite spectacular, Mr. Pud!

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    1. Don't worry Lee...at no point was my own life at risk to secure these pictures!

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  9. heights terrify me and heights without railings terrify me more (although terrify is probably an absolute, is it? and hence "more terrified" would be impossible.

    You managed to get Brexit in there but you didnt mention Trump. There should be a blog challenge where contestants have to work derogatory politcal references into an unrelated post

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    1. You are right. I should have said that as the young climber grasped the rock he let out a loud trump.

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