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.
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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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 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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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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Every so often you come across a Peak District farm that looks so perfect in the landscape it's almost as if it's grown there, if you know what I mean? This scene outside the little Peak District village of Rainow in Cheshire can't have changed much for centuries. The farm has the date 1593 above the door, so it's certainly seen a few centuries come and go. I rather fell in love with it, plus it's on Hooleyhay Lane, which is surely the best ever name for a road?!
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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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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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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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"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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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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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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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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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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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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This entirely natural heart-shaped hole lies at the very bottom of a beautiful old beech tree in Padley Gorge, where the tree has weathered centuries of winters and seen generations come and go. I love to visit the 'heart tree' in all seasons, and it looked perfect in the falling snow.
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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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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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Oh, Hathersage. I don’t think I have ever loved my home village more than I did on this bright, beautiful morning. The curves and edges of the hills sparkled with bright snow, the mists curled lazily below, clearing and regrouping and clearing again to reveal tiny new scenes each time, and the church stood half-hidden amid trees that seemed crafted from diamonds. I could happily have stayed all day in that spot, freezing slowly, listening to the blackbirds and the bell ringing out every quarter hour through the valley.
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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 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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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 woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.' - Robert FrostIn these most perfect, dark, deep woods, the snow fell so silently on the branches and the soft earth beneath my feet. The swirl of fog and flakes lit the space ahead, making the distance glow with a half-suggested light that was impossible to resist, drawing me further and further in.
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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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"When snow falls ... nature listens." There's something so perfect about winter trees. Stripped of leaves, with every twig exposed, you can really see their intricate beauty. For an extra dose of magic, add in gently falling snow, silently piling up along the branches.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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.
