Here is a peculiar looking brown ram I saw today out in my neighbour’s little pasture. They sort of rent the sheep, although I’m not sure who pays who, and then they’re returned for the winter to their other quarters a few miles away. If you click on the picture, they’re bigger.
In the blurry background you can see the black sheep of the family and I think there’s a lamb there too. Today they were silent, but last year they had very deep assertive voices. None of your hesitant bleating, it was more like Paul Robeson singing Ol’ Man River.
This is a tree stump nearby. I do wish they wouldn’t paint little blobs on the trees; they’re to stop you getting lost, two hundred yards from the car park, but if you’re that anxious you probably ought not to be outside at all. The fence is to keep the sheep in. I’m thinking of bringing the goats around tomorrow for a look at the sheep.
A Bad Guide 
How does a blob of blue paint prevent anyone from getting lost, or help them find their way to the car park ? Do you have to learn a color code scheme before you are permitted to walk in the woods ? Why not simply brand the trees with small arrow-shaped outlines containing the words: “If you are lost, go in this direction”, or the equivalent in Norwegian.
Of course there’s a fundamental problem here: why would anyone rely on what a tree tells them to do ? Antisocial elements could be splashing blue blobs all over the place, or forging arrows that point in the direction of sheer drop-offs.
That’s an idea, Grumbly. They have red paint for ski trails, so there’s paint everywhere. I might paint some violet blobs along trails that I wouldn’t advise using in any season. Yesterday, literally hundreds of schoolchildren trudged past our house on their way to a gathering somewhere on top of the mountain. The teachers had tied long lengths of orange & white plastic tape to the bushes along the road to make it clear to the children that they should walk along the road and not, I suppose, through my garden or swinging through the tree canopy – this is the nanny state in action (and I’m a grumpy old man).
Seriously, though, how does the paint system work ? Since I’m not a survival-of-the-fitness kind of guy, I don’t take hikes or go skiing. Thus I am not familiar with survival technologies, whether based on paint or tape.
Maybe the blobs work like this: they don’t prevent you from getting lost, but only tell you that you were lost. When you encounter one you think: “I was lost but now am found”. It’s a religious experience, as described in the hymn Amazing Grace.
Unfortunately, a two-roads-diverged-in-a-yellow-wood kind of problem still remains. Say you have just found a blue-marked tree next to a path. Which of the two directions along the path takes you to the car park, instead of to the Hall of the Mountain King ?
It looks like I subscribe to a “Buridan’s ass” survival technique. When you can’t decide which of two directions to take, just stay put and wait for the helicopters.
People do occasionally get rescued by helicopters around here. A couple of summers ago the local bigwig, the crown prince, jumped in the lake and then waited about 30 seconds for the police to come and winch him up. It was jolly sporting of him, I thought. I also thought how extremely unlikely it would be that a helicopter would show up if I jumped in. One of the British royal family runs a helicopter rescue service, it must be a fun thing for royal folk to do: they can practise waiting and waiting for something to happen.
There must always be a clear path to walk along, or if not you must always have the next paint blob in view, for the blob system to work properly. You know which direction to go because the car park is behind you on the outward trip and in front of you if you turn around (i.e. it only doesn’t work if you start in the middle, but if you’re willing to start in the middle then you’re not relying on the system). That’s my inexpert opinion.
Perhaps a better system would go from dark saturated blue near the car park to a paler blue the further you are away from it. That would work well at intersections with other paths. If you feel you need a security blanket you could carry a light meter to compare the colours, but as I say, the most secure system is never to leave the car park in the first place.
I have to pass along this sentence from a book I’m reading, Landlords and Strangers: Ecology, Society, and Trade in Western Africa, 1000-1630: “Except for chance finds of ambergris cast ashore, the few inhabitants of the windward [Cabo Verde] islands had virtually nothing but goats and salt to attract passing vessels.”
Poor goats. I can’t understand why it would have been hard to find salt, though. Water, water everywhere etc.
According to Lord Macaulay, The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. IV, Charles II’s favourite dish was eggs and ambergris. Given the nasty smell I’d be interested to know how they were served:
This is his cited source. Probably MMcM could go further, but I can’t:
[Welwood, 139 Burnet, i. 609; Sheffield’s Character of Charles the Second; North’s Life of Guildford, 252; Examen, 648; Revolution Politics; Higgons on Burnet. What North says of the embarrassment and vacillation of the physicians is confirmed by the despatches of Van Citters. I have been much perplexed by the strange story about Short’s suspicions. I was, at one time, inclined to adopt North’s solution. But, though I attach little weight to the authority of Welwood and Burnet in such a case, I cannot reject the testimony of so well informed and so unwilling a witness as Sheffield.]
Why they rent a sheep? Is it for “cut” the grass?
I’d like to rent a sheep, it’s a pity i’ve no grass to offer her/him….
I think the farmer pays my neighbour for the use of the grass, but I’m not certain. The adjacent land has plum and apple trees and its grass isn’t ever cut, and I can’t see any reason why they would bother to mow the grass here either. I too thought the neighbour might perhaps pay the farmer for the pleasure of having the sheep around, but perhaps we’re living in a world of Noddy characters.