I was peeking through a hedge at this little lamb playing in her dandelion field, when she suddenly spotted me and came rushing over to discover what on earth I was. Except she came so close that I couldn't fit her in the frame and I had to move back a little to take the shot, and then she was Very Proud Indeed that she'd scared off the hedge-based intruder, and went racing off to tell mum how brave she'd been.
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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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I'm not really a 'big views' person, but this is one of those magnificent vistas that draws you in to look at all the tiny details, which is what I love most. Looking out over Monsal Dale, very early on a hazy summer morning, it's the epitome of English countryside. The little farm surrounded by small fields, the rickety bridge over the River Wye, and then further up, the hamlet of Upperdale hiding in the trees that line the limestone valley. I could look at this Big Little View for hours.
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This peaceful duckpond is in the heart of the Peak District village of Tissington. With a collection of grand stone houses and pretty cottages clustered around a magnificent Jacobean manor, Tissington is one of the most picturesque villages in the area. Explore its narrow lanes to find a 12th Century church, six village wells and this duckpond, home to lively populations of ducks, coots, moorhens and goldfish - who don't always get along as swimmingly as you might think!
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There are moments in nature that feel so special, so perfect, all you can do is stand and stare, grinning out loud, marvelling at how immensely and endlessly beautiful the world is. Standing here in the cold, watching the sun dancing through the snow-crusted branches, hearing millions of ice crystals falling through the shining air, I felt rich beyond my wildest dreams.
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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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"...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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My beautiful home village of Hathersage in the snow - the High Street quiet, the street lamps glowing and the shops shuttered, awaiting the thaw. Beyond, the fields and hills of the Hope Valley shine, ready for the children to wake up and grab their sledges.
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Sometimes everything you need is right there in front of you. Nothing more complicated than an old stone barn in a summer field, surrounded by trees as the evening light falls golden on the grasses. I stayed here until the sunlight faded, the air chilled and the owls began hooting.
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Deep in the woods, where only drops of winter sun fall through the branches onto the earth, lighting rocks that seem soft with velvet mosses, you walk into a world where fairytale and reality blur. In Celtic mythology such places were called Thin Places; where the veil between the physical world and the 'otherworld' of dreams was at its finest. The veils in Padley Gorge seem non-existent at times and I always stay out far too long amongst the ancient trees and shadows.
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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 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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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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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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Is there a better way to spend a sunny day than wandering along an English country lane, grass growing in the middle, sheep baaa-ing over the stone walls on all sides, and endless blue skies above?! This is one of my very favourite lanes in the Peak District, although admittedly I do have many. It offers the most beautiful White Peak views, it's a little haven away from the hustle and bustle - and it ends at a pub.
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The rocky heights of Higger Tor provide a wonderful spot from which to watch the sun go down. The whole of the Hope Valley stretches before you and fills with light, and you can pick out the slopes of first Win Hill and then Lose Hill, right over to the bulk of Kinder Scout and Mam Tor herself at the head of the valley. There were no spectacular colours during this sunset, but actually I think the dark, brooding light on the receding hills made for a more atmospheric image, especially with that lone figure, just sitting, watching.
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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 is a particular favourite of mine, two old survivors, barn and tree, weathering all storms together.
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Wyming Brook is a magical place in which to wander, with waterfalls cascading through a wooded glade, crashing over rocks and sweeping under a succession of pretty wooden footbridges. Once a private medieval hunting forest for the region’s nobility, it is now a nature reserve, protected as a safe haven for a wide variety of wildlife. Keep your eyes and ears open here, and look out for crossbills, dippers, redstarts, pied flycatchers and wood warblers, as well as lutestring and northern spinach moths.
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As I walked past this woodland of tall, dark pines, my eye was caught by a spotlight of sun spilling down through the trees. It completely lit up a tiny beech sapling, still proudly bearing its blaze of orange leaves, a little flame of colour and light in the gloom. Everyone needs their moment to shine, and I think this was hers. I'm glad I was there to see it.
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This was an unforgettably beautiful morning in Beresford Dale, when the sun poured down through the golden leaves of this wonderful old chestnut tree and met the mist that was rising from the sparkling waters of the River Dove. The colours and sunshine were all reflected in the puddle for the finishing touch and I honestly could have stayed there all day.
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Although not quite in the Peak District National Park, this fantastic avenue of trees on the edge of the Peak District at Upper Moor near Matlock is just too wonderful not to visit and photograph. The tall beech trees on the right arch beautifully over the little path, shaped by decades of wind blowing at them over the surrounding moors, and they contrast perfectly with the poker-straight pines on the left. I had an inkling that a little snow would show them at their best and this day didn't disappoint, the clinging snow picking out every contour and shape on the boughs.
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Dandelions must be the most underrated of flowers, maligned as a 'weed' and cut or poisoned away from verges and fields and gardens without a thought. Yet at each stage of their life cycle they are perfect, symmetrical wonders, with the most beautiful structure and form. They also provide vital early food for butterflies and bees, and bring us the first much-needed shots of bright colour after the dark of winter.These dandelion seed heads were lit by the setting sun as I passed them, each one a tiny ball of light, the whole field transformed into a mass of caught gold. Nature throws us so many jewels of immense beauty if we only stop to see, notice and appreciate them.
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In the quiet fields on the edge of the pretty village of Hathersage, I chanced upon this beautiful young roe deer. He stood completely still for a few moments, his eyes shining and his ears quivering, watching me, listening, waiting for the click and the whispered 'Thank You'.
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“I come to my solitary woodland walk as the homesick go home.” ~ Henry David ThoreauThis is one of the most beautiful woodland walks I know. I love the arches of statuesque beeches, receding along the path like an arboreal Mexican wave, and that old stone wall that seems built to hold back the trees from advancing. I've photographed it in every season and it never fails to impress me, but I felt very privileged to stand here on this Spring morning to watch the young leaves glowing, the mist weaving around each bough, and the blackbirds heralding the new day.
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There's such a sense of wonder that comes with watching a winter sunrise. Everything seems to happen much more quietly and gently than it does in summer. The light creeps into the sky with the softest pastel colours, the growing warmth very slowly burns off the mist that hangs in the valley, and the fields echo with nothing more than birdsong, sheep and your footsteps on the frosty grass. You always leave with your heart feeling a little bit lighter than when you arrived.
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A classic view in the Peak District village of Castleton, and I always think it looks at its most atmospheric in the winter dusk with the lamplight beckoning you out of the weather and towards the safety of the cottages. The roaring froth of Peakshole Water beside the house rises in Peak Cavern and rushes through the village to join the River Noe in Hope, and eventually on to the River Derwent.
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Every grand old tree can tell so many tales of centuries - the walls built, the storms weathered, the people who have sought shade and solace beneath their boughs - but this beauty is truly a magical storyteller. Spring is in full force, the daffodils bloom by the wall and each twig is tipped with a bud about to burst into green, but for now she is still flaunting the filigree beauty of her bare branches, each knot and bump and whorl in her bark, and her stories are at their loudest, for anyone who stands still and long enough to listen.
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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.
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Mam Tor, literally meaning Mother Hill, is an iconic Peak District hill, relatively accessible and easy to climb from the village of Castleton, but offering magnificent views from its summit, taking in the whole of the Hope Valley on one side and the whole of the Edale Valley on the other. More than just a pretty peak, it is a place of ancient civilisation, with evidence of occupation from around 1200 BC, the site of one of the earliest hill forts in Britain and also one of the largest, covering an area of around 16 acres.
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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 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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This was such a beautiful Peak District morning, the sun just breaking through the mist in the valley and briefly turning the horizon a wonderfully warm orange. Something about this little scene really captivated me: the arching branches over the gate, the delicate filigree twigs of the tree, and that fabulous sky shining through it all.
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There's nothing quite as fresh as early morning summer sunshine on a country lane - even if you have to get up at 4am to see it and feel less than fresh yourself! This lane in the little Peak District village of Wetton smelled and sounded as good as it looked. I just love those bright new greens, and the cow parsley covered in dew, as if everything has been laundered overnight.
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I was out for a walk in the lovely Peak District village of Hathersage one Spring evening, and I chanced upon this little lane that was lit up by the low sun, complete with clusters of daffodils and a gate that had completely given up. I love it when you just happen upon scenes like this. It's a tiny snapshot of life witnessed as you pass by, rather than an epic scene that you travel to a specific point to see. Sometimes the best views in life are the the simple ones meant just for you.
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I don't think I have ever loved my home village of Hathersage more than on this midwinter morning. The curves and edges of the hills sparkled with bright snow, the mists curled lazily below, clearing and regrouping to reveal tiny new scenes each time, and the church stood half-hidden in trees that seemed crafted from diamonds. The gate which once announced the entrance to the village has now given up its duties, but looked perfectly in place resting on part of an old stone wall and shouting its name to the sky. I could happily have stayed all day in this spot, listening to the bells ringing out every quarter hour through the Hope Valley.
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This is one of my very favourite spots in the Peak District, a narrow lane that links the villages of Hathersage, Grindleford and Eyam. Flanked by old stone walls, and in parts way too narrow for two vehicles to pass, it's a quiet escape from the (relative) rush and bustle of life down in the valley. These tall, straight beech trees form an honour guard to welcome you as you enter, and I always breathe a little sigh of relief when I see them.
