Editor’s note: The following abridgment of Dorothy Wordsworth’s “Excursion up Scawfell Pike” became the earliest version to appear in print when her brother included it in the 1822 third edition of his Guide to the Lakes. William needed fresh material to expand what had previously been a supplementary essay into a stand-alone guidebook.
In subsequent editions, “Scawfell Excursion” would be joined by Dorothy’s “Ullswater Excursion” and, later, by two of William’s topographic poems in the Guide’s climactic section. None of these editions, however, acknowledged Dorothy’s authorship, and “Scawfell Excursion” would never be published under her name until 1941.
A Description of the Scenery of the Lakes in the North of England (1822), pp. 129–36
It was my intention, several years ago, to describe a regular tour through this country, taking the different scenes in the most favourable order; but after some progress had been made in the work it was abandoned from a conviction, that, if well executed, it would lessen the pleasure of the Traveller by anticipation, and, if the contrary, it would only mislead him. The Reader may not however be displeased with the following extract from a letter to a Friend, giving an account of a visit to a summit of one [page break] of the highest of these mountains; of which I am reminded by the observations of Mr. West, and by reviewing what has been said of this district in comparison with the Alps.
Having left Rossthwaite in Borrowdale, on a bright morning in the first week of October, we ascended from Seathwaite to the top of the ridge, called Ash-course, and thence beheld three distinct views. On one side, the continuous Vale of Borrowdale, Keswick, and Bassenthwaite,—with Skiddaw, Helvellyn, Saddleback, and numerous other mountains,—and, in the distance, the Solway Frith and the Mountains of Scotland. On the other side, and below us, the Langdale Pikes—their own vale below them; —Windermere, — and, far beyond Windermere, Ingleborough in Yorkshire. But how shall I speak of the deliciousness of the third prospect! At this time, that was most favoured by sunshine and shade. The green Vale of Esk—deep and green, with its glittering serpent stream, was below us; and, on we looked to the Mountains near the Sea —Black Comb pre-eminent,—and, still beyond, to the Sea itself in dazzling brightness. Turning round [page break] we saw the Mountains of Wastdale in tumult; to our right, Great Gavel, the loftiest, a distinct, and huge form, though the middle of the mountain was, to our eyes, as its base.
We had attained the object of this journey; but our ambition now mounted higher. We saw the summit of Scaw-fell, apparently very near to us; and we shaped our course towards it; but, discovering that it could not be reached without first making a considerable descent, we resolved, instead, to aim at another point of the same mountain, called the Pikes, which I have since found has been estimated as higher than the summit bearing the name of Scawfell Head,
where the Stone Man is built.
The sun had never once been overshadowed by a cloud during the whole of our progress from the centre of Borrowdale: — on the summit of the Pike, which we gained after much toil though without difficulty, there was not a breath of air to stir even the papers containing our refreshment, as they lay spread out upon a rock. The stillness seemed to be not of this world: — we paused, and kept silence to listen; and no sound could be heard: the Scawfell [page break] Cataracts were voiceless to us; and there was not an insect to hum in the air. The vales which we had seen from Ash-course lay yet in view; and, side by side with Eskdale, we now saw the sister Vale of Donnerdale terminated by the Duddon Sands. But the majesty of the mountains below, and close to us, is not to be conceived. We now beheld the whole mass of Great Gavel from its base,—the Den of Wastdale at our feet— a gulph immeasurable: Grasmire and the other mountains of Crummock— Ennerdale and its mountains; and the Sea beyond! Gladly
would we have tempered our beverage (for there was no spring or well near us) with such a supply of delicious water as we might have procured, had we been on the rival summit of Great Gavel; for on its highest point is a small triangular receptacle of water in the native rock, which, the shepherds say, is never dry. There, we might have slaked our thirst plenteously with a pure and celestial beverage, for the cup or basin, it appears, has no other feeder than the dews of heaven, the showers, the vapours, the hoar frost, and the spotless snow. [page break]
While we were gazing around, “Look,” I exclaimed, “at yon ship upon the glittering sea!” “Is it a Ship?” replied our Shepherd-guide. “It can be nothing else,” interposed my companion; “I cannot be mistaken, I am so accustomed to the appearance of Ships at sea.” The Guide dropped the argument; but, before a minute was gone, he quietly said, “Now look at your Ship; it is changed into a Horse.” So indeed it was,—a horse with a gallant neck and head. We laughed heartily; and, I hope, when again inclined to be positive, I may remember the Ship and the Horse upon the glittering Sea; and the calm confidence, yet submissiveness, of our wise Man of the Mountains, who certainly had more knowledge of clouds than we, whatever might be our knowledge of ships.
I know not how long we might have remained on the summit of the Pike, without a thought of moving, had not our guide warned us that we must not linger; for a storm was coming. We looked in vain to espy the signs of it. Mountains, vales, and sea were touched with the clear light of the sun. “It is [page break] there,” he said, pointing to the sea beyond Whitehaven, and there we perceived a light vapour unnoticeable but by a Shepherd accustomed to watch all mountain bodings. We gazed around again, and yet again, unwilling to lose the remembrance of what lay before us in that lofty solitude; and then prepared to depart. Meanwhile the air changed to cold, and we saw that tiny vapour swelled into mighty masses of cloud which came boiling over the mountains. Great Gavel, Helvellyn, and Skiddaw, were wrapped in storm; yet Langdale, and the mountains in that quarter, remained all bright in sunshine. Soon the storm reached us; we sheltered under a crag; and almost as rapidly as it had come it passed away, and left us free to observe the struggles of gloom and sunshine in other quarters. Langdale now had its share, and the Pikes of Langdale were decorated by two splendid Rainbows; Skiddaw also had its own Rainbows. Before we again reached Ash-course every cloud had vanished from every summit.
I ought to have mentioned that round the top of Scawfell PIKE not a blade of grass is to [page break] be seen. A few cushions or tufts of moss, parched and brown, appear between the huge blocks and stones that lie in heaps on all sides to a great distance, like skeletons or bones of the earth not needed at the creation, and there left to be covered with never-dying lichens, which the clouds and dews nourish; and adorn with colours of vivid and exquisite beauty. Flowers, the most brilliant feathers,
and even gems, scarcely surpass in colouring some of those masses of stone, which no human eye beholds, except the Shepherd or Traveller be led thither by curiosity: and how seldom must this happen! For the other Eminence is the one visited by the adventurous Traveller; and the Shepherd has no inducement to ascend the PIKE in quest of his Sheep; for no food is there to tempt them.
We certainly were singularly favoured in the weather; for when we were seated on the summit, our Conductor, turning his eyes thoughtfully round, said, “I do not know that in my whole life, I was ever, at any season of the year, so high upon the mountains on so calm a day.” (It was the 7th of October.) Afterwards we had the storm, which exhibited the grandeur of [page break] the earth and heavens commingled; yet without terror. We knew that it would pass away; — for so our prophetic Guide had assured us.
Before we reached Seathwaite in Borrowdale, a few stars had appeared, and we pursued our way down the Vale, to Rossthwaite, by moonlight.
