Ramblings
Saunterings
Ramblings: about North-West England
Ramblings is a set of articles about North-West England, of unknown authorship and
indeterminate date, believed to have been written for amusement on rainy days,
which are not unknown in North-West England.
21. Misadventures on the Fells: Helvellyn
... Glenridding ...
A gentle drizzle, soothing and refreshing, fell as we climbed
Birkhouse Moor. We soon reached the Hole-in-the-Wall, for
after a few days of good walking we were now well into our
stride, with no handicaps other than Harry’s blisters, Richard’s
sore knee and Thomas’s stomach pains.
... Striding Edge ...
I led the team on to Striding Edge, scrambling along the
very razor’s edge of the ridge, for there is nothing to compare
with having precipitous slopes
dropping down on both
sides. The others, I noticed,
preferred the safer paths
slightly below the crest.
As we scrambled along,
nose to rock in places, we
noticed that the rocks were
covered in scrapes. This I
assumed to be caused by the
hobnail boots of ice-walkers.
But, as I looked around, I
realised that my team was
inadequately garbed and that
almost every other walker
had a pair of sticks, which
they seem to use to poke and
probe around the rocks. I
thought that walking sticks
were for the infirm but here
they seemed to be an essential aid to nearly all walkers, old
and young. I like to get to grips with the rocks with hands,
knees, elbows, buttocks, or any other extremity, but this new
breed of walker seemed to prefer to keep the rocks at stick’s
length.
After we emerged onto the Helvellyn plateau and had
settled slightly off the beaten path for a bite, we had ample
opportunity to study walking stick techniques. On Striding
Edge they seemed more of a hindrance than a help but here
on top they enabled walkers to bowl along in style. In many
different styles, in fact. Some thrust the sticks out in step
with the legs, some put the stick out opposite to the leg, some
put two sticks out (like off-piste skiers), some used the sticks
haphazardly to prod rocks they didn’t like the look of, but our
favourite style, determined after a thorough scientific study,
was that of a young woman who had tied the two sticks to her
belt to protrude, fore and aft, like buffers and then ignored
them.
... The Helvellyn Memorials ...
We ambled over to look at the memorials, which some consider
to add a romantic air to the fells. One commemorates the
death of Charles Gough in 1803 or, rather, the sentimental
fact that his dog stayed by his side for three months until
his body was found. We are supposed to be impressed and
inspired by this.
The memorial was not erected until 1890, by which time
the facts of the case had been well mythologised. Did Mr
Gough die instantly from some accident, or did he lie injured
for some considerable time? If the latter, I would be more
impressed if the dog had run back for help, as Lassie did on so
many happy occasions. And dare we ask how the dog survived
for three months?
A second memorial marks the landing of a plane on
Helvellyn on December 22nd 1926. The pilots are named as
John Leeming and Bert Hinkler. The latter achieved fame in
1928 for the first solo flight from England to Australia, but,
not being a woman, not as much fame as Amy Johnson did for
her flight in 1930.
In the course of my thorough preparations for this
expedition, I had investigated this matter, in order to enlighten
my team along the way. December 22nd
1926 was, no doubt, a day when the snow and ice was
thick upon Helvellyn or it was foggy or it was rainy or it was windy. It always is in December.
It was hardly a day that anyone would
choose to land a plane there. So, why did they? It is said
to have been a publicity stunt. But, if so, what were they
publicising? Themselves and their plane, presumably. But
there seem to be no photographs - why not?
So, did they, in fact, land a plane on Helvellyn? There was
said to be one independent witness, a ‘professor’ who happened
to be walking on Helvellyn. His or her name seems to have
evaporated. In those days a professor was an unimpeachable
pillar of society, unlike today. Weren’t the pilots lucky it
wasn’t, say, an estate agent? And that there was a witness at all.
It wouldn't have been much of a publicity stunt with nobody there.
They took off from Helvellyn
over Striding Edge. Of course they did.
... Threlkeld ...
We continued briskly on, up and over Whiteside Bank and
Raise, and dropped down to Sticks Pass, so called because here
those walking north from Helvellyn realise the uselessness of
their sticks and throw them over the sides of the mountain.
There they accumulate in great piles, to be rummaged through
by skiers using the Raise ski tow and in need of extra ski sticks.
We climbed the Dodds - Stybarrow, Watson’s and Great
- which are neglected except by connoisseurs like myself,
perhaps because they hardly require climbing. While the hordes
queue to scramble nose-to-bottom along Striding Edge and
down Swirral Edge for the later glow of achievement, hardly
anyone bothers to walk the Dodds. We, however, appreciated
the quiet, lonely, grassy expanses where we could stride out
unhindered by others. It made a pleasant change not to have
to be careful on every footstep not to trip over some rock or
crag. We could stroll along, heads up, enjoying the panorama
in all directions. A light drizzle obscured the view a little but
we didn’t mind as it was so pleasantly refreshing.
We hurried down to the Old Coach Road. The coaches
became old by tackling this rough track but at least the
travellers within them must have valued the Dodds more than
the modern generation of tourists. We turned west, following
the track, before dropping down to Threlkeld, our base for the
night.
Photos:
Striding Edge.
The second memorial
(which reads “The first
aeroplane to land on
a mountain in Great
Britain did so on this
spot on December 22nd
1926. John Leeming
and Bert Hinkler in
an Avro 585 Gosport
landed here and after a
short stay flew back to
Woodford”.
Who says so?).
