Scrambling, walking and swimming in splendid isolation: 75 years of the UK’s national parks

Further south, across the vast, undulating terrain, ragged remnants of winter’s snow stubbornly cling to the highest gullies, stark white against the muted fells. The charming village of Glenridding, nestled by the water’s edge, is almost entirely obscured from this vantage point, hidden behind the skeletal, leafless trees of early spring. The only sound that penetrates the profound stillness is the rhythmic, soothing gurgle of the stream, a constant, ancient voice of the mountains. This vista is, in every sense, the quintessential Lakeland scene: the dramatic, steep slopes rising directly from the tranquil water, the harmonious interplay of soft, earthy colours against the stark, enduring hard rock, all coalescing into a landscape of inimitable beauty. And, judging by the extensive photographic and artistic record that spans centuries, it is a scene that has barely altered since the Cumbrian wind first ruffled the curls of a Romantic poet, inspiring verses that would forever define this corner of England.

These beloved national parks – the Lake District, the Peak District, Eryri (Snowdonia), and Dartmoor – officially opened their gates to the public 75 years ago, in 1951. This landmark achievement was the culmination of a protracted and passionate campaign, arguably initiated by one of those very Romantics, William Wordsworth himself. A poet whose profound love for the Lake District was unparalleled, Wordsworth famously articulated his vision for the area, declaring it should be "a sort of national property, in which every man has a right and an interest who has an eye to perceive and a heart to enjoy." Residing at Dove Cottage in Grasmere, he tirelessly championed the preservation of this natural heritage, successfully opposing plans for railway construction through the valleys. He shrewdly observed the inherent folly of destroying something inherently precious under the guise of increasing its accessibility or influence, a paradox that resonates even today.

That persistent, niggling dilemma – the tension between preservation and access, between conservation and development – has dogged the national parks since their inception. However, if Wordsworth were to survey the landscape today, I believe he would, at least initially, nod in approval. The fate that has befallen some Alpine beauty spots, scarred by unchecked development, has largely been averted here. There are no intrusive high-rise buildings piercing the ancient tree lines, no sprawling sports infrastructure littering the pristine summits, and no engineers have blasted tunnels through the mountains for wider, faster road and rail connections. The planning process within these protected areas is notoriously tortuous, often demanding adherence to strict aesthetic guidelines – woe betide anyone who dares to choose a colour not sanctioned by the traditional Farrow & Ball catalogue, for instance. Yet, it is precisely this rigorous oversight that has allowed our national parks to survive, largely intact, without sacrificing too much of their original, wild charm.

My own journey into the heart of these landscapes began back in the 1970s, when my dad first started taking me on his hiking trips. In those early days, I confess I didn’t entirely share his profound excitement for "the views," which often felt like abstract concepts compared to the tangible world around me. But I instantly grasped the visceral magic of plunging into the icy embrace of a waterfall, the thrill of scrambling along a precarious ridge, and the simple, profound joy of sitting on a mountain top, sharing hard-boiled eggs dipped in salt. He introduced us to all the national parks, meticulously charting routes to their highlights, revealing their secrets one by one. It was the genesis of a lifetime of exploration, a passion that continues to burn brightly.

Dartmoor: A Landscape of Mystery and Resilience

Dartmoor, uniquely among England and Wales’s national parks, holds the distinction of allowing legal wild camping, a testament to its untamed character. Yet, this wild heart is also its most threatened. A recent report detailed an alarming decline in biodiversity within its Sites of Special Scientific Interest (SSSIs), highlighting the pressures on fragile ecosystems. Despite this, it’s crucial to acknowledge that Dartmoor’s overall ecological health remains superior to many other landscapes across the UK. What truly sets Dartmoor apart is the sheer, breathtaking extent of its heathland – a vast expanse covering over 11,000 hectares, a vibrant tapestry of heather, gorse, bilberry, and moor grasses. This unique habitat supports a rich array of wildlife, from Dartmoor ponies grazing freely to darting lizards, elusive adders, and several rare butterfly species. The crowning avian resident here is the red grouse, recently recognized as a distinct species, making it only the second reliably identifiable endemic British bird species, underscoring Dartmoor’s ecological importance.

Dartmoor’s reputation extends beyond its natural beauty, firmly established by its association with more controversial species – both real and imagined. On my inaugural visit as a boy, I was simultaneously engrossed in Arthur Conan Doyle’s chilling tale, The Hound of the Baskervilles, and captivated by contemporary news reports of escaped large cats roaming the British countryside. When we hiked past the infamous Dartmoor Prison, and my dad recounted the grim legend of "the Mad Axeman" (Frank Mitchell), Dartmoor was irrevocably etched into my young mind as the single most exciting, and perhaps slightly terrifying, area of Britain. I’ve never had cause to alter that view.

Arguably the most evocative and ancient place on the moor is Wistman’s Wood, a stunted, moss-draped oak woodland accessed from the Two Bridges hotel. Its gnarled trees and boulder-strewn floor evoke a primeval past, but its growing popularity, fueled by platforms like Instagram, now risks eroding its unique mystery. For those seeking genuine tranquillity and ancient arboreal beauty, other excellent woodlands can be discovered down the dramatic Lydford Gorge near Tavistock, or within the Bovey Valley near Lustleigh, a picturesque village of thatched roofs where a classic Devon cream tea at establishments like the Primrose Tearooms represents the acme of culinary snackery.

Nearby, Haytor Rocks, a magnificent granite tor, stands as a magnet for climbers and casual visitors alike. While undeniably beautiful, its accessibility often means crowds. For a true sense of solitude, the military firing ranges offer a surprising sanctuary. There’s nothing quite like the knowledge of an M115 Howitzer to deter the majority of casual hikers, or perhaps it’s simply the necessary, but often overlooked, act of checking live firing times. Whatever the reason, these areas often remain remarkably quiet, revealing wonderful viewpoints such as Yes Tor and High Willhays, which offer expansive panoramas across the wild moor, often with only the sound of the wind for company.

Eryri (Snowdonia): Wales’s Mountain Heartbeat

In Eryri, the quest for peace and genuine tranquillity adheres to one fundamental rule: avoid Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), Wales’s highest and most popular mountain. Any other peak within this magnificent national park will offer a comparatively serene experience. If, however, the allure of Yr Wyddfa is irresistible, I strongly recommend ascending via a less-frequented path, such as the Watkin Path, renowned for its steep final ascent, or the Rhyd Ddu path, which offers dramatic views of Llyn Cwellyn. Crucially, embark on your journey early – and by "early," I mean headtorch-requiring early, before the first tour buses arrive. Another excellent, albeit exposed, option is the Ranger Path (Cwellyn), a route where the wind famously blew me off my feet as a nine-year-old, a vivid memory of the mountain’s power. While you might escape the throngs, you can never truly escape the formidable Welsh weather.

Yr Wyddfa’s Crib Goch, a knife-edge arête, is celebrated as one of Britain’s greatest ridge scrambles, offering exhilarating exposure and breathtaking views. However, it can become a trial when oversubscribed, losing some of its inherent challenge to the sheer volume of traffic. Fortunately, Eryri abounds with equally rewarding alternatives. Consider Crib Lem on Carnedd Dafydd, a challenging scramble accessible from Bethesda, or the Idwal Staircase, a tougher, more technical challenge that many experienced scramblers might prefer to tackle roped up. Steve Ashton’s seminal work, Scrambles in Snowdonia, remains the essential guide for anyone looking to explore these thrilling routes safely.

One feature I particularly admire about Eryri is the ingenious way its rich industrial heritage has been reimagined and repurposed to meet contemporary needs. The various slate mine attractions, such as Zip World’s Velocity 2, the world’s fastest zip line, and Bounce Below, a subterranean trampoline park, have gone from strength to strength, offering unique adventure experiences that draw on the region’s mining past. Similarly, the steam railways, including the historic Ffestiniog and Welsh Highland Railways, continue to thrive. The Bala Lake Railway, a narrow-gauge line, has commendably begun work on extending its route directly into Bala town, a significant and welcome addition that will enhance visitor access and provide an economic boost to the local community, further solidifying the park’s blend of natural beauty and cultural history, now recognized by UNESCO World Heritage status for its slate landscape.

Lake District: The Cradle of British Mountaineering

The official opening of the first national parks in 1951 ignited a profound surge of interest in hiking and mountaineering, creating an unprecedented demand for accessible route information. Like countless others, my dad discovered the enduring legacy of Alfred Wainwright, whose meticulously hand-drawn pictorial guides to the Lakeland Fells remain a cherished and highly effective way to navigate the region. Wainwright’s own declared favourite was Haystacks Fell, a relatively modest peak offering disproportionately stunning views, with an ascent from Buttermere via Scarth Gap. My own initiation into the intoxicating joys of scrambling, however, began with more serious Wainwright routes: Lord’s Rake on Scafell Pike, a steep and exposed gully, and Jack’s Rake on Pavey Ark, a truly challenging undertaking that requires a head for heights and sure footing. These experiences, while demanding, forged a deep connection to the mountains.

Scrambling and its sister sports, fell-running and scree-racing, boast a proud and storied history in the Lake District. Over in the remote and rugged Wasdale valley, sheep farmer Joss Naylor became an inspirational figure, a legendary fell-runner whose incredible endurance feats captured the national imagination. As a teenager, I was fortunate enough to witness his hell-for-leather approach to scree slopes, transforming these treacherous, often-avoided areas into a new and exhilarating challenge.

Wasdale, with its historic inn, remains a perennial favourite for many mountaineers. While the main trail to Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain, can often be busy, those seeking solitude and a more demanding experience can embark on classic treks like the Mosedale Horseshoe, a magnificent circuit taking in formidable peaks such as Pillar, a truly stiff challenge when torn shreds of cloud are whistling around your ears. For the sure-footed and adventurous, the climbers’ trail passing beneath Napes Needle is another hidden gem. The Needle itself is a remarkably satisfying climb with immense historic importance. Early photographs of pioneering climbers like the Abraham brothers, standing triumphantly atop its slender pinnacle in their hobnail boots in the 1890s, played a pivotal role in fuelling public interest in the nascent sport of rock climbing.

Moving across to the eastern fells, the 17½-mile trek from Pooley Bridge to Troutbeck over High Street, an ancient Roman road, is an absolute gem, offering sustained, panoramic vistas on a clear day that stretch across the entire park. Another celebrated classic is the Kentmere Round, a horseshoe walk that typically commences at St Cuthbert’s church, near Staveley. For sheer delight in Cumbrian topographical names, the Kentmere Round is an absolute must: Yoke Fell is followed by Wander Scar, Toadhowe Well, Shipman Knotts, and many other wonderfully evocative names that speak of the land’s history. The best advice for any visitor, however, is to simply find a fell with an unfamiliar name on an Ordnance Survey map, devise a route, and set off. Asking a local for their favourite, less-known walks also usually pays rich dividends.

After an epic day battling snow and ice on Helvellyn, I decide to take my own advice. I am staying at Another Place hotel, nestled along the northern shore of Ullswater. The lakeside panorama from the hotel perfectly encapsulates the tale of changing times in the national parks: paddleboards and kayaks now glide across the water, groups are heading off for invigorating wild swims, and a mobile sauna offers a unique, restorative experience by the shore. David Vaughan, the hotel director and a lifelong local, tips me off about a favourite, less-crowded walk on nearby Gowbarrow Fell.

The path begins at the renowned Aira Force waterfall, a well-known attraction, and the car park is, as expected, bustling. Beyond the thundering falls, however, the crowds thin, and a profound quiet descends. At 481 metres, the Gowbarrow summit is not particularly high, but the panorama it affords across Ullswater and the surrounding fells is truly superb. Further on comes the real climax of the walk: a stunning balcony path that traces the contours of the fell, offering uninterrupted, elevated views directly above the shimmering lake.

As I traverse this magical path, a kestrel swoops past, remarkably close, its chestnut feathers ruffled by the wind, a wild, untamed spirit mirroring the landscape. Towards the end of the walk, where the path drops down into the woods, I encounter a young woman, hesitating. Her hiking kit looks conspicuously fresh from the packet, pristine and untouched by the elements.

"Is there any scrambling up there?" she asks nervously, her voice betraying a hint of trepidation.

"No," I reply, noticing her immaculate nails, "but there’s lots of mud."

She takes a deep breath, a wide grin spreading across her face. "OK." Then, with a newfound resolve, she sets off into the woods. Joss Naylor, my dad, and the Romantic poets would all be profoundly proud. Our national parks, 75 years on, are still doing their best for us, inspiring new generations to discover the profound magic and enduring challenges of Britain’s wild heartlands.

Accommodation was provided by Another Place, The Lake, in Ullswater, which has double rooms from £125 B&B. Further information, visit nationalparks.uk