Skip to main content

Beacon Hill

All of a sudden, the island exploded.

The glow of molten rock lit up the night, as, with a sound like the cascading of a million marbles, the land slumped into the sea.  Chunks of stone shot into the air as if catapulted by a giant hand, and the ocean writhed as it was pelted by countless burning pebbles.  A great cloud of ash rose up, blackening the stars and blotting out the moon.

After a time, the turmoil ceased, and the island grew quiet again.  The ash settled silently on the surface of the sea.

Slowly, the dust and ash sank beneath the waves.  Down it drifted, down into the deep, and became rock again, pressed against the sea bed.  The feathery forms of ancient creatures fell too, and left their imprint.  Plants?  Animals?  Impossible to know.  Their kind long ago vanished from the earth.

Time passed.  Continents shifted.  Seas rose and fell.  The unstoppable movement of tectonic plates bent the rock, lifted it and shaped it, and finally made it part of a new island.  This one, eventually, was named.  The natives called it Britain.


One sunny Sunday in March, a family walked on Beacon Hill.  The three-year-old and his dad played hide and seek amongst the stacks of craggy rock, and drove toy cars over the warm weathered surface.  Mum found a secluded nook to feed the hungry baby, gazing out over the hazy green fields as he sucked.  A ladybird was discovered ascending the lichened heights, and captured for minute inspection.

Mountaineering.
Inspecting the ladybird.
Ferrari with ladybird brake light.
No, that's not me!
And as we scrambled and clambered and balanced, we had no inkling that we were touching some of the oldest known rocks in the world, formed in such a dramatic way over five hundred and fifty million years ago.

That's a long time!

This is meant to be a face in profile - can you see it?
(For more of the geology and pictures of fossils, see here)
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dove Valley Walk: Going round the bend

Somewhere between Marchington and Uttoxeter, the wiggles of the River Dove stop wiggling west to east, and start wiggling north to south. If it went in straight lines, it would make a right-angled bend. As I'm following the river upstream, this was my last section walking west. After this it's north to the Peak District and Dovedale. here the Dove swings north The main walk of this section was all on the south side of the river. But I also did a separate, shorter walk, to explore the village of Doveridge, and the old Dove Bridge which is tantalisingly glimpsed from the A50. Walk 1: Marchington to Uttoxeter I liked Marchington even more as I arrived there for the second time. I parked opposite the village shop - noting the "ice cream" sign outside for later - and near the brick-built St Peter's Church, with a war memorial built in above the door.  A few streets took me to the other side of the village, where I found a path alongside a stream, then across some hay m
Post a Comment
Read more

Dove Valley Walk: Meeting the Limestone Way

At Uttoxeter my route along the Dove Valley met some official long-distance trails. First the Staffordshire Way north to Rocester, then the Limestone Way continuing up towards Dovedale. Graham joined me on today's walk, which included the Staffordshire Way section and the first part of the Limestone Way. Unusually, it was a one-way hike; we got the bus back.   Uttoxeter to Ellastone Graham and I parked at Uttoxeter train station. It's very cheap for the day if you park after 10am, but I was worried about getting back in time for the school run, so we got there at 9:20 and paid the more expensive rate (still only £3).  We started off across flat fields towards the A50 and Dove Bridge. A group of young cattle gave us hard stares as we walked past. I posted a photo of a wonky gate on the Gate Appreciation Society with the caption "Parallelogate" and it quickly accumulated 200 likes - many more than this post will get!   Passing the old Dove Bridge again , we ploughed t
1 comment
Read more

San Antonio

San Antonio is towards the south of Texas and feels very much more Mexican than American. The balmy evenings, the colourful Mexican market, the architecture of the buildings, and the number of people speaking Spanish around us all added to the impression. The city, in fact, grew out of a Spanish mission and presidio (fort), built in 1718 as part of Spain's attempt to colonize and secure what was then the northern frontier of the colony of Mexico. Texas was then a buffer zone between Mexico and the French-held Louisiana, and Spain was keen to cement her hold on the area by introducing settlers and converting the natives to Catholicism and loyalty to the Spanish government. The missions in general had no great effect, but the San Antonio area was the exception to the rule, growing into an important city with five missions strung out along the San Antonio river. The first of these, San Antonio de Valero, later became well-known as the Alamo, where 182 Texans died in 1836
3 comments
Read more