I was looking for a particular photo of a dramatic sky to illustrate Going down… That meant delving into old files and I came across the folders taken in the cold of the autumn last year, when I and my eldest son had spent a few days exploring Cumbria. For some reason he could not recall ever having really visited the Lakes and fancied the trip. Never loath to head north or to play amongst the hills, off I went, meeting him there halfway through his stay on my way to Yorkshire.On our first full day we drove up the motorway so that I could show him what was on the other side… the hills of my home county, Yorkshire, towering stark and glorious over their hidden valleys. I remember he said then that he had not known there were such places in England. He began to see, I think, why the north draws me inexorably home by every heartstring.We had both taken the cameras, even though I would be playing taxi. This was fine… we must have stopped in every conceivable stopping place as we explored and the scant few miles that took us over the heights of Kirkstone Pass ended up taking the whole day. Not that I would have had it any other way. It is a beautiful run.From valley to lake, along the narrow, winding roads of the pass, up trails so steep they carry names like ‘The Struggle’, and at every corner there were squeaks and squeals from me, deep breaths from my son as we were inundated by beauty. There are moments when you almost cannot contain the bubbling joy of seeing a landscape unfold, bathed in shifting light, shrouded in swift moving clouds and painted in the impossible jewel colours of autumn.We took so many pictures that day that even I can’t remember them all, so looking through the albums provided me with some lovely memories. It is, I think, the colours that get me every time. There is a vividness to the northern landscape, probably due to the incessant moisture in the air from the rain and the low-playing clouds that come down to greet you. Even the rocks are as bright as is they had been varnished by some otherworldly hand. Divine artistry is visible in every line and curve of the hills and the palette is that of the earth tones… the russet, citrine and olive stark against the dark, shadowed stone.And then, of course, there is the light. There is a quality to the light in the northern hills that is quite unique; a luminosity that seems to defy the dark clouds, or perhaps it is there because, not in spite, of them, made visible against their shadowed bulk, lining them with gold and white.The clouds roll and roil, or drift in lazy blankets over the hills, wrapping the world in softness that seems close enough to touch. Here, in the south, the skies are farther away; distant and impersonal. The northern skies come down to play and their touch is intimate, the welcome of home.