We went out with the cameras of course - and later with the cross-country skis. The movie mode capturing our wobbly progress down a gentle slope that the downhill skis would turn their tips up at. Any unusual snowy activity is bound, sooner or later, to be interrupted by excited dogs keen to join in with the fun. We stayed out for hours. This sort of weather, it’s a good idea to carry the compact camera in an inside pocket. It keeps it warm and dry. Falling into the nearest snowdrift can be fun, but you risk damaging the camera if it is an outside pocket. I’ve had the lens stick open when the battery is chilled below working temperature, so you also need to think about keeping the battery - which drives everything from focusing, to image capture - warm and cosy.
You need to keep your coat zipped up against the chill wind. But you also need instant access to the camera for the close-up, action-packed, snow-on-the-dog’s-nose type of shot. How we photographers shiver for our art!
After several more days of light blue skies, deep blue shadows on snow, paths and pavements turned to sheet ice. The cars were still snowed in and we had to walk everywhere. Night-time temperatures plummeted. We woke each morning to a temperature inversion with the lake shrouded in mist, a fat grey cloud as reluctant to get up as we were.
Standing at our usual viewpoint, we could sample a range of cameras by offering to take pictures of couples from Kent and Nottingham who had toiled up in their wellingtons and parkas to see the view. The ad hoc toboggan run down Brantfell was treacherous. This morning after low, low temperatures and another light dusting of snow, everything was silver white and grey. A lone photographer plodded past with some impressive SLR gear and a large tripod slung over his back. Good luck to him, I say. He’s not going to get too much peace and quiet once the dogs reach the upper slopes of our temporarily alpine resort.