Up for sunrise once more, and I elected to go back to the same spot I had occupied the morning before, to see if the colours were more to my liking. So yet again, as I strode through the gloom, I thought how a torch would have been handy, and yet again, once I had reached Friars Crag, I made my way down the perilous embankment to the shoreline. But here’s the crucial difference, I made it down without banging, cutting, grazing or gouging a single part of my delicate person.
Job well done I mused, but then an alarming thought appeared unbidden, if I didn’t injure myself now then it was bound to happen later on in the day. So with that unpleasant logic beginning to smoulder in my brain pit, I thought it best to get it over with, at which point I promptly picked up a wellington boot someone had discarded on the shore and began bashing myself over the head with it.
So it was I found myself stood on the gentle, silent shoreline, as the dark of the night gave way to the soft, cool tones of dawns first light, repeatedly hitting myself over the head with a soaking wet item of rubber footwear.
Life is a strange old fruit sometimes.
Of course I didn’t do any such thing, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Believe me, if I thought there was even a glimmer of hope along that particular avenue. I would have brought my own wellington boot along with me for the occasion.
I was soon setting up the tripod in anticipation of the morning light, and thankfully it didn’t disappoint. It was soon putting on a grand display of pinks and yellows over the distant fells. Alas it didn’t last long, and although I waited around for another half hour or so, it just became rather grey and ashen as the early morning progressed.
|This was the last of the sun I would see all day unfortunately|