Bonus

On Killiney Beach, watching cormorants sailing by and gannets diving and fishing. I wondered, and not for the first time, how gannets deal with refraction when fishing. How come they don't starve before they learn? Are they born knowing? I favour the latter, nature not nurture in this example. They are born with binocular vision and sufficient streamlining to survive 100 km/h impacts; so why would they not be born with an innate ability to correct their trajectory to account for the refracted position of the fish due to the bending of the light because of the density contrast at the water - air interface.

Gus, the dog, and I were watching one particular gannet that dived three times, and each time it resurfaced, it rested on the water as if successful (it was a bit far away to see if it was eating). The other gannets tended to get straight back into the air and resume hunting mode. Was one a better fisher? Or were the others starving students?

Later, and at a place I'll call Holly Horsefield, a big house forever associated with financial infamy, now for sale, I heard a raven, looked up and saw the raven being attacked by two hooded crows. Then I'm pretty sure I saw a peregrine falcon flashing across the tree tops (and if I did, it's great to have them back after unknown pigeon owners poisoned the last nesters a couple of years ago).

As an aside, it was Michael Gove who got me up the Cat's Ladder. To be clear, I employ a coping mechanism for arduous tasks: I think of something unpleasant or infuriating and dwell in my imagination thereby not noticing the physical difficulties. And Michael Gove was beside me on a plane yesterday, and I said nothing. I might have asked "Any regrets?" To which he might have replied "Je ne regrette rien" and if he had, I could have said "Shame on you". I'm no expert so I still wonder if I was right to afford him the luxury of privacy in so public a place. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, there's a great cartoon here.

An 8 km walk. And I made my quota for March and rewarded myself with a 99. But poor Gus was exhausted because he covered twice the distance. One man commented as Gus slouched past, that I'd 'walked him out', and this was a kilometre from home.

A bonus. Google+ reminded me of this old blog post earlier. Photos I took and posted on a walk around this time, six years ago. And another bonus, four random iPhone snaps from the week gone by (rainbows etc without any explanations).

Spectacular

I often dictate the blog to my phone as I walk. Not today. Instead I was wondering what to blog about on this evening's walk. Should I include ideas sparked from books and discussions of current interest?

"Time goes you say ? Ah no !

Alas, Time stays, we go"

[Austin Dobson The Paradox of Time (1886) after Pierre de Ronsard, Sonnet a Marie]

"Capitalism survives by forcing the majority, whom it exploits, to define their own interests as narrowly as possible. This was once achieved by extensive deprivation. Today in the developed countries it is being achieved by imposing a false standard of what is and what is not desirable."

[Ways of Seeing 1972 John Berger]

Or rugby? - earlier, we were at the RDS to see Leinster beat Cardiff 22-21.

Or analytics? - the privileged are processed by people, the masses by machines (after Weapons of Math Destruction by Cathy O'Neil). 

Or judgement? Or photography? Or colour constancy?

Two blue plastic gloves as installation art, stuck into a wall, a wall painted with green anti-grafitti paint, a green that my iPhone camera couldn't render.

Then the sun set. Spectacular. Enough said.

Another 7 km walked off. Time to donate here?

Kingfisher

A walk done many times and this time I was accompanied. Which gave me reasons to look and remark on things I take for granted. The tree, for example, in Harefield Golf Course that was killed by lightning a few years ago and now has become covered in countless woodpecker holes. The invasive parakeets who noisily go about their business overhead. The dismantled gravel loading points for the much touted great transport transfer from road to canal barges, during Olympic venue construction, now occupied by coots and moorhens. The honking of four Canada Geese flying above us, hidden by the tree canpopy. The swans seeming to stand on water to do neck calisthenics, doubltless impressing the twenty tufted duck close by. And then at Denham Deep Lock, where the Colne joins the Union Canal, there was a kingfisher perched on the NO FISHING sign; it saw us, there was a flash of blue and the moment was gone.

My 13th walk in this campaign, another 6.5 km walked off and I have thus exceeded my distance goal for March. This means I'm walking down the deficit of 25 km I carried from February. So I should be back on track by the end of March which will leave 350 km to be done by June 23.

Our fundraising continues well too. We had an office pot-luck lunch last Tuesday that brought out some excellent dishes and raised another sensible amount of money. Money? Are there any readers? Is it yet time for them to donate here?

Yellow

"Yellow is the colour of my true love's hair, in the morning, when we rise" sang Donovan in Colours back in 1965. Today's yellow was a little different - the return of Spring colour.

We walked the 3.5 km loop again with dog and rugby optimism: what's the point of pessimism if you have to live defeat twice?

And that's it for today: I need to recover from yesterday's excess.

Mazes

It's St Patricks Day. There's been a lot of the wearing of the green and tricolours. See the kid looking out to sea from the top of Bray Head. Rugby or St Patrick's Day? Maybe both.

From Killiney to Bray, maybe there's a subversive maze sketcher at work. A third stone sketch, not photographed, was in heavy use beside the promenade, at the gelato stand, where face-painted, top-hatted 'would be' leprechauns were buying ice-cream. And the kids were across from the stand, working the maze in the drizzle.

I met a man trying to photograph driftwood set on a bed of limestone boulders. He'd made the bed over the last four days and just needed a burst of sunlight to complete his vision. I left him, me imaging that'd be a long vigil given the cloud cover.

A swan checked me out in Bray Harbour and a starling joined me on a bench at the Boat House, begging for a share of my sandwich.

And of course, Gus warmed himself at the fireplace, exhausted after the earlier walk. True dog, he covered at least three times our distance.

And what about those double yellow lines photos? The pictures tell the story. And you'll be pleased that I spare you shots of another pet peeve, the bagged poo of dogs that haunts urban walks, discarded in everlasting protest at the lack of litter bins.

Today's walk was again in two parts and past three golf clubs: a local loop followed by breakfast and then, the big beach walk. I covered 30 km leaving just 380 km before the event itself. Note to self: replace the hiking boots (they've got at least 2000 km on them) and maybe start using poles to reduce the strain on toes, knees, hips and shoulders.

Underfoot

In my beginning is my end [TS Eliot East Coker, The Four Quartets (1940)] Yes, I started where I finished, though Eliot probably meant optimism and despair, renewal and decay, all of which works for this walk too.

In fact I did two walks. For the first, we took Gus who after three wet and muddy kilometres, shook himself dry in the hall. The floor was cleaned - looks like the white wall will need to be repainted.

Then, alone, I walked in the rain along the beach to the Boat House in Bray where I had a deserved latte. It took a lot longer there than back because the tide was full and I was limited to walking on the conglomeratic shingle banks. Fortunately, for the return, the tide had fallen to reveal the easy walking wet sand we know and love. A flat 20 km but the walking surfaces made it harder; there was one place with a welcome mat on the muddy path.

In the place where we have often watched dolphins cavorting, there were two people on paddle boards. One of them had a barking dog standing beside him. Thoughtless if they expected dolphins. Thoughtless anyway: this is the treacherous Irish Sea not a lake. Mind leap: it reminded me of a woman we know who played a gramophone to a small island harbour some 25 km north of here: back in the 1940s, it attracted curious seals to a place where there were no rivalries for fishing-pot owners.

The recent storms have done damage to the ice-age mud cliffs, especially along the less well known section between Shanganagh Castle and Woodbrook. More collapses and erosion than I have ever seen before. The sand martins will return in April and have to build new nesting burrows in the freshly exposed sandy layers. On a positive note, there was much less flotsam and jetsam than in years gone by - hooray if the MARPOL regulations for ships is even vaguely responsible.

So, in sum, 23 km today, leaving 411 km, which keeps me on track for the magic 500.

Pandemonium

I took another loop through the Uxbridge golf course on a beautiful Spring day, a balmy 15°C. From the indiscreet roar of a new McLaren hurriedly joining the M40, to a screeching pandemonium of immigrant ring-necked parakeets and then the polite plinking of native coots on the Union Canal, there was lots to hear along the way.

Earlier, I was walking around the office with other team members, all in fundraising themed flat caps; a bake sale fund raiser. I ended up contributing stuff hastily purchased from M&S this morning after my savoury crepes went wrong - I whizzed the batter after adding pine nuts and the cooked galettes tasted pine-sap awful - I generally add whole pine nuts while cooking, without such change in flavour - is this like whole almonds becoming vile when transformed to marzipan? Always learning.

And if you're a sign writing sports fan, remember that first isn't always on top.

And now, a doggerel haiku memorialising a morning view:

Street parked stroller
memory distressed mother
baby car all missing

Blog bonus: like rugby? You might enjoy this post. 

Just 432 km left before the Three Peaks itself. And here's where to go if you feel like sponsoring us. Every day is what you make of it. Why not make someone else's?

Loops

We did two loops of the neighbourhood which got me 7 km closer to my target. If a mark of good citizenship is carrying bags of dog poo for disposal, there were lots of good citizens out walking today, including me. One guy took it further (sic), bringing it home by car.

Conspicuous consumption is everywhere. So many large and mostly ugly residential property developments, surely reciprocity should matter in planning approvals - if the view is so good that big windows are desired, then the property should be made good looking too. Lots of new cars in front of these homes suggest credit is back in fashion. The French Revolution was in part a reaction against conspicuous consumption though exacerbated by a grim economic environment, unmanageable national debt and inequitable and burdensome taxation. Sounds familiar. Revolution may not be in the air today yet I can't get the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics out of my head. Within eight years of those games, the Yugoslavian breakup had become the Bosnian war. It was kept 'local'. Are we facing into re-runs of history? Such are the things that cross my mind when out walking.

I still have 442.5 km to walk before June 23rd; there's lots more time for unreasoned ramblings (sic).

Scalps

It's 11 km from Scalpwilliam to The Scalp and I walked there and back in the rain. I've done it before. This time I walked and it rained. I walked and walked and it rained and rained. I was soaked through, squelching sock wet despite all the rain gear. Once I left the coast, it was so overcast at times that there was nothing visible beyond twenty metres. Yes, there were vaguely interesting thicker clouds sitting on the highest ground but to this walker, it was simply more suspended water, waiting for me. With my back pack, I was like a snail, going up the mountain, slowly, wetly.

As ever, it's a shame about the roadside litter. I saw many glittering harps, perhaps because I was rain avoiding, looking down rather than around and above.

21.5 km today, 449.5 to go. I last did this return walk on December 30, 2015 and a few months later completed the entire Dublin Mountain Way in one go, blogged here.

Overweight

I woke up to the start of March worrying about The Yorkshire Three Peaks. The event is on June 24 and time is compressing. My concern was that I pledged to walk 500 km in training as a fund raiser.

Then I weighed myself and found no comfort in being 9 kg over ideal. I recalled the mind altering book 'The Things They Carried' by Tim O'Brien from the 1970s. Inspired, without intending to trivialise the sacrifice of soldiery, I found another purpose for half of the books in the bedroom, books also in mind because tomorrow is World Book Day. I collected and piled them on the scales until their weight allowed me visualise my excess. That's a 60 cm tower of books. I really need to keep walking.

So I took a lunchtime walk, choosing a route I'd blogged in April 2010 for another challenge. This date I know with precision because I still use Walkmeter on my iPhone and the track is still stored there all these years later.

There was a great variety of scenery with lots of chatter from hedgerow birds. In Harefield Place between the lakes, long-tailed tits were mobbing a jay. And the waterfowl on the lakes and canal were in courtship. I even saw two swans going through the entire ritual on the canal - fascinating and so elegant.

A few observations I dictated to the phone as I walked along The Drive - a road naming pun (?) leading to the Uxbridge Golf Course, passing Harefield Place and the former Blockbuster HQ, now being block busted, judging from the demolition advisories, four years after video streaming killed their rental business.

6.5 km today which leaves me 470 km to walk which is about 115 km per month. While nothing is impossible, some things are unlikely.