Quarry

To get to the Quarry you have to drive to Stanhope then up and out the back onto the moor and across to Barnard Castle. The moor tops are masked in heavy fog and I drive at a crawl avoiding the cloudy sheep that wander out to great me a slightly exhausting game of chance.


Ive been back and forward to this old quarry site for years. 

Its the image on my website. 
http://www.productofboy.net/


Sheltered in the car it feels silent and film like. Out of the car, the wind is biting and the fog is more like the finest cold rain that seeps in through my jacket.

I have the Dog... I don't usually bring her as she can be noisy but we both need the walk , so she is coming. 


Spoil mountains, a small pond with waders, heron, The water cascaded down the edges of rock face.
I can hear gun shots in the distance. 
The Guns are out.

Its another planet to the day we made the print, so hot and bright. 

Still / wind / Still / carry on / still water / still / be / be still

Be still
Still calm
Still in the wind
Still

I walk all the way round the small lake, and clamber the rocks to get to the far shore. It feels ancient, like I should have a coracle. Or old like a tale, Moomins might visit and fish in the lake. I wonder that there ought to be buzzards , and how I never see birds of prey here.

I cross the bottom of a water fall and find a spot on the bank of damp grass to set up. 
Betsey  Is good and quiet and the ducks have swum up to the reeded end of the pond.

I give her my jacket to sit on . This way she will be quiet and I will not rustle.

I watch mist blow across the pond. 

The sounds here with the waterfall/the wind/  The damp/

These quarry's are eaten out of the moor.
Now they have this odd microcosm . 

I enjoy my voice across the water, it doesn't hold or echo, it often feels small . 
And even here maybe constrained

Betsey growls to let me know people are coming . 
She whines for the other dog

People come. They do their best to ignore me.

I walk along the shore. We find a dead buzzard .