April, and the North Pennines are a huge wet sponge. Last week’s journey to Widdybank Farm wasn’t just wet, it was also freezing. I usually park the car at the gate and walk the rough mile track to the farm. I stared into the gloom, while listening to hail stones clatter on the roof. The windows had already steamed up and I felt a little trapped by the intensity of the noise. Thinking it was never going to end (48 hours of rain), I grabbed my boots and waterproofs from the back of the car. Over the years I’ve gained a few extra pounds making dressing in very small cars almost impossible. There’s a sense of achievement when the waterproofs, boots and coats finally go on. Stepping out of the car, the view was hidden in clouds. Two Oystercatchers sat huddled by the fence watching me watching them. For a brief moment we seemed to be acknowledging the weather. The cattle grids were like bath tubs, filled with 48 hours of rain. I marched through the wind and cold doing my best to take the occasional picture. The Oyestercatchers were a montage of those few taken shots. One must learn to take the rough with the smooth.