Ansel was right…

… and so was Giovanni!

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My alarm was set for 04:30, this morning; and somehow – despite another night of scattered short chunks of sleep punctuated by many hours of restlessness – I had a real urge to get up and go for a ‘proper’ walk somewhere… – something I hadn’t done in a while (for all sorts of reasons). It occurred to me that I hadn’t circumambulated Buttermere – my most-walked route in the Lake District – for well over a year; and the weather forecast for there happily predicted lots of sunshine, along with a reasonable ‘feels like’ temperature: so a plan of action started to form in my head.

But first I had to get out of bed and get dressed without waking Pixel¹ – probably the most difficult part of my plan. And yet (amazingly) it went remarkably smoothly; and she didn’t come downstairs – to go outside – until just before I also left the house. She too must have been tired. (Or perhaps my insomnia was contagious.)

I arrived at the village car park just after half-past six: the first car there (and still the only car there when I returned, three hours later). I was followed down to the shoreline, however, by a pair of young men – one with a backpack with a tripod attached… – but they soon lost me, as I stopped to photograph (and absorb) the view along the lake to Fleetwith Pike (above): one of the greatest, most powerful vistas I know (and therefore love deeply).

As you can see, there are branches entangled with the fencing – fallen and damaged trees soon becoming a leitmotif of the walk. (It looked like a hurricane had ripped through the valley – although it was more likely to have been Storm Bram, at the beginning of December.) Work was being carried out to remedy the destruction: but it would take a long while to rectify so much hurt.

The promised sunshine was nowhere to be seen; additionally, there was a strong, biting wind from the south-east, which made me regret leaving my gloves behind in the car. Having been born in the north of England, I am made of some pretty tough stuff, however – plus the pockets of my fleece are nice and roomy… – so I coped! (Why I believed a weather forecast in the first place is beyond me, though.) At least it wasn’t raining.

I decided to head anti-clockwise around the lake – the direction I had always walked until a few years ago (although I am not sure why) – and headed for the small gate where I always stop and take a self-portrait for my partner.²

As I exited from Burtness Wood, I could see the sun trying to break through the clouds from the direction of the Honister Pass (to the left of Fleetwith Pike). Ansel Adams once said that “Sometimes I arrive just when God’s ready to have someone click the shutter.” Today it was my turn to arrive. My timing could not have been better.

I stood there, transfixed. I had no words. I may even have stopped breathing. And it took me a few seconds to remember that there was a camera around my neck, I was so entranced. I wanted to experience it (this astoundingly glorious sunbeam from heaven) in person… – almost more than I wanted to record it for posterity. I honestly could not believe the astonishing beauty evolving in front of me. Eventually – after thirty minutes, and far too many photographs – I let out one word. “Wow!”

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The sheep – however outrageously painted themselves… – were more interested in the grass. But, had they bothered to raise their heads, they would have noticed that a similar – albeit slightly less exhilarating – light-show (alpenglow sans snow) was now taking place at the other end of the lake.

Mellbreak – the five hundred metre-high Toblerone that stands watch over Crummock Water’s³ western edge – was beginning to catch the first golden rays of dawn: rays which soon extended over all the other fells at the northern end of Buttermere.

As is my wont, on returning to the car I made myself an espresso⁴ (I know how to live!), and changed out of my very muddy walking boots, before setting off for home. As I did so, all the clouds suddenly evaporated (of course): simultaneously depositing an almost constant stream of vehicles racing towards Buttermere, all hell-bent on forcing me into a ditch, drystone wall, tree, or lake. Despite their best (worst?) efforts, I made it home safely: still basking in that glorious stream of burnished photons. Saint Francis of Assisi said that “A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows”. Perhaps he was on to something!

1. My cat: who sleeps on the bedside sheepskin rug (that is almost the same colourway as her: rendering her almost invisible) exactly where my feet would normally go when getting out of bed.

2. Although I will not ruin your day by featuring it here!

3. Crummock Water is the lake directly to the north-west of Buttermere.

4. …using one of these and one of these (along with a flask of very, very hot water).