The Book of Coniston

by W. G. Collingwood

Here we strike the quarry road leading from the Railway Station over Banniside Moor, a smoother route, practicable (as ours is not) for ponies, but longer. Here are slate-sheds, and the step where the sledges that come down the steep upper road are slid upon wheels. The sledge-road winds round the trap rocks of Crowberry haws (the grass-grown old road rejoins it a little higher) and affords views, looking backwards, of Coniston Hall and the lake behind. Five minutes above the slate-sheds the road finally crosses Crowberry haws, and Lowwater Fall comes into view—a broken gush of foam down a cleft 500 feet from brow to base.

A shepherd's track leads to the foot of the fall and to the Pudding Stone, a huge boulder—not unlike the famous Bowder Stone of Borrowdale—a fragment from the "hard breccia" cliffs rising behind it, namely, Raven Tor high above; Grey Crag beneath, with the disused millrace along its flank; and Kernel Crag, the lion-like rock over the copper mines. Dr. Gibson, the author of The Old Man, or Ravings and Ramblings round Conistone, writing half-a-century ago, says:—"On this crag, probably for ages, a pair of ravens have annually had their nest, and though their young have again and again been destroyed by the shepherds they always return to the favourite spot." He goes on to tell that once, when the parent birds were shot, a couple of strange ravens attended to the wants of the orphan brood, until they were fit to forage for themselves. On this suggestion, Dr. John Pagen White has written his poem in Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country, fancifully describing the raven on Kernel Crag watching from prehistoric antiquity the changes of the world around it, through past, present and future, to the crack of doom!

From the Pudding Stone experienced climbers can find their way up the ledges of Raven Tor to the top of Lowwater Fall. We follow the sledge road, and in five minutes reach Saddlestones Quarry, with its tram-lines and tunnelled level, and continually increasing platform of "rid" or débris.

Ten minutes' walk from the quarries brings us to Lowwater, with glimpses of Windermere in the distance, and Leverswater nearer at hand under the summit of Weatherlam. It is worth while turning off to the right hand to see the great blocks of stone that lie in the margin of the tarn, and at the head of the fall.

As we climb the zigzags to the highest quarries, over the slate which stands out in slabs from the sward, the crags of Brimfell and Buckbarrow opposite seem to rise with us. It is here, on a cloudy day when the tops are covered, that the finest impressions of mountain gloom may be found; under the cloud and the precipices a dark green tarn, savage rocks, and tumbling streams; and out, beyond, the tossing sea of mountain forms.

From the platform of the highest quarry, reached in ten minutes from the tarn, a rough and steep path to the left leads in five minutes more to the ridge, and the view of the lowland bursts upon us with the Westmorland and Yorkshire hills in the distance. Below, as Ruskin wrote when he first climbed here in 1867, "the two lakes of Coniston and Windermere, lying in the vastest space of sweet cultivated country I have ever looked over,—a great part of the view from the Rigi being merely over black pine-forest, even on the plains."

Fifteen minutes more take us up this steep arête to the top, 2626 feet above the sea.

There used to be three ancient cairns—the "Old Man" himself, his "Wife" and his "Son":—man, the Celtic maen, being the local name for a pile of stones, and the Old Man simply the name of the cairn, not of the whole mountain. These were destroyed to build the present landmark. The circle of stones we have passed marks the place of the Jubilee bonfire of 1887; the flare-lights of King Edward's coronation were shown from the top of the cairn, where in the days of fire signals was a regular beacon station.

The view on a clear day commands Ingleborough to the east, Snowdon to the south, the Isle of Man to the west, and to the north, Scafell and Bowfell, Glaramara and Skiddaw, Blencathra and Helvellyn: and beneath these all the country spread out like a raised model, with toy hills and lakes and villages. It is so easy to identify the different points with the help of the map, that it is hardly necessary to name them in detail. Under the distant Pennines of Yorkshire lie Windermere, Esthwaite Water, and Coniston with Monk Coniston Tarns at its head. Southward,—over Walney Scar, Blind Tarn and Dow Crags close at hand,—are the shores of Morecambe Bay and the Duddon Estuary, with Black Combe rising dark against the sea. Westward, across the Duddon Valley, the steep rocky summits of Harter Fell and Hard Knott. The group close under our feet to the north includes Brimfell, Woolcrags, and the Carrs, with Grey Friar on the left and Weatherlam on the right, and in their hollows Lowwater and Leverswater. To the east of Helvellyn are Fairfield, Red Screes and Ill Bell, above the russet sides of Loughrigg and the distant detail of Ambleside.

At any time it is a fine panorama; but for grandeur of mountain line Weatherlam is the better standpoint. To walk along the ridge over springy turf is easy and exhilarating after the toil of the stony climb; and the excursion is often made. A mile to the depression of Levers Hause, another mile past Wool Crags and the Carrs, down Prison Band (the arête running eastward from the nearer side of the Carrs) to the dip at Swirl Hause; and a third mile over Blacksail, would bring you to Weatherlam Cairn. And a red sunset there, with a full moon to light you down the ridge to Hole Rake and the copper mines and home, is an experience to remember.