If you’ve attended one of my talks you’ll know I’m a hopeless landscape photographer. Despite living in the Lake District, where 16 million visitors come each year to take photos of the stunning scenery, I simply don’t have the patience. I prefer the action of wildlife photography or the interaction of portraiture – I get bored in a nano second when I’m stationary waiting for just the right light. There’s also the fact that I like my bed and have no intention of getting up at 6am, or staying up in the evening, for the golden hour.

I rarely even venture up the Lakes. Because of my brain injury I’m not great with lots of noise and stimuli and there are wayyy too many squealing children, barking dogs, cars and caravans for my liking.

However, this week I had to go to Keswick to collect some prints which had been in an Exhibition, so decided to put a flask and some butties up and carry on to Buttermere. It’s probably been thirty years since I was last there and I’d forgotten just how breathtaking it is.

It’s late Autumn/early winter here in the UK and the weather is fairly rubbish. When I arrived at the lake (managed to get a park, hurrahhh!) it was dull and overcast with a slight breeze, which whipped up ripples on the dark water. I’d planned to just have a potter really and maybe chat to a few new people and, although I took my camera with me, knowing I’m a hopeless landscape photographer I didn’t think I’d take a useable shot.

I wandered down the lake side, chatting to various people as I went. Came across a photographer from Norfolk who’d driven virtually the length of England just to get a picture of the Lone Tree, and another from Carlisle who held a very dim view of camera clubs. I tried to persuade him differently, telling him that joining a camera club had literally changed my life but I think he remained unconvinced. Apparently he’d heard we have a tendency to be cliquey and unfriendly – definitely not been my experience.

After about 40 minutes the sun decided to peek out from behind the clouds and everything changed. A glassy calm descended on the water and the fading autumn colours were resplendent in all their glory. I frantically set my tripod up and began taking shots at varying exposures – some to get the sky correctly exposed, some for the fells and some for the water. I then stacked these together in Photoshop when I got home to hopefully arrive at a shot which was well exposed across the board.

Even for a rubbish landscape photographer it’s difficult to go wrong when you have a scene like this in front of you. How lucky am I to have this right on my doorstep? I’ll try not to leave it another thirty years before I go back.