Yesterday, I was out of the house well before midday - ha ha - and on my way on a new running adventure. I've headed this way on a bicycle many times, but not often on foot, and certainly not to this distance.
I was heading for Winthorpe Lake, actually nearer to Holme Village than Winthorpe, and rather more of a cross country slog than heading for, say, Muskham. It was a grey day, with a sky that looked like it ad been mummified, pale grey and lifeless. Meanwhile, the ground was a variety of greens, the lush greens of autumn, but rather muddy once I found myself off the road and onto the bank that marked the Trent Valley Way. Luckily a pretty flock of goldfinch were on hand to brighten up the surroundings.
I've been to Winthorpe Lake before, in warmer months with sedge warblers at work at some of the reedy margins, but today, it looked very very bleak. Out on the water were a fair number of great crested grebes, some tufted duck and a couple of mallard. A very handsome heron sat on the riverside edge of the lake, outfishing the fellows with their rods and lines.
Around the lake, the famous concrete barge, and the two smaller boars, were marooned on the water's edge as they had been for many years.
I ran back in along the river, all the way to the "other" town lock. This is all fishing country, with rather unfriendly signs on display, and the riverbanks, like those of the lake, denuded of vegetation.
It is lifeless, and depressing.
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| Concrete barge, Winthorpe Lake |
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| Open water |
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| Grey reflected in grey |
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| Tented fisherman |
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| Under the bridge - the bypass |
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| Under the bridge - the railway |
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| Barges at "the other" lock |
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