Langdale in Winter
As I revisit this scene, photographed from Blea Tarn, memories of that day come flooding back—along with the challenges I put myself through. I had been judging for the Scottish Photographic Federation near Bridge of Allen, battling through relentless winter weather and dangerous driving conditions. By Monday morning, I was making my way home, driving down the M6 in yet another downpour and contending with the spray from the endless lines of lorries making their way south.
Approaching Shap, the rain finally relented, and patches of blue sky began to break through over the Lake District off to my right. On an impulse, I took the next motorway exit, determined to chase the light. My route must have led me along the A6 towards Kendal and then onto the A591 because, an hour later, I found myself at the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel in Langdale. Unfortunately, the weather had closed in again. With no other customers around, I took refuge inside, warming up with a hot bowl of soup and a delicious dessert.
Then, another fleeting break in the clouds appeared. I decided to carry on towards Blea Tarn, a route I know well that goes across to Little Langdale. The narrow, single-track road was flooded in places, but a van squeezed by at a passing place and the driver reassured me that the flooding was passable with care and the road to Little Langdale was clear beyond Blea Tarn—not that turning back was much of an option by that point. I have probably never felt so alone and vulnerable.
I parked at the Blea Tarn car park, waiting in the pouring rain and hoping for another window of light. It came only briefly, lasting just a couple of minutes, but I managed to capture a series of photographs as the sun flitted across the mountains.
Afterwards, as I continued my journey, a large ram took up the task of leading me down to Little Langdale, stubbornly refusing to move out of the centre of the road and conducting me most of the way to the Three Shires Inn, a very familiar and welcome sight, where I stopped for an afternoon coffee—a moment to breathe, to relax, to take it all in and to ring home—“Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry, I’m on my way home”.
Looking back, it was a reckless thing to do, alone, in the depths of winter. Months passed before I finally admitted to my husband just how harsh the conditions were that day.
Judges don’t (and shouldn’t IMO) consider the difficulties behind taking a photograph—we judge the result—but I remember it so well: the wind, the soaking rain, the stress of navigating flooded single-track roads alone in midwinter. Surely, that kind of dedication deserves at least a blog?
