The life of a landscape photographer can be a bit of a solitary one. Always in pursuit of the perfect patch of light. Trudging across boggy moorland or rocky scree resolutely heading where the wind blows or the rain spews from low menacing clouds. In reality, it becomes a meditative experience and gives a rare glimpse of remote places that are unburdened by the distractions of modern life. You find your optimal location and set up your equipment. Slow and methodical. The process is suited to the rhythm of the environment we are photographing. Vainly seeking to seize the mood and embrace the feel of the place. A fleeting moment of wind, rain and incalescence caught forever. The procession of seasons cycle by, and years pass, but the landscape remains, unchanging. Sat here, at home, high on the West Pennine Moors, I’m still touched by the remote places. The pixels and photons forge indelible memories imprinted on the psyche which lift the spirit in times of melancholy, and whilst I’m no longer a part of the landscape, the landscape has become a part of me, and remains so as time and tides march forever onwards.