Memory

A powerful memory is found in a walk down a regular pathway, or return visit to a long forgotten haunt. Here are the triggers that provide the flashes of past times and other places that have had an impact. It can be the very smallest part of any place that may be the catalysis, leaving you, initially, transfixed, bewildered, happy, sad, stretching out, returning to that past place and time.

The memory may now be redefined by all the knocks and scratches of life's often unplanned journey and maybe the memory is a way to gain a view looking forward. Towards yourself.

The sudden impact when returning to an old area, part of a walk, journey, smell, curve in the land can invoke the most powerful of feelings. The memories then come dropping slow, providing a moment to reflect and have some peace there.

In a recent experience the power of place and its impact on memory, was had on a very windy and wet day around Latterbarrow and Claife Heights.

Latterbarrow is a very humble fell, found in the far south east of the Lake District, with steep ground rising from the western shores of Windermere. The bulk of latterbarrow is connected to an extensive forested area that sits on the rocky protuberance of Claife Heights. It is where people come to exercise their dogs, have short walks with loved ones or be a worthy target for extended expeditions around the shores of Windermere. However, this is the lake district in its most gentle and benign demeanour. Here are gentle, bracken covered slopes, ringed by the green fields of local farms and the subtle white flecked daub of scattered stone cottages.

However, Latterbarrow, due to its open slopes and as a northern outpost of a small collection of Fells (within its eastern geography) provides a surprisingly intimate view across some of the districts higher fells. From this vantage point, Latterbarrow makes you feel very much part of the mountains you survey. They appear reachable, if only you stretched out your hand. One long step and you could cross the lake and be on the great ridge of Fairfield, or Kentmere.

I have walked these gentle Fells many time before. It seems it is always on wet, wintery days, but perhaps that is not a coincidence, but a factor created by the weather. The bad conditions directing me, subtly and subliminally, towards the slopes and woods surrounding Latterbarrow. The weather knows best, I would be much happier and more comfortable down here, in the embrace of forestry, carefully managed ponds and rolling, rocky knolls. Much better here than up there, in the ferocious wind and rain battered tops. Much better to appreciate the subtle and less obvious, where it is not in you face, but where beauty is in the simplest of things, and you have time and place to hear it at its hearts core.

On one such excursion I reached the top of Latterbarrow, having started my gentle wander from a little hamlet tucked into the north west rib of the fell. The day was typically wild, with heavy showers and strong winds that made, making conscious, determined, horizontal walking a challenge. I knew the top well, but having not been here for at least a year I felt some excitement. I know it sounds trite to consider the hills as friends. I know the sentimentality and over romanticising of inanimate objects and place is no less than me anthromorphologising, and extending myself into the environment. But is this not part of the process where place and memory become one?

Reaching the summit and it's modest tower felt good, very good in fact. Though I had to get behind the tower quickly to avoid the strengthened wind. Even at this modest height the wind had gained considerable strength. To stand upright I had to adopt a very deliberate stance where I planted my feet wide, weight balanced and shoulders tensed and leaning into the wind. A very exaggerated posture for such a low top.

From the summit I had extensive views across Ambleside and up through to the U-shaped Scandale Valley Fairfield. Here I look into the very heart of this classic mountain group. Then as I pan east there is the distinct northern ridge of Kentmere, with it's recognisable pyramidal shaped fell tops. Then, back west, there is the long view over Lingmoor to the Langdale Pikes. These great, rocky mountains can be seen from almost all corners of the district, but their classic view is revealed from Latterbarrow. From here the steep, craggy faces of Harrison Stickle and Pavey Ark are prominent. Lastly, and in an extremely intimate manner, is the close up view of the Coniston Fells. From Latterbarrows gentle summit the trampings of the past can be traced directly in the eye, but brought into sharp focus by the minds eye, as each step reminds you of past trips, the company, even the conversations, the weather, the battles against weather, and the joys of just being there.

Feeling a little wind battered it was time to move from the exposed top of Latterbarrow and join the main forest, by crossing a rickety stile. Everything now changed, from an open wild and windy place to a thick, tree covered enclave, quiet and wind protected forest. Perhaps it was this sudden change that was the key, but then it happened!

I knew I had been here before, of course. I could remember, with some clarity, my last walk through here. However, this time was different. It was if I had been hit, as I stopped instantly in my tracks. I was suddenly, it seemed, transferred to another time. that inhabited this place and not any time but specific. I could remember who I was with, I could recollect the circumstances, almost the conversation of that 'other time'. I was actually feeling the same emotions as I did on that very occasion; this place had stimulated my memory completely. The feeling was powerful, everything was in colour, distinct, sharp and I almost called out the names of my invisible companions. It was if a doorway of the past had been opened and I had temporarily walked across the fresh hold.

As if an invocation had been cast I could suddenly remember and feel, to such a high intensity, the time, the circumstances and feelings of a time spent in this place. This sudden, almost epiphanic moment, however came with very mixed emotions. In a moment I felt gladdened to be experiencing such a profound experience, with the creeping realisation that the moment was becoming more significant the more i came to understand the moment: forming in high definition. The winding path through the now obvious trees seemed to emerge in greater clarity. Each sense was engaged, remembering something but also detecting something from the time of the original occasion. I was walking through a film of my past, where all details were perfectly accurate, but with the slightest of time lags for my brain and senses to catch up.

These emotions are, at the same time, also feeling the approaching pang of sadness as the the moment was quickly fading from my consciousness; as quickly and as powerful as it arrived. However, this time the feeling of loss was like losing a friend. I was grasping onto the time and the feelings that moment had stimulated. I looked harder into the shade of the trees, focused upon the moss covered rocks, listened intently to the wind in the canopy, watched the swaying movement of each trunk and branch, searching for more. Trying to extend the moment of recollection, but I had to let it go, it had almost let me go anyway.

Though I felt sad to lose this experience, I also knew (although the memory was now gone) it recalled a wonderful time in the company of loved ones. I knew I had been privileged to re-live this moment, i could well have gone back in time, it certainly felt i was there again.

It was place that had stimulated this memory, with the smells, colours and sounds of this the experience adding strength and profound impact.