I spent an hour standing on a knoll, with the camera tripod-mounted and locked onto a composition which included Wastwater, Yewbarrow, Great Gable and Kirk Fell. The light was getting worse by the minute, but I felt perfectly content to stand and stare… just me and the herdwicks. I’d done everything I could to get a picture: I was in the right place, with the right gear, and it wasn’t my fault if the light was unfavourable. I may try again tomorrow.
When I got back to the Romahome, two guys were parked up next to me, also taking photographs. They were French. I communicated in halting French (my French isn’t as good as my Spanish… and my Spanish isn’t much good either). They seemed impressed by the Lakeland scenery, but were staying the night in Haworth, to see where the Brontës lived and wrote. One guy gave me a beautifully printed calendar, featuring his pix…
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