Finding North

Finding North can be a tricky number.  To make things easier, I bought myself a compass last year - it looks like a tiny hunter watch, complete with a lid and a spring-loaded opening button and a clip-on hook.  But with a little effort, I can make north be anywhere from north-north-east to west-north-west. It's all very well having such control over the earth, but if I want to know true north ...

I go outside, away from any magnetic influences in the cottage.

It's night. From where I live the Milky Way is pretty clear and at the right time I can pick out lots of constellations, my favourite being Orion because he's so easy to spot.  Ursa Major - the Plough, the Big Dipper, the Drinking Gourd, whatever you want to call it - is opposite Orion and supposedly points north.  But is that a bit north or very north? And which part of it is the final reference point?

Out with the compass.  The little needle trembles in my hand, unsure of its reception or its future if it cocks my orienteering up yet again.  It says east is north. Frowning, I tilt it a little and the red part of the needle suddenly ungums itself and swings round several degrees.  It settles.

You sure?  That's North?  You don't want to ask the audience or anything?

No, the needle stays pointing towards Easter Farm.  To test it, I turn around and face the other way and the needle sways, wobbles and points back the way I've come.

Fine. I've found North.  I chalk a white line on the flat topstone of the wall.

In the morning, I'll get out the ladder and fix the weathervane.

Until then, navigators wanting to know which way the wind is blowing will have to lick a finger, hold it to the wind and check their own bloomin' compass ...