Ogwen Valley

Water was everywhere. The Nant Ffrancon runs down the valley floor but the valley doesn't drain simply — channels cut through the moorland, reed-fringed, leading the eye toward the mountains. A mountain peak rises beyond reed-fringed water channels cutting through golden moorland: that image looks like a painting and wasn't manipulated to.

In the forest at the valley edge, a stream tumbles over moss-draped boulders beneath pine trees. The moss is thick on everything — boulders, walls, fallen timber — and the forest light is green-tinged. A waterfall cascades over pale stone blocks cloaked in the same moss. A stone arch bridge carries water over rapids through a narrow gorge.

Higher, the terrain opens. Lichen-covered boulders stand in the shallow water of Llyn Ogwen, the mountains reflected in the dark lake surface. Bare rock crags plunge to the still water, the valley walls stripped back to stone. A moss-covered island rests in the lake, its reflection breaking the mirror of the surface.

A cascading stream weaves between colossal boulders, white water bright against dark stone. White water against dark rock: that's what the backlight does. It lifts the bright parts without losing the depth of the shadows.

The valley was carved by a glacier, and the scale of that process is obvious in the shape of everything — the U-profile, the hanging tributary valleys, the boulders deposited randomly in the valley floor. The water follows the paths the glacier left.

A mossy rock island reflects in lake water, and the mountains above it do the same.