Foxhunting on the Lakeland Fells

by Richard Clapham

We will sing for you there a song

That is not for the haunts of men.’”

Of the many visitors who roam the mountains of the Lake District during the summer months, comparatively few are aware of the fact that the said mountains are the favourite haunt of foxes, or that the latter are regularly hunted during the autumn, winter, and early spring. A panoramic view of the fell country of Cumberland and Westmorland seems hardly compatible with the generally accepted idea of a hunting country, yet for all that this rugged district affords grand sport with hounds. I have more than once when speaking of fell foxhunting been asked the question, “How do you manage to get about and keep in touch with hounds on those awful hills?” The answer is simple, “On foot.” Except in some portions of the low ground, riding to hounds is impossible, so the man who would see something of the work of the mountain hounds must be prepared to face the hills on Shanks’s pony.

Rising from the dales at an angle of from 45 to 70 degrees, or even steeper, the fells tower skyward to a height of 2000 feet and over. On the lower slopes large intakes, rock-strewn and often studded with scattered thorn trees, divide the dales from the fells proper. Above these intakes the ground rises abruptly, and one reaches a country of rocks and crags, deep ghylls and watercourses, with scree-beds strewn broadcast beneath the taller cliffs. The latter are seamed and intersected with ledges, known in local parlance as “Benks,” on which is often found a luxurious growth of heather or bleaberry scrub. It is on these snug well-sheltered ledges that the hill fox loves to make his kennel. Protected from the wind, with a wide view of all the ground below him, Reynard curls up where the sun strikes his couch, and sleeps away the daylight hours.

Here and there on the lower slopes are larch plantations, and straggling coverts of oak and hazel. In these woods foxes lie up, though the fell fox proper prefers to have his kennel at a higher altitude, where chances of disturbance are less. Lower still, where the huge intakes merge into smaller enclosures, the number and size of the woods increase. It is down in this low country that a mounted man can see something of the sport, for though the nature of the ground and the fences prohibits riding right up to hounds, there are plenty of side roads, bridle-tracks and the like, by means of which it is possible to keep in fairly close touch with the flying pack.

Much of this low ground is heather land, and everywhere the bracken flourishes in wild profusion. In summer it is waist-high, and even taller, and in early autumn when it changes from green to russet-brown and yellow, it hampers the footsteps of the man on foot, and, owing to its dryness, makes scenting conditions very difficult. For this reason hounds seldom visit the low ground until a fall of snow or heavy rain has somewhat flattened the bracken beds.

On the lower slopes of the high fells the bracken is equally luxuriant, covering acres of land which would otherwise be good pasturage for the little Herdwick sheep. Foxes, particularly cubs, are to be found in these bracken patches, where they lie and creep about unseen on the approach of an intruder.

On the summits of the high tops the ground is generally fairly level, covered with a short, thick turf.

On some of the mountains, such as the High Street and Harter Fell, there is a very considerable area of this fairly level ground. Such high-fell tracts are known in local parlance as “good running ground,” for across them on a decent scenting day hounds can press their fox severely.

It will easily be understood that the approach to these high tops is impracticable for horses, and even if one reached them on horseback the return journey would be fraught with even greater difficulty and danger. On foot it is a different matter altogether. Every one of the fells can be climbed by some fairly easy route, and, once on the tops, the going is good. No matter at what time of year one rambles on the fells alone, it should always be remembered that there is a certain amount of danger, however small. Without in the least wishing to “put the wind up” the reader, I may say that accidents are liable to happen, and a sprained ankle is quite sufficient to place a man in a very awkward position, particularly in winter, when the days are short and the weather far from good. Still, one can travel the fells for years without meeting with the semblance of such a contretemps, if reasonable care is taken when crossing rough ground.