On the following morning, having engaged a guide, and with horses
accustomed to the labour, we began to ascend this tremendous mountain
by a way, which makes the summit five miles from Keswick. Passing
through bowery lanes, luxuriant with mountain ash, holly, and a variety
of beautiful shrubs, to a broad, open common, a road led us to the foot
of Latrigg, or, as it is called by the country people, Skiddaw's Cub,
a large round hill, covered with heath, turf and browsing sheep. A
narrow path now wound along steep green precipices, the beauty of which
prevented what danger there was from being perceived. Derwentwater was
concealed by others, that rose above them, but that part of the vale
of Keswick, which separates the two lakes, and spreads a rich level of
three miles, was immediately below; Crossthwaite-church, nearly in the
centre, with the white vicarage, rising among trees. More under shelter
of Skiddaw, where the vale spreads into a sweet retired nook, lay the
house and grounds of Dr. Brownrigg.
Beyond the level, opened a glimpse of Bassenthwaite-water; a lake,
which may be called elegant, bounded, on one side, by well-wooded
rocks, and, on the other, by Skiddaw.
Soon after, we rose above the steeps, which had concealed Derwentwater,
and it appeared with all its enamelled banks, sunk deep amidst a chaos
of mountains, and surrounded by ranges of fells, not visible from
below. On the other hand, the more cheerful lake of Bassenthwaite
expanded at its entire length. Having gazed a while on this
magnificent scene, we pursued the path, and soon after reached the
brink of a chasm, on the opposite side of which wound our future track;
for the ascent is here in an acutely zig-zag direction. The horses
carefully picked their steps along the narrow precipice, and turned the
angle, that led them to the opposite side.
At length, as we ascended, Derwentwater dwindled on the eye to the
smallness of a pond, while the grandeur of its amphitheatre was
increased by new ranges of dark mountains, no longer individually
great, but so from accumulation; a scenery to give ideas of the
breaking up of a world. Other precipices soon hid it again, but
Bassenthwaite continued to spread immediately below us, till we turned
into the heart of Skiddaw, and were enclosed by its steeps. We had now
lost all track even of the flocks, that were scattered over these
tremendous wilds. The guide conducted us by many curvings among the
heathy hills and hollows of the mountain; but the ascents were such,
that the horses panted in the slowest walk, and it was necessary to
let them rest every six or seven minutes. An opening to the south,
at length, shewed the whole plan of the narrow vales of St. John and
of Nadale, separated by the dark ridge of rock, called St. John's
rigg, with each its small line of verdure at the bottom, and bounded
by enormous gray fells, which we were, however, now high enough to
overlook.
A white speck, on the top of St. John's rigg, was pointed out by the
guide to be a chapel of ease to Keswick, which has no less than five
such, scattered among the fells. From this chapel, dedicated to St.
John, the rock and the vale have received their name, and our guide
told us, that Nadale was frequently known by the same title.
Leaving this view, the mountain soon again shut out all prospect, but
of its own vallies and precipices, covered with various shades of turf
and moss, and with heath, of which a dull purple was the prevailing
hue. Not a tree, or bush appeared on Skiddaw, nor even a stone wall any
where broke the simple greatness of its lines. Sometimes, we looked
into tremendous chasms, where the torrent, heard roaring long before
it was seen, had worked itself a deep channel, and fell from ledge
to ledge, foaming and shining amidst the dark rock. These streams
are sublime from the length and precipitancy of their course, which,
hurrying the sight with them into the abyss, act, as it were, in
sympathy upon the nerves, and, to save ourselves from following, we
recoil from the view with involuntary horror. Of such, however, we
saw only two, and those by some departure from the usual course up the
mountain; but every where met gushing springs, till we were within two
miles of the summit, when our guide added to the rum in his bottle what
he said was the last water we should find in our ascent.
The air now became very thin, and the steeps still more difficult of
ascent; but it was often delightful to look down into the green hollows
of the mountain, among pastoral scenes, that wanted only some mixture
of wood to render them enchanting.
About a mile from the summit, the way was, indeed, dreadfully sublime,
laying, for nearly half a mile, along the ledge of a precipice, that
passed, with a swift descent, for probably near a mile, into a glen
within the heart of Skiddaw; and not a bush, or a hillock interrupted
its vast length, or, by offering a mid-way check in the descent,
diminished the fear it inspired. The ridgy steeps of Saddleback, formed
the opposite boundary of the glen, and, though really at a considerable
distance, had, from the height of the two mountains, such an appearance
of nearness, that it almost seemed as if we could spring to its side.
How much too did simplicity increase the sublime of this scenery, in
which nothing but mountain, heath and sky appeared!
But our situation was too critical, or too unusual, to permit the just
impressions of such sublimity. The hill rose so closely above the
precipice as scarcely to allow a ledge wide enough for a single horse.
We followed the guide in silence, and, till we regained the more open
wild, had no leisure for exclamation. After this, the ascent appeared
easy and secure, and we were bold enough to wonder, that the steeps
near the beginning of the mountain had excited any anxiety.
At length, passing the skirts of the two points of Skiddaw, which are
nearest to Derwentwater, we approached the third and loftiest, and then
perceived, that their steep sides, together with the ridges, which
connect them, were entirely covered near the summits with a whitish
shivered slate, which threatens to slide down them with every gust of
wind. The broken state of this slate makes the present summits seem
like the ruins of others; a circumstance as extraordinary in appearance
as difficult to be accounted for.
The ridge, on which we passed from the neighbourhood of the second
summit to the third, was narrow, and the eye reached; on each side,
down the whole extent of the mountain, following, on the left, the
rocky precipices, that impend over the lake of Bassenthwaite, and
looking, on the right, into the glens of Saddleback, far, far below.
But the prospects, that burst upon us from every part of the vast
horizon, when we had gained the summit, were such as we had scarcely
dared to hope for, and must now rather venture to enumerate, than to
describe.
We stood on a pinnacle, commanding the whole dome of the sky. The
prospects below, each of which had been before considered separately
as a great scene, were now miniature parts of the immense landscape.
To the north, lay, like a map, the vast tract of low country, which
extends between Bassenthwaite and the Irish Channel, marked with the
silver circles of the river Derwent, in its progress from the lake.
Whitehaven and its white coast were distinctly seen, and Cockermouth
seemed almost under the eye. A long blackish line, more to the west,
resembling a faintly formed cloud, was said by the guide to be the Isle
of Man, who, however, had the honesty to confess, that the mountains of
Down in Ireland, which have been sometimes thought visible, had never
been seen by him in the clearest weather.
Bounding the low country to the north, the wide Solway Firth, with its
indented shores, looked like a gray horizon, and the double range of
Scottish mountains, seen dimly through mist beyond, like lines of dark
clouds above it. The Solway appeared surprisingly near us, though at
fifty miles distance, and the guide said, that, on a bright day, its
shipping could plainly be discerned. Nearly in the north, the heights
seemed to soften into plains, for no object was there visible through
the obscurity, that had begun to draw over the furthest distance; but,
towards the east, they appeared to swell again, and what we were told
were the Cheviot hills dawned feebly beyond Northumberland. We now
spanned the narrowest part of England, looking from the Irish Channel,
on one side, to the German Ocean, on the other, which latter was,
however, so far off as to be discernible only like a mist.
Nearer than the county of Durham, stretched the ridge of Cross-fell,
and an indistinct multitude of the Westmoreland and Yorkshire
highlands, whose lines disappeared behind Saddleback, now evidently
pre-eminent over Skiddaw, so much so as to exclude many a height
beyond it. Passing this mountain in our course to the south, we saw,
immediately below, the fells round Derwentwater, the lake itself
remaining still concealed in their deep rocky bosom. Southward
and westward, the whole prospect was a "turbulent chaos of dark
mountains." All individual dignity was now lost in the immensity of
the whole, and every variety of character was overpowered by that of
astonishing and gloomy grandeur.
Over the fells of Borrowdale, and far to the south, the northern end of
Windermere appeared, like a wreath of gray smoke, that spreads along
the mountain's side. More southward still, and beyond all the fells of
the lakes, Lancaster sands extended to the faintly seen waters of the
sea. Then to the west, Duddon sands gleamed in a long line among the
fells of High Furness. Immediately under the eye, lay Bassenthwaite,
surrounded by many ranges of mountains, invisible from below. We
overlooked all these dark mountains, and saw green cultivated vales
over the tops of lofty rocks, and other mountains over these vales in
many ridges, whilst innumerable narrow glens were traced in all their
windings and seen uniting behind the hills with others, that also
sloped upwards from the lake.
The air on this summit was boisterous, intensely cold and difficult to
be inspired, though the day was below warm and serene. It was dreadful
to look down from nearly the brink of the point, on which we stood,
upon the lake of Bassenthwaite and over a sharp and separated ridge of
rocks, that from below appeared of tremendous height, but now seemed
not to reach half way up Skiddaw; it was almost as if
"the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of sight."
Under the lee of an heaped up pile of slates, formed by the customary
contribution of one from every visitor, we found an old man sheltered,
whom we took to be a shepherd, but afterwards learned was a farmer
and, as the people in this neighbourhood say, a 'statesman'; that is,
had land of his own. He was a native and still an inhabitant of an
adjoining vale; but, so laborious is the enterprise reckoned, that,
though he had passed his life within view of the mountain, this was his
first ascent. He descended with us, for part of our way, and then wound
off towards his own valley, stalking amidst the wild scenery, his large
figure wrapt in a dark cloak and his steps occasionally assisted by a
long iron pronged pike, with which he had pointed out distant objects.
In the descent, it was interesting to observe each mountain below
gradually re-assuming its dignity, the two lakes expanding into
spacious surfaces, the many little vallies, that sloped upwards from
their margins, recovering their variegated tints of cultivation, the
cattle again appearing in the meadows, and the woody promontories
changing from smooth patches of shade into richly tufted summits. At
about a mile from the top, a great difference was perceptible in the
climate, which became comparatively warm, and the summer hum of bees
was again heard among the purple heath.
We reached Keswick, about four o'clock, after five hours passed in this
excursion, in which the care of our guide greatly lessened the notion
of danger. Why should we think it trivial to attempt some service
towards this poor man? We have reason to think, that whoever employs,
at Keswick, a guide of the name of Doncaster, will assist him in
supporting an aged parent.