Recently I was reading a mountaineering book where the author (Simon Ingram editor of Trail magazine) described walking a number of mountains in the British Isles. One of these was Cross Fell; unfortunately some of the description of what hills and mountains he could see from Cross Fell annoyed me. He had good weather for the whole climb and must have been able to clearly see the mountains on the horizon. This is his description:
“From the top of Cross Fell it feels as if you can see the entire country. The emptiness around you is colossal: beyond the barren brown boulders of the summit the mountain tapers away to shoulders overlooking cardinal points that carry one’s gaze to very different destinies. South lay the Howgills, those steep, blunt moorland mountains with skins like old felt, untroubled by paths and crowds. East, the intimidating blankness of awesome, gently descending nothingness towards the Yorkshire Moors, peppered by occasional and unexpected pockets of water, hidden in amongst inaccessibility. West, the Lake District in its rumpled entirety. A great history of mountains, peoples, communities and adventures in one half of one head-turn. I scanned the horizon for recognisable hills, the bulks of Skiddaw and Blencathre, the latter like a collapsed roof-pitch to the extreme right; the Old Man of Coniston, High Street, probably the most bulky things to the far left; Helvellyn, the hunched shoulders in the middle. Then to the north, Scotland stood moodily beyond the Solway Firth, the hills of the Southern Uplands compressed into a flat horizon.”
So I looked at all my walking/mountaineering books and on the internet to read how other walkers had described what they could see.
Briefly Cross Fell is 2,930 feet or 893 metres high, making it the highest mountain in the Pennines and outside of the Lake District in England. It is possible to travel by car round it and its large flat top or plateau makes it very distinctive so can be seen from many miles away; from the western mountains of the Lake District; from the eastern mountains of the Northern Pennines; and I am told from the Cheviot although I cannot remember seeing it on the occasions I have climbed that mountain. I have long wanted to climb Cross Fell and eventually did on Friday 13th September 2013, which may have accounted for the thick mist!
Cross Fell overlooks three counties, Durham, Cumbria and Northumberland. You look down on miniature people in their cars and houses, toy animals and trees in their fields, so wrote David Bellamy in the book England’s Last Wilderness. He goes on to say that on a wet day turning to the North the rain dripping off your nose will take a northerly route into the Tyne and out into the North Sea. Face east and the rain dripping from your nose will flow down the Tees, turn west and the drips travel in the direction of the River Eden. But he does not see what happens when you face south. Formerly known as Fiend’s Fell is where St Paulinus or Augustus (depending on which account you read) is said to have driven out the demons lurking here raising a cross to mark the coming of Christianity to the very top of this part of Britain.
Nick Wright in his book English Mountain Summits says the cross was erected by the inhabitants of Alston and Garrigill to ward off evil spirits. Could these “evil spirits” have been the Helm Wind, the only wind in the British Isles to have a name, it is the reason why Simon Ingram visited the mountain. Nick Wright states that Cross Fell has a reputation of providing a long, monotonous walk. Not so the day Chris and I climbed it. We drove to the lay-by just below the summit of Great Dun Fell at approximately GR 716 309 climbing up to the radar station on Great Dun Fell and picking up the Pennine Way, going over Little Dun Fell, crossing a boggy cwm where the three rivers begin their lives, the Eden, the South Tyne and the Tees, and so up onto the plateau of Cross Fell. A route I think I would have preferred would be from Hartside Café along the edge of the moorland climbing Fiend’s Fell, Little Knapside Hill, Knapside Hill and Melmerby Fell but in the mist did it matter?
In 1747 Cross Fell was “climbed” by George Smith, a geographer, his party set out from Alston on ponies, he describes the top as forming a “capacious plain of several hundred acres – but on such a barren soil, that there was not so much as a single leaf of grass, herb or plant to be found in so large a plain, exclusive of a few of those rings attributed to fairies” concluding “so inconceivably barren is this distinguished eminence.” He was tremendously impressed by the view, but did not elaborate. (Taken from his account to the Gentleman’s Magazine.)
Hamish Brown was walking north to south in May 1980/81 so also came to Cross Fell from Garrigill and Greg’s Hut. He says the highest point of the Way (Pennine) (and of England outside the Lakes) was surprisingly clean and bare: the trig., the dry-stone shelter and one cairn. And jokingly he suggested the same firm is used on Ben Nevis, “Britain’s highest midden”.
Charlie Emett and Mike Hutton take a walk through Northern England and describe their ascent of Great Dun Fell, Little Dun Fell and Cross Fell being exceedingly lucky with sunshine. Eastwards rolling moorland sweeps into the distance, fold upon fold, as far as the eye can see. Westwards and far below is the fertile vale of Eden. En route they suggest you turn your head from side to side because the scenic contrast is staggering. Given good visibility, Cross Fell makes a wonderful vantage point from which to view the distant Lakeland Fells. On a clear day the east and west horizons as seen from Cross Fell’s top are 120 miles apart.
The Pennine Way by Tom Stephenson published by Her Majesty’s Stationery Office for the Countryside Commission, first published in 1967 described the view on a clear day very thoroughly. In the Lake District Saddleback, Skiddaw, Mungrisdale Fell, Grisedale Pike, Grassmoor Fells, further south the Dodds leading to Helvelyn and Bow Fell, the High Street leading to Ill Bell. South south east is Wild Boar Fell, the Howgill Fells, Whernside, Ingleborough and Pen-y-ghent. North west the Solway Firth with Criffel and Galloway Hills in view. North East the Cheviot stands well above the neighbouring heights.
The book also confirms what I thought I had read about many years ago and quotes T Sopwith who describes an ascent of Cross Fell in 1833 when he and his companions arrange their tent as a screen to the windward around a large stone flag, placing stone seats around and partook of an excellent breakfast. Nearby is a well known as Gentleman’s Well in which they washed. I had believed from what I had read that the table was called the Gentleman’s Table at which shooting parties stopped to eat their luncheon.
WA Poucher is very brief “On attaining the plateau it is still a long walk due north to the summit cairn which in clear weather opens up a wide panorama to the west in which the Lakeland Peaks form the distant skyline, whereas to the east you look across a wilderness of boggy moorland to the far horizon, which in bad weather is a sinister prospect indeed.”
JHB Peel in his book Along the Pennine Way describes views from Great Dun Fell, Little Dun Fell and Cross Fell. On Great Dun Fell he says he was nearly three thousand feet above the Solway Firth but not how far away the Firth is nor its point on the compass and that far to the west was Lakelands’ peak-poised skyline but does not name them. Away to the south was Barbon Fell keeping watch above Kirkby Lonsdale. Saying little about Little Dun Fell except that it is only nineteen feet lower than Great Dun Fell, he summits onto the plateau of Cross Fell after crossing the boggy watershed of the Tees which rises in the east, the Eden fed by tributaries from the west and the South Tyne by tributaries from the North, where a track marches North east through grassland, swamps and saxifrage. He remarks that the track keeps remarkable dry, except after very heavy rain. The view from the summit is disappointing, for you see only a few hundred yards of turf, which appear to end at a precipice. You must walk to its brink in order to look down. Eastward lies an undulation of empty moorland, sullen as a Saragossa Sea, in the north the Scottish Lowlands, westward a glint of Lakeland pinnacles, Skiddaw, Helvellyn, Saddleback. Peel confirms George Smith’s visit in 1747 and the reason for its name, could it have been Fiend’s Fell prior to St Augustine’s (or Paulinus’) because of the fiendish Helm Wind? He tells of the political meetings held on the summit during Queen Victoria’s reign which were enlivened by brass bands, wrestling matches and refreshments carried up on pack-horses.
Discover Guide for The Eden Valley by Alan Earnshaw gives a description of Cross Fell:
“CROSS FELL The highest peak in England outside the Lake District at 893 metres (2930 feet) above sea level. The impressive view from the flat summit is worth the long climb needed to reach it. It is difficult to image this fell as a place where Lysander (espionage aeroplanes) pilots practiced night time landings during World War II. On rare occasions a place from where both North Sea and Irish Sea can be seen, but only twice seen by the author despite a good many visits. A beautiful remote setting, where even on mid-summers day there is the prospect of finding small deposits of snow.”
For myself I can quote from my walking dairy of the views “To the North we have Melmerby Fell, Knapside and Little Knapside, Fiend’s Fell and beyond that in Gilderdale Forest there is Black Fell and way beyond Grey Nag. To the East Bellbeaver Rigg, Viewing Hill, High Field and Three Pikes, with maybe, in the far distance Killhope Law and Flinty Fell. To the South all you can see is the dome of the radar station of Great Dun Fell. To the West we have the many, many tops of the mountains of the Lake District too many for me to name.” As I said all this on the top of Cross Fell, no compass in hand and in thick mist I pointed in what I hoped was the right cardinal points of the compass. Chris thought this was hilarious and said I sounded like an air hostess going through her “welcome on board spiel”!
I will finish by saying Mark Wallington in Pennine Walkies was very impressed by the desolation of it all. But goes on to say “To the west I could see America, and there was Norway out to the east. There were the Straits of Gibraltar and the Atlas Mountains to the south, and to the north I could make out Kirk Yetholm and The Border Hotel, and my pint of bitter and lasagne and chips waiting for me at the end of the Pennine Way.” The most optimistic of the lot!
It may be possible to see all the things Simon Ingram talks about if you walk around the edge of the huge plateau but it certainly isn’t what other people seem to see.
Chris and I had lived at Allenheads for eighteen months in 1974/75, Chris being the warden of Allenheads Lodge. We needed to explore the area to see where we could take his clients for walking, climbing, canoeing etc. One Sunday afternoon, when no one was staying at the Lodge, we took a trip into Teesdale, I think he was hoping to explore the fells and possibly hills around the Widdybank Fell area. Our Ordnance Survey map had been produced in 1964 and reprinted in 1970 with minor changes (Sheet 84 one inch series) and it all looked very interesting. Imagine our surprise when we arrived down a very good tarmac road to find a huge reservoir flooding the valley! However we got out and explored the best we could even to finding some spring gentians. Later that night in the local pub we asked about the reservoir and were told that they had only just finished flooding it.
All this talk of Cross Fell reminded me of this outing that afternoon and I am glad to say I found an explanation of it in John Hillaby’s book Journey through Britain. “Imperial Chemical Industries had applied for permission to build a huge reservoir where some exceptionally rare plants grow. The pink primrose was perhaps the least rare of those frail relics of what the flora of Britain used to be like when winds blew across north Britain, but, like the dotterel and ptarmigan, the plant carried the rights of old inhabitants to be looked after in isolated retirement. This is unrecognized by those who run big industry.
“The whole dismal affair arose from a series of administrative muddles involving not so much I.C.I. as the local Water Board and the Nature Conservancy, the Government agency responsible for keeping an eye on sites of scientific importance. I.C.I. wanted more water to exploit a new method of making fertilizer at their chemical plant near the mouth of the Tees. They couldn’t draw supplies locally, for the river there was heavily polluted.
“They decided to build a reservoir about thirty miles upstream. For geological reasons, they chose the one site that botanists value more than almost any other in the north of England. This was Cow Green, a little basin up in the hills, upheld by a hard rim of black rock called dolerite.
“The struggle for the possession of Cow Green became a national issue. Government inquiries led to a full-scale debate in Parliament. To meet the legal costs of fighting the case, the botanists launched an appeal and raised £20,000. It emerged from the evidence that the local Water Board had completely miscalculated their future requirements. And, of course, the Nature Conservancy, with a research station nearby, hadn’t realized until far too late that a unique place, a bit of land unmatched anywhere else in Britain, was threatened by what is ironically described as development. If the site went, a link with the past would be cut forever.
Cow Green which, until the arguments arose, was no more than a map reference, lies a few miles above Middleton-on-Tees, a handsome, decaying sort of place from where most of the young folk have wandered off to take up jobs,. Elsewhere. The night we arrived there, late, the reservoir issue still hung in the balance and the oldsters gave the impression they didn’t give a hoot, one way or the other. What they wanted, they said, was more people and more trade.
“Upper Teesdale is remarkable for an outcrop of black rock called dolerite, curious stuff which hangs over the river like the ramparts of a medieval fortress. It is lava, squeezed out through cracks in the limestone by volcanic action. The river pours over the top of the rampart at Cauldron Snout and gushes down towards Middleton in a series of waterfalls.
“No botanical name-dropping can give an adequate impression of the botanical jewels sprinkled on the ground above High Force. Here you find the little Teesdale violet, smaller and more downy than the bankside flower, also asphodel, sandworts, alpine meadow-rue, lady’s mantle, and high slopes bright with spring gentians.
“In this valley a tundra has been marvellously preserved; the glint of colour, the reds, deep purples, and blues have the quality of Chartres glass. For me Teesdale was more beautiful than I could have imagined; certainly more strange and evocative than I could have foreseen.
The Cow Green affair has now been settled. Although the Bill was opposed by every biologist of distinction in the country, the Government got cold feet and approved the plans for the construction of the reservoir. The valley is to be flooded.”
As indeed it was, together with the Isle of Man!
In the book The Discovery of Teesdale by Michael DC Rudd 2007 Phillimore and Co. he states “A few years later people have claimed that if everyone had waited for Kielder Water to be complete Cow Green need not have been drowned.”
Cofiwc Dryweryn.
Bibliography
David Belamy and Brendan Quayle England’s Last Wilderness pub. By Michael Joseph Ltd 1989
Hamish Brown Hamish’s Groats End Walk pub. Victor Gollancz Ltd 1981
Charlie Emett and Mike Hutton Walking Through Northern England pub. David and Charles 1982
Simon Ingram Between the Sunset and the Sea pub
JHB Peel Along the Peninne Way pub. Cassell & Co Ltd 1969
Edward C Pyatt Mountains of Britain pub. BT Batsford Ltd 1966
Tom Stephenson’s The Pennine Way pub. Countryside Commission 1980
Nick Wright English Mountain Summits pub. Robert Hale & Co 1974
Wikipedia
Written by Ronnie in 2018
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