Snow On The Fells

By J. Fred Seaman.

Snow had fallen heavily during the early part of the week, and there was every indication of a continuance of cold weather. We had often discussed the possibility of crossing the fells at the heads of the Yorkshire dales in snow, and now the opportunity presented itself, our only doubt was that there might be too great a depth in the drifts to permit of the project being accomplished in the time at our disposal

Our idea was to stay the first night at Litton, and to proceed to Bainbridge by way of Horse Head Moor, Oughtershaw and Fleet Moss on the first day. From thence we would set our course as weather permitted and expediency directed.

As we arrived at Grassington station late in the afternoon, we boarded the up-dale mail ‘bus, which would take us the first four miles on the way to Litton. Even this short journey to Skirfare Bridge, where Littondale joins Wharfedale, was not without its adventures, for we were compelled to stop several times until the horses could be coaxed to face the snowdrifts which lay across the road in a succession of ridges. However, when we left the ‘bus at the commencement of the Littondale road and commenced our trudge to Litton, we were agreeably surprised to find that the drifts were neither so deep nor so plentiful in this sheltered valley as they were in Wharfedale. The going was not easy, for there was a strong frost and the snow was dry and powdery. Those last six miles provided nearly three hours of strenuous exercise.

A little more snow fell during the night, and when we started the next morning the air was bright and clear. We took to the fells at once, and made for the boundary wall which runs along the top of the ridge dividing Wharfedale from Littondale, following this wall until we could drop straight down the hill­side to Beckermonds. This being the northward slope of the hill, the snow was fairly firm on the surface, and we were able to sit down and glissade considerable distances, a very pleasant experience after our struggle amongst the drifts on the top.

At Beckermonds, we were told by a farmer who expressed great surprise at seeing us, that the hamlet had been completely isolated for three days, and that the snowfall was the deepest experienced in those parts for 20 years. It is well known to all frequent visitors to the up-dales that every considerable snowstorm is described as the ‘worst in 20 years’, and that if one is curious enough to enquire about the ‘classical’ snowstorm of 20 years ago, you may elicit reminiscences of not only that storm but earlier ones, when drifts were 30 feet deep and whole hamlets were ‘overblown’. These extreme cases usually occurred during the lifetime of some ancestor, and the narrative usually begins; ‘I’ve heard my gron’feyther tell, when he wor a lad’. For many people tradition of the past holds more wonders than the future may unfold, and in addition, the people who dwell in these remote parts are usually superstitious to a remarkable degree. They will tell you that these great storms and strange happenings in the past have always been foretold in some uncanny way.

Leaving Beckermonds we pushed on to Oughtershaw, some­times on the road, but more often in the pastures at the side, where the road was full of snow from wall to wall. But the pièce de resistance of our day’s march really commenced when we finally left the road just beyond the hamlet of Oughtershaw, and struck out a line north eastward, making for the highest point of the ridge (1,937 feet), for we knew that from it we should get the direction of Semmerwater and Bainbridge, and that we should also have fairly smooth country to walk over without risk of snow cornices overhanging scars, which we should be sure to encounter on the downward grade if we diverged in the direction of either col. It was now about 1 p.m., and the sun had made the snow soft and wet on the southward face of the ridge which we were now ascending. The gradient was very severe – a rise of over 700 feet in under a mile – consisting of the series of enormous shelving ledges characteristic of the district. These ledges were all filled up with snow, which presented a remarkably smooth and even surface, with the result that we were alternately stepping on a firm surface and floundering in snow several feet deep. The warmth of the sun was considerable, and our rucksacks gained apparent weight in a remarkable way.

But when we reached the ridge we met with our reward. The view of the snow‑covered fells stretching away in every direction was one of the finest we had ever experienced. To the northward, Wether Fell and the view across Wensleydale; eastwards, the huge mass of the Stake; southwards, the Horse Head, and as one turned westward, Penyghent, Ingleborough, and Whernside, all glistening in the sunshine like enormous iced cakes.

There were signs of a change in the weather, however, so we were soon plodding steadily down the ridge of the tongue which runs NE, and longing for a couple of pairs of ski, which would have turned our toilsome progress into a glorious rush. As we passed through Marsett, we were met by a blizzard which continued for the remainder of the day, so it was with a feeling of profound satisfaction that we entered the hospitable doors of the inn at Bainbridge.

We decided to make for Kirkby Stephen the next day, if the blizzard ceased, and hoped to be able to find the old drovers’ track over the fells at the east side of Mallerstang. This track, which follows the fell tops sometimes on the east and sometimes on the west side of the ridges, may still be found almost throughout its entire length from Lancashire, over the Yorkshire and Durham Fells and onwards into the Lowlands of Scotland. Although it has not been used regularly for some scores of years, it is still plainly marked in long stretches, and may be readily recognised by the shorter and finer grass and vegetation with which it is covered. This has been caused by the grazing of cattle on the route between England and Scotland during the centuries when this track was the principal highway for the transit of farm-stock between the two countries, and when the drover’s occupation was not only distinctly adventurous but highly lucrative.

Leaving Bainbridge the next morning at about 9.30, in dull and milder weather, we were pleased to notice that there had been a strong thaw during the night, and that the snow had decreased rapidly.

We took the road at the north side of the River Ure to Hardrow, where we deviated from our way to take a look at the Force under such exceptional conditions. The waterfall presented a magnificent spectacle, as the thaw had swelled the volume of water which came roaring down amongst a mass of snow and shattered ice-blocks. Like the celebrated Falls of Lodore, Hardrow Force is only a considerable waterfall in the winter or after very heavy rains.

Two miles beyond Hardrow village we left the road and took a NW course up the long spur of Ure Head, reaching the cairn (2,186 feet) at about 1.30 p.m. This cairn, under good weather conditions, is a very fine view-point, as it overlooks the heads of Yoredale, Garsdale and Edendale, but on this visit our range of vision was very limited by the dull grey clouds, which gave us an occasional sprinkling of rain. Owing to the great depth of snow in every hollow in the ground, progress now became very slow, and all our efforts to find the drovers’ track for the first half hour after leaving the cairn were un-successful, as the snow covered all traces of vegetation by which we could recognise it. Fortunately my companion had plotted this track out on his map on a previous visit during the summer, so eventually, after taking many compass bearings on vague and ill-defined landmarks in the mist, we found ourselves on smoother ground, and were able to follow the track in a vague sort of way until we struck the road from the head of Swaledale into Nateby just at dusk. We followed this road to Nateby and Kirkby Stephen, returning home by train the next day, after spending a very strenuous week-end in the snow.

We were much impressed by the fact that the route of the drovers’ track had not only been selected for the smoothness and firmness of the route over the fells, but so that it was comparatively free from snowdrifts, and carefully avoided proximity to scars which would be dangerous to cattle. It is of course beyond the scope of this article to enter into historical detail regarding this ancient highway, but the writer can cer­tainly recommend anyone desiring a walk with antiquarian interest attached, to spend a few days finding out and follow­ing this track throughout its total length of over a hundred miles.

Lake District walkers appear to have a formula for calculating ‘approximate miles’, which they add to the total map mileage of their walks to compensate for feet ascended and descended. After many experiences of walking in snow, we often wonder if there is any formula for allotting ‘approximate miles’ in proportion to the number of inches of snow covering the ground to be traversed.