ON CAMBRIAN AND
CUMBRIAN HILLS

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Frontispiece]

[G. P. Abraham, Keswick.

THE GREAT GABLE.

ON CAMBRIAN AND
CUMBRIAN HILLS

PILGRIMAGES TO SNOWDON
AND SCAFELL

By

HENRY S. SALT

(REVISED EDITION)

London: C. W. DANIEL, LTD.
GRAHAM HOUSE, TUDOR STREET, E.C.4

To C. L. S.

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Preface to First Edition

Books about British mountains are mostly of two kinds, the popular, written for the tourist, and the technical, written by the rock-climber. The author of this little study of the hills of Carnarvonshire and Cumberland is aware that it cannot claim acceptance under either of those heads, lacking as it does both the usefulness of the general “guide,” and the thrill of the cragsman’s adventure: he publishes it, nevertheless, as at least a true expression of the love which our mountains can inspire, and he will be content if it meets, here and there, with some friendly “pilgrims” whose sympathies are akin to his own.

Nor is he without hope that his plea for the preservation of Snowdon and other mountain “sanctuaries,” before they are utterly disfigured, may give a much-needed warning while yet there is time.

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Contents

ON CAMBRIAN
AND CUMBRIAN HILLS

I
Pilgrims of the Mountain

The pilgrimages of which I write are not made in Switzerland; my theme is a homelier and more humble one. Yet it is a mistake to think that to see great or at least real mountains it is necessary to go abroad; for the effect of highland scenery is not a matter of mere height, but is due far more to shapeliness than to size. There is no lack of British Alps within our reach, if we know how to regard them; as, for instance, the gloomily impressive Coolins of Skye, the granite peaks of Arran, or, to come at once to the subject of this book, the mountains of Carnarvonshire and Cumberland.

For small and simple as are these Cambrian and Cumbrian hills of ours, when compared with the exceeding grandeur and vast complexities of the Swiss Alps or the Pyrenees, they are nevertheless gifted with the essential features of true mountains—with ridge and precipice, cloud and mist, wind and storm, tarn and torrent; nor are snow and ice wanting to complete the picture in winter-time. Why, then, with this native wealth within our shores, must we all be carried oversea to climb Alps with guides, when without guides, and at far less cost of time and money, we may have the same mountain visions, and hear the same mountain voices at home? A few of us, at least, will refuse to bow the knee in this fetish-worship of “going abroad”; for the benefit of going abroad depends mainly on person, temper, and circumstance; and to some mountain lovers a lifelong intimacy with their own hills is more fruitful than any foreign excursions can be.

For my part, I like to do my distant mountaineering by means of books. If I wish, for example, to see the Sierra Nevada of the West, can I not do so in Muir’s Mountains of California, a book scarcely less real and life-giving than the heights by which it is inspired—far more so than any superficial visit in the weary rôle of tourist? And then, if the mood takes me, I know where to find and enjoy a Sierra Nevada of our own; for is not Snowdon, is not Scafell, too, a Sierra Nevada