June (and, as it was a couple of hours later, today, July) is no time to be in the hills as a mountain photographer. Unless you think green looks good on them, you love ticks and midges and terrible light and murky air clarity and sweat and heat and…. ok I’ll not carry on, we’ve been here many times before 😉
What it is pleasant for is late evening daylight, last minute decisions and gentle strolls up small hills with no obligation to photograph them.
Last evening’s small hill was Low Fell. Again.
Oh how governed by memory we are. Throw me a winter storm, my mind wanders to Helvellyn just ahead of my feet. Throw me clag and rain, my mind wanders to Fairfield or Kentmere… though my feet are less inclined to follow.
Throw me a stifling summer evening and you can happily drag me up the winding grassy path to Sourfoot Fell, and through the golden waving grasses to Low Fell beyond. Just check me for ticks afterwards.