Number in series 26; Year of publication 1932 - Fell and Rock ...

ALL DOWN THE VALLEYS 175Within the dark cleft of Piers Gill is the most orthodox riverrock-climb of the District; but there are plenty of sportingscrambles, where one can get sufficiently wet, up the rockycascades of Whelpside and Birkside Gills, and many anotherless famous beck.In these days of little leisure, when fast cars press onwardsto their destination at the foot of the climbs, it is inevitablethat some even of the loveliest spots between recognised centresshould remain unfrequented and unknown. For every dozenmen who from the Thirlmere road raise affectionate eyestowards Launchy or Fisher Gill, scarcely one would be foundwith a real and loving familiarity with the long, sliding cascadesof Shoulthwaite Gill, retired and quiet in the valley behindRaven Crag and the Benn. Yet a whole day could be spent byits pools, and on die low, frowning crags that overshadow it;and there will be nothing but the raven's croak and the sight ofa few chance bilberry-pickers to disturb the solitude.On Bank Holidays, when charabancs roar through Borrowdaleand deposit their troops of tourists at the falls of Lodore,there is silence and loneliness by the side of AppletrccworthBeck; and the River Lickle, with its broad green track runningthrough the high bracken on either side, is a delightful startingpoint for a stroll over Dunnerdale Fells, and the lone, rockysummit of Caw. And when the daffodils at Duddon Bridge arein their pride, he is wise who forsakes their loveliness for thehidden woods of Colton Beck, where they grow in rival beauty,scattered, difficult of access, but unfenced and unforbidden.The glory of the rivers of Lakeland is a tale that has no ending.Always there is something fresh to discover and to delight.One alone—the Derwent—affords many a lovely glimpse, fromits source in the high hills, along its windings at the foot ofJohnny Wood and through the birches of Borrowdale, to itsslow, dignified entrance into the lake. On one broad reach of theriver there I have seen the simultaneous flash of four kingfishersalong the willow-fringed bank; and it is a green, pellucid stretchof the Derwent near Rosthwaite that comes unfailingly intomind at the words, " He leadeth me beside the still waters."But perhaps the best loved, the most perfect of all the riversis the Esk; the falls of Lingcove and Cowcove and the UpperEsk, and the pools, the pools! To descend from Bowfell or