Story
Lonesome Larch
December dawn. First light in the valley—where else would you rather be on a morning like this? I’d come in search of overwintering Herdwick hoggs, but what greeted me stopped me. I returned quickly with my panoramic camera—the only tool wide enough to do this scene natural justice. I couldn’t miss it.
The River Brathay, flowing gently out of Elterwater, is a place I return to often. Derived from the Old Norse for “broad river”. This morning, hoar frost had worked its quiet magic—silvering the rushes and sieves, curling them with cold. No snow, just a pale vale grizzled white, alongside the river.
A solitary larch stood reflected in still water, perfectly framed against the Langdale Pikes. An hour earlier, the world had seemed lost to darkness, sunless and silent. But then, in a few heartbeats, the first light came. A brief glow, ruddy and rich, lit the fells and turned the scene golden. I stamped life into my frozen feet, composed my picture and myself, and pressed the shutter. Once again, a quiet thank you to Mother Nature.
Winter sunrises can be like this—gone in minutes, snuffed out by cloud for the rest of the day. But for that one moment? Absolute magic. That’s what dawn is for.
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