Swirling fog plays tricks. As we crossed an open field the silhouette of an oak loomed, with a glimmer of pale yellow light cradled in its branches, before it dissolved back into the clammy miasma.
We had descended from the high fells, from clear blue sky and crystal-clear views into a monochrome lake of valley fog, cold grey vapour trapped by warmer air above. It thickened as we followed the footpath along the riverbank.
Down here the air was saturated with suspended water droplets that clung to hair and eyelashes; above us, in treetops that pierced the blanket, the cawing crows must have been bathed in warm sunshine.
When we reached the point where the path broadened, between a low cliff and the river, a glow spread through the trees, and shafts of sunlight began to penetrate the fog.
Until about five years ago this had been a Scots pine plantation. After they were felled, native hardwoods were planted and since then the ground flora and the insect fauna have become more diverse with every passing year. Last summer I spent long afternoons here photographing beetles, hoverflies and red admiral, speckled wood and small copper butterflies.
Today the fog revealed something I had overlooked. This tangle of undergrowth must have a vast spider population. Almost every wild raspberry stem, every dead sweet cicely umbel, every burdock seed head was festooned with mist-decorated silk. This sheltered spot, sun-drenched for the first time in decades after the pines were felled, must have been a death trap for unwary insects last autumn.
Spider silk is so fine that it can be almost invisible on a bright day. Therein lays its menace, as a snare for insects. In today’s fog every surviving thread was spangled with water droplets, sparkling as the sun broke through. Saturated air and silk had combined to produce a spectacle of beguiling beauty on this winter morning.
The spokes and spiral threads of some orb webs had survived almost intact, months after the arachnids that spun them must have died. In spring they’ll likely be woven into the elastic, lichen-decorated nests of long-tailed tits that sometimes build in bramble thickets nearby.
