Helmshore: Birds, Walls, and a Pocket Full of Clothes

— An October weekend of sun, feathers, and canine company in the hills above Helmshore.

I’ve developed a small obsession with one particular tree on my morning route — a gnarled old beauty that never fails to stop me in my tracks.

Each season transforms it, but right now the leaves are edged in gold, shimmering as though the tree itself is reluctant to let summer go.

It’s a good reminder, I think, that there’s no rush to move on. Nature takes her time — and so, this weekend, did I.

Pepper has certainly enjoyed the slower pace this weekend. With Mark off kayaking around Bute, it’s been just the two of us wandering the hills, camera in hand and no real plan beyond “see what turns up.” I took the big lens out and we meandered through the Musbury hills, stopping often to wait for birds to show themselves.

Pepper, ever the opportunist, has developed a habit of climbing atop the dry-stone walls to survey her kingdom while I’m busy peering through the viewfinder in the opposite direction.

The mornings and evenings have been wrapped in mist, soft and silver, but by mid-morning the sun burns it away, leaving wide blue skies. I made the tactical error of dressing for those chilly dawns and spent the latter half of my walk regretting it — overheating on a hillside is not a dignified look. Thankfully, my “hunter’s gilet” came to the rescue; it has a surprisingly large back pocket, which swallowed my excess layers quite handily. I did wonder what it’s actually meant for — a brace of grouse, perhaps?

The paths were mostly firm, though I followed Pepper a little too trustingly through one damp patch and nearly lost a boot to the mud. She trotted through without a speck on her, of course.

The jackdaws have been multiplying lately — a whole chattering of them roosting on a nearby chimney, their calls filling the valley at dusk.

On Sunday, I took a longer route around the Rossendale Way. The deer were nowhere to be seen — I suspect they’ve retreated higher onto the moor to enjoy the quiet sunshine — but the birds more than made up for it.

A wren and a meadow pipit kept me company along the walls, and the skies were alive with raptors.

A family of buzzards circled gracefully, harried now and then by the local crows; I counted at least five individuals.

Near the Tor, a pair of peregrines were hunting, also pursued by crows who never seem to learn their place.

Finally, two kestrels worked the lower paths, hovering and diving through the long grass with their usual precision.

As darkness fell on Sunday evening, the valley came alive once more — this time with the haunting calls of tawny owls echoing from the trees. Their soft, rhythmic hooting rolled through the night like an old song.

We ended the weekend exactly as it should be: a mug of something warm in hand, Pepper asleep by my feet, and a crackling log fire warding off the chill.