Keswick, Cumbria

I booked a little photography holiday in the Lakes. It happened to coincide with the most amazing week of weather: sharply cold starry nights and bright cloudless days, the morning sun quickly melting the frost.

The photography course was a farce – the tutor did no teaching whatsoever. But the other students were a great group so despite the lack of a course, I really enjoyed these four days. Much merriment and mirth, and if the butt of the humour was mostly the tutor, well… that was to be expected. He was a dithering idiot who only sprang into life when we got off the bus and he legged it off into the distance to take photos on his own. Evening sessions were painful as he tried to get his slideshows to work. After two days he succeeded – only to show us some pretty shoddy images. "The point is," he explained, "these photos aren’t of slideshow quality." Quite why we were looking at them then, we never found out, and he never discussed a single picture he showed. The pinnacle of evening entertainment came the night we slipped out one by one, each new escapee being greeted with applause, laughter and a drink in the bar.

Just so you are warned, this was an HF holiday and the tutor’s name was David White. Some of my fellow students told me that HF’s other tutors are much better, so don’t let me put you off too much – apparently this David guy is well known as a hiccup in the system and yes, a waste of space.

But for me, the week wasn’t a total waste. I learnt lots from other course participants and saw some bits of the Lakes I hadn’t seen before. I made friends with some great people and had a laugh. Tried some very good local beers in delightful pubs. Realized I had learned something – that I’m a better photographer than at least one professional. And when the four days of the course were over I found myself a B and B in Keswick and treated myself to three fabulous days of walking.

Walla Crags, Derwentwater and Skiddaw were all interesting and scenic. Skiddaw was a hell of a steep climb on a very uninteresting path and coming back down was agony on the old knees – I had a sit down and thought of waiting for snow in the hope that I’d be able to slide, but as I said, the weather was just too good.

But the most stunning walk I could have hoped for was Wythburn to Rosthwaite - a route I conjured up from a promising bit of map combined with a bus timetable. My path followed Wyth Burn, climbing steadily over long grass, frozen bogs and the open landscape of the wide valley, with not another person in sight. The burn was half frozen, icicles hanging from every little drop and fall while the water rushed over or behind them. The crust cracked on the ground where I trod, steps crunching into softness. Leaving the burn, a steeper climb took me to Greenup Ridge, where the views both behind and ahead down the other side were breathtaking. There were quite a few people about on the ridge, breaking up my perfect solitude and silence, but even so the route down Greenup Gill could hardly be described as busy. The burn was frozen here too, as was the path wherever the water poured motionlesslessly down it.

This was my last day, appropriately, as I would have been hard pressed to better that day’s walk. A stunner.

View back down Wyth Burn, looking towards the start of my walk. To see some more of my Lakes photos, go to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/geckozo/sets/72157604140160557/ for a slideshow.