The Hewitts: A Study in Prominence and Persistence

There is a specific kind of person who finds themselves standing in a rain-lashed hollow in the Berwyns or the Wicklow Mountains, looking at a steep slope ahead and wondering if they’ve gone down far enough. They aren’t there for the view—half the time, the cloud is so low they can barely see their own boots—and they aren’t there for the glory. They are there because of a very specific, slightly stubborn list. They are there for the Hewitts.

To the uninitiated, a hill is just a hill. But to those who follow the Hewitt classification, the landscape is defined by a rigorous set of numbers: 2,000 feet and 30 metres. If a summit doesn’t meet both, it might as well be flat ground. This list represents a certain brand of dedication that moves past the obvious peaks and into the quiet, often sodden corners of the British Isles and Ireland.

The Numbers That Matter

If you're going to spend your weekends wandering through cloud, you usually want to know exactly what you're dealing with. Here is the reality of the Hewitts in plain numbers.

Statistic	Detail
Total Count	524 (England: 180, Wales: 135, Ireland: 209)
Height Requirement	Minimum 609.6 m (2,000 ft)
Prominence Rule	Minimum 30 m (98.4 ft) drop on all sides
Highest Point (Overall)	Carrauntoohil, County Kerry: 1,038 m (3,406 ft)
Highest Point (Wales)	Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon): 1,085 m (3,560 ft)
Highest Point (England)	Scafell Pike: 978 m (3,209 ft)
Lowest Hewitt	Birks Fell: 610 m (2,001 ft)
Most Remote (England)	The Cheviot or Cross Fell
Hardest to Summit	The Pinnacles (Ireland) or Crib Goch (Wales)
The Authority	Alan Dawson (The Relative Hills of Britain, 1997)
Completion Records	Most notable records are kept by the Long Distance Walkers Association (LDWA).

Where Did This Come From?

The Hewitt classification didn't just appear out of nowhere because someone wanted more work to do. It was actually a reaction to an existing list: the Nuttalls.

Back in the day, the Nuttalls were the standard for 2,000-foot hills in England and Wales. But the Nuttalls have a prominence requirement of only 15 metres (about 50 feet). If you’ve ever walked a long ridge, you know that 15 metres isn't much. It’s a bit of a dip, a slight pause in your stride, and then you’re up again. For a lot of people, that didn't feel like a "real" mountain.

In 1997, Alan Dawson decided to tighten the screws. He published The Relative Hills of Britain and introduced the 30-metre rule. The name itself—Hills in England, Wales and Ireland over Two Thousand feet—is a bit of a mouthful, but the logic is sound. By doubling the required "drop," Dawson ensured that every summit on the list felt distinct. If you descend 30 metres (98.4 ft) and have to climb back up, you’ve put in a shift. You’ve left one mountain and started another. It’s a mathematical line in the sand that removes the argument of "it looks like a peak to me."

The 30-Metre War

Because the Hewitt list is so reliant on that 30-metre drop, it is incredibly sensitive to new data. We’ve seen high-profile "demotions" where a hill that everyone thought was a Hewitt was suddenly stripped of its status because a modern survey found the drop was actually 29.8 metres.

It sounds trivial, but for the person who has spent a decade working through the list, that 20cm difference is everything. A hill might be well over 2,000 feet, but if it lacks that prominence, it’s cast out into the "Sub-Hewitt" category. It’s a harsh system, but that’s why people respect it. It isn't subjective.

The Physical Reality: It’s Often Very Wet

Walking the Hewitts isn't like walking the Wainwrights in the Lake District. The Wainwrights are about beauty and form; the Hewitts are about location and logic. Because the list includes the North Pennines, the Cheviots, and Mid-Wales, you end up in places that are remarkably empty.

In the Pennines, a Hewitt is often a vast, featureless plateau. You aren't dealing with Alpine ridges; you're dealing with peat hags. If you haven't experienced "hags-hopping," it’s hard to describe. Imagine a maze of black, eroded channels, some waist-deep in cold slime, that you have to navigate across a summit that has no clear path. It’s exhausting, it’s messy, and it’s exactly why this list has a specific "obsession" attached to it. You aren't there for the photo; you're there to prove you can get across the ground.

In Ireland, the character shifts again. The Hewitts in the MacGillycuddy's Reeks or the Twelve Bens are steep, rugged, and often feel much higher than their elevation suggests because they start so close to sea level. The 30-metre rule feels almost irrelevant there because the drops are usually hundreds of metres.

The Names Mean Something

If you spend enough time looking at the names on the list, you start to see the history of the people who were there long before we were. They weren't "hill-walkers"; they were farmers, hunters, and survivors, and their names for these places are purely functional.

Welsh (Cymraeg): You’ll see Pen y Fan (886 m / 2,907 ft) all over the place. Pen is head or top, and Fan is a mutation of Ban, meaning peak. It’s the "Head of the Peak." It’s a literal description.
Old Norse: In the North of England, the Vikings left their mark. Cross Fell (893 m / 2,930 ft) uses fjall, which became fell. If a hill is called a "fell," someone with a Norse accent probably named it.
Gaelic: In Ireland, the names are incredibly descriptive of the terrain. Carrauntoohil (Corrán Tuathail) is often translated as "Tuathal’s sickle." When you look at the curve of the ridges there, you see exactly why.

The Problem with Success

One thing you’ll notice on the more popular Hewitts is "path braiding." This is a real issue for conservation. When a path gets muddy (and on these hills, it always does), people naturally walk along the edges to keep their boots dry. This kills the vegetation, the ground erodes, and the path gets wider and wider until you have a massive brown scar on the hillside.

The honest advice for anyone starting this list? Walk through the mud. It’s what the hills are made of, and it’s the only way to stop the paths from expanding.

Where to Start?

If you want to see if the Hewitts are for you, don't head straight for the most technical ridges. Try these first to get a feel for the terrain:

The Calf, Howgill Fells (England): At 676 m (2,218 ft), this is a perfect introduction. The Howgills look like "sleeping elephants"—smooth, grassy, and very steep-sided. There are no rocky scrambles here, just big, open sky and a lot of climbing.
Pen y Fan, Brecon Beacons (Wales): At 886 m (2,907 ft), it’s the highest in the south. It’s busy, but for a reason. The prominence between Pen y Fan and its neighbour Corn Du is a textbook example of why the 30-metre rule matters.
Galtymore, Galty Mountains (Ireland): 919 m (3,015 ft). This is a big, impressive hill that feels like a real mountain but has a very clear route. It gives you a sense of the scale of the Irish Hewitts without needing technical climbing skills.

A Word of Warning

Because the Hewitts are defined by height and prominence, they include some spots that are genuinely dangerous if the weather turns or if you aren't prepared for the exposure.

Crib Goch (Wales): 923 m (3,028 ft). This is a Hewitt, but it’s also a knife-edge scramble. It’s not for the faint-hearted. In high winds, it’s a place you simply shouldn't be.
The MacGillycuddy's Reeks (Ireland): This range holds the highest Hewitts in Ireland. The weather comes straight off the Atlantic, and it is brutal. "Sudden" doesn't begin to describe how fast a clear day can turn into a dangerous whiteout.
Cross Fell (England): 893 m (2,930 ft). This isn't technical, but it’s home to the "Helm Wind." It’s the only named wind in the UK, and it can literally knock you off your feet. The plateau is so huge that if you lose your bearings in the mist, you are in serious trouble.
The Hewitts are a strange obsession, but they take you to the corners of these islands that most people never see. It’s about more than just the summit; it’s about the 30 metres of effort it takes to get there.

View The Hewitt Database

Essential Resources

If you’re getting serious about this, look for the literature and communities that understand the specific culture of British and Irish upland walking.

The Relative Hills of Britain (Alan Dawson): This is the foundational text for the Hewitt list and explains the philosophy behind the 30-metre rule.
The Hillwalking Clubs of the LDWA (Long Distance Walkers Association): This community is where the history of list completion is recorded. They understand the "why" of the list better than most.
The John Muir Trust: While they focus on land management, their work on path restoration (like on Helvellyn) is vital for understanding why we should walk through the mud.
Local Mountain Rescue Regional Safety Guides: Not just for emergencies—their seasonal advice on regional weather patterns (like the Helm Wind on Cross Fell) is invaluable.

Hills Featured in this Guide

Every peak mentioned here is a confirmed Hewitt. If it’s not on the list, it didn't make the cut.

Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon): 1,085 m (3,560 ft)
Carrauntoohil: 1,038 m (3,406 ft)
Scafell Pike: 978 m (3,209 ft)
Crib Goch: 923 m (3,028 ft)
Galtymore: 919 m (3,015 ft)
Cross Fell: 893 m (2,930 ft)
Pen y Fan: 886 m (2,907 ft)
The Calf: 676 m (2,218 ft)
Birks Fell: 610 m (2,001 ft)