A glorious, clear, blue-sky sunny day. Up to the moor.
There were thousands and thousands of black flies mating above the heather just beyond Mount Skip. Those big, ugly flies with the training undercarriages—whether legs or sexual organs, I have never been able to tell. Never have I seen so many flies in one place. They swarmed everywhere. The restricted depth-of-field in the photograph I took just doesn't do the spectacle justice:
I couldn't believe that only a single swallow was taking advantage of this almost limitless feast. Perhaps all the others had already had their fill.
Fortunately, the flies thinned then petered out completely as I reached the golf course, where I was amused to see local sheep trimming the third tee:
I stood admiring the view from the trig point for several minutes before a covey of three grouse that I hadn't seem suddenly took flight from feet away. Apparently, they hadn't seen me either!
A couple of unidentified caterpillars on the footpath. I need to get a better guide book. A kestrel hanging motionless above the edge, facing into the wind, the updraft making hovering unnecessary.
At the corner before the big shed, I decided to turn left for a change, heading home via Johnny House. I don't know if that's it's real name, or just JP's nickname for the place. I must ask her.
Three rooks were having a whale of a time, cavorting in the wind, apparently just for the joy of it, breaking off only to mob the poor kestrel.
I sat on the wall by the almost-dead tree at Johnny House for 10 minutes, taking in the view. Bilberries have taken root in some of the recesses of the tree. A typical Yorkshire ecological niche.
I finally managed to identify the pretty, little yellow flowers that grow in certain places amongst the heather:
Tormentil. I think.
Postscript 13-Sep-2011: I have since identified the black flies spotted above the heather as rather aptly named heather flies. And the things dangling behind them are definitely legs!