Scars

The ruthlessly efficient modern quarries cleave deep ugly wounds into the Dales landscape. Impressively hidden, often, from the roads, they can come as a sudden shock when walking the hills; half the fellside vanishing into yawning depths, sheer and beckoning. It would be easy to feel outraged, to feel it as a violation.
They remind me of something else though, sprawling like glacial moraine. Yet far smaller, and all this human effort and might seems paltry to compare. Of course these hills have seen much more, these are but flesh wounds. And when we are but a memory it will be taken back again.
Conflicting emotions still though, as I wander up the hillside to climb at Moughton Nab. This didn't get here peaceably either, yet this is different, this is now an example of 'natural beauty'.
A superb pint at the Helwith Bridge to round off another fine evening. Pleased to find that real locals pubs still live and thrive. Filled with the quarrymen who find their work in this hard but beautiful place.