Gents Mag 1900 part 1 p.436
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Gentleman's Magazine 1900 part 1 p.436
rocks, picturesqueness in the beetling crags, and lively interest in the many charms of the ghylls of the fells. A ghyll, it may be explained, is the hacked-out course of a fell beck or stream, and may be divided into three scenic sections: first, the approach - generally by a wide moorland glen, narrowing into a defile at its head and choked with boulders of all sizs and shapes. The succeeding portion is the gully proper. The deepest waterfalls are here, as is also the hardest climbing. The lofty cliffs surrounding the fosse are split into irregular chimneys and negotiable angles, aiguilles abound, yards wide rise spray-washed slabs without the slightest irregularity on their polished surfaces. The head of the ghyll is a return to the natural scenery of the fell; in some places this is reached by an easy grass ascent, in others after a rough scramble over piled fragments of rock. A steep cornice may, however, bar the way, or the ghyll bebouch into the hollow of a scree basin. Then comes a struggle upwards, the grit slides away at every step. The wide scree gully in which the stream of debris originates is reached, and progress becomes not a little dangerous. The rotten "mountain delights" which your feet have set in motion slip away from loose rocks on the higher slopes, and down they bound at fearful rates. Keep in the shelter if you can, and wait for the solid rain to cease. You cannot dodge the flying pieces, for however quick your eye may be in marking, the treacherous foothold does not permit rapid movement. And the speed some of these dislodged stones attain is wonderful. The writer remembers, when climbing a scree under Fairfield, seeing a portion of cliff topple over, some hundred feet in front. It simply bounced through the air, struck a spur from the parent rock some dozen yards from him, and burst into dust and splinters. The crash was louder than the explosion of a fair-sized cannon, and the very mountain seemed to quiver at the shock. Had not a crevice afforded shelter from the mass of shingle which for some ten minutes whistled down the side, these lines would never have been written. Some ghylls are mere fissures in the mountain sides, with lofty cliffs rising sheer from their beck beds. In these the imprisoned water races down without a break on its surface, a yard wide, perhaps four deep. You scramble along the wall of rock and look down upon the scene, or laboriously work a way along the ledges, at every turn leaping the stream, leaving insecure foot- and hand-hold on one side for points equally insecure on the other. Then you come to a cataract, the brook tumbles over an abrupt scar into the deep and narrow basin, hollowed by and for itself. The gorge is closed, |
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