Last light on Helvellyn

The first evening of the year when sufficient light remains to get up on the high fells after work is a much-anticipated affair. Marking a change from the cold, dark headtorch runs of winter, it never fails to lift the spirits.

The grip of winter still held Hevellyn fast, and as the light failed, the cloud cleared, leaving streaks of blue sky between snow laden cloud.

I ran the climb, pushing when I would have paused, breathing hard in the icy breeze when I would have rested, reaching higher, faster, until the summit came and the sweep of hard névé fell to Striding Edge.

Snow showers pulsed through the valley, smothering the eastern fells, and I turned - just enough light for the fast drop to Thirlmere.