Fog has curled and settled itself in the valleys, locking the low land into a monochrome hush. We drive in it, and then through it, emerging to see mountains floating above a clouded land. We’ve come to Whinlatter Forest, and as we walk into this wooded landscape, we tread lightly over birch, oak and hazel leaves sugared with the morning’s frost. Beneath them the forest floor is a dense spread of brown pine needles, each one edged with white crystals of ice. Cold has covered the land.