When the weather is good, the view is spectacular, not a sign that anything has changed in thousands of years, although the land is a lot more cultivated and with less forestation than it probably used to have. Click here to see that landscape, with the only signs of human occupation being the dry-stone walls (obvious because only humans make straight lines, not nature). To get to the circle you have to pass through an extremely messy and smelly farmyard -- be sure to wear boots.
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Arbor Low (Derbyshire) -- a nice big stone circle in the Peak district (which is better
known for Chatsworth and some big theme parks, but also for its prehistoric hill forts, such
as Mam Tor, where people go hang-gliding in a very scary landscape); this was never a
hospitable place to live, unlike Dorset, etc., so you wonder how the local tribes were ever
able, economically, to build a place like this -- possibly they were ruled by a tyrant, because
that's the impression this place still gives (it takes all types to make a stone circle, ranging from the Vatican of Stonehenge to the bucolic simplicity of
Long Meg -- each has its own 'personality'); this is the 'coldest' of
the stone circles I've seen, no good vibes coming out of it; but it IS impressive.
However, there is less of what one would call the 'stone-circle vibe' here, maybe because it seems so abandoned, no more than a couple of hundred inhabitants within a five-mile radius. No doubt the area was more heavily populated in those days, otherwise they couldn't have spared the labor to build it.
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I have mentioned elsewhere that dogs love stone circles and castles. Here is my mother's dog Kate having a romp (with my wife Susan in the anorak communing with the stones in the upper background -- she swears that there are mystical vibrations in ancient stones, but I've never felt them, just awe). But you see what I mean that the stones appear to have been knocked down, or perhaps blasted by some wizard's spell that went wrong.
The trees were all new-green and frothy with the sap of spring. There was no smell of rancid cooking oil from the great army of King Iltud encamped around the sacred hill. Arbothlod the Mage stood in the center of the grand stone temple and blessed the Great Mother for the crystal-clear cerulean skies of this auspicious dawn. Venus, Mercury, and the crescent moon made a fine scythe above the blood-pink sun disk on the horizon. To the north, the despicable Brigantes with their witch-queen, to the south, the vile Romans and their reptilian general Agricola -- now was the moment to destroy the enemies of High Peak forever. And just in time, for the army would be beset on both sides within a day. Arbothlod slit the sacrifical child's throat with one swift slice and slid the slippery body into the sacred cauldron. [how do you like my alliteration and adjectival excess?]. He raised his arms and bellowed 'ah-yah-ay-yah-yo-ha-hoo' to the heavens, plucked out the eye of a sheep, and pissed into the cauldron. [nice trick] Princess Antelopay screamed and threw down the dagger with which she was to slay Argophat the hostage. She loved him too much. Arbothlod cursed and raised his cudgel, bringing it down on the hapless hostage. But Antelopay stepped between, and her brains splashed out into the brewing mess. There was a huge explosion.....
