The mist was hanging low over the moors above Stainforth in Ribblesdale this morning. Look at the top of my photo of Catrigg Force and you’ll see just how low. Following the last time I’d puffed and wheezed my way up the steep track from the village to the falls, about two years ago, I’d promised myself that next time I’d carry a tripod with me to take one of those fancy waterfall shots that arty photographers like to fashion. But I forgot the tripod again. The sound of cascading water echoed around this great amphitheatre, but with no birds chirping and a lack of wind to rustle the trees, today it felt an eerie place to be on my own.