Oh what a beautiful morning

20 January 2015

The Tuesday walk was more or less cancelled due to me having to go to work for the morning because of a bit of a staffing issue. When I say more or less, what I mean is, I still got to walk to and from work which was better than nothing. Commando Junior and I had been out on Monday evening unsuccessfully looking for Comet Lovejoy. Even at eight o’clock in the evening the frost was already turning the tops of the cars white so I knew it was going to be a chilly walk to work, especially as I was leaving an hour earlier than normal.

The flappy eared hat came out of the drawer in the hall and I wrapped up well before I stepped out into the darkness. Even then it was freezing cold and, in the half light, I could see that my gatepost had another ice hairdo. Traffic was already backing up on the Main Road so I walked down to the station to cross as the black sky turned to deep blue. With the possibility of a sunrise in front of me I hurried along towards the river where I knew I’d have a decent view.

When I got there clouds of deep rose were massed on the horizon mirrored in the Itchen as streaks of pink. The little boats and wooden walkways were thick and white with ice. The mare’s tail clouds held a promise of spectacular colour to come but I couldn’t stand and watch, I had a job to go to. For half a moment I considered going AWOL and turning towards Riverside Park to watch the whole show but I am far too conscientious for that so I carried on towards my next vantage point, albeit reluctantly.

Between the houses I could see the colour building but there was nowhere to take pictures and I cursed a little under my breath as I marched along. On any other Tuesday I could have been watching at my leisure. Then again, on any other Tuesday I would probably have still been at home eating breakfast at seven thirty. The curse is sometimes also a blessing I guess.

Finally I was on the river again at the Millennium Flats and, with all my rushing, I had gained enough time to stand and watch a while. The light was achingly beautiful. It seemed as if the sky was on fire and the flames had spread to the water. Now the higher clouds had got in on the act glowing pink and gold.

As usual, I took far too many photos but a sight as beautiful as this just begged to be captured. After all, there are enough grey dawns to make this one remarkable.  After one panoramic shot to try to capture the whole scene I concentrated on the details. The scattering of boats in this bay seemed to sit on a river of fire and the high clouds were wispy streaks of candy floss. A cloud of tiny birds flew overhead and I wondered what it must be like to fly through that brilliant sky.  Looking towards the moorings the show was more subtle and a veil of grey mackrell scales were patiently waiting their turn to be touched by the sun.

The swans were nowhere to be seen and I walked around beside the moorings wondering where they’d gone. Recently, on cold mornings, they’ve been gathered in the shelter of this bay. The frosty covers on the boats here sparkled but the camera couldn’t quite capture their twinkling. The colours reflected in the water danced with the breeze, impossibly bright in the gloom between night and day.

Close to the steps where the moorings are empty I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and, when I looked, there was a lone swan powering towards me out of the darkness towards the rainbow colours. By now I’d spent any time my fast walking had gained me and, much as I’d have liked to, I couldn’t stay any longer. With one last look back I climbed the steps and sadly left the dawn behind me.

There was one final chance to see the river as I crossed Horseshoe Bridge and I got there just as the mackrell clouds began to turn a hazy pink. It was hard to tear myself away but, with one final look through the bars of the bridge onto the frost coated railway lines I left it all and carried on to the world of buses and phones.

Still, I only had to work until midday and the time flew past with all the usual calls and moans. One man was complaining about a late bus in my village that morning. Of course I apologised and explained about the road works on the Big Bridge and the long delays.
“That’s a lie,” he said, “I live on that bridge and I know there’s no traffic.”
Feeling a little miffed at being called a liar and slightly confused about someone living on a bridge where there are no actual houses, I told him that I lived on the road too and had to walk the two miles to work every morning because of the traffic. “When I walk I pass all the buses and cars just sitting there not moving and they’re still not moving when I get to the other end.”
“Oh,” he said and put the phone down caught out in his lie.

It was still cold when I startd out for home but the frost was gone. Sadly the blue sky was gone too. Walking along the boardwalk I looked at starry seed heads and wished I’d seen them when they had a sparkly frosty coating but I didn’t miss the frozen slipperiness of a boardwalk covered in ice.

The icy wind rippling the water made me pull my hat down tightly and hurry along but I stopped when I reached the corner. A woman, bundled up in a thick red coat with her hood up against the freezing air was throwing bread to the swans. Typically, the gulls were wheeling around trying to steal the bread. It’s a wonder there aren’t more seagul crashes the way they all fly so madly. The swans were having a free for all too, each fighting for their fair share of the spoils. There seems to be no danger of starvation for any of the swans on this stretch of river.

On the bridge the traffic was at least moving, albeit very slowly. There was a new contraflow system with all traffic squeezed from two lanes into one travelling in the two outbound lanes in both directions. The two lanes going into town were blocked off, along with the pavement, and a few workmen were standing about scratching their heads seeming to do nothing particularly productive. The whole thing was a sea of orange cones.

It took a while to get across when I reached the other side of the bridge I’d have liked to walk on the embankment but it was blocked off. A pied oystercatcher was sitting on the wall, safe in the knowledge that I couldn’t get near him. These birds spend the winter in southern England but, in spring, they will fly off to the north to breed. Much as I like to see them, it will be good when they disappear because I’ll know spring is on the way.

There seems to be less and less of the skeleton ship every time I pass these days. Maybe I notice more because I don’t walk this way every day but it feels like it will soon be gone altogether and I, for one, will be sad. Amongst the debris swilling around the wreckage I spotted an escaped road cone. I wonder if the workmen have missed it yet?

So, the Tuesday walk may have been cancelled but I did manage to get a few miles in and, as I had Friday off I was hopeful I’d manage to fit a few more in then, weather permitting…