Where Wild Goats Roam
I find myself driving north at dawn through the extinguishing gloom of a cloudy Northumbrian night. My destination is the Cheviot Hills located on the northern fringes of Northumberland. It is here I will enter into the realm of one of the county’s smelliest treasures. For it is within these secluded valleys, between heather and stone, that wild goats lay claim to the land.
The green hues of the College Valley are a welcome view in the early morning light. Buzzards soar overhead, willow warblers sing from the wooded riverbank and brown hares dart across the sheep-grazed farmland. The nearby shallow waters of the College Burn trickle into the valley soundscape. The living lands of the border hills are beginning to stir. I ascend a steep, rocky scree-strewn hillside near Easter Tor, treading cautiously and pausing every so often to catch my breath on the incline. I am in steady pursuit of a herd of ancestral beasts that have occupied the roof of Northumberland for thousands of years, passively observing all that changes around them.
Varied in appearance, these primitive British goats are wide ranging in colour with blacks, whites, greys, and browns. Some are monochromatic, but many display a mix of several shades. The males, or billy goats as they are known, have shaggy and matted coats, presenting an unkempt appearance. They can easily be identified by their powerful curving horns, larger stature, and long flowing beards which resemble that of a wise old wizard. The females, known as nannies, have much shorter coats and horns. They are smaller in size, but also display a beard, albeit a short and wispy one.
Continuing my approach I use the landscape to my advantage, lurking within the tall stands of green swaying bracken. As I get closer, the air around me fills with the musky stench that pervades their headlong movements. The smell of wild goat is a distinctive one, somewhere between the bouquet of goat’s cheese and a stale cloakroom. A powerful and potent scent - not one you would choose to be downwind of, yet one you can strangely get used to!
These animals are believed to be amongst the purest remaining descendants of neolithic domestic herds, introduced by early farmers as far back as six thousand years ago. Having never been crossbred with any modern breed of goat, these animals remain distinctly unique and have survived completely free from human interference. Though it must be said, a veil of mystery still surrounds the exact details of their arrival on these particular hills. Local stories suggest the goats could be descendants of those once owned by the monks of Holy Island, before being liberated from their chapel near Memmerkirk to live life out in the wilds. Others believe the goats were owned by the early settlers and farmers in this region but were set loose once more desirable livestock became readily available.
The herd ahead of me are a mixed group of nannies, billys, and kids. The kids stay close to the nanny goats, and the billys group together, occasionally sizing one another up. But this is not my hill and it is not long before these watchful animals notice my presence. One by one, the staring hypnotic golden eyes of the herd become fixed upon my position, inquisitive if not slightly indifferent to my human self. As I stand in their hillside domain with my camera lens trained upon them, I sense the herd have little genuine interest in me, perhaps only disdain at my intrusion. It is not long before they decide to steadily wander off. I follow, and after an hour or two, the eyeballing stops and the goats accept I am not so much a threat, but more an odd fellow who feels privileged to be following in their footsteps.
Many are surprised to learn that the county is home to several herds of these musky vagabonds. Chief strongholds include Yeavering Bell, Hethpool, Newton Tors, Kielderhead, and Windy Gyle. A herd once lived at Whickhope Linn near Kielder Water but perished during a particularly formidable winter in 1946-47. These animals are hardy and well-suited to life in the wild, so for an entire herd to be wiped out shows how inhospitable a winter it must have been. Close to the secluded village of Kirknewton is Ad Gefrin - meaning the Hill of Goats - the site of an early and medieval Anglo-Saxon settlement. There, on the easily accessible roadside entrance, you will find a carved wooden gate post fashioned in the emblematic symbol of the wild goats that occupy these lands.
As we approach late afternoon, the sunlight weakens and oppressive grey clouds move in. On my right, a Peregrine stoops fast and low, firing into the lower reaches of the valley. I continue to stalk the herd as they near the brow of a hill, watching intently as they pause at a false summit. I can only assume the hours of unabating foraging on bracken and moorland grasses have finally satisfied the fathomless appetites of these animals. A series of yawns break out amongst the herd and soon the goats are hunkering down for a hillside nap. Content with my insight into the herd’s extraordinary existence, I decided to leave the goats in their wayward slumber and head down from the hills. On my descent, I cannot resist glancing back to appreciate the gnarly silhouette of billy goat horns protruding above a steadily sloping landscape.
Words and photography by David Dinsley (@naturenortheast)
