Thomas Wilkinson (1751-1836) a Quaker landowner, campaigner and sometime poet (friend of Wordsworth) who lived near Penrith was, as will become very apparent, naturally predisposed to appreciate the wonders of mountain scenery, and did a great deal of walking both in the Lake District and in Scotland. Looking back from old age (like the more recent Wainwright, with failing eyesight) in 1824 he published a book of his favourite walks, "Tours to the British Mountains...". Here is his account of a tramp over Scafell from Wasdale to Eskdale (prefaced by a passage from the previous day's walking, which reveals Wilkinson's one great defect as a mountain explorer).

Here's Wilkinson, with his companion on the tour, approaching Wasdale over Sty Head:
"lo! a turn in the mountain presented a tremendous abyss. We saw indeed, at a vast distance, level land and green fields; but to come at these the dreadful side of Great Gable must be descended. If I had been alone I should instantly have returned..."

As there was no inn at Wasdale Head, the pair walked down the lake and on to spend the night at Nether Wasdale- so now here they are heading back along the lake shore the next day:
"The Screes seems going to decay: its foundation is in Wast Water; its surface and its soil are gone; torrents of rocks and of stones are sometimes rolling down its sides. The lake receives the roaring current, and boils with its fury. The boatmen keep aloof:- the bottom of the lake is rising, and the mountain is diminishing. I only speak from information, for the mountain was at rest when we beheld it.

Having again paced the length of the lake, we were opposite the base of mighty Scaw-Fell, the highest of all the English mountains. The sight of its far-distant summit elevated my spirits, but depressed those of my companion: I am not sure that he was quite well. We crossed the feeder of the lake over one of the slenderest wooden bridges that ever accommodated human passengers: it shuddered like the ague. We sat down in a shady lane, and held our consultation, which ended in amicably parting for a few hours; he winding round the base, and, as ambition has no resting-place, I over the summit of Scaw-Fell.

Scaw-Fell has a broad base: it extends several miles on the side I ascended. I began to climb swifter than I had lately descended from other mountains; and I often looked and beheld my friend, till he was diminished to the size of his hat, and at last totally vanished. The day was delightful to my utmost wishes. As I ascended, the sea began to appear in the south-west, and a stately assemblage of mountains crowded the western hemisphere: there was a great variety in their forms, and one of the loftiest of them, if he had a head, would have done for a Man-mountain, for he seemed to hold up both his hands.

I ascended to the last story of the mountain, which seemed superior to those I had before visited. I looked down on Langdale Pikes, the Man Mountain of Coniston, and others of my old acquaintances. I have ascended the easy and commodious side of Scaw-Fell: I should have liked to explore the terrors of its tremendous precipices: but these fearful exhibitions would be better seen by me from below; my terrors are in precipices and perpendiculars. Looking from below, we only lose of terrific grandeur what is gained in tranquil, sublime admiration. There are many fearful and majestic forms amid these mountains yet unexplored by me: perhaps I may some time ascend to favourable points, and treat myself with a sight of their solitary magnificence.

How delightful to look round and meditate on these serene regions- the loftiest mountains our next neighbours, and the valleys their gardens and domains! How interesting to contrast these scenes with their circumstances, when they are involved with driving snows, with rolling mists, and with thunder-storms!

At the highest point of my elevation I was pleased to find that I was not out of the reach of all living things;- a modest butterfly hovered round me, and shewed by her attentions she was not displeased with my visit. The reader may smile, but a butterfly is a respectable personage where there is no other. I sat down, and saw an aerial visitant approaching: a light silver cloud for a few moments rested above me, then went off and pursued its journey through the sky. I seem here in the regions of innocence. Innocent sheep are feeding far beneath me: they are all the living creatures I now behold. Their lambs are pacing and playing round their parents: their gaiety inspires me with gladness, and I am willing to record the cheerfulness of solitude.

[In reading this next paragraph, bear in mind that in Wilkinson's time, it was generally believed that the world had been created about 4000 years before the birth of Christ] Scaw-Fell may be said to be the Goliath of our northern mountains, or the first of the British Alps. No doubt for many centuries after the creation it would remain wrapped up in primeval solitude; perhaps it might remain unvisited even by birds and beasts for a thousand years; and it still remains a labour for the shepherd, or a pilgrimage for taste, to ascend its lofty summit. Perhaps it was not till after two millenniums that the first human being trod the path I have done this morning. I muse till there seems a loneliness and silence round me that gives me the idea of the world before it was peopled.

I am alone on the mountains, and there is nothing but majesty and innocence around me.- I am alone on the mountains.- I have been alone in the midst of populous cities:- I have walked their crowded streets when no one knew me, and no one cared for me; yet then I was not dejected; I was under the protection of society: and here I am not sad; here is nothing to tempt or injure me. I see the mighty works of Almighty Power rising around me, not a particle of which is directed to my hurt. Can I then repress adoration to the Maker Omnipotent? Can I withhold thanksgiving and gratitude from Him who brought messages of love and of mercy from the bosom of his Father?

It may be thought, that in climbing mountains I am building up my Babel to climb to Heaven: ah, no! far from it! I only look on mountains as the most stupendous specimens of Almighty Power that we see around us. The glories of Heaven I dare not attempt to describe- I hardly dare anticipate: yet from the richness and glory of the visible creation; from what passed on Sinai betwen the Almighty and Moses; from the descent of Angels at the birth of Our Saviour; from his transfiguration on the Mount, and from the writings of John- we may conclude that the courts of Heaven are filled with a holy splendour: but to the nature of that holy splendour I dare not presume to raise my feeble conceptions; and I am here willing to own, that if ever there is a moment when I am not afraid to die, it is when tears fill my eyes, and my spirit, clad in sackcloth, can say, 'Lord, dispose of me as thou seest meet: I am helpless before thee'. There is a solemn silence on the summits of mountains that I have not found on the plains or in the valleys. The air is still, and the earth seems at rest: the sound of water is not heard. the voice of man, the notes of birds, and the noise of beasts, do not resch these serene regions. Social worship is enjoined, and it is a duty; but may I not here in deep silence worship Jehovah?

I now descended from the steeps of Scaw-Fell; but my eyes sometimes reverted to its summit, as a spot where I had been gratified, and which I might never visit again. My pace was accelerated by the apprehension that my companion might be far before me, or that, through indisposition, he might be lingering behind: but I reflected, that he was among human habitations, and that my fears might be unfounded; so I trotted swiftly down the mountain till I got involved in peat-mosses. When I began to ascend Scaw-Fell in the morning, I anticipated an expedition of pleasure; but the black bogs with which I am surrounded are the reverse of pleasure-grounds. However, I could not find in my heart to be out of humour with them, when I contemplated a winter's day, when the snow was coming on, and cheerful cottagers conversing round the comforts of a peat-fire. Some may think these are objects beneath the attention of the reader; but to be well acquainted with the world, one should see tempests and hurricanes, as well as sunshine and tranquillity; one should be introduced to precipices and peat-mosses, as well as to drawing-rooms, parlours, and nurseries.

As I descended farther towards the valleys, the prospects became more dreary, and the way grew worse; till at last I was glad to see again (with rings about them) the things they call fields; and in a lonely spot, rejoiced to meet with two solitary thorns. Plodding through such scenery, at length I beheld in prospect the luxury of a road. Comforts now began to unfold themselves, for I came to a house! and it had a front and a back door; at both of which I knocked, but all was silence within. I turned away, but not without hope, for another house appeared over the valley, at which when I knocked, the mistress came to the door and led me in. Here I saw the delectable sight of a large family sitting comfortably at their dinner, while a pie smoked munificently before them. I now made my inquiries, when the master of the family rose from the table and left his dinner to shew me the way.

[As he mentions neither the waterfalls of Cowcove Beck nor the Woolpack Inn, it may be that Wilkinson had gone straight over the moors by the route which joins the main valley road near Birdhow and Wha House]

At the foot of Hardknot I entered again on a road: and here I found my companion lying on the ground, where he had been ten minutes. He instantly rose; and we began climbing the mountain pleasantly together. In his circuit through the valleys he had met with his inn and his refreshment: my refreshment had been the pure mountain air, and I looked for nothing more for ten or a dozen miles to come. We wound up and down Hardknot, and then accompanied the course of the Duddon..."