Some photography jobs stay with you long after you've delivered the images.

Photographing the final summit of Alex Staniforth's record-breaking 446 Challenge was one of them.

Looking back, it remains one of the most memorable days I've spent in the mountains with a camera.

Alex had spent 45 days running, cycling and climbing his way around all 446 Nuttalls in England and Wales under his own steam, eventually arriving in the Lake District for the final summit of an extraordinary challenge raising awareness and funds for Mind Over Mountains.

My role was simple. Get myself onto the hill and document the finish.

Well, sort of.

The reality was that I wasn't standing on Helvellyn waiting for Alex to arrive. I was moving through the mountains with the group, carrying camera kit, taking photographs as the day unfolded and, where appropriate, running sections of the route alongside everyone else.

Starting from Glenridding, we climbed via Birkhouse Moor and St Sunday Crag before dropping towards Grisedale Tarn. From there we continued over Dollywaggon Pike and Nethermost Pike before finally reaching Helvellyn, summit number 446.

Looking back through the images now, I'd forgotten quite how good the conditions were. The Lake District was showing off. Clear views stretched across the fells, the light was constantly changing and there was just enough cloud around to add atmosphere without spoiling the day.

One thing that had been occupying far more headspace than it probably should have was what camera bag to use.

This wasn't a typical mountain photography assignment. We would be moving quickly throughout the day and running sections of the route, which immediately ruled out my usual camera backpacks. They're brilliant when you're carrying a full commercial photography kit into the hills, but trying to run with one is about as much fun as it sounds.

After a fair amount of overthinking, I settled on my INOV8 RACEPAC 20. Looking back, it seems like an obvious choice, but I remember stressing about it beforehand. It turned out to be perfect. It swallowed a surprising amount of camera gear, carried comfortably all day and allowed me to move efficiently whenever the pace picked up.

It also reminded me how much my work and hobbies have gradually merged over the years.

Between photographing outdoor brands, adventure events and endurance athletes, running ultra marathons and spending as much time as possible in the mountains, I've become accustomed to carrying cameras into places where traditional camera bags quickly become the weakest link.

Sometimes the most important bit of kit isn't the camera at all. It's the thing that allows you to get the camera to where the story is happening.

As we moved across the Helvellyn range, more and more people appeared on the skyline. Friends, supporters, fellow runners and walkers were all making their way towards the same destination. There was a growing sense that everyone wanted to witness the final moments of something extraordinary.

This is the sort of work I enjoy most.

Whether it's trail running photography, outdoor brand photography, adventure sports photography or documentary storytelling, the best images rarely happen when you're standing in one place waiting. They happen when you're immersed in the experience, moving with the people you're photographing and understanding what they're going through.

The closer we got to Helvellyn, the more the atmosphere built.

Then, eventually, Alex appeared on the summit ridge.

After 45 days of relentless forward motion, thousands of kilometres travelled and over 100,000 metres of ascent, summit number 446 was finally beneath his feet.

Looking back at the photographs now, what strikes me most isn't the scale of the achievement, impressive as it undoubtedly was.

It's the expression on his face.

Relief.

Pride.

Exhaustion.

Happiness.

All rolled into a single moment.

As a photographer, those are often the moments that matter most. The genuine ones. The moments that can't be directed, posed or recreated.

While many of the group descended via Swirral Edge, I headed back towards Glenridding via Lower Man and Whiteside. The crowds gradually thinned, the noise faded away and the fells slowly returned to their usual calm.

The walk and run back gave me time to reflect on what I'd just witnessed.

Alex's achievement is remarkable on paper. The distances, the elevation and the record itself are difficult to comprehend. But standing on Helvellyn that afternoon, it felt like something much bigger than numbers.

It was about resilience.

It was about consistency.

It was about turning up every day and continuing to move forwards, regardless of how difficult the day ahead might look.

The photographs from that day still make me smile.

Not because of the record, although that was incredible, but because they capture something genuine. A group of people in the mountains, sharing a moment that had taken weeks, months and years to reach.

A year later, it still feels like a privilege to have been there to photograph summit number 446.

And perhaps more importantly, to have been part of the journey rather than simply waiting at the finish.