Tuesday 11th December 2001 8.44am
A cold clear morning, with the sun still low in the sky, ratcheting itself steadily upwards: its light just beginning to catch and reflect on the windows of North Scale. The boats ride to their moorings like toy ducks in a line, as the high tide and the light south wind push gently on up to fill the Channel. As I write Black Combe is beginning to fill with light, the sun clearing the horizon enough to light up its side and add shadow to its valleys.