Air clarity and visibility was forecast to be excellent, so I hauled myself from my deathbed with a plan of a short walk which would get me high fast and give me views. A quick shot of Lake District antibiotics.

Great Gable would definitely put a big fat tick next to ‘views’ on the checklist. And getting off the bus at the top of Honister Pass would mitigate the necessary amount of climbing. So up via Grey Knotts, Brandreth and Green Gable it was.

By the time I began to plod, the earlier overhead wishy wash of blue had been liberally scattered with cotton wool to soak up some of the blandness. Looking towards Pillar from Grey Knotts:

After the first sharp little ascent from Honister  it’s a rather casual affair along to Brandreth, then a little drag up to Green Gable, with fine views towards Pillar and down into the heart of Ennerdale the all the way.

From Green Gable it’s a fun little assault to the summit of Great Gable, nothing at all tricky in good conditions, but I recall tackling it with a layer of sheet ice which made things slightly more interesting.

I bypassed the lunching few on the very summit and made a beeline (zigzagging, making buzzing noises) for the quieter corner of the top beside the Westmorland Cairn.

Erected in 1876 to mark supposedly the best view in the Lake District, the moss clad cairn sits steadfast over a precipitous drop, and is, well, probably one of the best views in the Lake District.

Looking towards the far end of Wast Water, it encompasses that point from down below looking up which our generation also voted Britain’s Best View.

Voted for by those who don’t like to stray more than ten yards from the car door and have never been to Scotland, obviously.

Here, out of the wind and in the sun, life was very good indeed.

Oh and I did a quick check on the rocky promontory in this last photo. I think I can get my tent on there….

You can find a few more serious landscape shots of Wasdale and surroundings here.

So last night that’s where I found myself. Last time I camped there I came back without any photos, lost a tent pole, and gained a kidney infection, so I figured this time had to be slightly more successful.

I’d originally had in mind somewhere around the Great Gable/Kirk Fell/Pillar area, but impulse had me hopping off the bus in Buttermere Village instead of the top of Honister Pass.

It’s a fairly short and direct climb up a steepish grassy path, and I was soon pitched on the fringes of the plateau, away from the rather boggy central section.

It’s been a good week for landscape photography in the Lakes; plenty of sun, plenty of showers, some all important cloud, wonderfully clear air and dustings of snow on the higher fells. Sadly this was the first time I’d been out.

It was a cold night, windier than I expected, with grains of snow in the air, and I woke up in a frosty tent to  a stubborn canvas of grey this morning.

An unwieldy spatter of cloud over towards Ennerdale obscured what would have been the the best of the light last night. However the sun reappeared weakly beneath it to briefly bid the day farewell. Here are a random selection of shots taken whilst I ran around trying to keep warm.

Fleetwith Pike, Great Gable and Haystacks

Great Gable and Scafell Pike

Me, my bed and distant Blencathra

Camp Sunset

Sunset over Crummock Water

Winter snapped back in the Lake District briefly last weekend much to my delight. On Sunday afternoon I walked up past Easedale Tarn on to Blea Rigg with no set destination, and eventually found myself atop High Raise at dusk. Things turned pink and magical and, as I’d forgotten the headtorch, I ended up running back down to Grasmere in moonlight.

The next morning I set out (in the dark again) aiming for Fairfield via Grisedale Tarn, and again the light didn’t disappoint…. enjoy!

Seat Sandal and Fairfield from Blea Rigg

Easedale Tarn

Towards Great Gable from Sergeant Man

Scattered Rocks, High Raise

High Raise, Dusk

Helvellyn Range at dusk

And the next morning….

Helvellyn Range from Fairfield at dawn

Same again, slightly later, cloud clearing

Fairfield Cairn and Helvellyn Mono

Raised footprints, Fairfield

Cofa Pike and St Sunday Crag

Over Great Rigg towards Windermere

I fear that may be it for this (rather pitiful) winter, so from here on in it’ll be daffodil photos from me

There’ll be four pieces of my black and white work on display, alongside work by Andrew Sanderson, Edward Chadwick, Holly Rowan Hesson and Craig Dyson.

The exhibition runs from 25th February until 6th May, so please pop along if you’re in the area!

I had in mind a wander past Easedale Tarn and the frozen waterfalls we’d passed on the photo course I was running the day before, and then progressing up towards the Langdale Pikes and hopefully emerging into the clearing skies Mr Weatherman had prescribed for the afternoon.

Instead, an alternative idea shot through my head and told me I was instead to catch the next bus north and head up Blencathra. Ok brain, a sudden volte – face on your part, but we’ll go with it. It is one of my favourite ridge lines in snow. And I don’t skirt along it nearly enough.

I was soon having words with myself as not far past Thirlmere the snow began to dwindle, eventually to nothing. The lovely winter wonderland I’d left behind in Grasmere was but a distant fairytale memory only 20 minutes north.

I clung on to the hope that surely there would still be a pasting of white on higher slopes. Who knew? I couldn’t see anything through the soggy low cloud I sullenly alighted into from the bus.

Wandering down the lane past Castlerigg Stone Circle, surroundings stripped to muddy brown and grey after the previous day’s perpetual flurries of winter dust, I was convinced I’d made the wrong decision, but persisted in dwindling hope.

And then… a glimpse. Skiddaw winking white above the cloud, only for five seconds, and then gone. Enough to urge me on in the hope that Blencathra would also be tipped with white. Not only that, but poking above the cloud base too.

I didn’t even stop to sneer at the car park tripod brigade at Castlerigg, loitering, hands in pockets, waiting for something to happen. I’d suspected I’d be out into the sunlight before they ever saw any.

After crossing the A66, along tracks and through fields, I eventually began to climb my hill. And about half way up Blease Fell, just as I began to approach a few sad patches of dying fish out of water snow, I emerged out of the cloud and into the blue.

Snow capped Lonscale Fell peaked surprisingly imperiously above as I blinked into the warm winter sunshine; almost feeling like I was seeing it for the first time rather than the umpteenth.

The snow remained patchy underfoot as I climbed higher, delayering all the time, and for the second time in two weeks I was soon down to short sleeves, the air breathless and unmoving as it was on Helvellyn the previous week.

Behind me only the tips of the Lake District summits were peeking through a grand sea of cloud.

It began to clear slightly as I progressed, with more of the surrounding peaks coming up for air. Here the Coledale Round, one of my favourite circuits, looking an inviting prospect.

Even as I reached the summit ridge, there wasn’t 100% snow cover, and fewer pretty wind sculpted cornices to play with than on Helvellyn, so I just meandered back and forth for a while, taking in that cracking temperature inversion.

Occasional plumes of cloud began to slide up the ridges, forcing me to add a few layers back on as they enveloped me.

After lunch and a quick sunbathe, it was time for me to wander back down and reimmerse myself back in to the grey.

I imagine I’ll be back to poke my head out of the clouds very soon

I did my stock Lake District mountain fix, getting off the bus at the top of Dunmail Raise then ascending to Grisedale Tarn alongside Raise Beck and up over Dollywaggon and Nethermost Pikes and Helvellyn.

I’ve had classic winter days like this before, but they don’t happen very often. Grisedale Tarn looking stunning:

There was no perceptible movement in the air at all as I zigzagged up the powdery slopes of Dollywaggon, and could even feel warmth from the sun.

The mini thermometer on my camera bag almost crept into double figures at this point, but was soon back down to below zero when approaching the summit ridge.

I could have spent rather too much time in amongst the snow patterns in the cornices along the ridge, but can get a little too absorbed with things like this and I’m liable to take one step too far and go straight through them. And I was out for a walk rather than a concentrated photo session.

Understandably there were plenty of folk out and about, walkers and climbers, and many a knowing grin was exchanged. There’s almost a collective air of hill giddiness on days like this.

The stitched shot below is from the top of The Tongue on Dollywaggon looking across to the rest of the walk over High Crag and Nethermost Pike to Helvellyn. It’s over 3 feet long at full size, and you can view a bigger version at http://twitpic.com/8cwffp. View it full size on something bigger than a phone and count the ants on the ridge

A couple more shots from skirting along the ridge…

The sunlight began to fade as I moved further along the ridge, slinking away beneath an increasing wave of high level cloud over the western Lakes. This often leads to an increase in air movement which chills things down considerably… but still…. not a breath.

As is usually the case the cross shelter on the summit of Helvellyn was banked up with drifting snow, so I perched on the top for a while watching the last of the hill stragglers begin to head home.

The only problem with leaving your winter photography until the end of the day is there isn’t much untouched snow to work with! But still, as earlier cornice photography and judging where the real edge is can be a dodgy business no matter how many times you’ve wandered a ridge…

Some weak evening sunlight was playing over the north western fells, but it was clear it wasn’t going to go down in a blaze of pink…

So with one last hug of the summit trig point it was time to head down.

In fact time had run away with me and I only had 25 minutes to get down and catch my bus.

As an ex fellrunner there’s no better way to end a great day in the hills than by tearing down at great speed in deep powder. Not even time for a post walk pint! But a grand day out

I did manage to get up and about on some of the surrounding peaks; much fun was had on the ridge of the ‘Wee Buckle’ – Buachaille Etive Beag – but conditions were generally very windy so it was barely worth unslinging the tripod.

You can see my favourite photos from the trip here, I may add more in the next few days once I’ve had time to try and judge them objectively.

There are six pages of images from my ‘year in the life of project’ beginning on page 30 and it’s great to finally see it in print after so much legwork.

A few of the best of the shots can be found to purchase as prints in the Wasdale, Scafell and Great Gable gallery along with plenty more from past walks.

And it turns out there’s quite a lot of it up there

Aiming high as ever, I’d set my alarm for an early morning jaunt to Langdale with a vague plan of heading as far as Scafell Pike and back; almost a full day out in winter but easily manageable and a walk I’ve done several times.

Thinking about it now it’s probably one of my favourites despite involving a bit of backtracking rather than being a circular route.

In the end yesterday, simply doing Bowfell then descending Ore Gap and back down via Angle Tarn was most of a day out.

The general consensus on the weather forecast was to be a bit cloudy early on before hopefully lifting and clearing in the afternoon.

Forecasts are of course just forecasts, and in the hills not necessarily something to rely wholly upon when planning a day out. A bit of flexibility can go a long way towards getting the maximum enjoyment from your day out.

Basically what I’m hinting at is yesterday’s weather was the opposite of what was predicted, with clearish skies around dawn deteriorating to moderate filth by late morning.

Langdale at dawn was an atmospheric winter joy. Patches of hanging mist, fresh overnight snow, and…. quiet. No screaming winds. Unusually flat calm.

There’s something unspeakably lovely about a calm winter day in the mountains. More beauty and less discomfort.

I played around for a while in the pre dawn light with more compositions than you’ll have the appetite to view here, then moved on slightly higher as some weak sun eventually managed to squeeze through the cloud and clip the tops of the pikes.

It wasn’t long before the sunlight was being shuffled out of the valley by incoming snow and the next two shots were the last I managed with any hint of warmth in the light.

The snow soon began to deepen and it was obvious I was going to be trailblazing again, the path (wherever it was) yet to be trampled down at all.

The last I saw of the sun for a while was a weak halo around Pike O Blisco, the ragged line of Browney Gill a deep scar on its flanks.

Head down I pushed on, progress getting tougher and slower and I disappeared up to the tops of my thighs on several occasions, falling over with a giddy chuckle in the process. If I carried on walking I’d probably just about be reaching Scafell Pike now as I type this

After half an hour or so the sun unexpectedly began to breach the cloud layer again, painting the Langdale Pikes in zebra striped light.

Conditions then cleared out completely into brilliant blue and white, and foolish old I thought I was in delicious frolick around the summits with grandstand views.

Lifting cloud on Crinkle Crags

The route ahead towards Bowfell

Walking was easier on this flatter section at the top of the Band with a nice even covering of soft powder, and whilst snapping away I was passed by a couple headed for the Climber’s Traverse.

It swiftly became evident that this clearing of skies wasn’t the long term afternoon one the weather forecast had suggested as the cloud began to mass once again, this time with more permanence.

I made some final photographic gatherings of what remained of the view, from the rapidly disappearing Langdales..

…to patchy light over Buscoe Sike and Pike O’ Blisco….

… and all in between

By the time I reached Three Tarns I was swamped in cloud and persistent snow. But hills are there to be climbed and conditions can occasionally change for the better as swiftly as they change for the worse, so I pushed on to the summit of Bowfell.

On the final ascent, taken because I was enjoying the view and not because I was knackered and needed to sit down…

As I reached the summit the cloud thinned a little just to tease me that it may lift…

… but it didn’t tease for long and there was no sign of the craggy view towards the Scafells from the summit

The wind had whipped itself up along with the cloud and I didn’t hang around getting face fulls of wet sleety snow for too long before heading off towards Ore Gap and the descent to Angle Tarn.

Visibility was very poor by now and I confess I did go slightly astray at one point. Having trudged for a while I realised I was no longer seeing any rocks I recognised, and my confidence in my navigational skills waned.

I managed to convince myself I’d gone too far and missed the descent route, so I veered off to the right and began to descend a snow filled gully before abruptly coming to the top of a craggy drop into a featureless snowy yonder.

Reasoning that as I hadn’t started reascending anything since dropping off Bowfell, I must still be somewhere on Hanging Knotts rather than somewhere off the side of Esk Pike.

I retraced my steps, which thankfully with such deep snow is easily done, and then carried on a bit further along the crag to the next reasonable looking descent option.

This time I was more successful and the glowering grey shape of Angle Tarn eventually appeared through the cloud.

Bearings regained it was then a matter of the routine meander down Rosset Gill and back along Mickleden, with only occasional unexpected disappearances into snow filled streams, not particularly mild swearing, and the promise of a pint in front of the fire at the Old Dungeon Ghyll to amuse me.

There’s been snow on and off, and a covering down to low levels briefly. On Monday I managed to haul myself most of the way up Bowfell after injuring an ankle a couple of weeks ago but visibility was very poor. Just to be out in the hills being battered by bitter winds and trudging through deepening powder was, frankly, wonderful.

This weekend I headed to Buttermere with thoughts of hobbling across the High Crag, High Stile, Red Pike trio – one of my favourite walks, but one I haven’t actually done often enough to know sufficient minor rocky landmarks in whiteout conditions.

Saturday morning saw just that all along the top of the ridge, so rather than get lost with one and a half working ankles, I decided just to touch the top of High Crag and then double back down over Seat and up to Haystacks – diminutive enough to stay below the cloud layer all day.

Sunlight was in short supply but I love grey winter mountain days like this, the high fells stripped of colour and reduced to sketchy spidery lines of black and white under sullen skies.

Haystacks

Fleetwith Pike

Great Gable, Kirk Fell and the head of Ennerdale

Fleetwith Pike, Dale Head and Hindscarth

Seat and Haystacks, with Great Gable and Kirk Fell distant

Frozen Tarn and Pillar

Retreating from High Crag