Wainwright's Favourite Lakeland Mountains [antikvár]

Introduction IN THE DAYS WHEN the early Victorians ventured upwards from the valleys, mountains were regarded with awe and considered dangerous, and it was the height of ambition to reach the summit of one of the better ioiown, and then descend by the same route. The favoured practice was to ascend on ponyback in the company of a local man who served as guide and guarantor of success, and the popular objectives were those with prepared paths negotiable by ponies carrying human burdens, such as Helvellyn and Blencathra. But gradually over the years the fear and apprehension of the high places faded, ascents were made with the mutual support of companions, and then, a century ago, the first pioneers of rock-climbing came to Lakeland. Their adventures, documented by Owen Glynne Jones and photographed by the Abraham brothers, led others to the scenes of their exploits and opened the mountains for everyone. The rock-climbers did not aim direcdy for the summits but wandered freely over the fells in search of crags worthy of their attention; they explored the lonely recesses and often travelled long distances on foot from their bases. They were the pioneers not only of rock-climbing but fellwalking too. Most visitors aspiring to reach a summit, however, still set their sights on a single mountain and, having achieved its top, retreated forthwith by the same route, proud to report their conquest to anyone who would listen. After the last war, people were able again to seek and enjoy the freedom of the hills and fellwalking sparked the enthusiasm of the growing influx of visitors to Lakeland. Strollers and ramblers in the valleys were converted and found greater pleasure in the high places. In this book, I have selected twenty of the principal fells having the status of mountains. By Alpine standards they are of modest altitude but offer rich rewards in exciting situations. They arc a perfect cure for urban depression. I love the mountains of Lakeland. They have been good friends to me over a long life, always there when wanted, always reliable, always welcoming. I have often sung their praises in an attempt to repay the debt I feel I owe them. In this instance, I have been persuaded to put pen to paper once more because of the excellent services of my young collaborator, Derry Brabbs, whose pictures are more evocative than my written words. He has provided a wealth of pictorial memories of scenes I know I shall never visit again, and that will, I am sure, give pleasure also to other walkers on the Lakeland fells.