The Storm and the Edge: Blackstone Edge Landscape Photography
Landscape photography on Blackstone Edge, on the border of Lancashire and Greater Manchester, in the South Pennines, often requires patience and resilience against unpredictable atmospheric conditions.
Situated high above Littleborough and looking down towards Hollingworth Lake, this gritstone escarpment offers some of the most dramatic storm views in North West England.
Below is the story and poem of chasing a fleeting moment of golden light through a break in dark storm clouds atop Robin Hood’s Bed.
They said, “You’re mad to chase a storm —
no light is worth the cold and harm.”
But something stirred that wouldn’t rest —
a pull, a whisper in my chest.
I should’ve turned; the signs were clear:
the clouds grew low, the rain drew near.
But Blackstone Edge loomed sharp and vast,
and dared me not to let it pass.
I climbed. The wind howled, fierce and wild —
a tantrum thrown by nature’s child.
It clawed my coat; it drowned my boots;
it shook the rocks down to their roots.
Behind me, rain blurred every line —
the hills erased by nature’s sign.
My tent, a flicker, barely seen,
was swallowed in the grey between.
I paused — a fool with sodden gear,
no glory yet, no photo clear.
My fingers numb, my spirit thin —
and still that voice said, “Don’t give in.”
I found a crag, a crooked wall,
to break the gale’s relentless call.
My tripod groaned, my lens was wet,
my breath a cloud of cold regret.
Then lightning cracked, the thunder rolled —
the sky was black, the ground ice-cold.
A war above, a rage beneath —
I stood between its jagged teeth.
And then — a wound in the cloud, a slit
that spilled celestial light. And in a blink — the storm pulled wide —
and poured the sun across the side.
The moor transformed, the stones alive,
like something ancient did revive.
The gritstone shone, obsidian-dark,
lit gold at every glowing mark.
The fields that dulled in shadow’s hand
now blazed with fire across the land.
The lake below, once lost to view,
reflected heaven, pure and true.
For five brief minutes, maybe less,
the world was raw and limitless —
a secret shown, then quickly sealed,
a truth the storm alone revealed.
And just as fast, the light was gone —
the veil pulled tight, the fire withdrawn.
But I remained, heart hammering still,
alive atop that ancient hill.
It’s not the photo, not the fame —
it’s standing where the wild things claim.
Where few will go, and fewer stay,
to meet the storm and not give way.
Behind the Shot: Storm Chasing in the South Pennines
South Pennines landscape photography gallery
Standing high on the gritstone edge as the wind roared across the moorland, the conditions felt almost unworkable.
But in landscape photography, the moments directly following a storm frequently produce the most extraordinary light.
As the storm pulled wide, sunlight illuminated the ancient rocks of Robin Hood's Bed and lit up the valley below.
Explore 'Where Forget-Me-Nots Grow'—an intimate macro flower photography story and original poem on the banks of the River Roch. A quiet reflection on memory loss, grief, and enduring love.