The Howgills - a journey away from the norm
25th January 2015
The Howgills
I have only visited the lonely Howgill Fells a few times and the last visit was a year ago. Therefore, today's excursion, combined with the fact the route was new to me, meant a journey of discovery and new experiences.
The Howgill Fells are a combination of Silurian and Ordovician sandstone and gritstone uplands whose distinctive collection of large rounded hills and very steep sided valleys determine the area. The valleys, and connecting ridges, are laid out in a complex manner, which makes navigation and route choice not immediately obvious. On a wild and cloudy day these tops would need extra navigational attention to ensure you end up where you intended.
Today the tops and northern facing slopes were covered in a patch work of hard snow and ice, making the journey occasionally precarious. The tactic I adopted was to try to avoid the snow altogether. Though this was not as easy at it sounds, though it was better than suddenly slipping on slippery, rock hard névé, that encased the rims of steep drops. However, and by contrast, these conditions did make the going easier, as the areas that would obviously be normally very wet, were frozen rock hard.
Twice on my way up the very long valley of Bowderdale, I heard but did not see a Dipper. The Beck, that runs for over 7km down the long winding valley, surrounded by steep, grassy slopes, is an ideal environment for these little birds. There is plenty of rocks for them to perch, standing proud of the many rock pools for 'dipping'.
As I headed further up the valley I encountered many steep crevasses and valleys that 'poured' into the Dale. In each instance I came upon the evidence, in the form of piles of rocky debris and rubble, of powerful, fast flowing storm waters that must have poured down these slopes. These piles of rock looked like the heaps of slag found around old, disused mine workings, but was formed purely by the power of nature. The knowledge of their formation, understanding the ferocity of these forces, by seeing the resulting evidence, contributed to the wild and very lonely character of these hills.
Nearing the head of the valley and inevitably, the route steepened. As height was gained the path become more hazardous because of the unavoidable patches of the 'concrete hard' snow and ice. Some of these patches were perched over steep sided slopes and I was not keen to make an unplanned journey down their faces. Therefore, progress was slow and methodical, punctuated with the occasional slip and slither that kept the heart pulsing a bit faster.
Once the first summit, The Calf, was reached, the character of the route changed. Initially I had been rambling along the base of a claustrophobic valley, to now be released onto the tops of the grassy, rounded summits of the Howgill Fells. I was now now up in the sky, sat amongst the clouds and beams of sun. The vistas were both of near and far off mountains and fells, that shimmered white in the weak sun. The panorama ever changing as the cloud opened up, revealed or hid different groups of hills.
Nearby was the complicated maze of ridges that fell away into hidden, and unknown Howgill valleys. On the immediate horizon was the snow encrusted a Gritstone edges of Baugh and Aye Fell. These southern sentinels of the Dales, looked lonely as the cloud skimmed over their wild plateaus.
On the more distant horizon could just be seen, like an image from the Kubla Khan the shining temples of the lakeland mountains. They seemed very far off bathed in a mystical covering of snow and the wintery light:
"Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery"
The return journey was an improvisation, taking in lines of ridges seen by eye and not necessarily by map. This meant a few errors of judgement, resulting in a few extra ascents and a river to be crossed. However, not wishing to accept fate, I followed the stream down the profoundly beautiful Langdale valley, in hope to find a dry crossing. This perseverance proved beneficial as the most beautiful and wonderful stones bridges was discovered. This was a narrow, but perfect arch over the river and seemed displaced and isolated in such a remote and steep location.
Some more meandering that brought me to a lane and then encountering the inevitable suspicious local (as I passed their farm) proved I was back to (relative) civilisation. This sudden clash of nature into human was harsh but unavoidable. These Fells are a great place to escape the trappings and expectations of life and only lightly guarded by us human cynics.
I have only visited the lonely Howgill Fells a few times and the last visit was a year ago. Therefore, today's excursion, combined with the fact the route was new to me, meant a journey of discovery and new experiences.
The Howgill Fells are a combination of Silurian and Ordovician sandstone and gritstone uplands whose distinctive collection of large rounded hills and very steep sided valleys determine the area. The valleys, and connecting ridges, are laid out in a complex manner, which makes navigation and route choice not immediately obvious. On a wild and cloudy day these tops would need extra navigational attention to ensure you end up where you intended.
Today the tops and northern facing slopes were covered in a patch work of hard snow and ice, making the journey occasionally precarious. The tactic I adopted was to try to avoid the snow altogether. Though this was not as easy at it sounds, though it was better than suddenly slipping on slippery, rock hard névé, that encased the rims of steep drops. However, and by contrast, these conditions did make the going easier, as the areas that would obviously be normally very wet, were frozen rock hard.
Twice on my way up the very long valley of Bowderdale, I heard but did not see a Dipper. The Beck, that runs for over 7km down the long winding valley, surrounded by steep, grassy slopes, is an ideal environment for these little birds. There is plenty of rocks for them to perch, standing proud of the many rock pools for 'dipping'.
As I headed further up the valley I encountered many steep crevasses and valleys that 'poured' into the Dale. In each instance I came upon the evidence, in the form of piles of rocky debris and rubble, of powerful, fast flowing storm waters that must have poured down these slopes. These piles of rock looked like the heaps of slag found around old, disused mine workings, but was formed purely by the power of nature. The knowledge of their formation, understanding the ferocity of these forces, by seeing the resulting evidence, contributed to the wild and very lonely character of these hills.
Nearing the head of the valley and inevitably, the route steepened. As height was gained the path become more hazardous because of the unavoidable patches of the 'concrete hard' snow and ice. Some of these patches were perched over steep sided slopes and I was not keen to make an unplanned journey down their faces. Therefore, progress was slow and methodical, punctuated with the occasional slip and slither that kept the heart pulsing a bit faster.
Once the first summit, The Calf, was reached, the character of the route changed. Initially I had been rambling along the base of a claustrophobic valley, to now be released onto the tops of the grassy, rounded summits of the Howgill Fells. I was now now up in the sky, sat amongst the clouds and beams of sun. The vistas were both of near and far off mountains and fells, that shimmered white in the weak sun. The panorama ever changing as the cloud opened up, revealed or hid different groups of hills.
Nearby was the complicated maze of ridges that fell away into hidden, and unknown Howgill valleys. On the immediate horizon was the snow encrusted a Gritstone edges of Baugh and Aye Fell. These southern sentinels of the Dales, looked lonely as the cloud skimmed over their wild plateaus.
On the more distant horizon could just be seen, like an image from the Kubla Khan the shining temples of the lakeland mountains. They seemed very far off bathed in a mystical covering of snow and the wintery light:
"Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery"
The return journey was an improvisation, taking in lines of ridges seen by eye and not necessarily by map. This meant a few errors of judgement, resulting in a few extra ascents and a river to be crossed. However, not wishing to accept fate, I followed the stream down the profoundly beautiful Langdale valley, in hope to find a dry crossing. This perseverance proved beneficial as the most beautiful and wonderful stones bridges was discovered. This was a narrow, but perfect arch over the river and seemed displaced and isolated in such a remote and steep location.
Some more meandering that brought me to a lane and then encountering the inevitable suspicious local (as I passed their farm) proved I was back to (relative) civilisation. This sudden clash of nature into human was harsh but unavoidable. These Fells are a great place to escape the trappings and expectations of life and only lightly guarded by us human cynics.