Rose Sutcliffe It is midwinter. The fields are looking bare, the trees are silhouetted against cool grey winter skies, and in the North York Moors the country is as bleak and windswept as ever. Among the many creatures surviving the winter up on the heather are the familiar sheep. In our part of the world they tend to be Swaledale or Scottish blackface, hardy and genetically evolved to live up on the moor year round, surviving off heather, bilberry, moss and lichen, eating a lean but mineral-rich diet.
The sheep belong to farmers, commoners and landowners, and they are hefted to different areas, with some flocks covering up to 5,000 acres. There are no fences or paddocks, just old drystone walls marking boundaries and intakes. The sheep are hefted; this…
