The Exhibition (2)

                           Of maps and Munro's Tables

Nowadays we take maps for granted but the mapping of the Highlands and islands of Scotland wasn't completed by the Ordnance Survey until 1855. Roads were poor and the railways connecting Inverness and Fort William to the south still to be constructed.

In 1889 the Scottish Mountaineering Club was formed, mainly to promote the cause of Alpinism. The members were inevitably drawn from the landed and professional class, men who had the wealth and leisure to pursue such an unusual activity. The Scottish Hills were not much thought of, seen mostly as training for the Alps. The general consensus was that there was only between thirty and forty tops over 3000 feet.

To dispel their ignorance and settle the question once and for all, one of their first and keenest members was asked to look into the matter. Sir Hugh Munro, an estate owner from Kirriemuir, published his findings in the Scottish Mountaineering Club Journal of 1891. His tables must have come as a surprise, for he listed 538 tops over 3000 feet and 283 considered as separate mountains. This gave a huge boost to the exploration of the Scottish hills as enthusiasts pushed into the remote areas attracted by the tops listed in Munro's Tables.

Sadly, many of these areas had been depopulated. Even the sheep runs that had replaced the people had gone and the mountainous areas transformed into large sporting estates, some of which jealously guarded their privacy.

Munro managed all but two of these tops, but others went on to complete the full round. In recent times, with improved communications and almost universal car ownership, most communities have a few people who have completed the Munros. After that, if they still have the energy, they can tackle the lower Corbetts and Donalds. These hills are also listed in Munros Tables.




Munro's Tables
Oil on canvas bonded to board.

Of course, all this scurrying around the country climbing hills was impossible without maps. I have come to believe there are two types of people in the world, those who love maps and the rest, who are indifferent to them. This second group seems to live in a cloud of environmental vagueness, verging on the permanently lost. Maps are knowledge and as the old saying has it, knowledge can be power.

I'm sure there are still people in remote areas who resent having their photographs taken. They believe that someone making an image of them is stealing their vital powers, soul or spirit. Maps are much the same. Mapping a country is an essential precursor to invasion and many maps are state secrets. Having a collection of maps of mountain areas stuffed in a drawer gives us a sense of ownership. We can follow the watercourses, work out routes and poke our fingers in the most inaccessible recesses without stirring from our home. They are an aid to action, things of beauty and a perfect blend of science and art. However, I sometimes wish that Scotland still had some unmapped land.



Walkers discover a disturbing anomaly in their map
Oil on canvas, 61cms x 81 cms 

 Sometimes, Chance takes part in the production of a painting. One day, on my daily walk along the beach I came upon a worn, white board, washed up on the tideline. It was plywood coated with Formica but badly worn with a hole right through it. I reckoned it must have been the table off a creel boat, worn by the creels. What attracted me to it was that each layer of plywood looked like the contours of a map. I walked on, but decided if it was still there the next day I would take it home.

It lay in the studio for some months while I thought about it. Eventually I patched the hole and started to use the plywood contours as a start of a painting. Of course, it had to be a map.

The Living Mountain
Oil on driftwood panel, 160 x 60 cms

 

I peopled it with a host of hill walkers such as you find nowadays on a good weekend. The colouring was based on the old Bartholomew's maps which I found very attractive. The mountain is called Ben Dinnaeken. A friend actually asked me where Ben Dinnaeken was, so I told him I didnae ken.

 

 The title, The Living Mountain, is a book by Nan Shepherd which has recently become very popular. The book is unusual and well worth reading, especially by anyone who loves the Cairngorms. There are some beautiful description but it leaves me feeling slightly uneasy.The essays are an attempt to distill the "essence" of the hills, which seems to me an impossible task. As a poet, author and teacher she was obviously aware of contemporary trends and her writing seems a bit self consciously literary. This, of course is my personal view and I would encourage anyone who is interested in the Scottish hills to read it for themselves.