Bring the Winter beauty of the Peak District countryside into your home with my photographic prints and high quality canvases. 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 6×6″ 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 8×8″ 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 4-5 days for delivery of prints and 10-14 days for canvases. Thank you!
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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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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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The sheep of the Peak District are a hardy lot, well suited to winter life on the hills when the snows blow in across the dry stone walls, but this little group looked seriously unimpressed as their fleeces gathered flakes.
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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!
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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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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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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.
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Who says that winter can’t be colourful?! This beautiful spot is just on the edge of Hathersage, a former quarry that’s now an idyllic, quiet birch woodland. These fabulously colourful gritstone cliffs surround the place and they made the perfect backdrop to the half-frozen pool, every ledge caught with snow. It felt like such a privilege to be there with the sun streaming through the trees, making every shadow sparkle.
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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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This is the little 16th Century stone footbridge over the River Wye in Haddon Hall's Medieval Park. It always looks beautiful, but in the peace of deep winter, with a covering of fresh snow, it became magical.
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Walking through the little Peak District village of Pilsley as the snow fell softly down, felt like walking into a giant snow globe. The only movement came from the dropping flakes and the birds that were making a dash for their nest.
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These are the stretching White Peak fields as seen from the little hamlet of Bretton, that perfect gate in the old stone wall opening onto a world of frosty light, patchwork fields and glowing trees in the early morning sun.
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The peaceful Peak District village of Litton, covered by a quiet veil of falling snow in midwinter. The only colour came from the honey stone of the houses and that bright red flash of the old telephone box.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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, 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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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 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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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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This was such a beautiful morning in Padley Gorge in the depths of a snowy Winter, standing amid the falling flakes and watching as they picked out the stones in the old wall and contoured every bough and branch of those tall, tall beeches.
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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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You'll find these wonderful old wrought iron gates at Haddon Hall, one of the most beautiful and important historic houses in England. Even better, they lead into its Medieval Park, a true Secret Garden, untouched by man for nearly a millennium, where Nature has been left to her own perfect devices. To stand here and gaze through the gates as the snow drifted softly and silently down was one of the most magical winter moments I can remember.
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I love this view of Bakewell: the peaceful banks of the River Wye, overlooked by the jumble of rooflines of the old cottages, leading to the towering spire of All Saints Church beyond. The fresh fall of snow was just, well, the icing on the cake. Or pudding.
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This little robin was singing his heart out in a frosted tree in Bakewell, fluffing up his feathers to stay warm and to do his very best impression of a round Christmas bauble.
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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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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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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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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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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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I spotted this little rural scene in the hills above Eyam in the Peak District. The sheep were very happily munching on their hay and were beautifully lit by the low winter sun as it streamed across the snow-covered fields. I love looking at all the different characters of the sheep - the two on the right standing aloof and evidently not feeling very hungry, and the one laying down just below them, who I swear has a smile on her face. Obviously she'd managed to get in there first and had maybe had more than her fair share!
