Nobody sensible lugs a medium format camera onto a wet Peak District trail.
So there I was lugging around my Fujifilm GFX100S on yet another hike.
The Fujifilm GFX100S belongs on a studio tripod or a carefully planned landscape setup, not slung over a shoulder while stepping across swollen streams in thick fog. It is heavy, it is precious—my bank account can vouch for that—and every time you bounce over a gritstone step you feel it knocking against your chest like an expensive reminder. Yet, taking it from Padley Gorge up to White Edge offered a chance to see how far I could push its 102-megapixel sensor in unpredictable outdoor conditions, and honestly, I needed the excuse to just get out of the house and walk with other people.
The morning started in true British fashion at the Longshaw Estate car park: persistent drizzle, low cloud, and coffee drunk while everyone milled about adjusting rucksack straps and pulling hoods up. There is something grounding about that little pre-walk ritual, the murmured hellos, nestled behind coats, the checking of phone maps, the silent, collective decision to go ahead regardless of the weather.
If you’ve seen my other work, you’ll know I love pockets of light. The weather that was present during that hike flattens contrast and washes out natural light, but I still enjoyed it because it creates a distinct, moody atmosphere through the woodland of Padley Gorge. I found myself stopping every few paces to frame another shot.
Moving from the sheltered gorge onto the exposed moorland towards White Edge brought heavier mist. Visibility dropped significantly, turning the wide rolling landscape into a dense grey backdrop where the horizon simply ceased to exist. Navigating waterlogged paths meant assisting fellow hikers across swollen stream crossings on slippery rocks. You cannot rush that kind of terrain. You look after the person next to you. That mutual care, the small “you alright?” as someone steadies your elbow over a tricky step, is part of what makes walking in a large group feel so nourishing.
Shooting video on the GFX100s under these conditions revealed both its immense strengths and clear physical limitations. The detail in properly focused frames is extraordinary—rich textures and filmic depth that make the elements look almost tactile. However, handheld operation without a heavy rig leads to visible jitter, and after an hour my forearms start to quietly complain, though I have gone all-in on the kettlebells as of late, so let’s see how much that helps.
The autofocus occasionally hunted in the low-contrast fog, resulting in a few soft shots where the camera simply could not find an edge to lock onto.
Rather than editing out those imperfect moments, keeping them in reflects the real learning curve of adapting cinema-scale gear to dynamic handheld fieldwork. Technical perfection matters less than capturing the genuine feel of a wet, foggy day out in the Peaks with good company.
Standing in that grey nothingness at White Edge, surrounded by people catching their breath, I remembered why I keep going back to these group walks. There is a spiritual reset in it that no amount of indoor rest quite replicates. You do not need to be religious to feel it. You just need mud, mist, and a handful of strangers who become friends by the second mile.
If you have been waiting for a sign to get outside, to join a hiking group, like the Muslim Hikers, to take a camera you probably should not be taking on a hike and see what happens, this is it. You do not need perfect weather. You do not need the right gear. You just need to put your boots on and go. The trail will sort the rest out.
