I have lived in my little crofthouse, that sits at the base of the imposing Stourbrough Hill, for 14 years now. I have looked at this hill through all weathers from my back door. The hill is 173m / 568ft high and this is where all the water from my burn originates.
Ten years ago, we rode the horses up to the top and over. It took us four hours to find our way home! Never again. Incredible views, though.
I remember getting off and walking to try and find our way through the million peat bogs and hags.
Both images © Copyright Douglas Law who climbed to the top with a camera – kudos to that man!
The horses climbed up them on their knees. It was incredible to watch and you could see their ancient survival instincts coming to the fore.
I am trying to take things easy again as I think I was over-doing it since having my plaster off and my ankle is telling, no shouting at me, now. I am not sure what I am supposed to be doing as physio. Walk? Not walk? Rest? Keep going? What? The ankle is not stable and I have had a couple of twinges when I took a bad step. I suppose I was hoping for instant miracles. I could do with some guidance.
So back to pottering on the flat track only with the dogs, admiring the view at the end, watching horses and ponies from afar, while trying to gauge what is a good idea and what is not.
The black blobs in the distance are Shetland ponies.
I only discovered that I was actually photographing a sheep as well when I got home (at least I think that is a sheep – probably my neighbour’s prize Shetland pony foal and I can’t tell the difference as it has been so long since I have seen one!)
Icelandic horses are easier. As they are bigger!