LOW AND MIGHTY
A COLD WIND was tearing holes in the winter cloud, allowing shafts of sunlight to flood through the widening gap in its numerous shades of blue and grey, and to turn the becks to threads of silver. Patches of gold splashed down on the otherwise black Ullswater whilst, beyond the silhouetted outline of trees on the far shore, ominous layers of dark ridges crept ever upwards, gaining in altitude. Above them all was the white-capped summit of Helvellyn, looking distant and ephemeral through the sometimes-dazzling, sometimes-hazy rays. It was all laid out as if on a stage, each element playing its perfect part in creating a scene of tremendous beauty.
There would undoubtedly be a few mountaineers edging their way along the arêtes of England’s third highest mountain, keen to put ice axe and crampon skills to the test after the summer, but I was just out for an afternoon’s lakeside stroll from the village of Pooley Bridge when the November sky chose to put on its magnificent
