Patagonia - a dream destination

July 31, 2026

Over Christmas and New Year 2025/26, I was fortunate enough to spend 4 weeks in Patagonia. Photography wasn’t the only focus – I was there with my wife to do a load of trekking and rock climbing. However, when visiting multiple iconic locations, I had to give my photographic needs some serious consideration. Some of you reading this won’t be too bothered about the kit I took, but perhaps some of you might find this of interest. The next two paragraph are about the gear, so you can skip this is you prefer.

Camera gear

I would be lying if I didn’t say that I spent a lot of time thinking about what gear to take. We would be doing some very big trekking-days, covering a lot of distance (many consecutive days of 20+ and sometimes 30+ km per day) and so trying to be light-weight was important. However, I decided I would never forgive myself for travelling too light in this iconic location. I therefore settled on my Nikon Z7ii with two Nikkor zoom lenses – the 24-200mm and the 100-400mm. The bigger zoom was a significant extra weight, but I’m a fan of being able to pick out distant features, especially in mountain locations. I decided against taking a dedicated wide-angle lens (sub-24mm is probably my least-use focal range), favouring the telephoto zoom instead. I also took a Gitzo travel tripod, a set of Kase magnetic filters, a couple of spare batteries, and several memory cards. I managed to squeeze all of this into a Shimoda Action X30 (30 litres), along with trekking gear. I have a bigger Shimoda bag (50 litres) which I was very tempted to take. However, I knew I had to force myself to be as light-weight as I possibly could be, and if I let myself take the bigger bag, I knew I would fill it with extras. A smaller bag made some things tricky, but I did just about manage.

In addition, some time ago, I bought a little Nikon Z30. This is small and compact, and clips onto a climbing harness or rucksack waist-belt pretty easily. For some of our time in Patagonia, we would be on a dedicated climbing trip and I knew I simply wouldn’t have space for the Nikon Z7ii kit. The Z30 would therefore act as a lightweight ‘better-than-nothing’ option. However, I’ve got to say I have been blown away by this little camera. It has a crop sensor rather than full-frame, and a 20mp sensor rather than 45. However, the ‘better-than-nothing’ tag does it a gross disservice. The image quality is incredible and the flexibility of the raw files it generates is really something. As far as a I can tell, this little camera gets very little attention as a quality stills-camera, but it certainly deserves more and I can recommend it wholeheartedly.

Itinerary

Patagonia is a big old place and it wasn’t until my wife and I started our planning over a year ago, that we realised just how much decision making we would have to do in terms of where to go. We had a month at our disposal (mid-December to mid-January) and wanted to make the most of it. We decided to fly into Santiago in Chile (there are direct flights from Heathrow), and we spent a couple of nights there at the beginning of our stay, and again at the end. In between, we based ourselves in three separate locations – Puerto Natales (Chile); El Chaltén (Argentina) and finally Bariloche San Carlos (Argentina). We spent roughly a week in each. Our motivation for these choices was that Puerto Natales is the gateway to the Torres del Paine National Park, El Chaltén is the trekking capital of Patagonia and also home to Cerro Fitzroy and Cerro Torre, and finally Bariloche is famous for its Swiss-style architecture and its surrounding mountains and lakes.

Puerto Natales and the ‘W-trek’

Puerto Natales is a long way south in Chile and is the capital of the Última Esperanza province. – Última Esperanza means ‘Last Hope’ and was named by the Spanish explorer Juan Ladrillero as it was his last hope of finding the Strait of Magellan.

Looking west from the shores of Puerto Natales, across the Señoret Channel.

The first thing that hits you on arrival is the wild landscape and even wilder winds.

Monumento al Viento (Monument to the Wind) in Puerto Natales. Spectacular clouds were a feature of this very windy place.

The town is a strange and very appealing mixture of old, run-down buildings, and modern, high-end cafes and trekking gear shops.

The ramshackle and the new of Puerto Natales.

We weren’t there for the town though, so after a short time there we headed out on the bus ride to the Torres del Paine National Park to embark on the ‘W-Trek’. This is an 80km multi-day trek around the mountains, valleys and lakes of the park.

The summit of Paine Grande, inside the Torres del Paine National Park.

We started in the west, accessed by a thrilling high-speed catamaran ride, and then we spent 4 days on foot, making our way east. The catamaran ride gives you some early glimpses of what the trek holds, but taking photographs onboard as it bounces over the waves was a challenge. It’s so spectacular though, that it’s definitely worth trying to brace yourself and get some images.

Spectacular ridge-lines dominmate the landscape in The Torres del Paine National Park.

After disembarking, we immediately started our walk. We elected not to carry camping gear, for the sake of weight, but rented all that we would need for sleeping, as well as either a room in a dorm or space in a tent that is permanently pitched at our 3 stopover campsites. The walk is very popular and one of the things we struggled with was there being so many people. Mountains are all about solitude to my mind. However, we managed to come up with a strategy for coping by getting up very early each morning and often being the first ones on the trail.

Punta Bariloche still covered in a lot of snow.

This really paid off and also gifted us with some amazing weather conditions. This was most notable on Christmas morning, as we made our way from Refugio Cuernos to Refugio Chileno, with not a sole about.

A Christmas morning Rainbow over the summits and ridges of the southern part of the Torres del Paine National Park. There was no one else around to enjoy this.

Stunning landscapes as we made our way towards the Torres del Paine on Christmas Day. Catching the sun in the background are the iconic peaks of Los Cuernos (The Horns).

The W-trek’s ultimate highlight comes pretty close to the end, with a visit to the base of the Torres del Paine. As a long-time climber and mountaineer, I’ve been aware of the Torres for a very long time, and so seeing them was quite an emotional experience.

Shortly before 5am on Boxing Day at the foot of the spectacular Torres del Paine. Despite a strenuous, steep walk in the dark, and the lack of any sunrise colours, it was well worth it. After our very crowded visit the evening before, it was very quiet this early, with just a few other people… a precious experience in a special place.

It’s a very steep and strenuous hike/scramble up to the main viewing site, but we made the trip twice – the first time in the late afternoon, along with what felt like thousands of others. The second time was the following morning for sunrise, when we were lucky enough to only share the place with a handful of people. We didn’t get the morning glow, but even under relatively flat light, these towers are a thing to behold.

A mist-shrouded ridgeline close to the Towers.

Whilst the towers are the main pull, the 80km trek exposes you to lots of special scenery.

Meadows full of spring flowers dominate some parts of the trek, particularly towards the eastern end.

Many mountains and peaks loom above you, and there are also spectacular lakes with waves whipped up by the mad winds, and beautiful forests that bear the scars of many storms. It’s stunning.

Wild winds whipping up waves on the surface of Lago Nordenskjöld.

Inside one of the many beautiful, but damaged, forests.

El Chaltén

Our next destination took us into Argentina. El Chaltén is famous as the home to the stunning Fitzroy Massif (the logo of the outdoor clothing brand Patagonia is the Fitzroy skyline) as well as Cerro Torre. Cerro Fitzroy (the biggest peak in the Fitzroy range) and various subsidiary peaks are visible from many locations in and around El Chaltén.

It looms over you but it is spectacular, and seeing these iconic mountains was another long-term wish of mine, borne from many climbing and mountaineering books, films and pictures. It’s hard not to just take photos every time you see it, and in fact I think I did for several days.

One of our earliest views of the Fitzroy massif. Cerro Fitzroy is largely obscured by cloud towards the centre-right, but Cerro Poincenot is clearly visble on the left. I worried that maybe we’d never see these stunning peaks, given the infamous Patagonian weather, so this early encounter had me very excited, particularly with the swirling cloud.

We spent our time in El Chaltén climbing and trekking to various different locations. As we learned on the W-trek, starting early has its benefits to try and get ahead of the enormous crowds that come here.

The extraordinary granite spires of the Fitzroy range, with the post-sunrise light catching some of them. Cerro Fitzroy itself is the largest summit.

The mighty Fitzroy range and the Rio (river) Fitzroy.

The weather here is famously dreadful, and there are many stories of climbers making the El Chaltén pilgrimage with a view to climbing on its mountains, only to be shut down by relentless storms for weeks on end. The story is similar for the Torres del Paine park too, but we were very fortunate throughout our Patagonian adventure.

Another view of ‘those’ peaks. They are astonishingly addictive. The eye is constantly drawn to them and it’s almost impossible NOT to take pictures.

In the 4 weeks we spent in Patagonia, I think we put waterproofs on twice, and even then this was only for a relatively short part of the day. We were, however, a little unfortunate on our main visit to Cerro Torre. The cloud hung low over this slender finger of rock, and despite waiting for a while, it never fully lifted. Despite this, the landscape is still, undeniably, spectacular.

Glaciers, snow and so much rock, but sadly the upper ramparts of Cerro Torre remained in the cloud.

As well as the mountains, once again the landscape here is rich with interest and fascination – lakes, rivers, glaciers and forest, and some amazing skies.

Pathways through the rich wetlands and forests that lie in some of the valleys.

We stumbled across these rapids close to the path leading to Cerro Torre.

The trees have to be pretty hardy to survive here.

Bariloche San Carlos and Frey

Our final destination - Briloche - was a fairly big town, mainly famous for its Swiss chalets and chocolate. There is so much chocolate here! Our main purpose and reason for visiting this place was in order to head out to a place called Frey. Frey is descried as ‘an immense climbing wonderland’ and is located in Nahuel Huapi National Park, an hour or so bus-ride out of Frey (plus a very steep uphill 10km walk).

Frey - A mad landscape of stunning granite spires. An adventurous climbing paradise.

Frey is a spectacular mountain cirque, home to a small and basic mountain hut and a lake, and ringed by granite spires all around. Our objective here was rock climbing, and so photography very much took the back foot. However, my little Z30 really came up trumps here, and enabled me to take a few images. Given this venue’s relative remoteness, the skies were immense, made even more so by the again, great weather.

The skies above Frey were spectacularly clear and the stars were immense.

Moon-glow illuminating Torre Principal - the highest of all the towers at Frey.

Patagonia is spectacular. My wife and I had long-dreamed of visiting, and when we first decided to do so, the initial planning was quite overwhelming. It’s a vast place and there is so much to see and do, and of course to photograph. There were many other locations we could have visited, but our focus on three main venues for a good chunk of time each, worked very well for us. We weren’t chasing perfect photographic conditions for much of our trip. There were a couple of morning where photography was the key objective, but for much of the time, my photography was opportunistic. This style of photography has its drawbacks, in that you don’t get to spend lots of time waiting for the right light. However, it also has some real benefits. It means you cover more ground and so get to see much more. You often don’t know what’s around the next corner, and this leads to real excitement and joy when you come upon something spectacular, or the weather comes good for you. I enjoy this style of photography very much, alongside the more patient waiting-game, and pursuing a mixture of the two helps to make photography as exciting a hobby as it has ever been.

The Faroes in winter - January 2024

May 4, 2026

I had always wanted to visit the Faroe Islands. The wind-battered collection of little islands, perched in the north Atlantic, somewhere between Iceland, Norway and the UK is like nowhere else, and I count myself very fortunate to have had the opportunity.

The southern cliffs of Vágar, Faroe Islands

In January 2024, I turned 50 years of age, and as a surprise birthday gift, my wife bought me a 6-day trip to this amazing archipelago. Most visitors to the Faroe Islands make their journey in the summer months, when the days are long. Whilst the weather there is always wild and uncertain, the summer months at least give a slightly greater chance of stable conditions. Visiting in January is less common, and so we were not surprised to experience some of the wildest and most dramatic conditions imaginable - intense rain, strong winds and heavy snow... but also amazing light!

Kallur Lighthouse on Kelsoy - a popular destination for tourists and photographers, but there wasn’t a soul there

The other advantage about travelling in winter is the peace. We had many places completely to ourselves which was a magical experience. As well as the lack of tourists, there was also a strange absence of locals. We got chatting to a Faroese lady one morning in a cafe who told us that a significant portion of the population were currently in Germany for the 2024 European Men's Handball Championship! Apparently the Faroese are mad for handball and so a big cohort of supporters had left the islands to cheer on their team. We dutifully found ourselves in a pub one evening, watching our first ever handball match. It’s amazing how a new sport become instantly fascinating when you’re with locals in a new place who are obsessed with it!

Insane sea-stacks and seas near to Trælanípa

Over the years, I’ve spent quite a lot of time in Iceland, and the Faroe Islands remind me of my visits there.

Trælanípa (Slave Cliff) and Lake Leitisvatn

Unlike Iceland, there are no volcanoes or glaciers yet there is something about the landscape here that really reminds me of the ‘land of fire and ice’. However, there’s something about the Faroes which feels (to me at least) even more dramatic.

On one memorable day, we drove and then took a ferry to the small slender island of Kalsoy (population just 76). On disembarking from the little ferry amidst fairly heavy snow and winds, we were reassured by the boat’s captain that it would indeed be sailing later on that day. I guess the anxious looks on our faces betrayed our anxiety about getting stuck here. Duly reassured we thus gingerly headed north along the 18km-long island (it’s only 1-2 km wide over much of its span) to the northern tip. We were blown away by how beautiful it was - made all the special by the fact there was nobody but us there.

Kelsoy is also home to one of the most spectacularly-positioned statues I have ever seen - ‘The Seal Woman’ (Kópakonan). This sits at the base of some steps in the tiny village of Mikladalur. Watching the waves crash around it is a sight to behold.

Two other must-see spots on the Faroes are the grass-rooved houses of Saksun (on Streymoy) and the Múlafossur Waterfall near the secluded settlement of Gásadalur on Vagar Island. I’ve seen the latter described as ‘easily the most famous attraction in the Faroe Islands‘, but again, we had it to ourselves. The weather here was utterly wild and the driving rain (whilst trying to make images) was not helpful. However, I was reasonably pleased with what I managed to produce under such challenging conditions.

Múlafossur Waterfall with the settlement of Gásadalur perched above it

On Streymoy island, home to the village of Saksun, we did spot three other tourists, but other than that, it was ours to enjoly alone.

As you might see from the way I’m writing, I loved visiting the Faroes, and doing so at such a quiet and wild time of the year was really special. I’m very keen to go back, and there’s a part of me that would love to see it in the vibrant colours of spring and summer. However, the cold, wet, windy weather and the quiet of that January trip had a real impact on me, and I wonder whether my next trip there might be at exactly the same time. To anyone interested, I would say: go. You won’t be disappointed.

Season summary - the end of autumn

November 30, 2025

When I started out with my blogging efforts, I pointed out that they were likely to be very occasional. So, with it being six months since the last one, I’ve stayed true to my word. I’m not actually proud of that, as I would have like to have written more and sooner (I do have a couple in the pipeline about Greenland and the Faroes, but these will have to wait). However, circumstances have prevented me. If you can excuse the big gaps, I hope you enjoy what I’ve got to say about this autumn.

Just a few days ago we saw the first snow of the season here in the southern Lake District. The arrival of the first snow always brings excitement, but this year it has also marked the end of what has been a long and lovely autumn period. The season of falling leaves seems to have lasted for a long time this year – to my mind, this is a good thing photographically. I got my first glimpse of autumn this year during an early evening trip to Tarn Hows. The famous spot is a 45 minute walk from my front door, as so it a fairly regular haunt. On this particular evening, the light was nothing to shout about but it was incredibly still on the tarn with some lovely reflections. There was also the first hints of autumn appearing on some of the trees, with a few splashes of orange and brown starting to show on the trees.

Reflections and the beginning of autumn at Tarn Hows.

Despite the appearance of those tell-tale colours, the trees were still full of leaves and so it was apparent that the season really was in its early stages. As time passed and the autumn colours developed, many trees around me still managed to hold onto a good proportion of their leaves for a surprisingly long time – mainly because of a lack of too many significant storms or periods of high winds (although of course Storm Amy did upset things for a few days in October).

Autumn in full-flow in my local woodland.

I’ve no doubt that more stormy weather will come our way before too long, but for the time-being at least, as I write this in late November, we’ve thankfully been spared too many periods of high winds (it has been very wet though, but that’s another story). Despite this of course, eventually the trees did shed most/all of their leaves, and by the end of the season they were dislodged by the gentlest of breezes.

A lone silver birch just about hanging on to its last few leaves.

As well as what seems to me like an enjoyably long autumn, we’ve also been very fortunate to have had quite a few misty days accompanying those autumn colours. This has, however, been very localised, and I’ve discovered a quiet and not well-frequented valley that is often colder and mistier than elsewhere. This autumn, the valley was regularly filled with mist and so I got into the habit of paying this spot an early morning visit by bike, equipped with camera and tripod.

This idea of bike-facilitated photography is a great way to access locations where there are no real car parking spots and where access by foot alone would take a while. Being able to get photo-locations by bike is fantastic and in recent years, it is an approach I’ve started to use more. Photography in these bike-accessed places does feel rather special, and I am grateful for the opportunity.

A beautiful and fast-flowing autumnal river scene, accessed by bike.

Another favourite approach of mine is using a long lens to pick out compositions in a forest or woodland from a distance. Don’t get me wrong – I like nothing better than walking around a woodland and getting up-close with my camera. However, there’s also real joy to be had, perching on a hilltop or on the side of a road or path, and picking out scenes. I’ve enjoyed this approach a lot this autumn, as it enables the creation of some really interesting images.

An isolated splash of yellow captured with a long lens.

As well as the autumn colours and mist, we’ve also had a couple of days of really special light – those days which are a combination of dark, brooding, rain-filled clouds as well as bursts of sunlight. Days which bring with them a high chance of rainbows.

Even without the rainbows, we’ve had some morning light which has accentuated the autumn colours. On some mornings the whole landscape has seemed to scream AUTUMN at me.

Now, as we turn the corner into December and as the snow starts to appear, I say a fond farewell to autumn this year, but also look forward to what the winter will bring.

Spring 2025

May 23, 2025

I love spring. I realise I’m not alone in this, and I’m sure my reasons aren’t particularly novel either. However, bear with me!

The path to the woods, early one morning.

I should probably take a step back and say that for me (both photographically and more generally) all the seasons are pretty special. However, as the long winter draws to a close, the first signs of new life, warmth and lengthening days are very welcome. The woods where I spend a lot of my photographic time sometimes appear to be virtually dormant in the winter months. On a still, dull day, it is gloriously eerie, and that has its own charm and appeal. However, I’d have to be pretty hardened not to delight in the first signs that new life is coming. For me, this is the appearance of the first bluebell shoots. Several weeks before the flowers appear, I’ve learned to spot the first green shoots as they peak above the ground for the first time in almost a year. This gives me a good few weeks of optimism, since with each passing day the possibility of those glorious blue carpets draws ever nearer. When they do arrive, I feel a strange mix of emotions – joy because they are here, panic because I need to make the most of them, and sadness because I know they won’t stay around for long. This year, they did not disappoint. The displays have been wonderful. I have a handful of local spots I like to visit where the ‘carpets’ are very evident, but it’s also lovely to see them appearing in unknown and unexpected places (I’m thrilled that they seem to be getting more widespread in my garden as each year passes too!).

A new part of a familar location - bluebells stretching in all directions, while grand old oaks watch over them.

A dark corner of the woods - bluebells surround a long-fallen trunk, while the hawthorn blossom hangs above.

At about the same time, the wild garlic starts to appear. At first it’s just those young, tender lime-green leaves, but in time the flowers (ramsons) start to show. This year, they seem to have been particularly impressive. Where I live in the southern-central Lake District, the lanes have been lined with the most wonderful display that I’ve seen for a long time. I have a few local woodland spots too where I know they will be good, and this year did not disappoint. At the same time as all this is going on, the trees and other plants are bursting into life and green is everywhere.

In short, the spring of 2025 has been spectacular. It’s been pretty wild for another reason… the lack of rain. It’s been insanely dry across the whole of the UK. I don’t know if in some way this has contributed to the amazing bluebells and wild garlic. However, we desperately need rain, and as I write this, the forecast is for a lot to fall over the next few days. A few days of rain will, I suspect, see the woods burst into even more life than that which already fills them.

Sunrise over the woodland, filled with garlic and bluebells.

Wild flowers were everywhere over this woodland floor.

Despite all of the above, this time of year is always photographically quite challenging. When it comes to bluebells, I always think it’s relatively easy to take a nice picture, but it’s very hard to produce something really special. Regardless, every year I try, and importantly I love the process, but I’ve never really taken something that I’ve been really, REALLY pleased with.

I loved the way the light played on this oak. The bluebells were a bonus.

Nevertheless, it’s been fantastic to be able to get out and take pictures through the season. The selection you see here are some of my favourite from this spring. If only there had been more mist!

As we move on into the late spring and early summer, the bluebells and wild garlic have all but gone, but the woods are being taken over by the next stage. I love the richness of summer woodlands, so photographing them is the next challenge to be embraced.

A lone white tulip in a sea of wild flowers.

Light playing on an oak tree full of new leaves.

I spotted this image whilst I was on my bike (thankfully I had my camera with me). This lone hawthorn was catching the light whilst the dark conifers behind were in deep shadow. The contrast was striking.

Thanks for reading. Enjoy the summer.

Shifting mist

January 20, 2025

I think it’s fair to say that pretty much all woodland photographers love a bit of mist. Mist transforms a patch of trees from something that is already beautiful into something quite ethereal. Mist and fog, or indeed light drizzle, provides separation, helping the foreground trees stand apart from what can sometimes be a chaotic background. So, any woodland photographer who knows there’s mist in the forecast, naturally gets quite excited. I am no exception.

On a day in mid-January, all the forecasts were pointing towards dense fog. When that happens, the first thing I do on waking is peer out of the window to see if what was promised has come true. That’s tough at this time of year, since it’s pitch black outside when I get up, but staring and squinting into the dark, you can sometimes make out evidence of that illusive phenomenon. On this particular morning, things were looking pretty good.

I have two options when it’s going to be foggy. One is to head into one of three or four local woodlands and see what I can find. The other is to head up onto my local little hill and peer down on the fog from above. This is one of my favourite photographic activities. To stand on a hillside, watching the mist and fog shift around below, slowly revealing and concealing different clusters of trees is just wonderful. The fun then comes in trying to spot compositions as the trees start to appear, and then getting the camera pointing where it needs to and the image framed up, before it’s lost to the ever-changing mist. It’s a game I could play for hours… if I had temperature-resistant fingers!

On this particular morning it was bitterly cold. Stunningly beautiful but cold. The sun was rising casting colours on the landscape all around, and I worked to collect a few compositions before I could no longer feel my fingers and before the sun rose fully.

Even when this had happened, it would have been great to stay around for longer, watching the mist swirl in and out. However, the warmth of home was calling, as was the need to get back to my desk to start the working day.

These images are a selection of those made on that brief, magical morning.

An Arctic blast

January 14, 2025

The past week and a bit have been pretty special up here in the Lake District. It all started a couple of days after new year, with falling temperatures and the ground starting to freeze.

Bowfell and the Scafell range from Swirl How.

This was then followed by a big dump of snow and then the best part of a week of very cold temperatures, not really getting above freezing for days on end.

Towards the end of the day, on the summit of Great End, looking towards Scafell Pike.

As a result, over that week, we were blessed with snow and ice, mist and fog, and some beautiful light to boot. The beginning of this cold period coincided with some days off work for my wife and I, and thus the chance to get out into the hills of the Lake District, where we live. Two consecutive big mountain days - one in the Scafell range and another in the Coniston range were a real treat.

Trees, mist, mountains and snow, with a bit of nice light thrown in for good measure - the dream combination.

The snow that followed fell over a weekend, and then the start of super-cold, crisp and clear conditions coincided with the return to work sadly. However, the location of my home means that I’m able to get out onto smaller hills very easily, and have the summit of Latterbarrow within a 30-35 minute walk. As a result, I am able to get a quick photography-fix around sunrise, and get back to my desk in time to start work at the usual time.

Trees, frost and mist - I was like a kid in a sweet shop.

The higher peaks visible from Latterbarrow, as well as the surrounding trees and forests are a paradise for me. This combination, coupled with some great light and a bit of fog and mist for good measure, really led to a special few days.

Being on Latterbarrow, or somewhere else similar for sunrise four days on the bounce, as well as doing full days of work was pretty tiring, but I kept telling myself that I couldn’t let this opportunity pass. The winters in the north-west of the UK are often characterised by damp, grey conditions, so this spell of magical weather had to be grasped. I’m very pleased that I did.

The Fairfield Horseshoe from the summit of Latterbarrow, just before sunrise.

Towards the end of the week, the forecast was that the last day of these winter conditions would be on the Saturday, before things started to warm up. My wife and I were due to attend an old friend’s 50th birthday celebration on the Saturday evening, but we decided that with another early start, we could squeeze in one last big mountain day in these magical conditions. Parking in Ambleside for the famous Fairfield Horseshoe is just a 10 minute drive from us, so an early start saw us up on the ridge for some truly spectacular light.

The night before, I had hesitated about bringing my 100-400mm lens. It’s a bit of a beast, and we had wanted to move quickly. However, I’m so glad I did. This lens (in the Nikon Z range) is just spectacular. Everytime I use it I am blown away by its quality. The detail is just wonderful, and coupled with the Nikon Z7ii, it really allowed me to capture the atmosphere of what I was seeing and feeling.

Bowfell, from the western limb of the Fairfield Horseshoe.

It was pretty special to be up there, witnessing all this, and I’m pleased with the images that I managed to take too.

Crinkle Crags, Bowfell, the Scafell range and Great End, from the western limb of the Fairfield Horseshoe.

Writing this now, a couple of days later, I am looking out the window at a very wet and grey view. I’m so pleased to have been able to capitalise on these great conditions.

A new dawn

January 14, 2025

This is my first ever blog post! It’s something I thought I might start doing at some point, and with the launch of my newly revamped website, the time seemed right. This is going to be an ocassional thing, so they will appear sporadically - either when I’ve got something potentially interesting to say, or when I want to report on a recent photographic trip.

Early one morning from the slope of Latterbarrow (my local little hill) in the Lake District.

I’m writing this now on a cold January day, and kind of wishing I’d started doing this sooner. I’ve got several previous trips that I’d quite like to document - for example, a wild photographic trip to the Faroe Islands almost exactly a year ago, and a month spent in Greenland in summer 2024 (a work trip, but one which offered plenty of photographic opportunities). I think that I might therefore use this platform to retrospectively report on those too.

So, I hope these blogs prove to be interesting and of value. Please do let me know your thoughts - on the writing and my images, which you’ll find elsewhere on this website.

Thanks.