In Edinburgh’s National Library, an exhibition on map-making and the Bartholomew dynasty has been showing. This was a superb display of techniques and products from six generations of the Scottish cartographic family whose work has, in many ways, helped to define how we interpret the landscape. I’m using this post to explore the legacy of maps and how their information hinders or promotes exploration. Some unpacking of the concertina-folds of the past is assured, but the topic is increasingly relevant on scrolling into the future.
Bartholomew’s had a seven-year engraving apprenticeship, a nine-step printing process and innumerable connections with cycle touring clubs that voluntarily sent in updates to roads and buildings. The company modelled every continent, diversified into motoring in the thirties and influenced the Royal Scottish Geographical Society. It co-existed with rivals Automobile Association and the Ordnance Survey (OS), which offered different products. But in its 200 years, the biggest changes the family business occurred in the past twenty. The internet, big data and the mobile phone have shifted everything.
I worked as a guidebook writer, many years ago. The 300-odd draft maps of my output benefitted from the most appropriate techniques of the time: personal research; careful marking up of ex-copyright 1948 OS sheets; and the skills of an award-winning cartographer. If we started the project now, our methods might be different. The old methods look very quaint.
Technology is changing every aspect of our lives, very fast. I want to talk about this in terms of our relationship with the outdoors. Three questions came to mind as I toured the library display and admired Bartholomew’s conceptions, like the reduced OS map to Scotland and the Times Comprehensive Atlas of the World. First, could we become less curious since ‘everything’ seems known? Second, would we become more risk-averse because formerly unperceived dangers are instantly advertised? Third, will we get out less because so much fun can be generate from looking at places on our screens?
We should look back to answer our changing inquisitiveness. Representation of topographical features predates writing. In 2000, the BBC reported on the Ice Age star map, dated to 16 thousand years BCE. Other cave art and tablets age map-making a further eight millennia. To understand the significance, we can deconstruct the process: tools or memory commit a view to another surface; artistic refinement renders output to suit purpose (think of Harry Beck’s London tube map); finally, the product helps plan journeys, boundaries and interactions. Those are all advanced skills and our ancestors kept exploring, learning to navigate by the stars, by chronometry, by magnetic needle. And we haven’t really changed. Visiting the United States or Indonesia will still be popular, even though every square metre is rendered in technicolour on our laptops.
This leads to my second question on responding to risk. The decision to act one way or another (or to postpone decision) on any perceived danger seems aligned with attitude, not with knowledge. My own take on the concept is that the term is entirely neutral, neither good or bad. Some academics propose a relationship to the Arabic word rizq, representing bread, sustenance, wealth and opportunity, all God-given, to ideally be used positively. In the past, the world was replete with more unknowns than now, such that you could die instantly on stepping out of the yurt/cave/crannog. We should be far more go-getting than before. The fear of failure, opinion or brand damage stops us from acting. Ultimately, we must do, rather than simply think. Carol Dweck, author of Mindset, has relevant material on this subject. She talks about ‘closed’ and ‘growth’ viewpoints and on how to move from one to the other to enable success.
My final question: will we get out less because of the fun derived from looking at locations remotely? The richness of today’s electronic media experience (and that yet to come) may be a threat to our wellbeing. I consciously leave my smartphone in the house when adventure-bound (and take a cheap phone for emergency use). The human need for contact and information, all contained in a palm-sized device that blends functionality and aesthetics is more temporarily fulfilling than the combination of fresh air, real experiences and the chance to create memories to last a lifetime. At some point, we must switch off the inputs, zip up our bags and find the exit.
I was disappointed to see that the billboard advertising for this year’s Outdoor Pursuits Show featured a young climber on an artificial wall. The activity portrayed was indoors gymnastics on resin holds. Yes, this builds strength and mobility quicker than bushwhacking to the base of damp crags, and is a highly popular activity. But this is not ‘outdoors’, where you can get thoroughly soaked and learn to shrug off the unpleasantness, or attempt to take the path less travelled, or make decisions with the light dwindling and have to touch the trees and rocks to find your way back.
As the exhibition closes, I learn of a new set of maps published by Scottish Natural Heritage, depicting key wilderness areas across the country. The aims are to protect wild land and to help guide those interested in visiting and studying some unique environments. These maps do not say that you will get lost, tired or hungry because the locations are miles from civilisation. The ink passes no judgement on your ability to cope. The contours meander without prejudice. Maps only describe what is known about the landscape. Whether you go out and explore, wander at a different stride or try to find peace is up to you. That should at least be a step in the right direction.
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