The bright purple heather on the Peak District moors takes on a whole new level of POW! as the sun sets and adds in late summer gold to the mix. This is the view of the distinctive hill of Higger Tor as seen from the Iron Age hill fort of Carl Wark, its slopes covered in heather and bracken and sunlight.
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OK, I know I have lots of favourite gates (... doesn't everyone?! ...) but this one is a cracker, and it looked particularly magical when the White Peak fields beyond were covered in layers of soft morning mist. I had to stand and admire it for quite some time. It looked like a gateway to another world, where the trees had become islands in a shallow sea of ever-shifting white.
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This wonderful lone tree is at Sheldon in the White Peak of Derbyshire, an area famed for its gently rolling hills criss-crossed with limestone walls. Its arching shape made a perfect silhouette curling around the setting sun, which lit up the slopes and hollows of the land.
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On Sycamore Hill grows this absolute giant of a tree, perfectly formed, the sort of tree a child would draw if asked to draw a tree. Of course it helps that he stands on his own podium and is approached via a rustic gate in a meadow of wildflowers. He deserves nothing less.
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This beautiful little footbridge in Padley Gorge looks wonderful in every season, but with the bright jewels of autumn leaves strewn across the tree roots and moss-covered rocks, well, you can see why I've called this image 'Riches'. Material wealth has nothing on sights like these!
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"...Then leaf subsides to leaf / So Eden sank to grief / So dawn goes down to day / Nothing gold can stay." - Robert FrostPerhaps the most precious quality of autumn is its ephemeral nature; of all the seasons, its glory seems to last the shortest time. This always makes me more determined to appreciate every minute of its bright colour, and I certainly drank in the blaze of gold and red and copper and bronze and green along this quiet lane beside Derwent Reservoir. A week or so later, and it was just a memory.
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This entirely natural heart-shaped hole is in the bottom of a beautiful old beech tree in Padley Gorge. You have to crawl about in the leaves to see it, but it's well worth the effort and dirty knees. The area looks beautiful in every season, but in Autumn, when the floor is strewn with the bright jewels of fallen leaves, it's probably at its most inspiring.
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This little lane between Hathersage and Grindleford in the Peak District is absolutely stunning in Autumn, and I mean stop-the-car-and-just-look! stunning, with so many bright colours of different hues that it sends your eyes a bit crazy to take them all in. On days like this Autumn feels like Nature's grand finale, that last huge firework, before we all troop home and snuggle down for the night of Winter.
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Padley Gorge in the Peak District is a wonderful place to visit in the autumn. The foliage is a fantastic spectrum of colours above you, and the ground under your feet is littered with red among the tree roots. This beech tree is a particular favourite of mine and it looked so beautiful decked out in its autumn finery.
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Honestly, sometimes you have days that you wish would never end, when everywhere you look are scenes of the most incredible beauty, you have to stop, put down the camera for a bit and look in awe. The autumn colours along this narrow lane in the Upper Derwent Valley were off the scale, and even better when reflected in the pools of water gathered along the verges.
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As soon as Autumn rolls around I start searching out Fly Agaric toadstools, and I was very happy to find a little cluster under an old birch tree in Bolehill near Hathersage, surrounded by bright fallen leaves. They're such tiny, pretty things, reminiscent of magic and enchantment. And, with a sting in the tail like all the best fairytales, completely deadly.
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This is one of my favourite country lanes in the Peak District, and on a misty autumn morning it's out-of-this-world perfect, the vanishing point hidden in the soft light. I hope you can hear the silence of this photograph, the only sound the occasional patter of a leaf falling down.
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On a misty, still autumn morning, sitting by Burbage Brook as it tumbles through Padley Gorge, you can't help feeling that you've somehow fallen into a different world. Here there's no haste or pressure, no noise but the constant rush and bubble of water and the occasional fall of a leaf. I find that I always stay long, long after I've taken the shot, losing track of time, just watching and listening and breathing it all in, so grateful for such places and the chance to fall into them. It's always a wrench to climb back up to reality.
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In Autumn the ancient woodland of Padley Gorge is filled with soft, muted colours in the trees and underfoot. There's always such a quiet hush here when the air is misty and still; even the birds seem to hold their breath. The only sound is the busy rush and froth of Burbage Brook as it winds around the moss-covered rocks and under the pretty bridges.
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The Peak District has some truly characterful barns, many of them crumbling beautifully in their fields as the seasons pass, perhaps not as weather-tight as once they were but still providing perfect shelter for cattle and wildlife. This one outside the village of Youlgrave is a particular favourite of mine, standing alone in its field with only a tree for company; two old survivors.
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A beautiful moment on the edge of the Peak District village of Abney. The soft, low-lying mists and the movement of the birds contrasted with the solidity of the twisted old hawthorn tree, its branches curved by decades of moorland winds. I love the colour of nature and very rarely edit in black and white, but it seems to suit this very simple, structural image.
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These beautiful woods are above the pretty Peak District village of Hathersage, approached by a narrow path up a hill. Walking through that little gate is like entering a different world. In Spring they're full of bluebells, in Summer the birds sing crazily in the beech trees, in Autumn they're a riot of colour ... and in Winter, well, they're magical. The snow falls so softly amid the ancient trees and the whole place is silent and sparkling.
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Deep in the quiet pine woods covered in snow, standing alone and almost hidden among its lofty proud neighbours, I spotted this perfect little Christmas tree, its branches dusted with snowflakes like icing sugar.
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I stumbled across this beautiful winter scene during a walk in some very pretty woods above the little Peak District village of Grindleford, just after a fresh snow fall. Early in winter, the last of the beech leaves were still clinging to the branches, covered in a light dusting of snowflakes. I love the little 'ping' of colour that they add to an otherwise almost black and white view, and that suggestion of the seasons changing, the turn from autumn to winter.
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My footsteps creaking and squeaking, my cheeks reddening, my breath pluming out in front of me in the freezing air, I revelled in every step of this winter walk through Hathersage. I know this little cottage well, but half-glimpsed through the snow-heavy branches on the quiet lane, I felt as if I'd left the village behind and walked straight into a fairytale.
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"So we’re out over the snow fields, before it’s all seen off with a salt-lick of Atlantic air." - Gillian Clarke This is such a tiny little view in the village of Great Hucklow, barely noticed by most, I'm sure, but it intrigues me and I've captured it in every season. That characterful gate, the protective tree, and in winter the view that leads to field upon field of shining snow, divided by dry stone walls beside which the sheep shelter.
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Throughout the coldest days of winter, every morning when I started work and walked along the magnificent Long Gallery in Haddon Hall, an Elizabethan masterpiece of ornate plasterwork and carved wooden panelling, I spied the flutter of a little robin following me. He hopped from windowsill to windowsill, pecked along the floorboards, flew up to the cornices, and generally seemed to be enjoying what is reputed to be one of the most beautiful rooms in England. At first I worried that he'd got trapped inside, but then I spotted a tiny broken pane in one of the huge leaded windows with a few tell-tale feathers caught on the edges, and I realised that he most probably came in every night to sleep, preferring the high life to a hedge. One morning he posed perfectly for me next to the Christmas decorations, and I like to think it was his way of thanking me for not telling the wardens about his accommodation strategy!
