I
finally got round to attempting to find it!
It doesn't look much like a horse though!
More like an amalgam of a horse/serpent/ostrich!
Or something!
You can check out me pics
HERE ...
Link is long dead. Material salvaged from the Wayback Machine. Here's the full text of the webpage as formatted with photos at archive.org ...
The first time I heard of the almost mythical 'Black Horse of Bush Howe' was at the impressionable age of fourteen, in the book 'Brigantia' by Guy Ragland Phillips. In it, he tells of an ancient hill figure, cut into the slopes of a remote valley in the Howgill Fells, near Sedburgh. This figure, reminiscent of the horses carved aeons ago in French and Spanish caves was, he said, evidence of a surviving 'Dobbie Cult'.
A 'Dobbie' doesn't seem to be a horse though - more a 'big, black horrible misshapen thing that slips about', if glimpsed at all it's more likely seen out of the corner of your eye, before it vanishes. They are usually found by bridges or fords waiting to accost the hapless traveller. Some of the old houses around the village of Sedburgh, such as Bleaze Hall and Copplethwaite Hall have their own 'dobbies'.
For me the strangest part of the tale was it's inconlusiveness. Apparently, the locals can't decide if it exists or not! Not one mention of it is made in any of the guide books describing the Howgills and surrounding region. Over the last half dozen or so years I've made several trips to wander the hills and never seen anything like it.
The comedian, writer and keen walker Mike Harding lives round that part of the world. I emailed him from his website asking him if he knew anything about it. He told me that it's called 'The Black Horse of Busha' locally. He had heard of it's existence, gave us an idea of it's whereabouts, but said he'd never seen it himself.
The only likeness of the figure we could find was a sketch in 'Brigantia';-
Guy Ragland Phillips made five visits to photograph the black horse. All failed. His first trip was scuppered by mists that descended as he tried to take a suitable shot. The second occasion he used up a whole reel of film in hazy sunshine. Not a single picture came out. His third attempt yielded just 'three very misty' pictures, the fourth was a 'complete washout'. His fifth try was along the valley bottom, following Long Rigg Beck then climbing White Fell. The instant he tried to take a phtograph the slopes clouded over. From that point onwards the weather was against him. He walked over to the top of Bush Howe and made a descent to where he thought it might be. After a slide down the hill on his rear he found himself on the Horses 'head'.
'There was nothing whatever to see except a waste of black stones, the dark Silurian shale of which the Howgills consist. No shape at all could be distinguished. The horse had slipped from my grasp at the last second ' he wrote.
He paced out the extent of the stone, finding it to be 140 yards long and 120 yards high.
He told also of a thwarted Inspector from the Ministry of the Environment who, try as he might, couldn't get a decent photograph of the Horse.
So, with curiosity aroused a trip to find it was planned!
29th March, 2003. An unusually warm spring day. An old friend with an interest in the weird and unusual had volunteered his company for a hike around the hills.
The fog burnt off in no time making the ascent of 'Winder' a sweaty slog, not helped by the previous nights excesses of beer and take-aways! Once on the tops a chilling breeze had us putting layers back on, but made the next two summits less demanding to reach.
On reaching the 'trig' point on the top of 'The Calf' the smooth grassy slopes spread out all around us, like a huge parched wilderness! No cars, no kids, airplanes, no man-made noise at all! Just the wind through the grass.The summit of Bush Howe was clearly visible in the distance (to the left of the trig point top in the pic.) After a hasty snack we set off at a run. Rain clouds and fog had begun to appear on the horizon in the west, moving up the valleys towards us.
We knew that the conditions could change in seconds up there, leaving no chance of finding anything. We rushed along the indistinct path to the peak of Bush Howe.
And found nothing!
Wandering the hill aimlessly, it would've taken an age to cover all the ground. We needed to view the slopes from the west, like Phillips had. The ridge went north before continueing around to the west, over Breaks Head to Fell Head. We ran as well as our packs would allow, all the time watching the fog and cloud creep slowly up the valley. We couldn't see anything that even vaguely resembled the sketch in 'Brigantia'.
The mist and cloud seemed to be stuck momentarily at the bottom of the valley. We had almost reached the end of the ridge when we spotted a large indistinct grey patch on the slopes of 'The Height of Bush Howe' (the hill adjacent to Bush Howe)...
It was the Black Horse!
Unfortunately the slope was at an angle that prevented us from getting a clear photograph! We needed to get back to the other side of the valley where we had been originally. We consulted the map to plot it's location - the appropriately named 'Stranger Gill'! The clouds were now dark and ominous. We didn't think we'd make it in time...
The trek back seemed to take forever. As we neared the top of White Fell Head I could see the shape clearly and started to take shots at a frantic rate, hoping the rain would hold off. Reaching the summit we collapsed, threw off our rucksacks and took as many phtographs as we could. Some of them had to come out!
Unsure if we had long before an imminent cloudburst, I volunteered to climb down the sides of 'Stranger Gill' to the figure, so that Bill could get a few shots with me in for a sense of scale.
Bill fiddling with his equipment... again! The 'Black Horse' clearly visible on the south-west slope of 'The Height of Bush Howe'.
The closer I got to the figure, the harder it was to discern where it was! Before I knew it, I was standing on the Horse's 'back'! The shape didn't seem to be cut from the thin moorland turf. It just appeared to be a layer of evenly-sized rocks placed on the surface. I don't know what I had expected to find. Something more clearly defined perhaps? Less indistinct around the edges? Was it just naturally occuring scree or was it man made?
It's origins weren't the only things I found fascinating. Phillips said that the fact it was almost unrecorded was like a 'conspiracy of silence'.However local tradition tells of it's use as a landmark for navigation by smugglers on Morecambe Bay some 20 miles away. From where I sat on the Horse's back I could see the still waters of the bay shimmering in the sun.
Phillips also quoted an old poem reputedly from the Celtic kingdom of Rheged, the frontier of which lay somewhere near the hills in which the figure is found. The poem contained details of 'Du y Moroedd', or 'Black Moro' ('the black one of the sea') one of the three horses of Britain. He goes on to refer to the Welsh Triads describing an invasion of north Wales from the north, probabley Cumbria, connected with this horse. The beast carried seven men from 'the Benllech of the North' to a place on the coast of Anglesey also called Benllech! He proposed this 'Benllech of the North' to be Bush Howe. He reckoned that a line could be followed, like a 'ley' right down the Long Rigg Beck valley and across the sea to very near Benllech in Anglesey! Hmmm! I couldn't quite see that far...
So, it does seem as if it was known about in times past.
The tiny vertical line below the diagonal one is me! Waving!
Enjoying the solitude of the empty valley and the warmth of the afternoon sun, I sat awhile before climbing the steep track-less hillside back to my colleague. As I passed the 'head' of the Horse I stopped, picking up three small stones as a small keepsake. Placing them in a pocket I turned to go. I took a dozen steps and stopped. It didn't feel right somehow. I threw them back.
Down on the slopes of Whin's End, three wild black Fell ponies watched as I made my way back to the summit of White Fell Head.
Back in Sedburgh, enjoying a pint in the pub beer garden, relaxing in the last of the days sunshine I recalled the sense of wonder I had felt reading of the Black Horse as a teenager. Over half my lifetime ago.
It's there. It
is real. I still don't have a clue what it is, but I found it, eventually...