Roger Butler walks with feet in the Clouds
THERE ARE TWO
well-known Harter Fells in Cumbria: one rises prominently over Eskdale and the other forms part of the glorious Kentmere Horseshoe. But there’s a third one, too – unsung and farthest flung – on the northern flanks of the Howgills. Hang on, though, I’d better just check the map because half of these hills are in Yorkshire. Yes, ok, it’s in Cumbria and within the recently extended National Park. Ah, which one? The Yorkshire Dales, of course. Confused? Never mind, arise, Harter Fell the third!
The A483 from Sedbergh hugs the steep eastern slopes of Knott and Great Dummacks as it heads
north towards the great scoop of Cautley Crag and the long sweep of Ravenstonedale Common. It also marks the divide between the flowing tops of the Howgills and the surprising limestone terraces that tumble below Wild Boar Fell.
I first spotted these when looking north from the top of the cascades at Cautley Spout, when they resembled a milky whirlpool superimposed on cappuccino moorland. Binoculars revealed great swishes of blue-grey rock and allowed me to plot a circuit that would tick off little-visited Harter Fell, cross a couple of soggy commons, and leap around those rocky pavements.
But that was two or three years ago, and it seemed there had been a fair bit of rain since then. Squelch, slurp, squelch… my boots were sucked into swathes of deep mud that masqueraded as a bridleway. I bumbled down to cross a narrow bridge and watched a roe deer dash into the last bit of woodland before the open moor. The south side of Harter Fell was steep but straightforward, and once or twice I followed improbable quad bike tracks in the hope they had squeezed some of the water away.
A tiny cairn was lost amidst a sea of ochre grass and yellowing moss, and the faintest of paths continued north over Blirt Hill before tumbling towards the small but energetic rapids of Ellergill Sike. Mournful larch trees were dotted by the wall and, having spent a few decades considering their fate, I’m sure they now regretted taking root on such damp waterlogged ground. Back on the east side of the valley, and across the road to Kirkby Stephen, field paths and narrow squeeze stiles led the way to the foot of the limestone crags.
These are memorably known as Stennerskeugh Clouds, though Fell End Clouds are nearby and another patch of stony pasture is simply called Clouds. Thankfully, up above, it was all blue sky. This was classic clint and gryke country, where tooth-like outcrops and unexpected fissures could have easily thrown me off balance; but the arena of spiky limestone provided fine views over the valley of the River Rawthey. A cluster of cairns crowned a rocky plateau and ahead, out on the open moor, lines of shake holes now pointed the way back to Foggy Hill. That’s a name which will have real meaning whenever a dank pea-souper drapes itself over these fells.