Hurray for nerds

Through Twitter I stumbled across the blog of an Irish scientist/blogger. And I found a picture there that I want to draw some attention to. The blog post is here and it's the second picture. Hilarious! Makes me realise my geek levels are very moderate in comparison to some...

A most bearable summer

Amsterdam  is not known as a tropical city. I had quite some trouble staying cool there, though. In my little 1900 worker's apartment, with windows only on one side, there was preciously little air circulation. It easily got stuffy! My office was hardly better. The windows could open, but that was it. And quite often, that was a bad idea, as I often had a little tray with dry microfossils on my desk. They easily get blown away!

When I moved to the Arctic I thought my troubles of that nature were over. And indeed, my apartment never got hot. Which one can't take for granted: the upstairs neighbours would feel what it means to have a dark roof in 24hr sunlight... I one walked past the staircase leading to the attic, and there was such heat coming down from it I was afraid the house was on fire. It wasn't; it was just a sunny day! And my office could get rather toasty as well, in summer. Big south-facing windows...

When I moved to southern England I was a bit nervous I would get hot again. This summer has given me no reason to worry at all! It's water-cooled... I'm not complaining!

Morwellham Quay

My third caving trip ever introduced me to several important phenomenons. One: waist-deep ochre. The epitome of splendid mine exploration! Second: Rick, the King of Squalor. Goes very well together with phenomenon one. And third: Morwellham Quay. It was where we teamed up; it was winter, and therefore dark at that hour. But one could make out the cobbled surfaces, the twee cottages, and the quay itself. And against the dark December sky I saw the silhouette of an impressive water wheel. I figured I should go back there!

That night, Rick took us down Wheal Russell. A nice change from his day job, which consists of taking tourists down George & Charlotte mine. Many trips, and all of them enjoyable, with Rick would follow. And I would explore many features of the Tamar Valley, but never Morwellham Quay. Every time I saw that name signposted I was reminded of my desire to go there. And then one day the time seemed right.

There had been a red weather alert. Flood warnings all over the Southwest! It meant: good weather for having a roof over your head (such as the ceiling of a mine tunnel); not too many visitors of Morwellham Quay, interesting river levels, and me being nice and fresh on a Saturday morning. With major flood warnings the Cave Rescue Team is standby; if the usual rescue teams (such as the fire brigade and Dartmoor Rescue) can't cope with the demand, they call upon us. So as soon as I got the message to stand by I stopped my intake of alcoholic beverages and spent the rest of the night reading about philosophy.

In the morning there still had been no call-out. As the rain had abated, the chance of a call-out had too. We chanced it. I drove Hugh (who is not in the rescue team, and therefore had had no reason at all to truncate his debauchery) to the Tamar; we looked at some of his sites, which were almost unrecognisable. I don't think I'll ever see the river that high! And having admired that, we went down to the Quay.

 I've never seen these steps flooded before!

 

I couldn' resist walking some distance into Marquis Lode; there was enormously much water flowing out of this adit too. 

There is a lot to see there; Morwellham Quay was a very busy port, to which all ores form the surrounding mines was taken, so it could be shipped. Apart from the quay itself there was the assayer's cottage, miners' cottages, workshops of the blacksmith, the cooper and whatnot, a school, and I'm not sure if that's original, but there are also shops and a farm. And a pub (that one is!). So we had a great time looking at all of this. And then the time came to go underground.

 

Now I could see the water wheel in daylight!

 

The quay with remnants of (reconstructed) raised railroads

The inside of the assayer's cottage

 Water wheel in the distance, and cottage in the foreground.

 

Carts on the wet quay

 When we gathered at the "railway station" (one gets taken underground in a little train; not very historicaly correct, but it makes it quite accessible), and I thought I saw the shape of Rick there. But this man didn't have a beard! It turned out to be Rick anyway. He was surprised to see us.

 Old shaft - keep off; no, I want in! The train here turns left into the mine.

They have quite some evocative displays in there. It's not just a mine tunnel! Not as if that's not enough to keep me fascinated, though. There are many mannequins (as in, inanimate objects looking like miners; one searches in vain for catwalk modens down there) illustrating the work, and there even is a still functional water wheel. And we got to see Rick's spiel!

 Not a very sharp picture, but it gives an idea of inside the mine!

 Rick teaming up with the mannequins for his educative speeches

It was nice to get an idea of what goes on there in that mine. Even though I prefer to propel myself, and get much muddier! But one can't have it all. We did get some bonus: after the train ride was doen we caught up with Rick a bit, when he got called to remove soem wooden beams from a stream. Every waterway in the surroundings was stretched to its limits on a day like this, and this one might burst its banks if it didn't lose its beams. And Rick invited us to help along... an offer we couldn't refuse. And in spite of Rick dropping a beam on my fingers and Hugh dropping one on my toes it was a nice way of finishing off our stay at this historic place. Finally I've been there! And I can recommend it...

Elusive hole

The lack of muddy, irresponsible behaviour as illustrated on this blog is getting out of hand! After a handful of blog posts filed with sun and dresses and sophisticated amusement this should have been the first on old-fashioned mud and defiance. But the gods didn't will it!

When we were walking from the car into the woods Dave muttered "I hope I can find it..." We hoped that too! We scurried and scampered like there was no tomorrow, ploughing through the brambles and stinging nettles and everything else that had seemingly turned the woodland into a tropical rain forest. Deer ran past, and Lionel even stumbled into an startled deer fawn. But no sign of the mine we sought.

During the search Lionel and Richard got a bit isolated from the rest. Surprise, surprise! Lionel often buggers off; if he's underground, it generally means he's going where the fun is. When he's above ground, though, it often isn't; too impatient to wait for those who know the way, he just runs off in a direction that seems to be a good idea. That way he sometimes does not end up underground at all. It even happened that nobody could get underground, because of this habit of his... 


I had gotten too distracted taking pictures to keep track of where Lionel and Richard were. We did hear them shout at some point, but when we had gotten to where these shouts had come from we neither saw or heard any trace of them. We just went back to the cars, overseen by a buzzard who seemed to have an urgent message for us, but which we didn't understand. Maybe it mocked us for not finding the entrance. 

Lionel and Richard had found it! When we were halfway down our pints in the pub afterwards they suddenly re-appeared. It seems to have been nice! So sometimes, evidently, Lionel's skittishness pays off. They told us there was much water in the mine. My favourite! We'll have to do that trip again. And then I'll stay close to Lionel. For that's where the fun is... even above ground, these days!

From Abbey to Mansion

It's that time again! Suspiciously little mud and sweat on the blog. Instead, there are pretty dresses and glamorous buildings everywhere. And it's not over yet! Hugh's parents were still in the country, and wanted to see some culture. They had picked two rather picturesque venues in the vicinity of Plymouth: Buckland Abbey and Cotehele House. So we all folded ourselves into their car and had a good look at these rather remarkable buildings. Originally a home to cistercian monks, Buckland Abbey didn't manage to stay an abbey sensu stricto when Henry VIII did his general appraisal of such institutes, but at least it managed to keep its structural integrity intact. In the time it served as a civilian structure it accommodated, among others, Francis Drake. There is a lot of Drake paraphernalia and memorabilia on display. Including a humongous statue of the hero that had been lost, but was found back in Exeter undergrowth...

Interior the aptly named "great barn"

The Abbey 

The kitchen

The Abbey seen from its garden

Seen from the gardens, the surrounding fields showed their best side

Cotehele House, that I had only seen from the outside, had served as a Tudor touristic attraction since the late 18th Century. The route along which tourists are guided through the building has not changed since! And little else has. A beautifully preserved, though quite dark, residential building, hung so full of tapestries the mind boggles. 

Cotehele House 

The great hall

Peculiar weaponry on the wall in the great hall

Cute birds in one of the passages

The gardens of Cotehele 

Cotehele Quay, at the river Tamar

And thanks to the sun that came out, seemingly only to prove it was still there after the one of the wettest Junes on record, their respective gardens were lovely too. So even though I'm in quite good health, I still have days of responsible behaviour, and shared with an increasing number of Australians!

Quantify!

I've head dreadlocks for yonks now. But somehow, I'd never wondered urgently enough how many I have to do a proper count! Somewhat uncharacteristic, actually. But as my hair had grown too long and I needed a haircut anyway, I seized the opportunity to do some quantification. Counting things that are not attached to your scalp is easier! So now I know. I have 65 dreadlocks! And while I was at it anyway I also established I have lost 70 g of weight through this cosmetic exercise. In case anyone wondered!

The downside of mines

The few people that may actually read the blog posts on mine exploration I write here are at risk of viewing old mines as beautiful venues of leisure activity. As I do, in a way! But, of course, the whole raison d'etre of a mine is unusual mineralogy, and another word for that is pollution (that's cutting corners, but hey! This isn't my science blog). It's true that all these metals mined, including the heavy ones, run the risk of partially ending up in the environment. I saw a very interesting article on the BBC website about this. It has some nice pictures too!

The colour of the water in this mine doesn't bode well for its wholesomeness... and indeed, it has the kind of chemistry you don't want released into your estuary in large quantities.