Walking the Wainwrights

Located in the Lake District National Park, England, the Wainwright fells continue to delight walkers with their varied landscapes, charm, peace and exhilaration just as they did when Alfred Wainwright wrote his guide books.

‘The fleeting hour of life of those who love the hills is quickly spent, but the hills are eternal. Always there will be the lonely ridge, the dancing beck, the silent forest; always there will be the exhilaration of the summits. These are for the seeking, and those who seek and find while there is yet time will be blessed both in mind and body.’ - A Wainwright, The Western Fells 1966

Alfred Wainwright

Alfred Wainwright - Derry Brabbs

More than 65 years since his first guidebook was published, and 30 years on from his death, Alfred Wainwright remains synonymous with the Lake District.

Donning his flat cap and beige coat, and with tobacco smoke rising gently from a pipe, Alfred Wainwright appeared far from your typical outdoor enthusiast. Even his behaviour, actively avoiding fellow walkers as he roamed the fells, was at odds with the conventional conduct of hiking. But having been raised in poverty amid the claustrophobia of Blackburn's cotton mills in the early 20th Century, the lakes and their wide-open vistas provided solace and a sense of wonder that captured his heart.

His fastidious pen-line drawings of more than 200 hills and mountains - alongside hand-written descriptions outlining the majesty of each - would stretch across seven volumes of his Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells and sell more than two million copies. Following years of weekend bus journeys from his then-home in Kendal and fuelled by fish and chips from his favourite haunts, the books were his crowning achievement among the dozens of titles he had published.

Like Wainwright, many people today find their hearts captured by the Lake District fells. In wanting to further explore the fells, Wainwright's books and the 214 fells described within provide focus and a goal to strive for.

‘It was a moment of magic, a revelation so unexpected that I stood transfixed, unable to believe my eyes. I saw mountain ranges, one after another, the nearer starkly etched, those beyond fading into the blue distance. Rich woodlands, emerald pastures and the shimmering waters of the lake below added to a pageant of loveliness, a glorious panorama that held me enthralled. I had seen landscapes of rural beauty pictured in the local art gallery, but here was no painted canvas; this was real. This was truth. God was in his heaven that day and I a humble worshipper.’ - A Wainwright, Ex-Fellwanderer 1987