DECEMBER 2022 · GROUNDED
Pen-y-Fan snow
Central Beacons, Wales
The ridge crest curves sharp between cloud. Not a gradual curve — a hard line where the mountain drops away on both sides and the sky closes in around it. Hoarfrost on every surface of that crest, the ice following the wind direction exactly, coating the edges of stones and the stems of dead grass in the same way. The north face below is cut by deep gullies, drainage channels carved over time and then refined in winter by ice and freeze-thaw.

This is Old Red Sandstone. You can see the structure in the erosion patterns on the north face — horizontal layering, the stone coming apart in slabs along the bedding planes, the gullies working the weaknesses. Winter makes it legible. The snow fills the hollow spaces and the wind scours the exposed planes and you see what the mountain is made of, its actual geometry.
Winter makes it legible — the snow fills the hollow spaces and you see what the mountain is made of.
Pen-y-Fan — December 2022


The corrie below the summit is white. Distant valley forests barely visible in mist. Two hikers on the snow-covered summit plateau, figures without scale, the mist-shrouded landscape behind them erasing the distance. A defensive barrier fence on the ridge disappearing into winter cloud. Small rock formations in minimalist light — a low sun, near-horizontal, catching just the tops of stones.

Frost-encrusted grass on the summit under overcast sky: each blade coated individually, the whole tussock white and locked. Wind-scoured patterns on the snow slope below the ridge: the texture the wind makes when it packs the snow, the visual record of the physics.
Strip away everything soft and you see what remains.








