Tag Archives: Settlebeck Gill

The second tree and the river daemon

Settlebeck Gill view with rocks

at the start of the Gill walk, looking back down

Summer heat sent us to explore the river that runs, sometimes hidden, down a cleft in the fell. Walkers tend to take the top route that only occasionally overlooks our watery path and this means that, once we leave the fell wall behind, Tilly and I usually have the stream all to ourselves.

Welsh Springer Spaniel

walking companion

We always visit the first tree, a sycamore, that bears the scars of dozens of names. People obviously walk as far as this on summer days and then carve its trunk, which seems quite cruel. We never see them though, so hope that the tree spends most of its days unscathed.

sycamore tree in Settlebeck Gill

we reach the first tree

A lovely pool lies beneath the tree, dappled with sunlight. Tilly likes to wallow in it and I took her photo, only to see what looks like a second spaniel in the water. A trick of the light – but I’m not surprised because the whole of this place has a mysterious atmosphere. It would be quite in keeping to suddenly catch sight of a gnome peering through some ferns although, probably luckily for me, this hasn’t happened yet.

dog in pool with rocks and grass

the pool under the tree – but is there one dog or two?

After saying farewell to the first tree we follow the river upstream.

view of hills and tree

leaving the first tree behind us we climb higher

And the second tree appears.

tree, gorse, hills and sheep

the second tree appears inside its rocky cleft

In keeping with the mysterious theme you may notice something in the entrance to the rocky cleft, which I fancifully imagine as an almost-grotto, with the tree forming a kind of roof. It’s a vague shape that resembles a seated figure with lots of hair.

river, rocky cleft and tree

the entrance to the ‘grotto’ with the second tree

As you get nearer you see the river itself has assembled wood and hay to create this sculpted form, a seated ‘river god’.

river sculpture, figure

the river sculpted its own ‘god’ guarding the entrance to the ‘grotto’

river sculpture, wood and grass

a closer look at the grotto’s guardian

The river god seems quite benign so Tilly sunbathes, paddles and digs while I sketch.

sketching location

here I sat and sketched

I try to capture the direction and energy of the various forms in the landscape.

movement in a landscape, oil pastel sketch

first sketch of the ‘grotto’ in oil pastel, A6 sketchbook – trying to capture the movement

We scurry back down after a while when storm clouds begin to gather.

Settlebeck Gill stormy day

storm clouds gathering on the horizon – looking down the Gill

Returning to the same spot a few days later there has been a change.

river daemon sitting in front of waterfall

the ‘grotto’ seems to have a new guardian

I couldn’t resist altering the river’s sculpture.

river god sculpture sititng in ravine

looking down into the ravine at the river god

Maybe the gods were not amused because, while we were there, some rather strange signs appeared in the sky.

feather cloud and hill view

a giant feather floats across the sky, accompanied by other peculiarly shaped clouds

feather and egg clouds

more unusual clouds, this time resembling fried eggs, and their feathered friend

I sketched on regardless.

oil pastel sketch en plein air, semi-abstract

second sketch of the ‘grotto’, oil pastel in A6 sketchbook

Then we left, after one last look at the grotto daemon.

river god sculpture with sheep skull

an odd figure sits in the entrance to the ‘grotto’

This time we climbed even higher up the fell.

dark clouds, blue sky and hills

looking up to Arant Haw, with more curious clouds

After reaching the summit we descended, with ominous skies appearing once more.

photo of hills with approaching storm

more storm clouds are gathering over the hills

The thunder and rain held off each time, allowing us to return home safely, but the next time we visited the second tree the river had removed my addition to its artwork.

Red sky, black trees and water flowing in the dark

oil painting of evening in the valley of Crosdale, painted en plein air

gentle evening light in Crosdale, oil on canvas, plein air sketch, 6×8 inches

Off to paint the last light on the hill I carried my paints up to the ridge where you can see mountains in the distant west. Plunging down the side of a steep valley I emerged from an enormous shadow into what was left of the sunlight. It lit up the lower slopes of the valley, open to the west. I perched on a ledge at the blind end, facing the sun.

The vast hill slope on the right side of the valley was black and looming while, to my left, orange warmth still lingered on the white grass that slid down to the stream far below. A bright yellow strip of light curved along the side of the water, travelling from the open end of the valley to its closing wall. I knew that all of the values in my painting would probably float rapidly away from anything resembling reality as the light quickly dipped and the sun glowered lower.

plein air sketch in oils on canvas, sun setting over Crosdale

sunset lighting up Crosdale, 6×8 inches plein air oil painting

An unreal scene stretched out below me and around me, with electric purples and blues and deep viridian in the distance and in the shadows, glowing whites and ochres in the highlights. The sky was packed with odd-shaped clouds which appeared indigo against the sun, floating in bright yellow air. I painted quickly, and terribly, until the light went leaving a threatening red horizon underneath a bank of dark cloud.

Walking down towards the town I lingered for a long time watching the red sky and, passing a natural grotto cut into the hill, where water poured out of the earth into a rocky cave, I wondered why I had never noticed it before. Did it only appear at night? Remembering I had forgotten to bring a torch I hurried on, down the path with stones still bright in the remaining sky light.

plein air oil painting, setting sun last light over the valley

one last blast of light over Crosdale, plein air oil sketch on canvas, 6×8 inches

Turning the corner and facing east instead of west I could see the town’s lights spread out, dazzlingly, below. It was unnerving because I could no longer see where I was going so clearly. The farm gate reached, I dithered, not wanting to clatter through the yard and wake the occupants, so I carried on along the fell wall through the bracken, heading for a path down through a small wood which would also take me home. The fell-wall walk was time-consuming with no light and huge pools of mud leapt out of the bracken, splattering my feet and legs, while the odd rock did its best to throw me off balance.

Reaching a wooden bench near the gate leading to the wood I paused, sat and drank hot cocoa from my flask, ignoring the gaping opening behind me where another deep valley cut into the hills above, allowing a deafening stream to roar off into the darkness of the trees below.

Next the stoney, slippery path down to the trees had to be negotiated, with bright rocks and dark earth patches concealing holes into which I sometimes dropped without warning. In the trees it was suddenly pitch black and I found myself holding out my hands to the sides, as if expecting a helpful bannister or wall to appear. The way lunged steeply on and, abruptly, two black lines, even darker than the rest of the shadows, showed up, jutting across the path. I remembered them as tree roots before a sudden drop and launched myself past them, thanking the trees as I landed safely. Ahead, the darkness ended in an archway of paler dimness. The edge of the canopy of trees was near. A stone suddenly moved behind me and I felt myself scare. The edge of the wood seemed both extremely near and terribly far away. The urge to get out of the blackness to where I could see again was strong but not so strong that I would risk falling on the stones of the slope by hurrying too much.

Back in town, everything smelt oddly human after spending so long straining my senses in the dark. Cars and houses seemed to have plastic perfumes. Everything synthetic seemed to smell strong. I wondered if this was an inkling of how my dog might perceive the world of scent. When I reached home I could smell that people had been visiting, but slices of pizza soon put paid to any more meandering thoughts.

Where is the painting of the red sky and the black trees I hear you cry? Alas, it’s still in my mind and has yet to be committed to canvas. So this, rather less sinister, afternoon painting from an earlier plein air session will have to do instead.

oil on canvas, 6x8, down Settlebeck Gill, plein air

looking down Settlebeck Gill, an afternoon painting in hazy light, plein air sketch, 6×8 inches, oil on canvas