“the hills and the rocks are calling

with the wind, their passionate lover,

‘come up, come higher and higher

where the clouds greet one another;

come up where the mists are swirling,

come up from the valley and glen,

we will sing for you there a song

that is not for the haunts of men.’”

of the many visitors who roam the mountains of the lake district during the summer months, comparatively few are aware of the fact that the said mountains are the favourite haunt of foxes, or that the latter are regularly hunted during the autumn, winter, and early spring. a panoramic view of the fell country of cumberland and westmorland seems hardly compatible with the generally accepted idea of a hunting country, yet for all that this rugged district affords grand sport with hounds. i have more than once when speaking[2] of fell foxhunting been asked the question, “how do you manage to get about and keep in touch with hounds on those awful hills?” the answer is simple, “on foot.” except in some portions of the low ground, riding to hounds is impossible, so the man who would see something of the work of the mountain hounds must be prepared to face the hills on shanks’s pony.

rising from the dales at an angle of from 45 to 70 degrees, or even steeper, the fells tower skyward to a height of 2000 feet and over. on the lower slopes large intakes, rock-strewn and often studded with scattered thorn trees, divide the dales from the fells proper. above these intakes the ground rises abruptly, and one reaches a country of rocks and crags, deep ghylls and watercourses, with scree-beds strewn broadcast beneath the taller cliffs. the latter are seamed and intersected with ledges, known in local parlance as “benks,” on which is often found a luxurious growth of heather or bleaberry scrub. it is on these snug well-sheltered ledges that the hill fox loves to make his kennel. protected from the wind, with a wide view of all the ground below him, reynard curls up where the sun strikes his couch, and sleeps away the daylight hours.

here and there on the lower slopes are larch plantations, and straggling coverts of oak and hazel. in these woods foxes lie up, though the[3] fell fox proper prefers to have his kennel at a higher altitude, where chances of disturbance are less. lower still, where the huge intakes merge into smaller enclosures, the number and size of the woods increase. it is down in this low country that a mounted man can see something of the sport, for though the nature of the ground and the fences prohibits riding right up to hounds, there are plenty of side roads, bridle-tracks and the like, by means of which it is possible to keep in fairly close touch with the flying pack.

much of this low ground is heather land, and everywhere the bracken flourishes in wild profusion. in summer it is waist-high, and even taller, and in early autumn when it changes from green to russet-brown and yellow, it hampers the footsteps of the man on foot, and, owing to its dryness, makes scenting conditions very difficult. for this reason hounds seldom visit the low ground until a fall of snow or heavy rain has somewhat flattened the bracken beds.

on the lower slopes of the high fells the bracken is equally luxuriant, covering acres of land which would otherwise be good pasturage for the little herdwick sheep. foxes, particularly cubs, are to be found in these bracken patches, where they lie and creep about unseen on the approach of an intruder.

on the summits of the high tops the ground is[4] generally fairly level, covered with a short, thick turf.

on some of the mountains, such as the high street and harter fell, there is a very considerable area of this fairly level ground. such high-fell tracts are known in local parlance as “good running ground,” for across them on a decent scenting day hounds can press their fox severely.

it will easily be understood that the approach to these high tops is impracticable for horses, and even if one reached them on horseback the return journey would be fraught with even greater difficulty and danger. on foot it is a different matter altogether. every one of the fells can be climbed by some fairly easy route, and, once on the tops, the going is good. no matter at what time of year one rambles on the fells alone, it should always be remembered that there is a certain amount of danger, however small. without in the least wishing to “put the wind up” the reader, i may say that accidents are liable to happen, and a sprained ankle is quite sufficient to place a man in a very awkward position, particularly in winter, when the days are short and the weather far from good. still, one can travel the fells for years without meeting with the semblance of such a contretemps, if reasonable care is taken when crossing rough ground.

when hounds are out there are always local[5] hunters scattered about the various tops, and if the visiting sportsman follows the lead of one of these men, he will come to no harm, though he may come to respect the walking powers of a dalesman ere the end of the day.

having once reached the tops, it is wise to stay at that altitude, unless hounds are practically viewing their fox, and driving him hard towards the dale. it is much quicker to go round the tops than to make a descent to the dale and then climb out again. when necessary, a descent can be made down some grass slope, and a long slide down a loose scree-bed will sometimes gain the same end with less exertion. a certain amount of practice is necessary to enable one to travel the fells with ease, but one soon gets the hang of walking fast on steep ground, and descending the latter at speed.

everything depends, of course, on one’s physical condition, and the character of one’s footgear. unless heart and lungs are sound, and one is in some kind of training, fell climbing is astonishingly hard work, and becomes much more of a toil than a pleasure.

thin boots or shoes, with smooth soles, are useless as well as dangerous. what is required is a good stout shooting boot, well nailed to prevent slipping. if anklets are worn with these they will prevent grit and small stones from entering the[6] boot tops. shoes are not to be recommended, as they give no support to the ankles. the clothing should be fairly thick and wet-resisting, as the weather on the high tops in winter is often pretty wild. loose knickerbockers are better than knicker-breeches, as the latter restrain the free action of the knees, and, therefore, make climbing harder. a stick of some kind is a great help, but i do not recommend the long, alpenstock affairs which are sold to summer visitors. on steep ground there always comes a time when a long stick trips its user, and a stumble of this nature may easily lead to a very nasty fall. an ordinary stout walking-stick is the best, as there is little or no chance of getting one’s feet mixed up with it going downhill.

on the high fells the exigencies of the weather have far more influence on sport than they have in the low country. at an altitude of 2000 feet snow is apt to be deep, while the frost is often extremely severe. snowstorms, unless unusually heavy, seldom stop hunting, but when the snow becomes frozen, and the crags are a mass of ice, it is unsafe for either hounds or followers. the greatest bugbear of the fell foxhunter is mist. once the tops are shrouded in an impenetrable grey pall there is nothing but the cry of hounds to direct you, and when the music gradually fades into the distance you stand in a silent world of[7] your own, not knowing, if you are a stranger to the fell, which way to turn.

however well you think you know every foot of the ground, it is surprisingly easy to lose direction, and unless a lucky chance places you in touch with hounds again it is wise to get below the mist and discover your whereabouts. as a rule, however, if you are on ground you have often visited before, you will recognise landmarks such as peat hags, cairns, watercourses, etc., which will give you the lie of the land and enable you to go ahead.

occasionally the fells are what is locally known as “top clear.” at such a time you climb steadily upwards to find yourself at last clear of the clinging grey vapour, and beneath you lies an apparently endless sea of white, stretching into the far distance. out of this ocean of mist rises peak after peak of the mountain ranges, looking like islands dotted in every direction. if the sun is shining at the time, the glorious panorama will well repay you for your strenuous climb.

most people have heard of the “spectre of the brocken”; well, i have seen exactly the same thing from the summit of red screes, which overlooks the top of the kirkstone pass.

i was standing on the summit of this mountain one winter’s morning, whilst hounds were working out the drag of their fox on the breast far below.[8] the mist was rising from the lower slopes like a grey curtain, while the sun shone against my back, throwing my shadow on to the screen of vapour. there it became enlarged to enormous proportions, and as i moved the huge shadowy giant aped my actions, until i began to think i was “seeing things.”

i have at times seen some extraordinarily fine rainbow effects amongst the crags, just as the rain began to cease and the sun broke through the clouds.

next to mist, rain and wind, particularly the latter, handicap followers of the fell hounds. rain wets you through, but you don’t mind that; it is all in the day’s work, but when it is combined with a driving wind which stops your breath and all but lifts you off your feet it becomes rather too much of a good thing. once on wetherlam i saw two coupled terriers lifted bodily off the ground by the wind, and the huntsman’s cap suddenly left his head and departed swiftly into thin air. if it be freezing at such times your clothing, eyelashes, etc., become coated with hoarfrost, and the icy blast penetrates to your very marrow. in the face of such a wind you have to constantly turn round to get your breath, and all sounds beyond the shriek of the gale are obliterated.

shelter where and how you will, and strain your ears to the uttermost, it is impossible to hear[9] the cry of hounds unless they happen to be very near you. even on a still day sound is very deceiving. all the hills throw back an echo, and you can easily imagine hounds to be on the far side of a dale, when in reality they are on your own side, but under and beneath you. on one occasion hounds were racing with a glorious cry, apparently near the summit of a mountain which separated us from the dale beyond. every moment we expected to see them appear over the wall on the skyline, whereas in reality they were on the opposite side of the valley beyond, running through the breast at a high altitude.

most of the fell country carries a good scent, except sometimes in early autumn and spring, when the sun dries up the dew quite early in the morning. directly the bracken is beaten down by snow and rain, and the land holds moisture, hounds can work out a drag, and hunt and run with the best.

although i have descanted upon the bad weather in the fell country, it must not be thought that the winter months are wholly given over to mist, rain, frost and wind. no, there are days when the sun shines brightly on a white world, and the views from the tops are magnificent. the snow is damp but not too deep, and hounds drive along as if tied to their fox. the air is still and clear, enabling one to hear the music at a great distance, and, with good visibility, hounds can[10] easily be seen threading their way through the rough ground across the wide dale. scent is often very good indeed in damp snow, though at times it may be just the reverse. “there’s nowt sae queer as scent,” unless perhaps it be a woman.

apart from hunting, i often think that visitors make a mistake in not coming to the fells in winter. grand as the views are in summer, they are equally fine, if not finer, in winter, when the weather is frosty and settled.

i have already spoken of the impracticability of the fells as a riding country, for if—

“he who gallops his horse on blackstone edge

may chance to find a fall,”

the same horseman would find no chance about it on places like striding edge or st. sunday crag in lakeland.

at any time of the year many of the huge crags on the fells are dangerous for hounds, and equally so for the too venturesome follower. to mention but a few, there is the crag overhanging goat’s water on coniston old man, pavey ark in langdale, dove crag at the head of dovedale, raven crag on holme fell, and greenhow end overlooking deepdale. most, if not all, of the places mentioned have been the scenes of accidents to hounds, as well as thrilling rescues.

considering the roughness of the fell hunting country as a whole, it is a matter for surprise that[11] there are not more accidents. although hardly a season passes without a contretemps of some kind, losses amongst hounds of the fell packs through fatal accidents are comparatively rare.

i have previously mentioned the fact that when travelling the fells unaccompanied by a companion, a sprained ankle may give one a pretty bad time, and if night is drawing on may lead to having to pass a night on the open fell. as an example, i may perhaps quote a case which happened not many seasons ago.

i was standing with a huntsman one winter’s day on wetherlam. there was sufficient snow to cover the loose stones and rocks, and make the latter slippery. the pack was running their fox below us when we espied reynard coming in our direction. uncoupling four hounds he had with him the huntsman ran in to give these hounds a view, when i saw him stumble and fall. on reaching him i found he had sprained his ankle very badly indeed, and in a short time his foot swelled tremendously. with my assistance he was able to travel some distance downhill, where i finally left him and went in search of further help. luckily this was forthcoming in the shape of some hunters whom i overtook, and aided by them the wounded man was able to reach a road, where a trap met him and conveyed him to his home. it was some weeks before he could again hunt hounds,[12] and had he been alone when the accident happened he might easily have had a very bad time of it indeed, as the weather was bitterly cold and the district was an unfrequented one.

we read of people in the arctic regions going snow-blind, as well as perishing with cold, but the same things may happen on the fells, if one does not take reasonable care.

i was once on the top of fairfield, at the head of the rydal valley, when the sun was shining warmly, and the reflected light from the crusted snow was intense. having previously experienced the symptoms of snow-blindness in canada, i repeated the experience that day, and i verily believe i should have gone temporarily blind had i not moved away to where the glare was less acute.

as regards perishing from cold, this may easily happen to a person on the high tops in winter, should he, through over-exertion, be compelled, or perhaps i should say, give in to his desire to sit down. a drowsiness comes over one, and sleep may end in the person being badly frozen, if nothing worse. i have recollections of a youth who ventured to the top of red screes one winter’s morning on hunting bent, and, being quite unused to hill climbing, sat down in an exhausted condition. he took some rousing too, and had he been left to his own devices i very much doubt if he would have left the hill alive.

although all such happenings are possible, the use of a little care and common sense will carry one through a score of seasons in the fell country without the slightest mishap. one should always remember that the climatic conditions in winter and early spring are very different on the high tops from what they are in the country far below in the dales.

i have come down off the top of fairfield in april, after being white from head to foot with hoarfrost, into a warm summer atmosphere near windermere lake. people generally look at you in surprise if you tell them that 2000 feet above the dales the tops are still well within the grip of winter.

one possible danger that i have so far omitted to mention, is the chance of being overtaken by darkness on the fell. no matter how well you know your way down, on a dark night, it is a thankless job striking matches or peering about with a flashlamp in the rough ground. with a moon and a clear sky you are safe enough, while there is a novelty about walking the tops under such conditions. a night spent on the open fell is bound to be a chilly one, for at a high altitude there is little or no material to make a fire. still, if you should be caught in the dark, it is better to wait for daylight than risk breaking a leg or your neck over some crag. i have had one or two[14] experiences of struggling down to civilisation in the dark, and i much prefer to do it when there is at least some little light to guide me on the proper route.

i remember once crossing the top of red screes by moonlight, after hounds had run their fox to ground at dod bields earth in caiston. it was a brilliant night, however, and we had not the least difficulty in reaching the “traveller’s rest” inn, at the head of the kirkstone pass.

in the foregoing i have perhaps laid rather too great stress upon the bad weather in the fell country, therefore, i will hasten to add that the winter climate of the lakeland dales is exceptionally mild. two thousand feet or more, of course, makes a lot of difference in climatic conditions, and those who do not care to face the exigencies of the high tops can still see much sport with hounds if they stick to the lower reaches of the fells.

sometimes the people in the bottom see a great deal more than those on top, and, of course, from below one gets a panoramic view of a hunt, with the entire fell side as the scene of operations. a car, a motor cycle, or even the humble “push-bike” are extremely useful at times during the course of a run with the fell hounds. occasionally, as, for instance, in the thirlmere valley, hounds run for a considerable distance parallel with the main road. at such times a car or a cycle enables you to slip[15] along in touch with hounds, whereas without it you would be left toiling in the rear. after some little experience of sport in this wild country, one soon learns how best to get about, and when to trust to “shanks’s pony,” and where to leave a cycle in case it may be needed in a hurry.

a fair number of ladies attend the meets of the fell packs during the course of a season, and wonderfully well, indeed, do some of them get about.

when speaking of the lake district, one naturally thinks of cumberland and westmorland; but lancashire contains some of the higher fells, such as wetherlam and coniston old man. the real boundary of the district is the range of fells south-east of windermere, and from there a line drawn round coniston, wastwater, ennerdale, crummock and bassenthwaite lakes; continuing over the summits of skiddaw and saddleback, southward over helvellyn, then swinging left to enclose ullswater and haweswater, and so back to windermere. the valleys of kentmere, long sleddale and swindale are just outside the cordon as drawn above, and so is the lower duddon valley on the south-west, but they and all the country included in the roughly-drawn circle, contain scenery typical of lakeland.

the rainfall in the lake district appears large on paper, from about 50 inches in the outlying[16] parts to 150 in the more central portions. this, however, does not mean that there is a more or less constant drizzle. when it rains amongst the fells, it rains; a heavy downpour, then clear weather to follow. in summer, as in the hot weather of 1919, there is often a drought.

speaking of rain reminds me of the yarn concerning the coach-driver, who, when asked by a passenger if they had much rain in the district, replied, “why, neay; it donks an’ dozzles and does, an’ ’appen comes a bit o’ a snifter, but nivver what you’d ca’ a gey gert pell!”

when out with hounds the visitor will come across many of the small herdwick sheep scattered about the fells. before he leaves the district he will no doubt have come to appreciate them as mutton, than which there is none better in the country.

it was jack sheldon, another well-known coach-driver, who used to describe the scenery to his passengers, when tooling his team between windermere and keswick. his conversation was something like this: “we are now crossing matterdale moor, where the farmers have a right of grazing so many sheep by paying a shilling a year to the lord of the manor. there’s fine grass here and on helvellyn for the hogs!” a retired butcher being on the coach one day remarked, “but i don’t see any hogs!” “well,” said jack, “not pigs, but[17] the small sheep you see moving about; they are a special breed, and very good eating. they are called ‘hogs’ for the first year, and when they have been shorn they are called ‘twinters,’ and after losing their second fleece are known as ‘thrunters,’ and that’s pretty near to ‘grunters,’ but when they’re killed the butcher calls them ‘helvellyn mutton.’”

the lake district proper is free of limestone, with the exception of a narrow strip of what is known as coniston limestone. as far as hunting is concerned, this is no loss, for scenting conditions on bare limestone rock are generally bad, unless the atmosphere is very damp. on the north, penrith is the boundary of the limestone, and in the south, whitbarrow and cartmel.

all of the fell country hunts have some low ground adjoining the fells, which they visit once or twice during the season. this low ground will appeal to those who find fell climbing too strenuous.

the coniston hounds, which hunt the windermere district, visit the winster valley, making their headquarters for the inside of a week at strawberry bank. this low country is rideable, inasmuch as it is possible to keep in touch with hounds by making use of side-roads, bridle-tracks, etc. the country consists chiefly of woodlands, with large heather-covered allotments, merging[18] into grass fields in the valley. there are plenty of foxes, but sport is never quite at its best until rain or snow has beaten down the luxuriant growth of bracken, which flourishes everywhere. here a mounted man has the advantage over one on foot, as when hounds run fast it is difficult to keep in touch with them, and, owing to the woods, quite impossible to see for any distance. i have enjoyed some very good sport there at different times, though i much prefer hunting on the open fells.

many of the dalesmen are extraordinarily keen on hunting, nor does age appear to daunt them. i know several men over seventy years old who follow hounds at every opportunity. one keen hunter lived to be over ninety, and actually climbed to the top of coniston old man on his ninetieth birthday. it was the immortal jorrocks’s huntsman, james pigg, who said, “brandy and baccy ’ll gar a man live for iver!” but in the case of the north-country dalesman i think it is fresh mountain air and lots of exercise that “keeps the tambourine a rowlin’!”

the various inns throughout the country have harboured many a gathering of hunters after the death of a fox in their vicinity. it is the custom in lakeland to take the carcass of the fox to the nearest inn, where it is hung from a “crook” in the ceiling of the bar-parlour, for all to see.

fell hunting engenders a considerable thirst, therefore jugs of beer are in great demand. a pint or two usually incites some hunter to song, and soon the house will be echoing to the chorus of “john peel,” “joe bowman,” or some other local hunting ditty. gradually the gathering breaks up, the hunters wending their way towards their respective homes, and occasionally, en route, some of them will see more than one fox.

talking of beer reminds me of the sign which used to grace the famous “mortal man hotel” in troutbeck; and read as follows:—

“oh mortal man that liv’st on bread,

how comes thy nose to be so red?

thou silly ass, that look’st so pale,

it comes of sally birkett’s ale.”

the “traveller’s rest,” at the top of the kirkstone pass (1476 feet), has in its time been the scene of many a foxhunting “harvel” or celebration. an old entry in the visitors’ book ran thus—

“the sunday traveller on the kirkstone pass,

is bona fide and may have his glass:

so, gentle stranger, do not stop to think;

open your mouth, throw back your head and drink!

“and while reposing ’neath the bleak fell-sides,

as down your throat the nimble liquor glides,

bless the kind parson[1] who with these rude stones,

built this ’ere inn to rest your weary bones.”

whilst the fox is our premier beast of chase in lakeland, the hare is also hunted, and deer provide sport in the country adjoining the fells. in the old days, however, there were two other animals, now very rare, i.e. the polecat and the pine-marten, which were a recognised quarry for hounds.

to-day, as far as i can gather, the polecat, or foumart, is extinct in lakeland. the pine-marten, or “sweet mart,” to distinguish it from its evil-smelling relation, the foumart or “foul mart,” still lingers on some of the wilder fells.

the pine-marten is a tree dweller by nature, but on the fells it has its haunt amongst the crags and rocks. hounds delight in the scent of a “mart,” and in bygone days some very good runs took place. the pine-marten, unlike the fox, is very easy to bolt from an earth, owing to its intense dislike of smoke. directly the first whiff of burning grass or bracken reaches it, it at once takes to the open. the last pine-marten i have seen in the flesh, was a young marten kitten which i was instrumental in securing in 1915. it became the property of a well-known lady naturalist, who reared it successfully, and it proved a charming pet.

coniston foxhounds: bruce logan, esq., m.f.h., and robert logan, esq., deputy master.

although, as far as i am aware, extinct in lakeland, the polecat is still fairly plentiful in[21] parts of wales. a year or two ago i had a very fine specimen sent to me from there.

in vyner’s “notitia venatica” is an illustration of foxhounds finding a “marten cat.” one of the hunters is shown up a tree holding some burning straw or other material on the end of a long stick. the pine-marten is represented jumping out of the tree into one adjoining. this marten’s brush is apparently tipped with white, surely a mistake on the part of the artist who drew the picture, as i have never seen or heard of a “mart” with such a white tag to its caudal appendage.

it is a great pity there are not more martens in the country. in addition to being beautiful and interesting creatures, they are the deadly foe of squirrels, which do much harm to trees in young plantations.

the hunting man who is interested in photography will find endless opportunities when out with the fell packs of recording incidents of the chase. it is needless to say that a small light-weight camera should be selected, anything larger than quarter-plate being too much of a handicap on steep ground.

to a lover of sport in wild country, foxhunting in the lake district must make a strong appeal. in fine or stormy weather the fells have a peculiar charm of their own, and if we add to the beauties[22] of nature the mellow notes of the horn and the cry of hounds echoing amongst the crags, we can say in the words of the old roman author—

“and from without the mountain girth,

whene’er his wandering steps draw near,

the stranger, from whatever earth,

desires the country of his birth

no more, but yearns to sojourn here.”