It has been some time since I last dragged myself up Helvellyn via Striding Edge. Definitely before the pandemic chaos. This photograph, taken around midday, gazes slightly east of south. St. Sunday Crag and Fairfield flaunt a dusting of snow. A marvellous day: cloudless peaks, sub-zero temperatures, and a wind that was brisk enough to remind you not to linger and had plans to get worse.
The cairn in the image is a memorial, erected in 1890, honouring Charles Gough, who met his untimely end on this mountain in 1805. Of course, the real star of the story is his dog, a small tan-coloured terrier, who spent three months loyally guarding Gough’s remains. What gave the dog its enduring fame? Poetry, naturally. Sir Walter Scott immortalised the scene in “I climb’d the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,” while Wordsworth, ever keen to wring emotion from misfortune, penned “Fidelity” about the dog’s sorrowful vigil. Both poets, joined by Sir Humphrey Davy, had climbed Helvellyn themselves not long after Gough’s body was found. The incident would have been fresh in their minds, no doubt inspiring their lofty lines.
At the start of the 19th century, the Lake District was more wilderness than tourist trap. A few bold adventurers, mostly Manchester men, had begun to appreciate its rugged beauty, thanks in part to Joseph Budworth’s writings on rambling. Among these was Charles Gough, a young Manchester merchant who loved solitary wanderings through Cumberland and Westmorland, always accompanied by his little terrier. In the spring of 1805, he made his ill-fated ascent of Helvellyn, lost his way, and fell to his death on the infamous “dark brow” of the mountain.
Source
”The Dog of Helvellyn.” Barrow Herald and Furness Advertiser – Saturday 09 August 1890
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