I had 30 minutes spare and my trainers in the boot so I
pulled in to a layby near Hardknott fort. Jogging out over the freshly wet
ground I tried to pick out rocks to run on as they had already dried in the late
summer air. Ten minutes ago I’d driven over Wrynose pass through torrential
rain which only eased as I approached the bulk of Harknott.
I climbed quickly above the fort and tried to follow a line
that would take me around some immediate crags to what I hoped might be the
summit of Hardnkott. A small amount of scrambling and some careful route
choices got me to a grassy path above the crags, and I could open up my stride
once more. I jogged along glancing over towards the dark Scafell massif, which
was engulfed in trouble-brown cloud.
I reached a natural prominence in the ground and stopped. The
absence of wind screamed silence. I became aware of my heart pounding as I took in the panorama. My eyes rested on the Scafells again, then
out into the Irish sea where a golden light was hinting of a sunset far too
early in the day. Rain was visible in bands across the water, shaped into curves
by wind. I looked the other way towards Harter and the Coniston fells who were
also engaged in battle, the scene was still but suggestive of movement in the
way an artist might draw drama. Everywhere I looked I could see
storms. Every view fizzed with theatre, yet it was so silent and peaceful here
in this moment. I stood for a good ten minutes, rotating, and looking deeply
into each scene. I didn’t have a camera, or phone and I cant ever remember
connecting so deeply with a mountains scene.
Perhaps we are not alone if we have a camera, sharing the
experience with a lens, and all the future interactions we might have with that
image. It roots the memory in a snapshot, focussed in on only one of the
senses. The act of taking the picture also removes you from the experience,
engaging with something else, frustrated by the limitations. Not being in the
moment.
I am writing this on Christmas eve, four months since I had
the experience. I can remember the view perfectly. What is more, I can recall
the clothes I was wearing, the colour of the rock I was standing on, the sensation
of my heart pounding in my chest and the build up of emotion in my throat. I can
remember the silence and the scratching of my shoe on rock as I slowly turned
around. I remember disturbing a falcon on the descent and watching it fly away,
back towards the safety of the crags. I remember the smell of wet tarmac in
summer heat as I reached the road again.
I’m not sure I’d even think about this experience again if I
had taken a photo, after all, I’d have no need to, it’d be stored in the memory
on my phone. In years I might look at it and try to recall the fell it was
taken from. When I did remember I’d be pleased and maybe think we should go a
walk there sometime. I doubt I’d recall the emotions I’m recalling today though,
and perhaps I wouldn’t have even experienced them in the first place.
Sorry for the lack of photos on this post ;-)
