Standing some 200 yards away from the scene in a muddy field it was hard to believe that Cumbria had just seen another rail accident.
The grey dawn light showed a scene of relative calm, the police standing guard over the wreckage, the firemen inspecting their equipment, and the accident inspectors slowly walking along the length of the train.
The police and associated volunteers were quiet and efficient in shepherding the ranks of photographers and journalists to a point where the whole scene could be surveyed with a quick turn of the head.
Standing lined up alongside the rest of the press corps in a muddy field you could see the jumbled-up line of the nine carriages of the train, and it was quite a surreal experience.
At previous press calls I've been to, there's usually quite a bit of light-hearted banter and chat.
But this was different. It was nearly silent, just the clicking of cameras and the rustle of waterproofs could be heard.
There was a sense of both disbelief and wonder from everyone there.
How could this could happen amongst some of England's prettiest countryside, on a railway line that nearly everyone there - myself included - had travelled on many, many times?
And why was the number of casualties not much higher, looking at such a scene of chaos?
