Mossy Rock

The summit was done, the legs were done, and the tent was calling. The Watkin Path down from Snowdon is long enough at the best of times — at the end of a full day, it feels longer.

Somewhere near the bottom, something made me stop.

The woodland at the foot of the path is the kind of scene that doesn’t photograph itself easily — too much going on, no obvious subject, green on green on green. But the moss-covered boulders emerging from the ferns, the gnarled oak branches reaching across the canopy above, the layering of texture from the forest floor upwards — it held together just long enough to be worth the tripod coming back out.

Overcast light was doing the right thing, keeping the greens saturated and even without any harsh shadows cutting through the understorey. The kind of woodland that looks like it’s been there for centuries and has no intention of changing.

I was back at the tent twenty minutes later.