Fairfield

Fairfield from Ambleside tends to be my stock sunday walk, as with my current reliance on public transport Ambleside is about the only place I can get to at a reasonable time on a sunday (if you class 7am as reasonable that is).

That said, I’ve not done it that often. Mountain memories inevitably get tied to the conditions you experience them in, and Fairfield has for me nearly always been done in thick cloud and almost zero visibility.

The summit was no different today, but most of the rest of the walk was under clear blue skies and sunshine which would have been quite warm if not for the strong winds.

I’d not realised how dark the mornings were getting and was pleasantly surprised to already be on the ascent as first light hit. With the extra bit of warmth the distant views were hazy, but foregrounds were lit up with some nice sunlight.

Towards Windermere from Nab Scar

Towards High Pike from Nab Scar

 

I was  a little bit surprised to see a couple of other photographers around this morning, it’s rare I bump into anyone else. Though given the jeans and trainers combo I think this is about as high as they were heading. Whilst politely keeping out of shot I grabbed a token Herdwick snap

Herdwick sheep and cloudy Fairfield summit in the background

Despite the stiff breeze which would increase to a rather bracing strong wind by the summit, Rydal Water looked relatively calm nestled in the valley below.

View over Rydal towards Wetherlam

Portrait view over Rydal towards Wetherlam

Most of the Fairfield Horseshoe can be seen from Ambleside, but once you begin the ascent the view towards the final summit is blocked off until you reach the top of Heron Pike. It’s a bit of a slog, hence the number of photos.

Wetherlam from below Lord Crag

Towards Wetherlam from Lord Crag

I was passed at this point by a couple of elderly ladies being dragged along at a healthy pace by their posse of pooches. Only because of my excess camera work rather than any lack of pace on my part I hasten to add…

Looking back towards hazy Windermere

Once I’d finished the first part of the main slog up to the top of Heron Pike, the wind was getting stronger and doing a more than adequate job of keeping me cool. As the views to my destination were now opening up I stopped for a spot of breakfast. The cloud that had been shrouding the summit first thing was still there, and despite the obvious strong winds up at the top (it was swirling around at a decent pace) it was showing little sign of clearing.

Breakfast view towards cloudy Fairfield

Great Rigg and Fairfield

Once at this point the walk levels off slightly, although the ascent to Fairfield is one of those walks that has more ups and downs than is strictly necessary. Still, on a day like today, the views were looking particularly grand despite the haze.  Maybe my lack of enthusiasm for the route had been down to previous non visibility after all…

Looking back to Heron Pike and Windermere

Still some way to go to the summit

Looking back through the haze over the route just travelled

Once reaching the summit of Great Rigg with only Fairfield left to ascend I sat down for a while just to watch the cloud show. It was like one of those speeded up weather videos, except this was in real time. The cloud was whizzing across the summit of Fairfield, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, yet over to the north west on the summit of Seat Sandal it was careering off into the sky in towering curlicues of white. If I owned a Lee big stopper filter, the results of slow shutter speeds here could have been interesting. However for once I was happy just to sit and watch.

Cloudwatching, Great Rigg

Final approach to cloudy Fairfield

The final walking route had yet to be decided. In good weather I often drop down from Fairfield to Grisedale Tarn,and then reascend up over Dollywagon Pike and then on to Nethermost Pike and Helvellyn, however today the murk on Helvellyn looked fairly thick and persistent.

I decided the best option was to descend out of the Fairfield cloud to Grisedale Tarn, and then have an unnecessary scramble up over Seat Sandal. Oddly I’d not actually ticked it off my Wainwright list until today, so it was good to do so, although it does lie awkwardly to one side between usual routes and  is a little aloof. I quite enjoyed it

No photos

Warning: this post contains no pretty photos, just words. Not too many though, I promise.

There are no photos because I didn’t take the camera on today’s Lake District walk – the Kentmere Round. This is a hard thing to do for me. Mountain walking and photography used to be separate enjoyable entities but not any longer. I can’t go near mountains without the photography obsession taking over – constant thoughts about the light, the angles, composition, the rugged grandeur, and the fact that SURELY it’ll be worth taking a shot of something?

Add in the carrying of gear, (often camping gear as well), early starts, walking up in the dark, and it’s at the point where I rarely feel the simple enjoyment of the freedom of a mountain escape. It’s just another photo job.

Therefore I have to be forced to leave the camera at home and today’s forecast was a good enough reason as any – heavy rain, low cloud and strong winds, gusts as high as 80 mph (anything above 73 mph is hurricane strength on the Beaufort Scale) was to be the photographic diet. I know the best photos don’t always come in good weather, but that’s feeding off scraps.

So it was to be a wild lightweight walk, with the added excitement of weather conditions you just don’t get in this country at street level. As those who head for the hills often enough know, it’s wild mountain conditions like this that make you feel so alive.

The paths were mainly angry gurgling streams, the hardy Herdwicks were stood around looking miserable, waterfalls were everywhere, and where the winds were strongest high above the head of the valley, the waterfalls were being blown back up the hill from whence they came, adding to our general drenchery as we had to pass through them.

But we just about managed to stay on our feet. Yeah we got soaked to the skin but what the hell, no camera gear to get damaged, and we’ll dry out eventually. It was wild. And it was bloody good fun.

Chilling on Cat Bells

I like Cat Bells.

If you’ve only ever been up it during the middle of the day then you may be surprised by this statement, knowing as you do my liking for  a bit of solitude. It can be like a school playground up there at times in the middle of summer. But as ever with the Lake District, if you’re up early enough you can still get it to yourself.

Inevitably after time locations become indelibly tied in my mind to the photographs I take of them, and I’ve had several lovely shoots  on Cat Bells. The view overlooking the Newlands Valley and surrounding fells is tremendous;  and I’ve had success both in the glorious golden light of a summer dawn, and in an aching pink dusk up to my knees in snow with the wind tearing my face off.

I headed up there again at the weekend, this time in the company of another photographer who was after some Lake District locations to shoot.  The mornings are beginning to get later already, with sunrise now not until almost 7am, so a leisurely 6am start was planned, in readiness to catch first light clipping the summits of the Derwent Fells on the other side of the Newlands Valley.

There was a stiff cold breeze on the top. I persisted with my shorts and trekking sandals combo, but it could be the last time this year. Gloves were required

Morning sunlight on Cat Bells

As you can see there was some nice early morning light catching the summits, and we hung around for a good hour and a half. until the skies began to cloud over and the best of the light had obviously gone.

Some cloud is always good though, I don’t think I’ve taken a shot I like that doesn’t have any, and it began to create some nice shadows. Here’s one of Robinson rising above the Newlands Valley.

Robinson and the Newlands Valley

It all still looks distinctly green and summery, but lots of the leaves are beginning to turn, and I can’t wait for all the browns yellows and burnt oranges to appear. And of course, lots of white stuff to follow

Back with you…

So, where were we?

It’s been a while since focussed essay writing at uni and I think I’ve lost all grasp of cohesion and structure. Maybe the writing will come together if I keep practising. Look I’m drifting off topic already.

Top of St Sunday Crag. Next thing I was aiming for was more Helvellyn, but this time closer. I’d been after some shots of Striding Edge at dawn for aaaages but every time I’d planned to go the forecast was for brighter in the west of the Lake District rather than the east. There’s often an east/west divide in the weather here. I decided to head home first to process some of the stuff I’d just shot and then come back for Striding Edge the next day. Forecast was still for clear skies, but even colder and wilder…

So next day I basically repeated the walk from the day before, up past Grisedale Tarn to the summit of St Sunday Crag, but then continued down to Patterdale. It was a wild old afternoon, cloudy, very windy and very cold for August (windchill was forecast to be about -5c), but all forecasts seemed to concur that it would brighten up later. I arrived in Patterdale late in the afternoon, with the idea of having a meal at the pub saving on weight to be lugged up the hill.

After dining I then headed up the path up the side of Birkhouse Moor, intending to camp somewhere near the Hole in the Wall, or as close to the start of Striding Edge as I could find a sheltered place to pitch. It certainly wasn’t going to be a calm evening so I’d need some kind of shelter.

As I wandered up, beginning to climb above the Grisedale Valley I got sidetracked a bit as there were some photos to be had with some nice summer evening sunlight falling on St Sunday Crag.

Grisedale Valley and St Sunday Crag

When I eventually made it up to the Hole in the Wall it was clear I was going to need the shelter, so used the lee side of the wall itself to camp behind.  Even then it was still pretty blustery, with the wind screaming through the gaps in the dry stone wall. I could tell it was going to be another cold one too. Happily a cheeky mini bottle of red would keep me warm while I hunkered down in the sleeping bag to read for a bit I camped just down by the right hand side of the wall in the shot below.

The Wall, and last of the evening sunlight on Birkhouse Moor

It wasn’t the best night’s sleep I’ve had, and I love sleeping in my sleeping bag. Not sure about temperatures, but probably around freezing with the wind making it feel colder. I know they had some August snow in Scotland that night anyway!

The day dawned clear again, although the sun was rising behind a bank of cloud above the Pennines which took some of the intensity away from the light. This was almost enough of an excuse to make me stay in the sleeping bag, but to be honest I was getting colder rather than warmer so forced myself out. No better way to warm up than get the legs moving.

For those not familiar with the area, it’s only a shortish climb from here to the summit of High Spying How, effectively the start of Striding Edge. Most of you won’t know, but I actually suffer from vertigo, so this was going to be a test for me, particularly in high winds. I never had any intention of traversing the full length of the ridge, I just needed to coerce the shaky legs out those few steps along the exposed ridge in order to get the shot I was after. I wanted a figure in it for scale, and even Striding Edge is deserted at 6.30am so that figure would have to be me.

(On this subject, I do seem to be improving slightly with increased exposure. I also find it easier when I’m wearing my lightweight trekking sandals rather than the heavy clunky walking boots. More sprightly on my feet. Anyway, I’ll do a wee post on this subject at some point.)

I scrambled up and around the side of High Spying How, which is effectively a rocky outcrop rising above the ridge. Happily it provided something to lean my back against before taking those few tentative steps out. The cross winds were strong, making things slightly more difficult than they needed to be, but despite some shakiness in the jelly legs I wasn’t as bad as I could have been. The main worry was getting the tripod exactly level and sturdy because if this blew off the edge to the left, bye bye camera.

Length of self timer was going to have to be as short as possible. Enough time for me to get out into the shot, but not too long for the battering winds to have enough of a chance to whip my gear off the precipice. I went for 10 seconds and crossed fingers.

Happily the first shot worked well and I was pretty chuffed with myself. If it was calmer and warmer and generally more pleasant I may have hung around and tried a few more slightly different shots but I was desperate to get back into my sleeping bag. Hands were pretty numb even with gloves on. My photography nearly always demands physical exertion, but not always psychological. Hope you like it!

Striding Edge at dawn

Where to start…

I should probably be more spontaneous with my blogging, but to be honest after a jaunt up into the mountains the processing of photos takes over my time immediately, sometimes for a good week or so if I’ve been treated to good conditions.

In the last couple of weeks I’ve had two wild camps, one on St Sunday Crag and one on Helvellyn;  one very pleasant evening watching the sun go down from the summit of Scafell Pike before pelting down to Wasdale Head in the dark (fantastic fun); one run up Scafell Pike and down to Great Langdale, and one ascent of Great Gable from Seathwaite and back.

So that’s where I’ve been blog readers.

I shan’t bore you with details from them all, but I think will settle for a short story and a couple of photos from each (except the last two – hazy murk, not really camera jaunts) and the details behind the shot. There you go, I didn’t even know what this post was going to be about when I started typing, now it has a structure and everything – spontaneity rocks

So a week last thursday the forecast was looking good for a few days, if maybe darn chilly at night, and I headed straight for the hills after work. The aim was to get somewhere pretty high pretty quickly as I wouldn’t have  a great deal of time before sundown. I settled for St Sunday Crag, as I’d been after some new shots of Helvellyn at dawn for a while and the sun would be coming up in the right place for first light to play over the crags and ridges of the mountain and its neighbours Nethermost Pike and Dollywagon Pike.

By getting off the bus at the top of Dunmail Raise above Grasmere I could ascend via Grisedale Tarn and save a good bit of climbing with the heavy pack.  There was some nice light on the flanks of Fairfield above Grisedale Tarn on the way up, so I hastily composed some shots and managed one stitched panorama which you can find in the new stuff gallery on the website.

It was fairly wild and windy around here and I pressed on thinking I might have to backtrack if it was too hairy on the exposed summit ridge of St Sunday Crag. The path gently weaves up the flank of St Sunday Crag, before taking an abrupt steep right turn for the last bit of the ascent to Deepdale Hause. Happily when I got there the wind had either dropped, or at my chosen site between the Hause and the summit of St Sunday I was slightly sheltered. Either way I could pitch easily enough on the soft grass just off the footpath with the tail of the tent to the prevailing wind. Already the light was going and it was getting cold so I grabbed a quick snack, cosied up and set the alarm ready for the dawn shoot.

Happily the skies dawned clear. Unhappily this meant it was bloody freezing. I’m not sure it should be below freezing in August, even early in the morning on top of a mountain in the Lake District, but this landscape photography lark is never easy. A quick jog up the last 100m or so to the summit of St Sunday Crag warmed me slightly.

Sunrise on St Sunday Crag

As I said the main reason I was up here was to get some shots of the Helvellyn range at dawn. I managed a range of stitched panoramas and still can’t decide which I like the best. Here’s one, more in the new stuff gallery.

Dollywagon and Nethermost Pikes and Helvellyn from St Sunday Crag

Oh and I managed one looking back over where I camped to Fairfield too:

Fairfield from St Sunday Crag

Okay so this isn’t turning out to be particularly brief is it! I’ll do the next day’s jaunt up Striding Edge as the next post. Soon, I promise…

A fresh escape (2)

Saturday

Alarm…. zzzzzzz …. 4 am. Unzipping of the sleeping bag cocoon… then the outer shell of the tent. Still dark, but I can see it’s cloudy with no sign of any clear patches. Still, it’s the Lake District, things change quickly. Alarm reset for 5am.

Alarm…. zzzzzzz ….5am. Unzipping ritual repeated. Lighter, no less cloud. Not looking at all promising for that beautiful view of first light striking the dark bulk of Pillar above me. Alarm reset for 5.30am. Just in case.

Alarm…. zzzzzzz …. 5.30am. You get the picture. It’s a grey one. Sod it. I cosy back up into the sack and reset the alarm for 9am. A lovely long sleep (I really can sleep for as long as I like in my sleeping bag), a spot of breakfast, then a jaunt around the Mosedale Round, hopefully the cloud will begin to lift once the sun’s up.

9am. It looks bright outside through the tent walls. Unzipping ritual. Hmmmm…… lifting cloud? I can barely see the end of the guy ropes let alone Pillar. The cloud and mist has descended right down. I figure I have all day so I’m in no rush and snuggle back down for a doze. I end up snoozing til almost midday. Considering I went to bed at 8pm that’s some sleep catch up.

Around 12 ish I figure that if I don’t actually force myself out I will just sleep all day and probably be awake all night. I forcibly evict myself to find that the cloud has lifted, and now is only just covering the very summits. Not only that it looks to be lifting fast with patches of blue sky appearing. The wind is still swirling away so I tell myself it’s going to be a lovely wild afternoon walk in the sun, kick my arse in to gear and get moving.

Indeed it is. Packing away only takes about 5 mins and by the time I’ve walked around to Beck Head between Great Gable and Kirk Fell (which can’t be more than 15- 20 mins walk) the skies are largely sunny and visibility about as good as it gets in summer.

Wasdale from Beck Head

I can’t remember what the descent from Kirk Fell to Black Sail Pass is like, but in my mind it’s steep, so with all the gear I decide to take the path that skirts around the side.  I remind myself I must camp on top of Kirk Fell one day, such a large summit plateau. I follow a couple of other walkers along the path who prove useful as scale for a few stock shots I fire off.

Walkers heading for Pillar

Once past Black Sail Pass and ascending the first steepish scrambly bit of Pillar, the Mosedale Round comes into its own. It feels like a proper mountain walk, with big, wild, rugged, craggy views in all directions, particularly behind you over Kirk Fell, Great Gable and the Great End – Scafell range, as well as down into the Mosedale Valley towards Yewbarrow.

The path up Pillar, with the Mosedale Valley and Yewbarrow in the background

Me on Pillar, with the Scafells in the background

Apart from stopping to admire the views, you do get a chance to catch your breath on Pillar as there are a couple of flatter sections in between the climbs. I had in mind one of these for the evening’s camp, but more of that in a bit.

It was now a great day for summer walking, the strong winds keeping things cool even with the sun out and clearing blue skies, as well as adding to the wild atmosphere of the walk.

Once past the large flat summit plateau of Pillar and having a wander round to enjoy the all encompassing views I get the chance to test out my vertigo a bit with the drop to Wind Gap. It’s not that narrow, but it is quite a steep little descent with large drops of both sides. I tell myself there are actually footpaths off both sides and get on with it. Happily the wind is blowing directly into my face rather than trying to blow me off either side.

It’s then another steep little rocky scramble up on to Scoat Fell, then the climbing is pretty much done, a straightforward walk around to Red Pike and the descent into Wasdale. I decide against adding Yewbarrow on (although it should really be done as part of the round) as the afternoon is getting late, and I have to squeeze in a pint at the Wasdale Head Inn before deciding where I’m going to pitch the tent for the evening.

Approaching Red Pike from Scoat Fell

By the time I’ve skirted around Yewbarrow and doubled back to Wasdale Head, I’m about knackered. It’s the first time I’ve been out with all my gear for nearly two months, and that pack is heavy. I did stop to dip my toes in the water whilst admiring the Scafells on the way though:

The Scafell Massif over Wastwater

Bloody hell the pint tastes good. I have to restrict myself to one though, otherwise I know I’ll be there all night. Which will be fun, but I’ll wake up with a hangover and no photos.

So…… where to pitch. In my heart I know where I want to be – as close to the summit of Pillar as possible. Late evening light on the fells tonight, and hopefully a glorious sunrise in the morning. It’s another long old climb after a decent day’s walking though.

Whilst the pint and bag of crisps are fresh inside me, I load the gear back on to my back, get my head down and start the trek along the Mosedale Valley. At least a chunk of the distance I need to cover is along this fairly flat section. And if I don’t have the energy to make it all the way to the summit, the top of Black Sail Pass makes for an easier target.

Which is exactly where I end up. I’m pretty much exhausted by the time I get there, and the winds are still strong so pitching could be a bit tricky on the flatter exposed sections of Pillar I’d been eyeing up earlier on. Black Sail is still fairly exposed, but I manage to pitch in a small hollow next to a little rocky outcrop which takes some of the brunt of the wind.

It’s getting late, and as soon as I’ve got the tent up I can see there is some lovely looking light streaming down the Ennerdale Valley. I’m not going to have time to climb much higher before it’s gone, so set about trying to make the most of the scene in front of me. Nothing quite worked perfectly, but this stitched panorama of Ennerdale shows how nice the light was:

Ennerdale from Black Sail Pass

And with those few shots in the bag, it’s just a few mouthfuls of pasta then I snuggle down and am soon dead to the world, happily sandwiched between Kirk Fell and Pillar.

I’d forgotten to check sunrise times before I came out, but guessed at around 6am. So I roll out at 5am to promising clear skies, and begin climbing Pillar once again. Despite the sun being a bit away from rising, it’s light enough to climb without the headtorch. The winds have calmed overnight, and it proves to be a very peaceful walk to the summit, all the while eyeing up the increasingly glowing skies over towards Helvellyn.

Dawn colours over towards Helvellyn

Sadly all that colour means there’s also a fair bit of cloud over in that direction, which could scupper my usual ‘first light on the summits’ shots. This does indeed prove to be the case, and a fairly weak, hazy sunrise ensues.

The morning light is still pleasant though, so instead of my dramatic landscape shots I play about with a few more fun things which might sell as stock. Most involve me perching on the summit cairn whilst there’s no one else around to give me disapproving looks

Me posing on Pillar summit cairn at sunrise

And with that it’s just about the end of the weekend’s photography. A leisurely walk back down to the tent, and it even proves to be warm enough to sit outside for breakfast.

It’s already looking hazy for the day ahead so I decide to head back home for some rest and to get on with processing the photos.  But there’s just time for one more pic of the tent before it comes down and gets stowed away before its next outing, whenever and wherever that may be.

Wild camping on Black Sail Pass

A fresh escape

Ever since the start of last week the forecast for the weekend had been promising. It seemed as if a brief glimpse of summer would be heading to the Lake District once again. After far too many long weeks cooped up indoors by rain and low cloud, I was itching to grab the tent and tripod for another sojourn in the hills…

Friday

As we got closer to the weekend the forecast deteriorated slightly, but no amazing landscape shots were ever borne from clear blank blue skies, and I was heading out whatever before I went nuts. I still hadn’t quite decided where I was going, but hey, have tent will camp. Anywhere. So it didn’t matter too much.

As often there was an east/west split with the Lake District forecast, with the west looking the clearer.  The smallest excuse is needed for me to head to the Wasdale area  so I aimed in that general direction, with the thought of squeezing in the Mosedale Round at some point. It’s probably my favourite circular walk in the Lake District, and one with the most ruggedly mountainous views, and a while since I’d done it. The route leads from Wasdale Head along the Mosedale Valley (although you can throw in Kirk Fell as well if you particularly want to head straight up the nose – you’ll probably regret it later), then heads up the top of Black Sail Pass before ascending Pillar, Scoat Fell, Red Pike and Yewbarrow.

I’d earmarked bulk of the walking for Saturday, so headed off on Friday afternoon with a shortish walk in mind just to place me within shouting distance of the Mosedale Round. I decided to aim for Black Sail Pass as a possible campsite.

I knew my legs were going to be heavy having not been out with the full camping and camera gear for 7 weeks, so decided to cheat on the altitude gaining by getting off the bus at the top of Honister Pass, heading up over Grey Knotts and Brandreth, then along Moses Trod and either over or around Kirk Fell to Black Sail.

Skies ended up being relentlessly grey on friday, but I wasn’t too bothered as I knew it was due to improve as the weekend wore on. I think I lulled myself into a false sense of security with the climbing. Even getting off at the top of Honister there is still a steepish haul up to the top of Grey Knotts and it was longer than I remembered.

Not feeling particularly photographically inspired by the leaden grey skies when I could have had some nice early evening light, I forced a couple of snaps for blogging purposes.

Despite all the recent rain, the fairly flat terrain between between Grey Knotts and Brandreth wasn’t too boggy, and I had my first views of some of the higher Lake District fells for some weeks. I could feel my lethargy blowing away in the not inconsiderable breeze already.

Along here the view opens up to the north west, giving glimpses of Buttermere and Ennerdale, and the similarly shaped ridges of Pillar and the High Stile Range. There was a thin line of brightness out to sea, but the mountains were a sullen flat grey and I didn’t hold out much hope of any late evening light to bring their ridges and textures to life.

Making the short descent from Brandreth down to the path of Moses Trod, which skirts below Green Gable and the rocky face of Great Gable’s Gable Crag, I made the snap decision to pitch somwhere along here. The wind was getting up, and if it did get really strong, Black Sail Pass is quite exposed. More importantly, I love the view of Pillar from here, and was mindful that any early morning sunlight would reveal its profile beautifully.

I wandered around for about 15 minutes trying to find somewhere flat enough and sheltered enough, eventually finding somewhere that wasn’t perfect on either count, but would do. And it did have the added soundtrack of a little stream babbling away nearby. I love the sound of water to drift off to sleep to; whether it’s the sea, a stream or a crashing waterfall I find them all comforting in some way. Not that I ever have many problems snoozing away when cosied up in my sleeping bag.

I’d made a big tub of courgette, chilli and tomato pasta to take with me, knowing that it would last a couple of days and would be great for energy. Once the tent was up (about 2 minutes) I had a wander around whilst stuffing my face (I don’t like sitting still, you may have gathered) and wished I hadn’t bothered.

I came across a young sheep which was twitching away in what were fairly obviously the last throes of death. There was nothing I could do for it but it did kind of put me off my dinner for a couple of minutes. There were no signs of attack, so even with it being friday the 13th, I calculated that the chances of it having been killed by zombies, becoming reanimated during the night, and me succumbing in my sleep to a ravenous sheep corpse were fairly slim. So I left it to it’s pitiful end and wandered back to the tent.

Under darkening skies, with not even a slim sign of anything approaching a sunset, I crawled into the sleeping bag and drifted off to an early sleep, with the alarm set for 4am to check for early signs of some raking morning sunlight.

Wild camping (pt2) – the Lake District and photography

Three of my favourite things…

This is barely worth repeating once more, particularly as most readers will have a passing interest in photography, but the best and most dramatic light for landscape photography occurs at the extreme ends of the day. With mountain photography, even in an area as compact as the Lake District (more on this aspect of the Lakes shortly), choice of location can often mean a 2 or 3 hour walk to your chosen location.

This can mean very unsociable hours depending on your chosen viewpoint and the time of year. On a mountain summit in the Lake District in summer, colour can appear in the sky as early as 2.30 am, even if the sun isn’t due to show its face for another couple of hours.

I’ve sometimes considered changing to night shifts in summer, although this isn’t really feasible when trying to hold a part time day job down as well. Therefore I’d argue that (for me) wild camping is essential to my photography in summer. Usually I head up in the evening laden with minimal camping gear. I usually just stick to my lightweight tent and sleeping bag and minimal food and water. Add this to camera, lenses and tripod and you soon have a heavy load to haul up the hillside.

Depending on the weather, changeable as ever in the Lake District, I may be lucky enough to get two bites at the photographic cherry from one night’s camping. The dying dusky light in the evening, a cosy 4 hours or so in the sleeping bag, before emerging bleary eyed to grab the dawn colours and the first rays of sunlight raking across the peaks and valleys the next morning.

With light coming from opposite directions at dawn and dusk, summits are great places to camp; the unbroken views meaning two completely different scenes can be shot from one viewpoint. The only downside is obviously the greater exposure to the elements. I’ve had some interesting evenings, most definitely putting the wild into wild camping.

Even on a good morning, 20 mins after sunrise in summer the light can be washed out, so I often get my photos then jump back into the tent for another sleep, before reawakening at a more reasonable hour and heading back down or on to the next vantage point.

Conversely, winter with its late sunrises and early sunsets mean the light is often good all day long, and it’s easy enough to head up into the mountains to catch the early light without having to get out of bed two hours after you’ve got into it. Also, the weather can be at its most extreme in winter, and this often leads to the most dramatic shots – lifting cloud, clearing, skies, a sudden burst of sunlight, these are the moments a landscape photographer lives for.

With this in mind, I certainly don’t need to wild camp in winter, and with long hours of darkness and usual mountain temperatures of -10c to 15c, I rarely feel the urge!

If you want to give it a go, the Lake District is a great place to try it. It’s such a compact area that it doesn’t involve an endless trek to reach the heights, you can still get a sense of wilderness and escape, and it’s not too far to retreat to the nearest valley if things do get a bit hairy. Just make sure you have a decent tent (mine’s a Vango Helium 200 if you’re interested) and a warm enough sleeping bag. The shot below was a spring wild camp on Great Gable and despite being a warm day, night time temperatures touched -10c.

Mountain forecast is hinting at better weather by this time next week, so hopefully my next post will be a new walk with new photos…

Wild Camping (pt 1)

And so… to wild camping.

It’s been in the local news recently (well actually, it hasn’t – parking up and camping by the roadside and leaving a mess isn’t wild camping dear BBC, but we‘ll not dwell on that here)

Essentially, wild camping is technically illegal in England and Wales (different rules in Scotland and Dartmoor) unless the permission of the land owner is sought in advance, a largely impractical undertaking given the way the ownership of land, even in national parks, is divided.

The general unwritten rules (increasingly well written) are to pitch above the height of the last intake wall, pitch late, leave early and make no mess. Basically you should be well away from sight so no one should even know you’ve been there once you’ve gone.

Which is kind of the point of wild camping. It’s not about lingering on the outskirts of civilisation and still making use of its amenities, it’s about temporarily retreating from it almost entirely, with the knowledge you can slip back in when ready. It’s about sitting on top of a mountain under the dying sun as the sky sets on fire; knowing there’s no rush to get back, no rush to go anywhere…

And if you’re really lucky, it might just be warm enough to laze outside the tent as the stars pierce the faded sky, and you’re surrounded by the comforting bulk of the darkened immutable mountains.

Your bed is with you and you can crawl into it when you’re ready, suitably tired and humbled.

And if that’s not the biggest escape from the daily worries of life there can be, then I don‘t know what is. It’s the purest immersion in solitude and freedom you can get on a crowded little island like this one.

Next post: Wild camping in the Lake District… essential for summer mountain photography? (coming soon)

Initial ramblings

So… the first post….

In future this blog will be used to tell you in more detail what I’ve been up to – walk descriptions and the like –  as well as bits of newsy gubbins.

Given the recent downturn in the Lake District’s weather (a falling into a grey wet abyss kind of downturn), there haven’t been many walks, so I’ll start of with some good news.

The Autumn, Stockghyll photo below has been shortlisted for the Take A View Landscape Photographer of the Year competition. Whilst I thought I had a slim chance of reaching the shortlist, I didn’t expect it to be with this photo. But it’s good news, and that I shall take.

Hopefully it’ll make it to the book of best entries published at the end of the competition.