Bring the beauty of the Peak District countryside into your home with photographic prints and high quality canvases. Featuring my own photographs, they celebrate the quiet lanes, magical woodlands and windswept moors of this wonderful place.
My photographic prints are available to order in a range of sizes from 8×8″ to 24×24″. They are reproduced on archival quality professional photographic paper, with a semi-matt finish. Prints are unmounted for you to mount and frame yourself to suit your decor.
My canvases are individually printed onto 100% cotton canvas of 340GSM thickness, using a 12 colour process for rich, vibrant colours. They’re hand-stretched onto European pine wood frames, and are ready to hang on your wall straightaway. They’re available in sizes from 12×12″ to 36×36″ in a choice of two depths.
I’m so sorry, but I am only able to offer UK shipping. Please note that each item is hand-made to order so please allow 10-14 days for delivery. Thank you!
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The Peak District National Park is a biiiig place. It takes in parts of five different counties: Derbyshire, Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Cheshire and even Greater Manchester. This is the lovely village of Rainow in Cheshire, looking very pretty on an autumn afternoon. I love the way the little church of the Holy Trinity glows amongst the trees, and you can spot a happy flock of sheep surrounding the farm on the hillside above. You might also be able to pick out a rather fine gate in the foreground, which just completed the scene for me.
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A wonderfully wild view of the gritstone slopes below Stanage Edge, the rusting heather and bracken leading on into the misty hills beyond, and that little farm hunkered down for shelter against the winds that whirl across the moors.
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Sometimes, when the early winter sun shines through the mist and fills the air with gold, you just have to open the door and walk through into the light and possibilities beyond, don't you? Centuries old and studded with iron, this wonderful oak door is at Haddon Hall and leads into the wild acres of the Haddon Medieval Park, a true secret garden, untouched for 900 years and left to the perfect hand of nature.
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Glowing in the early morning Spring light, this is the little Peak District hamlet of Miller's Dale, nestled alongside the River Wye and surrounded on all sides by high limestone hills. The water rushed and bubbled through the valley and birds sang out from the trees whose shadows fell on the road, but otherwise all was perfectly peaceful as the day began in this little corner of England.
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After the long Winter months of brown and grey, Spring arrives like a shout of bright green from every tree, verge, hedgerow and forest floor. It was sheer, absolute bliss to stand in this woodland full of birds and allow my starved eyes to soak up every shade and tone and light of the green, from the fluorescent glow of the brand new beech leaves to the damp softness of the old moss on the rocks, and every possible hue in between.
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Heading home in the late evening, I had to stop and rub my eyes at this view; it felt as if I'd fallen into a dream. As the last of the day's golden light drifted through the trees, this beautiful little white horse lifted his head to watch me pass. I wouldn't have been wholly surprised if he had casually spread out a pair of wings and flown off across the hedgerows once I'd walked on.
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Deep in the woods as autumn closes in, amid the tangle of branches and bracken and briar, you walk into a world where fairytale and reality blur. Padley Gorge is a Thin Place. I always fall under the spell of the ancient trees and stay out far too long in the quiet and shadows.
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I hope you can look at this photograph and almost hear the wind whistling through the tall grasses?! Higger Tor is a wild, windswept peak, and it looks at its most dramatic under scudding storm clouds in the late autumn light. I know Wuthering Heights wasn't quite set in this part of the country, but I feel sure Emily Bronte would have loved the inspiration here.
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Officially called Whim Wood, this small wood lies beneath Over Owler Tor. When my son was small we spent a lot of time exploring here, and on one memorable day we watched an enormous barn owl gliding like a silent ghost through the spaces, after which it became the Owl Wood to us. It's always a special place, but walking into the trees on this winter morning was like entering a fairytale world of soft light, deep colours and an indefinable magic. The sunshine flickered and flashed through the mist to fall in little pools on the bracken and briar, and the only sounds were the dry leaves rattling and the stream whispering.
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I have a real affection for Fly Agaric fungi. They're little worlds of contrasts: bright and cheerful, yet at the same time deadly poisonous; rooted in the damp woods, yet at the same time otherworldly and magical. This beauty was perfect and shining, a shock of red in the dewy grass under the silver birch trees in Bolehill. As I laid down to take the shot and try to capture this transient life, a tiny fly flew up and into the sunshine ... or did I disturb a fairy?!
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There's no denying that I love the long, warm days of summer, and the bright blaze of autumn in its full glory, but these teetering days in between have a beauty and perfection all of their own, the slow slide from one season to the next. The light is soft, the air weighted with mists, and the greens in the trees are scattered with flecks of gold where the sun has lingered longest. On the peaceful River Lathkill, all was calm and quiet, save for the low bubble of the water and the occasional splash of the swan's wings.
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Early on a summer morning, these four adventurers were out for a wander in the bright air, no doubt searching out new horizons together as well as new snacks. When you have your friends by your side and a beckoning lane ahead, what more could you want?!
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Late winter is a magical time. Everywhere there's a tangible sense of being on the cusp of something wonderful, teetering over the edge. Along the lanes and in the woods there's a gradual uncurling, a stretching, a whispering and waking, all those tiny lives pushing up from the hard earth and budding on the branches. The birds are singing just that little bit louder, the sunshine is a little bit warmer. We're turning the page, and all that promise lies ahead of us...
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This is the Peak District village of Hathersage, looking quite alpine in the glow of a snowy sunrise. I love this particular view of it - the houses seemingly scattered across the landscape, punctuated with fields and trees, and the protective hug of the hills all around.
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I was driving home one autumn evening along the stunning lanes of the White Peak, when the clouds suddenly turned a very ominous grey, despite the low sun still lighting up the surrounding fields. I just love these conditions, that contrast of the dark sky and the bright land. Very luckily, I was driving along the prettiest little lane that runs through the rolling hills between Alsop en le Dale and Thorpe, and the view ahead of me was just too good not to stop and capture.
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In winter you glimpse the true beauty of trees; their skeletal forms stripped of leaves, showing the intricacy of every bough, branch and twig. This little cluster of trees in the snow caught my eye on a Peak District hill, standing apart from their neighbours. I call it 'The Family' because it doesn't take much imagination to see two parents with their child protectively between them.
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This is the historic Peak District market town of Bakewell, snoozing in the early morning, with the mists rising from the River Wye and slowly clearing from the jumble of rooflines. I love how the first rays of sunlight are just hitting the clock on the graceful spire of All Saints' Church.
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These graceful birch trees grow amid the bracken in Bolehill, just outside the Peak District village of Hathersage. The woodland here is always beautiful to explore, but on misty autumn mornings there's such a quiet, still magic that it feels a little bewitched. On days like this I find that I creep about, hardly daring to move or make a sound in case I break the spell, and I can't stop myself from glancing back over my shoulder every few paces for unseen eyes among the trees.
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This is the beautiful Peak District village of Alstonefield, looking about as perfect as possible in the early morning autumn light. It has a village green, a country pub, a 12th Century church, more pretty houses than you can shake a stick at, and perhaps best of all, Bert's Bench under the spreading golden sycamore. Who wouldn't want to sit here for a while and watch the sunlight catching in the fallen gold?
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This was such a beautiful morning in the Manifold Valley, the late autumn sunlight dappling the quiet country lanes and lighting up those ancient ridge and furrow patterns on the fields ahead. The little footpath on the right takes you down through the hills to Larkstone Lane, over the stone bridge across the river and up onto Old Park Hill beyond. Storybook names, and a landscape I never tire of exploring.
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This was definitely one of those mornings when I couldn't stop grinning like a loon because everywhere I looked there was so much beauty. Is it just me who does that?! But, oh, the soft winter sun falling through the mists and shining in pools of silver light on the water! The sparkle of ice on every tree and bright ripples reflecting on the old stones of the arched bridge. The Cromford Canal is a wonderful place to wander at any time of the year, but it has a perfect, quiet magic all of its own on frosty mornings.
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There's such a soft beauty about Winter light and the muted colours of a misty morning, as if Nature is just easing gently into the day, slowly turning up the brightness, rather than the sudden POW! of gaudy daybreak in Summer. I can never resist an open gate, and this one was definitely tempting me into the Secret Garden beyond.
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Sometimes it doesn't matter where the road leads. All that matters is the daybreak rushing up the valley, meeting the old gate and then trickling along the verges to light up the hedgerows. All that matters is the song of the blackbirds waiting for the sun. All that matters is the spring in your step as you walk up the hill to meet the morning.
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On midsummer mornings the light on the country lanes of the Peak District is so clear and golden - every leaf and blade of grass seems to glow with its own brightness. I'd like to say it was as peaceful as it looks when I took this shot, but actually the birds were incredibly loud, singing their little hearts out to welcome in the new day.
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After a heavy snowstorm it always seems as if every living thing is slightly shocked, waiting, breath held, intrigued at what will happen next. The tree branches are completely still with sudden blooms of heavy crystals, the grasses stiff and frozen in the white, only the slightest flicker of water moving through the ice in the brook. I always feel like such a clumsy intruder when I walk into snow scenes. My footsteps break not only the clean, smooth surface of the new snow, but also the silence, their crunch and squeak deafening. I only went far enough to take the photograph, and then retreated, leaving the place to its perfect quiet.
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I wish I could live in a world where it was always May. In the countryside everything is fresh and new, with a just-laundered brightness and clarity. Delicate leaves, almost fluorescent in colour, unfurl like tiny flags on every branch, whilst tight buds of flowers ease into colour among the grasses. The birds sing from each treetop, field and hedgerow, surely for joy as much as for territory. The only sadness is that it can't all last forever.
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The Church of the Holy Cross in Ilam is possibly one of the prettiest churches in the Peak District. Certainly its setting is hard to beat, surrounded by the ancient trees of Ilam Park, with the distinctive heights of Thorpe Cloud rising behind to create a perfect backdrop. It's an interesting building too; it dates back to the 11th Century and contains a font carved with dragons as well as a shrine to St Bertram, himself a fascinating local figure - born in a nearby cave, rose to become Prince of Mercia, then lost his family to wolves and became a hermit in this area.
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This wonderfully gnarled old tree stands alone in a quiet water meadow close to the River Dove. Its branches are like twisted limbs, painted with moss and lichen. I always stop to admire it, but on this autumn morning I was stopped in my tracks as I noticed the hundreds of gleaming silver cobwebs that it held so gently and carefully between its wizened fingers.
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So much can be contained in a tiny glimpse of a view, don't you think? I love this jumble of roof lines in the village of Ashford-in-the-Water, none quite the same height or shape or angle, as if they've risen up out of the fields themselves, rather than been subject to the hands and plans and designs of men. They looked perfect in the early light on this winter morning, smoking chimneys hinting at cosy warmth inside, and nothing but birds on the move.
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Of all the wonky gates in all the world, this one is my favourite. It can be a little hard to push open, and blimey you've got to run through it quickly unless you want to lose half a leg when it crashes shut behind you, but I love that you reach it through the towering trees on this path beneath Stanage Edge, and that it leads out into the bright Autumn fields above the Hope Valley.
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This is my favourite view of my home village of Hathersage. From a secret vantage point just below Stanage Edge, you can see the beautiful church of St Michael's almost appearing to float in a sea of trees, the interlocking spurs of land weaving across each other and away into the distance, following the line of the River Derwent.
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Spread the Peak District love with this contemporary design, spelling out your favourite places within the original and best National Park!
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As tough as those early alarm calls are, I always feel very privileged to see the first light as the Spring sunshine softly reaches the sleeping Peak District valleys (and gates), calls the birds to song and wakes the sheep. This is the view over beautiful Chee Dale in Derbyshire in the quiet of the morning.
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I'm not ashamed to say that I did a little involuntary squeak when I wandered around a bend and saw this sight in front of me. A curving lane, that wonderful combination of mist and light that creates proper sunbeams, and a mighty fine gate reflected in perfect shadow. The magic lasted for a minute at most, but I felt incredibly privileged to have seen it and captured it to share.
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Autumn is a season that really makes you use all your senses. Walking along this beautiful path through Wyming Brook, your eyes catch first the flashes of gold amongst the green where the sun has lingered longest in the trees, then you hear and feel the crunch and swoosh as you tread through the leaves, before you inhale the scent of musty sweetness that hangs in the air.
