For 11 months of the year, the heather in the Peak District looks like a discarded Brillo pad: brown, wiry and certainly not something you would care to photograph. But for a few weeks in August it casts a purple haze over the landscape and brings the moorland to life. I’ve photographed heather in previous years, but this year I decided to make a project of it. So I set myself an assignment with the conceit that I had been commissioned by a magazine to photograph the heather in the Peak District.

I like giving myself assignments for three reasons. First, it gives me a goal. “I’m doing a story on Peak District heather” is a lot more motivating than “I’m going out with my camera”. Instead of wandering around waiting for inspiration, I’m actively hunting for images that fit the (imaginary) brief.

Second, it helps me decide what to shoot. A real editor wouldn’t want 12 wide shots of purple moorland at sunrise. They’d want variety: a hero landscape (probably at an iconic Peak District spot), but also wildlife among the heather, well-known landmarks, close-ups, and signs of human presence in the landscape.

And third, an assignment provides a sense of completion. As I said, I’ve photographed heather in the past but the problem with that approach is that it never really ends. A self-assignment has a finish line: once I’ve got the 10-12 images that tell the story, I’m done. I find the satisfaction of “completing the set” a big intrinsic motivator.

The conceit of an assignment meant that I ticked off some images that had been on my list for a while, such as this silver birch tree at sunset. (This scene appears calm and peaceful but that’s because you can’t see me swatting away the midges.) I call this the Fran Halsall tree as I first discovered it in her photography book on the Peak District.

I knew that my imaginary magazine editor would want images taken in interesting light, so I planned sunrise and sunset visits to various locations in order to get the best light possible. That meant some 4am starts, which was tough. But my imaginary magazine editor is brutal and she doesn’t really care about the effort that goes into a photograph: she just wants the end result. But I have to admit, she has a great eye for a photograph, and knows when I'm phoning it in. So if I don’t deliver, she’ll find a younger and cheaper photographer and then I’ll have to start selling my camera gear to feed my family.

I wanted most of the images to be new (of the 12 images in this post, I took 8 this August). I allowed myself some leeway as I didn’t think there was any point reshooting an image that was a perfect fit. I also wanted to include images that showed different weather conditions (this season’s weather has been exclusively hot and sunny).

It was important to photograph during the blue and golden hours because the sun has been unforgiving this year: the light is harsh, even as soon as 30 minutes after sunrise. And it doesn’t improve until just before sunset. So three sunrise and two sunset shoots later, I ended up with this collection of images.

I aimed for a mix of wider and detail shots and also included evidence of human presence in the landscape (such as derelict barns, dry stone walls and a hiker looking out over the landscape — actually me, on Over Owler Tor, looking towards Surprise View).

Thinking of this as a photo project forced me to think differently. I found myself taking images that I never would have contemplated, like this image of the iconic Mother Cap rock formation. The focus is on the heather, but there’s enough detail in the outline of the rock formation for you to identify it.

One perk of getting out at sunrise is that there are fewer people around. I bumped into three other photographers at Over Owler Tor, but had The Roaches entirely to myself on two separate visits. My imaginary magazine editor kept me on a tight rein, but loose enough that I could pause now and then, watch the light change, and enjoy that brief window when the Brillo pad turns purple.

There were a few images on my shot list I didn’t manage to get. Some felt too clichéd (like Highland cattle, which scream Scotland more than Derbyshire) and some too contrived (muddy walking boots in the heather). But the real gaps are mood and people. I’d like an image of a storm rolling in over Bamford Edge, and I think a rounded story needs some lifestyle images of hikers or climbers enjoying the Peak District. The difficulty is that I find it hard to ask strangers if I can take their picture.

Would it be cheeky to tell them I’m on assignment for a magazine? If they ask, I could always give them the name of an imaginary magazine editor…