Landscape and value in the work of alfred wainwright (1907 – 1991)

Clare Palmer; Emily Brady

An Anthropology of Landscape tells the fascinating story of a heathland landscape in south-west England and the way different individuals and groups engage with it. Based on a long-term anthropological study, the book emphasises four individual themes: embodied identities, the landscape as a sensuous material form that is acted upon and in turn acts on people, the landscape as contested, and its relation to emotion. The landscape is discussed in relation to these themes as both ‘taskscape’ and ‘leisurescape’, and from the perspective of different user groups. First, those who manage the landscape and use it for work: conservationists, environmentalists, archaeologists, the Royal Marines, and quarrying interests. Second, those who use it in their leisure time: cyclists and horse riders, model aircraft flyers, walkers, people who fish there, and artists who are inspired by it. The book makes an innovative contribution to landscape studies and will appeal to all those interested in nat...

One of the greatest scholarly achievements over the last sixty years has been to convey to policy-makers and the general public the idea that the historic environment is important and worthy of safeguard and appreciation. Beyond the academy, the result has been a raft of legislation specifically designed to ensure the preservation of elements of past landscapes, be they hedgerows or trees, farm buildings or settlement plans. Across the European Union, local and regional variation, often ultimately characterized by visible vernacular traditions, are now actively celebrated and protected. Heritage is seen as central to the perpetuation of local identities, a vital income stream through the promotion of tourism, and, crucially (as the premise for this conference demonstrates) an essential element in the forging of sustainable futures. This paper sets out to explore the validity of these commonplace assumptions. Using the English landscape as a case-study, the paper addresses the uncomfortable proposition that growing awareness of the historical component of the English landscape and appreciation of its intrinsic cultural value may actually threaten the future of the countryside. It sets out to show that for the first time in history, the capacity for rural communities to adapt to immediate conditions—historically the single factor that has done more to ensure the resilience and sustainability of rural society and its economy over the long term—is now denied, at the very moment when change is most needed to respond to the challenges of climate change, post-peak oil agriculture, rising populations, and energy generation. It will show that current legislative procedures are based on outmoded and false premises. Essentially, the wrong kind of heritage is being preserved. It will conclude positively by showing how more nuanced readings of landscape history offer new templates for future planning and radical alternatives for a sustainable countryside.

This paper reflects on an art project developed by the author which was commissioned for the exhibition STILL LIFE/ecologies of perception in 2013 by Trust New Art . The artists brief was relatively open but demanded some kind of response to Leigh Woods where the work would be located. The Woods themselves are a National Trust nature reserve situated within walking distance of Bristol, but separated from the city by the imposing cliffs of the Avon Gorge. The resultant work ‘Autumn’ (2013) existed in two related forms - as object and as action. The object took the form of a tailored country-style suit printed with a camouflage pattern based on W. J. Mullers painting ‘Autumn’ (1833). As action it manifested itself as a series of walks beginning in Leigh Woods where Muller’s work was painted, stretching to Bristol Museum in the city centre, where the original painting now hangs. During the exhibition period the artist regularly walked this route across urban/rural thresholds wearing the camouflage suit. The whole project echoes something Tim Morton talks about in ‘Ecology Without Nature’ when he imagines an aesthetic practice that could link urban and rural perspectives. He stated that: “Romantic ecology seeks a place away from the enervating, phantasmagoric illusions of city life, as well as the industry, dirt, and noise. Might one do something perverse and combine the fantasy thing of Romantic ecology – the resonant idea of place – with the thinking generated by critical consumerism and its ultimate paragon, the urban stroller, the De Quincy, the Baudelaire? It should not be impossible in principle, since nature is already the quintessence of kitsch. But it appears so. It is as if there is a critical discourse of the country, and a critical discourse of the city, to match the other ways in which the country and the city have been kept apart in poetics and ideology”. (p. 169 Morton) This project then, asks whether a ‘sublime’ or ‘romantic’ experience necessarily precludes new ways of relating and responding to landscape.

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Term s & Condit ions of access and use can be found at ht t p: / / www.t andfonline.com / page/ t erm sand- condit ions Landscape Research, Vol. 32, No. 4, 397 – 421, August 2007 Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright (1907 – 1991) CLARE PALMER* & EMILY BRADY{ *Philosophy and Environmental Studies, Washington University, St Louis, MO, USA {Institute of Geography, University of Edinburgh, UK ABSTRACT Alfred Wainwright was arguably the best known British guidebook writer of the 20th century, and his work has been highly inﬂuential in promoting and directing fell-walking in northern Britain, in particular in the English Lake District. His work has, however, received little critical attention. This paper represents an initial attempt to undertake such a study. We examine Wainwright’s work through the lens of the landscape values and aesthetics that, we suggest, underpins it, and by an exploration of what might be called Wainwright’s ‘environmental identity’. We argue that Wainwright manifests a strikingly contemporary embodied landscape aesthetic and a strongly place-attached environmental identity. We consider some possible implications of this landscape aesthetic and place attached identity, including their relation to broader environmental commitments and the possibility that the endorsement of such values may have exclusionary consequences for members of ‘outsider’ groups. KEY WORDS: Wainwright, landscape values, aesthetics, fell-walking, environmental value, environmental identity, Lake District Introduction: Placing Wainwright in the Lakes Alfred Wainwright was arguably the best known British guidebook writer of the 20th century. His seven-volume set of pen-and-ink Pictorial Guides to the English Lake District written for walkers in the 1950s and 1960s had sold a million copies by 1985, and are still selling in thousands.1 He also published a number of other walking guides, a series of sketchbooks, a number of photographically lavish, typed books on parts of northern England and Scotland;2 and semi-autobiographical Fellwanderer books. In all, he completed more than 60 books, as well as featuring in a BBC walking series in the 1980s. The Wainwright guides are almost invariably described as ‘classics’; and he himself has been called ‘‘the patron saint of walking in the Lakes’’ (Davies, 1995). His work is widely thought to have been instrumental in opening up the English Lakes to greater numbers of walkers covering a much wider area of the fells (though this would be impossible to measure with any accuracy).3 Undoubtedly, Wainwright’s Correspondence Address: Professor Clare Palmer, Associate Professor, Philosophy and Environmental Studies, Washington University in St Louis, Campus Box 1073, One Brookings Drive, St Louis, MO 63130, USA. Email: cpalmer@artsci.wustl.edu ISSN 0142-6397 Print/1469-9710 Online/07/040397-25 Ó 2007 Landscape Research Group Ltd DOI: 10.1080/01426390701449778 Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 398 C. Palmer & E. Brady recommendations of some routes over others, his excited advocacy of particular hidden paths and previously unvisited prospects, will have led to the marking on the ground of new and favoured approaches to, and ways across, the valleys and peaks of Lakeland and other northern fells (Figure 1). In particular, this must be the case for the now well-established Coast to Coast Walk that Wainwright himself created. Although there has been some discussion of Wainwright’s work in terms of its eﬀects on visitor numbers and walking patterns in the British uplands, there has been very little consideration of its content, beyond brief summaries of its ‘‘relentless accuracy, great wit and beautiful descriptive passages’’ (M. Wainwright, 2003). This is presumably due to Wainwright’s status as a ‘popular’ tourist-book writer, and the thought that his work is thus not suﬃciently substantial for further scrutiny. But, as we hope to show in this paper, Wainwright’s work is much more complex than this might suggest. His walking guides were not undertaken as a way of making a living; he already had a full-time job as an accountant, and gave most of the money he made from his walking guides to charity. Instead, he tells us that he created the Guides not initially for publication, but as a way of paying homage to a place of which he was passionately fond, and to which he accorded supreme value. This Figure 1. The Lake District. Source: Map by Ray Harris, University of Edinburgh. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 399 attachment to, and valuation of, the upland landscape—in particular, the landscape of the English Lake District—both underpins and permeates his work. Wainwright’s work, we will argue, does not solely present a guide to the feet of those walking in (or those imagining that they are walking in) the Lakes. Rather, his work embraces and advocates a set of landscape values that are intended to guide the minds of those who read it. In attempting to do this, of course, Wainwright is following a long tradition. Wordsworth’s Guide to the Lakes, for instance, explicitly oﬀers a guide to the mind of readers. Of course, it cannot be known whether, or how, Wainwright’s passionately held views actually have inﬂuenced those who read, and use, his books. This paper does not investigate that empirical question, though the huge popularity of his books suggests that it is at least likely that his views have played some part in shaping popular landscape aesthetic value in the English Lakes. To build an account of Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic, we outline the landscape qualities he particularly valued and show how they resonate with some traditional aesthetic categories, primarily the sublime, the picturesque and the ugly. We then argue that Wainwright’s aesthetic passes beyond these categories of value to construct a distinctive ‘upland aesthetic’, in which certain upland features, particularly those of the English Lakes, deﬁne what is most valuable in landscape qualities. This aesthetic, based as it is in fell-walking, foregrounds the body and ways that valuing landscapes may be deeply rooted in practice. Although Wainwright was passionately attached to the visual qualities of the landscape, we’ll maintain that he saw it through the eyes of one moving through it in particular bodily ways. The interaction of landscape and body both shaped what he thought to be valuable in the landscape, and how he thought the body should move through the landscape. Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic thus emerges as strikingly contemporary, manifesting the values of embodiment and environmental immersion found in recent turns both in cultural geography (Edensor, 2001; Wylie, 2003) and in environmental aesthetics (Berleant, 1992; Brady, 2003). We argue that bound into Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic was a sense of what was, to use Cresswell’s (1996) terms ‘in place’ and ‘out of place’, both in terms of landscape and in terms of human practices in the English Lake District. Drawing on the work of Clayton and Opotow (2003) we move on to suggest that Wainwright’s work manifests a particular kind of place-attached ‘environmental identity’. We conclude by considering some potentially problematic implications of an environmental identity incorporating the kinds of landscape values manifested in Wainwright’s work, in particular with regard to arguments about exclusionary values and practices in the English countryside (as outlined in the work of, for instance, Agyeman & Spooner, 1997, and Darby, 2000). Foundations: Wainwright’s Passion for the English Lakes Wainwright loved the English Lakes with an intense, profound and unﬂagging devotion. On a number of occasions, he described his books about the Lakes as love letters. ‘‘Like a lover who can only keep on saying the same three words because there are no others that say more, I have found the pen in my hands no instrument for describing the captivating charm of Lakeland’’ (1966a, no page). On his ﬁrst visit to the Lakes—from Blackburn where he grew up—at the age of 23 in 1932, Wainwright was overcome by what he saw. Standing on Orrest Head and looking Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 400 C. Palmer & E. Brady over Windermere to the fells beyond, it was ‘‘as if a curtain had dramatically been torn aside’’; creating ‘‘a moment of magic, a revelation so unexpected that I stood transﬁxed’’ (1993, p. 23). In comparison with the landscape art Wainwright had seen hanging on the town hall wall in Blackburn, the urban town where he was born: ‘‘Here was no painted canvas; this was real. This was truth. God was in his heaven that day, and I a humble worshipper’’ (1993, p. 23). These few sentences tell us a good deal about Wainwright and the Lakes. His attitude can be described in the language of religious revelation; it is experiential; it is intensely emotional; it is felt. Indeed, Wainwright went so far as to say ‘‘Lakeland is an emotion’’. Wainwright was certainly fond of, wrote about, and sketched other upland locations: the Pennines, the Yorkshire Dales and most particularly the Highlands of Scotland. But he tells us, he never switched his aﬀections from the Lakes; Lakeland was perfect and could not be improved on; it was a ‘‘scene of perfection, of ﬂawless beauty’’ (1993, p. 37), the landscape against which he measured all other landscapes. The Lakes became the most valuable thing in his life; the portrayal of its signiﬁcance and desirability, his life’s work (Figure 2). This portrayal—primarily of Lakeland but also of other British upland areas—allows us to understand something, at least, of the ways in which Wainwright interpreted the landscape: not only how he saw it, but also how he otherwise sensed it, and moved through it, generating a particular kind of landscape aesthetic. We can see in his work what landscape qualities, and combination of qualities, Wainwright found so valuable and desirable. Sublime and Picturesque Although Wainwright uses the term ‘beauty’ extensively to describe the particular landscapes and views that he values highly, the landscape qualities he consistently picks out as having the most value are those typically associated with the sublime Figure 2. Alfred Wainwright. Source: Photograph reproduced by kind permission of the Kendal Museum. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 401 and the picturesque. Throughout his writings, his landscape aesthetic is dominated by aﬀection for qualities of magnitude, roughness, rockiness, cragginess, and more generally features that create variety, interest, contrast and surprise. While there may be some overlap in qualities of variety, interest and pleasing colours between the picturesque and the beautiful, Wainwright favours the rough, rugged and irregular to smoothness and regularity, thus indicating his attraction to picturesque qualities rather than those of pastoral beauty (as outlined in Burke, 1958; Price, 1842).4 He does not, though, generally favour the picturesque over the sublime, or vice versa, but rather emphasizes both, combining the two categories of aesthetic value to form an important part of his upland aesthetic. Of course, his interest in both qualities is not surprising given their historical and cultural signiﬁcance in interpreting Lakeland: Wainwright’s attachments to these categories ﬁts, broadly at least, with existing tradition. As we’ll argue, though, the embodied aesthetic we ﬁnd in his work develops these values in new directions. Height, Roughness and Rockiness Even in constituting what he understood by Lakeland, Wainwright adopted aesthetic criteria. In composing his books, Wainwright maintained, the existing boundary of Lakeland National Park was of no help because ‘‘the book [Wainwright’s book, that is] is concerned only with the high ground’’ (1955, Introduction, p. 3).5 As his discussion of crossing from Swaledale to the Cleveland hills on the Coast to Coast Walk illustrated, cultivated rurality without height was uninteresting; charming though rural tranquility can be, it needed to be got over quickly to get to the heights (1973, p. 110). In this disparagement of the merely rural, Wainwright followed the Romantic tradition. Wordsworth, for instance, claims in his ﬁrst letter on the Kendal and Windermere railway that appreciation of the ‘‘ordinary varieties of rural nature’’ was available to all men; but that a more reﬁned, developed taste was required to appreciate rocks and mountains (2004, p. 138). Indeed, Wainwright’s real concern his ‘‘special delight, pet obsession’’ was the ‘‘rough fell country above the limits of cultivation’’ (1966b, p. 1; 1993, p. 58). ‘Lacking cultivation’ certainly meant without crops (including plantation forestry); but not without animal husbandry. Sheep formed an integral part of the Lakes in Wainwright’s account; their presence, the land they grazed and the paths that they made were fundamental to creating the landscape to which he was so attached, in particular in providing the contrasting features of landscape that he valued. ‘Roughness’, likewise, was particularly important to Wainwright. He insisted that roughness deﬁned a true mountain, and was the criterion for distinguishing mountains from hills. ‘‘The diﬀerence between a hill and a mountain depends on appearance, not on altitude, (whatever learned authorities may say to the contrary) . . . Grass predominates on a hill, rock on a mountain. A hill is smooth, a mountain rough. Roughness and ruggedness are the necessary attributes’’ (1960, Scafell Pike, p. 5). Roughness and ruggedness are, certainly, consistent with the picturesque (Price, 1842), but Wainwright’s interest in rockiness also leads him towards the sublime. The combination of rockiness with height, or rockiness with dramatic elements especially attracted him; this contrasts with the softer aesthetic of the picturesque. Gilpin, for instance, comments in his second essay on picturesque Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 402 C. Palmer & E. Brady beauty that ‘‘the spiry pinnacles of the mountain, and the castle-like arrangement of the rock, give no peculiar pleasure to the picturesque eye’’ (Gilpin, 1794). Wordsworth, in the Romantic tradition, would appear to agree with Gilpin in his objection to the spikes, needles and jagged outlines of the Alps (Wordsworth, 2004). Wainwright’s view clearly contrasts with these. Further, although Wainwright frequently refers to favourable vistas, views and scenery, as we’ll suggest, his aesthetic is more accurately described as one of immersion in the mountain environments he describes, rather than the one of mere views, of the kind outlined in guides to picturesque scenery of the 18th and 19th centuries. Rockiness was a key component of roughness for Wainwright; a true mountain must be rocky, the rockier the better. One might almost say that he thought there to be a ‘natural appropriateness’ about mountainous rockiness. In particular, he thought a good mountain summit should be rocky; it should be ‘‘a small neat peak of naked rock with a good view’’. Certainly, this was what the ‘true’ fell-walker should look for: ‘‘The true fell-walker appreciates best a summit with rocks; failing that a summit with stones’’ (1966a, APN, p. 3; 1957, High Raise, p. 9). Where the rock forms into features such as ‘‘rocky steps, gateways and towers’’, buttresses and pinnacles, Wainwright was even more approving (1984, p. 69). Rockiness provided interesting features, for which he was always on the look-out on the fells; these contrasted with the dullness of smoothness and grassiness. While smoothness and grassiness have a place, this place is not on the fells. Ullscarf, for instance, according to Wainwright, was technically the central fell of those Lakeland fells over 2 000 feet (so it did not lack height). But ‘‘Nature has not endowed it with a distinctive superstructure worthy of the honour’’. This was because, although there was a cragginess in the lower reaches, the upper part of the mountain was predominantly formed from swelling grass pastures, that Wainwright tagged as ‘‘quite featureless and inexpressibly dreary’’ (1958, Ullscarf, p. 2, 4). There was no rockiness to provide interesting features; the top of the fell was ‘‘the dullest imaginable’’.6 Rockiness combined with height provided for the possibility of a dramatic, awesome mountain landscape, creating chasms, cliﬀs and declivities that generated feelings of the sublime. Scafell, for instance, provided: the greatest display of natural splendour in the district, a spectacle of massive strength and savage wildness but without beauty, an awesome and a humbling scene. A man may stand and . . . witness the sublime architecture of buttresses and pinnacles soaring into the sky, silhouetted against racing clouds or, often, tormented by writhing mists, and as in a great cathedral lose all his conceit. It does a man good to realise his own insigniﬁcance in the general scheme of things, and that is his experience here. (Wainwright, 1960; Scafell, p. 2) Here, Wainwright describes explicitly an experience of the sublime. Indeed, these lines could have easily been found within many 18th-century works on the sublime, where the human subject is overwhelmed by nature’s power (see Kirwan, 2005). Kant, for instance, writes of the sublime: ‘‘consider bold, overhanging and, as it were, threatening rocks, thunderclouds piling up in the sky and moving about accompanied by lightning and thunderclaps . . .’’ (Kant, 1987, p. 120). Wainwright’s emphasis on the insigniﬁcance of the human within sublime settings is squarely Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 403 Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 within the tradition: ‘‘I consider Mickledore to be the most impressive place in Lakeland: it compels attention to the exclusion of all else. Here is nature in the raw— savage, primeval, immense. In such surroundings, man is a speck, insigniﬁcant and unimportant’’ (1989, p. 121). The overwhelming of the human by nature is also related to a combination of fear and awe, the admixture of displeasurable and pleasurable feelings commonly displayed in writings on the sublime (e.g. Kant, 1987). Wainwright’s commentary on Mickledore develops this: I always ﬁnd it diﬃcult to tear myself away from Mickledore, always ﬁnd it a great privilege to be allowed admittance to such a wonderful place. Not because there is beauty here. The scene is brutal, uncompromising, yet fascinating and a little frightening. Massive towers of native rock soar majestically into the sky on all sides. Here is nature’s architecture and it is overwhelming, reducing man to insigniﬁcance and a reverent humility. These vertical precipices are repelling: surely they could never be scaled? . . . Since that time a network of climbing routes has been forged by expert pioneers on Scafell Crag and the neighbouring cliﬀs. Legs turn to jelly at the merest thought. Brave men, these, and I am not amongst them. (1989, p. 121) Interestingly, the fear experienced appears to be, at least partly, fear evoked by imaginings—in this case, imagining climbing amongst such high rocky cliﬀs while in fact being relatively safe on the path. Wainwright’s work calls to mind Kant’s claim that this type of fear comes mainly through imaginings related to the sublime object, such as the danger of rocks falling on us or indeed falling from such rocks: ‘‘since he knows he is safe, this is not actual fear: it is merely our attempt to incur it with our imagination’’ (Kant, 1987, p. 129). And while this paper focuses on Wainwright’s guides to the Lake District, we should note that these ideas of the sublime recur in his writings on the Scottish Highlands. The Black Cuillins of Skye for instance, oﬀer many opportunities for sublime experience: ‘‘I rate the summit of Sgurr nan Gillean as the ﬁnest in my experience. The immediate surroundings are dramatic and spectacular in the extreme, with precipices falling away on all sides: it is exhilarating to be there, exciting, a little frightening, yet one is aware of a rare privilege’’ (1988, p. 87). Wainwright also appears to associate sublimity with masculinity, and beauty with femininity, a tendency also found in some early accounts of the sublime (Kant, 2004). Of Harrison Stickle he comments: ‘‘Let nothing derogatory be said of Harrison Stickle. The majesty and masculine strength of the Langdale front is itself quite enough to establish the fell as a ﬁrm favourite with all . . .’’ (1958, Harrison Stickle, p. 3). Returning to Scotland, in commenting on the Three Sisters of Glen Coe, he muses on their name: ‘‘there is certainly nothing feminine about them; they are brutally masculine, threatening and, when wreathed in swirling mist, even frightening’’ (1988, Glen Coe, p. 134). Variety and Contrast Variety and contrast were key values in Wainwright’s appreciation and valuation of the Lakes. At height, the variety caused by interesting rocky features and the 404 C. Palmer & E. Brady Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 presence of waterfalls, tarns and springs was signiﬁcant. At lower levels, the contrast between diﬀerent kinds of plants and trees was important; and, in any particular valley, there might be a contrast between the rough and rocky fell heights and the lush green of the valley. Certainly, some of Wainwright’s most lyrical praise was reserved for landscape exhibiting variety and contrast in these ways. His attachment to Haystacks—the mountain where he asked for his ashes to be scattered—stemmed from its riotous variety: Not one of this distinguished group of mountains . . . can show a greater variety and a more fascinating arrangement of interesting features [than Haystacks]. Here are sharp peaks in profusion, tarns with islands and tarns without islands, crags, screes, rocks for climbing and rocks not for climbing; heather tracts, marshes, serpentine trails; tarns with streams and tarns with no streams. (1966a, Haystacks, p. 2) This variety and contrast provided for the possibility of ‘‘surprises around corners’’—a landscape for this reason particularly to be treasured. These features map easily onto qualities valued in the picturesque, where sudden variation, unexpected features and surprising elements in the landscape create variety and interest (Price, 1842). Grange Fell too met Wainwright’s criteria for variety and contrast: ‘‘In small compass here is concentrated the beauty, romance, interest and excitement of the typical Lakeland scene. Here Nature has given of her best and produced a loveliness which is exquisite’’ (1958, Grange Fell, p. 1). While lacking signiﬁcant height, Grange Fell had very high variety and contrast: heatheriness; rockiness and ‘masses of boulders’, crags, steep sided rock towers, an up-and-down plateau, a number of interesting mini-summits and pathways through sylvan glades of native trees. Ugliness Although Wainwright did not use the term ‘ugly’ to describe elements of the landscape that have aesthetic disvalue, his work suggests a set of qualities that he interpreted in this way. These landscapes lack character, variety and interest; they are ‘dull’, ‘dreary’, ‘featureless’, ‘desolate’, and ‘unattractive’. Besides the dreariness of Ullscarf, examples of Wainwright’s negative aesthetic qualities come through in his description of Thunacar Knott as ‘‘unphotogenic’’, with only ‘‘slight roughness’’, being ‘‘deﬁcient in interest’’ and ‘‘the one unattractive summit in a distinguished Langdale company’’ (1958, Thunacar Knott, pp. 1 – 2). Later, in a section on forestry, we see how the lack of variety and character that Wainwright associates with coniferous plantations makes them incongruous, unsightly, out of place on the fells—negative aesthetic value, if not ugliness as such. The terms ‘desolation’ and ‘wasteland’ occur with some frequency in Wainwright’s work, though they are used to describe two quite diﬀerent kinds of landscape, one of which is viewed less negatively than the other. Sometimes Wainwright described rocky heights, with little vegetation and much scree as desolate, wasteland or a wilderness. The surface ground at Bullpot Farm was an example of this ‘‘. . . it is a desolate landscape, a wilderness devoid of trees and habitations and without any Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 405 promise of beauty’’ (1991a, p. 44). Although landscapes desolate in this sense lack beauty and variety (except, possibly, in their rock formations) they can be grand and generate sublime experiences; so this form of desolation was not wholly negative. More commonly, when Wainwright used the terms ‘desolate’ and ‘waste’, however, he referred to marshes and wetlands, about which he was almost unremittingly negative. Here, his landscape judgment is inﬂuenced by the bodily experience of fell-walking: you cannot walk with ease, or you cannot walk at all, on a marsh. And marshes, for Wainwright, had no redeeming features. They blocked, or made awkward, access for the walker. They often appeared as dreary surfaces, lacking rocky features of interest. They were rarely steep; they oﬀered no possibility for sublimity or awe. The ascent of Calf Crag from Wythburn, for example, was ‘‘abominably and inescapably wet’’ and the valley a ‘‘supreme study in desolation’’ (1958, Calf Crag, p. 5). As if to underline this, he gives a pictorial study of the Wythburn Valley, highlighted with a drawing of ‘The Bog’ (1958, Ullscarf, p. 5). Interestingly, here Wainwright follows in Lakeland guidebook tradition. The well known guidebook by Baddeley (with which we know him to have been familiar) The English Lake District also objects to marshes. Baddeley’s grounds, though, are that marshes separate lakes from valleys and thus keep the picturesque elements of a landscape apart (Baddeley, 1909, p. 11). Wainwright’s view is shaped from the perspective of the walker, not merely the viewer; his objection to marshes at least in part arises from the body, not just from the view. Wainwright is by no means alone in ﬁnding ugliness in wetlands, which have been frequently constructed as dreary places associated with fear and death (Porteous, 1996, p. 52) as impenetrable wastelands, places ventured into only perilously. William Howarth observes, ‘‘For thousands of years the human attitude toward wetlands was consistently negative: they were read as dangerous, useless, fearful, ﬁlthy, diseased, noxious. Then perceptions began to change in the 1700s, gradually turning toward more positive values of beauty, fertility, variety, utility, and ﬂuidity’’ (2001, p. 58). Certainly, as Howarth suggests, wetlands have become valued more highly, as for instance in Aldo Leopold’s ‘Marshland Elegy’ (1949). Indeed, in scientiﬁc discourse, their ecological value is extremely high: the habitat they provide is frequently argued to be of fundamental ecological signiﬁcance (hence, for instance, proposals to reintroduce beavers to the Scottish highlands). But Wainwright does not take this view. From the perspective of the walker, bogs and marshes remain most inconvenient for route planning as well as lacking variety; and they were often positioned amongst the dull grassy slopes he so disliked. This illustrates Urry’s insightful point that the concerns of aesthetic conservation—manifest in Wainwright’s work—and those of scientiﬁc conservation may well be quite diﬀerent (1995, p. 186).7 This also lends support to a view we’ll develop later—that environmental identity based on place-attachment need form part of, nor generate, any wider kind of environmental concern. Place and Landscape Values in the Lakes Fundamental to Wainwright’s interpretation of the Lakes was a kind of ‘placeappropriateness’. Some creatures, plants, humans, human constructions and landscape features were ‘in place’ while others were ‘out-of-place’ (Cresswell, Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 406 C. Palmer & E. Brady 1996). ‘In place’ suggests congruity and appropriateness, while ‘out-of-place’ identiﬁes activities and developments that are incongruous, strange and inappropriate in the Lakes landscape. This inappropriateness could be natural (that is to say, not of human origin). Little Mell Fell, for instance, was inappropriate to Lakeland on Wainwright’s terms; its ‘‘characteristics are alien to Lakeland’’. First, its isolation marked it out; Lakeland fells are usually crowded together; Little Mell Fell was alone. It resembled the sandstone hills of the Eden valley, not the granite and volcanic rocks of Lakeland. The vegetative cover of gorse and ling was not typical of Lakeland. And the human addition to the landscape—hedges—diﬀered from the ‘‘friendly stone walls’’ of Lakeland. All in all, it was ‘‘an uninspiring, unattractive, bare and rounded hump’’ and, as far as Wainwright was concerned ‘‘barely merits inclusion in this book’’. It was ‘‘not the stuﬀ of which true fells are made’’ (1955, Little Mell Fell, p. 1). But while inappropriateness could be of non-human origin, more often it was due to human activity. Wainwright thought that humans could behave in and impact on the landscape both appropriately and inappropriately; they could enhance, as well as detract from it. Humans can act with a kind of ‘natural appropriateness’; though here ‘natural’ should be taken to mean not ‘of non-human origin’ but rather, human behaviour in accord with a perceived genius loci. Instances of humans, human actions and human impacts that are naturally appropriate and ‘in place’—or alternatively ‘out of place’—are found throughout Wainwright’s works. He remarked on a range of these activities, from dams, reservoirs and forestry to industry and development. Due to space constraints, we will focus on historical value and forestry, since they have special and contrasting relevance to identifying the role of human activity in Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic. Historical Value and Forestry Concerns The English Lake District is far from being a wilderness area in any sense of that term. It is a cultural landscape, settled, farmed, and crossed by humans for centuries, and substantially shaped by humans and domesticated animals. Wainwright was fully aware of this, and corrected any impression to the contrary.8 Indeed, the traces of former human settlements and activities, and the stimulus this gives to the historical imagination was, for him, an important value-adding quality. The summit of the fell High Street, though lacking ‘‘natural features of interest’’, summoned to mind a ‘‘pageant of history’’ on account of a Roman road that ran across it. Indeed, Romans and ancient Britons, Scots invaders, shepherds, the dalesmen and even horse racing once frequented it (1984, p. 14; 1957, High Street, p. 10). This historical depth contributed to the Lake District’s uniquely precious qualities. But not all that humans had done, were doing, or proposed to do in the landscape added value. Wainwright was very ambivalent about some changes, and uncompromisingly negative about others that he regarded as ‘‘robbing’’ Lakeland of ‘‘the unique qualities that make it so’’. Inappropriate forestry is one example of this. Alongside rough grazing and reservoirs, forestry is one of the most important— and disputed—uses of upland areas in Britain. For Wainwright, the presence or absence of trees of the right or wrong sort in the right or wrong place was central to his estimation of landscape value, for a variety of diﬀerent reasons. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 407 Wainwright was not opposed in principle to the presence of trees in the Lakes. Many of the areas he described as being most beautiful were ‘sylvan’ valleys and charming glades. He did not welcome trees on the summits, however; he maintained these should be open, with broad views. He preferred broadleaf, deciduous and native trees to coniferous trees (though he had a weakness for Scots pines); and defended woodlands either ‘‘arranged by Nature’’ or planted ‘‘in the days long ago when woodlands were intended for ornamental display and were allowed to develop to full maturity with no thought of slaughtering them for proﬁt’’ (1955, Grange Fell, p. 3; 1991b, p. 91). Coniferous plantations, though, fell into neither of these categories. Wainwright recalled Ennerdale before it was aﬀorested in 1933: ‘‘I remember climbing Pillar from Ennerdale when the valley was open to the sky and bare of trees, and where the only sounds were the music of the beautiful river and the croaking of frogs in the mosses. It was so much better then’’ (1991b, p. 164).9 Those who create plantations ‘‘have no regard to amenity values’’—in Ennerdale, for instance, a once attractive place for the walker has been completely ruined. In some places—such as Blake Fell—the objection was not just to the tedious nature of the forest but to the fencing that protected the forest, preventing the walker from access to previously open walking country. Indeed, Blake Fell is one of the very few places in the whole Wainwright corpus where resistance is expressed to walkers being excluded from private property (1966a, Blake Fell, p. 7). Wainwright’s comments on Ennerdale also indicate his aesthetic objections to coniferous plantation forestry. Views are closed in, and pleasurable sounds are lost. The forestry drove away the frogs and the birdsong. Ennerdale was colourful and pleasant before the plantation, which acted as a ‘‘dark shroud’’ (1984, p. 87), smothering and visually monotonous, of uniform colour. Further uniformity was displayed in the age and species in the forest; the attractive variation characteristic of a natural forest was missing.10 Wainwright had still further objections to plantation forestry. The mountain Pillar ‘‘has been shamefully forced, without option, to wear dark green skirts on the lower Ennerdale slopes and, even more oﬀensive, they are clothes of foreign origin, and unsightly’’ (1991b, p. 164). It isn’t immediately clear whether Wainwright thought that foreign things just were by deﬁnition unsightly, or whether this formed part of a deeper aesthetic or quasi-ecological view about native vegetation and landscape appropriateness.11 Wainwright did not strongly emphasize national identity in his work (though there is, perhaps, some mild xenophobia).12 His strong sense of ‘in-place’ appropriateness seems to be his governing sentiment here. Where the river Ribble ran through the formal gardens of Avenham Park, Wainwright commented (attributing the opinion to the river): ‘‘There are colourful and exotic ﬂowers here that the Ribble has not seen before, but they are foreign to it, not native, and not (in the river’s opinion) grander than the primroses and bluebells of Sale Wheel Woods. Avenham Park is nice, but doesn’t make the Ribble feel at home’’ (1980, Plate 75). Wainwright’s attempt to plant wild thyme roots in his own garden failed because the plants were ‘‘sad exiles . . . Home for them was Wrengill Valley, and there was no place like it’’ (1992, p. 38). What really seems to matter is that everything should be native to its place or at least appropriate to its setting.13 Where Wainwright interpreted human 408 C. Palmer & E. Brady Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 forestry as ﬁtting that description, he could be quite positive. At Dodd, for instance, Wainwright praised the preservation of old deciduous trees in new forest, pointing out that the more mature conifers were growing singly, not in regimented ranks; that the area was quite natural looking; and that diﬀerent species had been mixed. Even so, some hesitation remained, though he attributed this to the nearby mountain Skiddaw: ‘‘Skiddaw’s frown betrays an old prejudice; true, Skiddaw has long had his own Forest, but that is ﬁne rolling upland country not desecrated by fancy trees . . . foreign trees, moreover! If there must be trees on Dodd, aren’t Lakeland trees good enough? Bah! Says Skiddaw’’ (1962, Dodd, p. 2). From the Visual to the Multi-sensory in Wainwright’s Landscape Aesthetic Wainwright’s discussion of forestry brings out both his visual and his multi-sensory aesthetic. He was certainly interested in visual aesthetics, as evidenced by his pictorial representation, in sketches, of the landscapes through which he guides fell-walkers (Figure 3). In his descriptions of various routes he is always mindful of the scenic, setting out the routes and points which aﬀord the best views, and providing drawings of the panoramas that could be seen for nearly every summit, exhaustively labelling all the fells with their names. Some of the routes in his books are presented with photographic opportunities outlined, ways of framing particular landscapes discussed and the ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ places to take photographs highlighted. Indeed, his photographic instructions are detailed: ‘‘In good lighting the view south to the Scafells calls for a photograph, but before releasing the shutter walk towards the scene until Styhead Tarn appears fully in the middle distance and gives relief to the sombre background. Then do it’’ (Wainwright, 1966a, Base Brown, p. 8). Although this resembles the picturesque tradition’s practice of framing the landscape, Wainwright would never have taken the view that landscape painting perfected nature, where nature fell short (Whyte, 2002, p. 4) nor have thought it to be improved by looking through a Claude glass (see Wallace, 1993, pp. 46 – 48). For Wainwright, the landscape of the Lakes was ‘‘ﬂawless and perfect’’ in itself. (Baddeley also takes Wainwright’s view on this, rhetorically asking ‘‘has any painter . . . ever surpassed the reality of nature?’’ [Baddeley, 1909, p. 10].) Alongside Wainwright’s visual aesthetic, though, we also ﬁnd sensitivity to a multi-sensory and bodily experience of the Lakeland environment. He brings to the fore physical, visceral engagement with nature by highlighting textural and tactile qualities. Throughout his writings we ﬁnd a rich aesthetic vocabulary: ‘spongy’; ‘squelchy’; ‘swampy’; marshy’; ‘grassy’; ‘craggy’; ‘rough’; ‘spiny’; ‘stony’; ‘wooded’; and so on. Arnold Berleant’s ‘aesthetics of engagement’ helps to give shape to Wainwright’s aesthetic: Perceiving environment from within, as it were, looking not at it, but in it, nature becomes something quite diﬀerent; it is transformed into a realm in which we live as participants, not observers . . . The aesthetic mark of all such times is not disinterested contemplation but total engagement, a sensory immersion in the natural world that reaches the still uncommon experience of unity. (Berleant, 1992, p. 170) Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 409 Figure 3. Example of pen and ink drawing. Source: A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells, Book Three: The Central Fells by A. Wainwright, published by Frances Lincoln Ltd, copyright Ó The Estate of A.Wainwright 1958. Reproduced by permission of Frances Lincoln Ltd, 4 Torriano Mews, Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RZ, UK. The aesthetic subject is here not distanced or separated from environment, but situated within it. In the context of walking, Edensor captures the multi-sensory character of this experience: The tactile qualities of many rural paths produce a mindfulness about one’s balance as well as practical and aesthetic awareness of textures underfoot and all around. The walking body treads across rocky ground, springy forest ﬂoor, marsh and bog, rough tracks, heathery moorland, long grass, mud, root-lined 410 C. Palmer & E. Brady Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 surfaces, pasture, tarmac and autumnal leafy carpets. Biting insects inhabit long grasses, rain drenches clothes, frosty air freezes body parts. (Edensor, 2001, p. 101) Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic exempliﬁed how aesthetic response can move beyond the visual and scenic, while at the same time ﬁnding a place for both. This characteristic is manifested even in his drawings. For although many of them are view-oriented, the majority are deeply site-speciﬁc, bringing out the richness of three dimensions in their incredible detail. They convey a sense of immersion in the varied environments moved through when fell-walking. Wainwright writes that when he started drawing, ‘‘it brought the mountains to my own ﬁreside. I could wander over them seated in an easy chair, on a black winter’s night, too’’ (1993, p. 43). His drawings are especially skilled in conveying the expressive, tactile qualities of cragginess; see for example his drawings of Helm Crag’s rocky summits (1958, Helm Crag, p. 3, 5, 7), or the ravines of Dungeon Ghyll (1958, Harrison Stickle, p. 4). He is also conscious of distant versus more intimate experiences of landscape in the ways he instructs that one should position oneself relative to viewpoints. In order to experience the middle ravine of Dungeon Ghyll more intimately, for instance, one must pay a ‘‘close visit . . . which entails some scrambling’’ (Wainwright, 1958, Harrison Stickle, p. 4). But the importance of the body in aesthetically experiencing landscape is brought out most emphatically by Wainwright in his instructions as to the most appropriate ways to walk through the fells. Landscape Aesthetics, Embodiment and Fell-Walking Embodiment A true fell-walker, according to Wainwright, manifests a number of distinctive characteristics and motivations that (using the term virtue in a local, restricted sense) one might call ‘fell-walking virtues’. These were expressed in the right sorts of movements and behaviours. As Edensor comments (in more general terms): ‘‘walking in the country is beset . . . by conventions about what constitutes appropriate bodily conduct, experience and expression’’ (2001, p. 81). Wainwright’s fell-walking virtues were intended to educate, but they also reveal the absolute centrality of bodily practice to shaping his landscape aesthetic. As we show below, he thought that fellwalking should be practised both in ways that respected the landscape aesthetically, and in ways that aﬀorded the most aesthetically valuable experiences of the landscape for the walker. The walker is both an aesthetic object, and an aesthetic subject, both contributing to the land aesthetic and experiencing it. Wainwright’s discussion of fell-walking shows how the Lakes environment is valued through deep bodily engagement rather than (solely) from an observational perspective. Thus, Wainwright presents a distinctive case of an aesthetics of embodiment. The concept of ‘embodiment’, it is sometimes argued, has two interrelated meanings: ‘‘to put into a body’’ and ‘‘to cause to become part of a body; to unite into a body’’ (Berleant, 2004, p. 84). Our interest in the concept lies in how it articulates the intimate physicality of the experience of an enveloping environment, and how that brings with it new modes of aesthetic response. In an attempt to move beyond Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 411 representational theories of landscape that dualize humans and nature, ‘embodiment’ shares aﬃnities with new ideas that have emerged in cultural geography and other ﬁelds, such as ‘dwelling’ (Ingold, 2001); ‘inhabiting’ (Hinchliﬀe, 2003); and ‘performing’ (Thrift, 1996; in relation to hill-walking, see Lorimor & Lund, 2003). Tim Ingold’s study of walking emphasizes the relational nature of feet to landscape, so that how we move through environment shapes perception of it (Ingold, 2004, p. 331). Without leaving behind the importance of visual engagement with landscape, John Wylie uses the concept of dwelling and embodiment in an interesting case study of travelling to the summit of Glastonbury Tor: ‘‘As one climbs up and around the Tor, the landscape uncoils, it begins to encircle as it expands. The sensation of height is considerable, but it is not a height upon which one teeters, rather an expanding volume opens to and enfolds the beholder’’ (2003, p. 152, author’s emphasis). In an account of one day in his solo walk of the South West Coast Path, Wylie emphasizes the mutual patterning of self and landscape through the involved, experiential nature of walking: ‘‘In the thick of it: wet, livid green ferns all around. The Path a thin, muddy rope . . . Landscape becoming foothold’’ (2005, p. 239); and ‘‘To be ‘in’ the landscape, but also up against it. To be dogged, put-upon, petulant, breathless’’ (2005, p. 240). Wainwright’s guides bring to life and concretize an aesthetics of embodiment through the practice of fell-walking and establish, interestingly, a ‘walking aesthetic’ of their own. As we shall see, this walking aesthetic is of such importance to Wainwright that it forms part of what we’ll go on to describe as his environmental identity. Solitude Solitude is central to Wainwright’s account of fell-walking and what it is to experience landscape (an attribute of walking characteristic of the Romantic tradition).14 The body is part of a quiet landscape uncrowded by other human bodies and sounds; yet the body is not alone: it is moving through and immersed in the land rich in life forms. Solitude does not suggest perfect quiet: it includes natural sounds from, for example, birds, wind and water—all of which Wainwright notices in his accounts. In his earlier writing especially, Wainwright maintained that proper fellwalking should always be carried out in solitude. In his ﬁrst, unpublished book Pennine Campaign, he adopted the slogan ‘‘Go and see them [the Pennines] but Go Alone!’’. Book 5 of the Pictorial Guides is ‘‘dedicated to those who travel alone, the solitary wanderers on the fells who ﬁnd contentment in the companionship of the mountains and of the creatures of the mountains’’ (1962, no page). The simplest reasons for walking alone concerned personal comfort and control (you can make your own pace; you don’t need to consult others). There is, as Clayton suggests, an enhancement of perceived autonomy in solitude, because ‘‘there are fewer commands or requests from others that limit behavioural choices’’ (2003, p. 50). This silent, solitary communion was closely associated, for Wainwright, with freedom, a term he used often of fell-walking. If others were present, one’s freedom was constrained. Wainwright’s dislike of this was almost visceral; he complained about being ‘‘hemmed in by the sweating ﬂesh of others’’. Indeed, ‘‘Absolute freedom includes freedom from the presence of others’’ and fell-walking could provide absolute freedom only in solitude (Wainwright, 1993, p. 106). There was also a practical Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 412 C. Palmer & E. Brady concern: pairs and groups of people tend to walk side by side and this enlarges paths, contributing to erosion and degrading the landscape. The ‘single ﬁle rule’ appears time and again in Wainwright’s work: ‘‘When I ﬁrst climbed Penyghent the path could be barely discerned in the tough grass; today it has the dimensions of a road, its misuse being largely due to parties walking abreast and chattering, instead of walking sedately in single ﬁle as all should do on narrow paths’’ (1991a, p. 123). But the ideal is to walk alone, and this, for Wainwright, seemed a prerequisite for developing proper respect for the landscape. For walking was about communing with the fells, and the creatures of the fells, not with other people. Thus his interpretation of what was important about fell-walking was quite diﬀerent, for instance, from alternative northern English walking traditions, such as that of group rambling (see Matless, 1998). Alone, one is not distracted by chatter; one can concentrate on feeling and sensing the mood of the hills, paying attention to the land around and coming to know it in an intimate way. The virtue of silent communion with the fells seems fundamental to Wainwright’s understanding of true fell-walking.15 Being a Good Walker Wainwright’s emphasis on solitude, communion with nature and walking virtues resonates with Henry David Thoreau’s reverence for the ‘art of walking’. Thoreau emphasized the ways in which walking can bring deeper engagement with nature, and some of his remarks suggest that there are right and wrong ways to walk: ‘‘I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understand the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks—who had a genius, so to speak for sauntering’’ (1908, p. 5). In remarks about the importance of attending to walking for its own sake, Thoreau stresses the activity itself: ‘‘But it sometimes happens that I cannot easily shake oﬀ the village. The thought of some work will run in my head, and I am not where my body is—I am out of my senses. In my walks I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?’’ (1908, p. 16). Wainwright likewise maintained that there were better ways and worse ways of walking, and that the ‘true fell-walker’ manifested the better ones. First, the true fellwalker walked correctly: the ﬁrst principle was to watch where you put your feet. Someone who does not do this, Wainwright insisted, should not visit the fells at all. Accidents on the fells were always the fault of clumsiness, carelessness and poor walking on the part of the person who has the accident. The fells themselves, Wainwright repeatedly insisted, were benign; they were—to those with the right motivation and behaviour—safe places, where one was amongst friends. A good walker, for Wainwright, adopted a particular walking style, in which is embedded what we might call Wainwright’s ‘walking aesthetic’. When descending, the feet should be held horizontal, not pointing downward, and the walker should not jump from rock to rock. The good walker should also be a ‘‘tidy walker. He moves quietly, places his feet where his eyes tell him to, on beaten tracks treads ﬁrmly, avoids loose stones on steep ground, and disturbs nothing. He is, by habit, an improver of paths’’ (1966a, Great Gable, p. 16). His movement is rhythmic; his footstep ﬁrm. He even has quiet boots. This true fell-walker, then, left the path as good as, or better than he found it, his passing leaving no physical or aural trace. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 413 The bad walker, on the other hand, is noisy, clumsy, damages paths and harms grass. Worse, the bad walker is a ‘habitual beeliner’, not following the zigzags of paths, but rather taking short cuts in order to ascend and descend more quickly, thus destroying the line of the path. This failure to treat the paths with respect was, in Wainwright’s eyes, to ‘‘commit sacrilege’’ (1984, p. 21, p. 54). ‘Beelining’ was distressing aesthetically (the zigzag of paths was pleasant to contemplate); it made the path less safe for others, since the zigzag takes the easiest gradient; but it also revealed the wrong attitude and motivation in the walker. The fell-walker should be walking contemplatively, rather than hurtling up and down mountains in such a hurry as to want to make short cuts. Indeed, these characteristics of the good and bad walker run very deep: ‘‘A good walker always gives the impression of moving leisurely, even slowly, and having time to spare; a bad walker always seems to be in a hurry. A good walker will . . . hardly disturb a single stone; a bad walker will leave a trail of debris. Their respective journeys through life will be the same’’ (1966b, p. 27). Walking carefully, quietly and without leaving a trace, manifested for Wainwright a kind of life-virtue; and failing to do so, a life-vice. True fell-walkers also, according to Wainwright, always headed for the summits via the best route, and chose to look at (and to photograph) the right things on the way. ‘Better’ routes maximized the possible landscape values of the climb by revealing the fell at its best. For instance, the approach to Haystacks should be made from Buttermere village. Why? Because ‘‘it introduces into the walk the sylvan beauty of trees and water as an appetising starter and to emphasise the contrasting wildness soon to follow’’. So there was a kind of aesthetic correctness about getting the right mix of variety and contrast of spectacle when climbing the fell. But second, this route was to be preferred over shorter ones because ‘‘Haystacks deserves better than to be cut short and needs the gradual appreciation that a longer route gives’’. So the nature of the fell determines the nature of the route; a good walker recognizes this and responds by climbing the fell gradually, by the route that gives the fell the best opportunity to display itself. Here, Wainwright clearly indicates that the shape of the land determines how the body engages with it, and along with this, generates aesthetic awareness of one’s surroundings. However gradually one climbs, though, the point, according to Wainwright, must always be to get to the top. (Admittedly in some of his later books, Wainwright proposed lower level routes for inclement weather or for those who were for reasons of age or health unable to reach the top; but the ideal was always to summit.) The insistence on summitting may be a manifestation of a fell-walking version of the broader ‘‘masculinist’’ tradition in mountaineering (Harris, 1995; Morin et al., 2001) (though this might be softened in Wainwright’s case by his expressed fear of technical climbing as a practice). Reaching the summit is always central; and Wainwright draws broader life lessons from this too: reaching the summit is the triumph of optimism over pessimism—those who adopt a pessimistic attitude ‘‘never reach the top of anything’’ (1966b, p. 10). On reaching the top, the true fell-walker takes time to admire, and to photograph, the view. However, even on the summit, there are signs that distinguish the good walker from others. Having climbed Coniston Old Man, for instance, Wainwright noted that there were several views to behold. There was the view at which most people gaze: ‘‘not being fell-walkers, [they] ﬁx their eyes in this direction, and squeals Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 414 C. Palmer & E. Brady of joy announce the sighting of Calder Hall Power Station, Blackpool Tower, Morecambe Battery, the monument on Ulverston’s Hoad Hill, Millom, and other man made monstrosities’’ (1960, Coniston Old Man, p. 17). The fell-walker, though ‘‘will prefer to gaze across the gulf of Eskdale, to see the natural and unmarred splendour of the Scafell group, but this scene apart, the mountain panorama, though extensive, is a little disappointing due to the intervening bulk of the other Coniston fells’’ (1960, Coniston Old Man, p. 17). Man-made objects may have their place; but that place was not to be gazed at when on the fells.16 On the fells, the good walker focuses on the mountain panoramas, the wild creatures, and where he is putting his feet. Looking at human constructions is to put oneself ‘out of place’ by paying attention to that which is, itself, ‘out of place’. Wainwright regards much as potentially ‘out of place’, both in terms of his upland aesthetic and in his portrayal of how a virtuous fell-walker should move through the uplands. He attempts to bring a kind of integrity into human encounters with the fells, probably born out of his intense emotional attachment to them, and the respect and reverence this attachment generates. This respect carries with it a set of demands to experience and behave in certain ways, consistent with what Wainwright understood to be the particular character of the English Lakes, and with what he perceived to be ‘in place’ and ‘out of place’ in the landscape. What’s particularly interesting here is Wainwright’s perception that these values and practices are what are natural to the landscape; he writes almost as if they emerged from the land; that they are rooted in and demanded by the very landscape itself. Along with other aspects of Wainwright’s work, in particular his passionate, emotional attachment to the land, this raises questions about what might be called Wainwright’s environmental identity. Wainwright and Environmental Identity At several points in this paper, we’ve suggested that Wainwright’s work manifests a kind of ‘environmental’ or ‘ecological’ identity.17 Although both ‘environment’ and ‘identity’ are contested terms, we take ‘environmental identity’ to mean something like Clayton’s description: ‘one part of the way in which people form their selfconcept: a sense of connection to some part of the nonhuman environment, based on history, emotional attachment, and/or similarity, that aﬀects the ways in which we perceive and act toward the world’’ (Clayton, 2003, pp. 45 – 46). A strong sense of environmental identity, Zavestoski (2003, p. 304) suggests, is often constructed by a powerful emotional experience of a particular place, or loss of a place. As we’ve seen, Wainwright’s ﬁrst encounter with the Lakes seems to have been just such a powerful experience; his ﬁrst desire on seeing it was a longing to belong to it ‘‘If only I could!’’ (1993: 24). It’s clear that Wainwright came to understand himself as being closely— viscerally—connected to the land. He is ‘‘like a lover’’ in relation to it. He cannot bear to be apart from it; mere visits, however regular, were not enough; he had to relocate to live on the land. He has no interest in places that are ‘‘other’’: he never wanted to travel overseas, and when he did spend time elsewhere such as in the Scottish Highlands, he read the landscape through a lens of the complete desirability of the Lakes. His attachment to the land was not fungible and it was not functional. It was this place, this land, that formed part of his self. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 415 The way in which is self is bound up into the land is manifested in his writing—as we’ve seen—in a very literal sense: he projects his emotional responses to the landscape into the landscape itself. Skiddaw, for example, says ‘‘Bah’’ to coniferous plantations. The river Ribble does not feel at home with alien plantings along its banks, however colourful. This trope appears throughout his work; and although sometimes used humorously, there’s clearly a sense in which Wainwright portrays the land itself as expressing the values he endorses, and he himself as defending the aesthetic values that come forth out of the land. At the very least this suggests, as Clayton and Opotow (2003, p. 9) argue, a sense of similarity between self and land. Indeed, Wainwright’s ‘voicing’ of the land in some ways resembles the idea of the ‘extended self’ in deep ecological thinking, captured most pithily in John Seed’s (1998) remark that ‘‘I am part of the rainforest defending itself’’. Wainwright’s self is so immersed in the land that his ideas of what is natural and appropriate to it become smeared out across the land itself. What’s interesting here—and perhaps of more general import in considering the signiﬁcance of environmental identity in the context of environmental problems—is that in Wainwright’s case an intense environmental identity does not generate a wider kind of environmental concern. Unlike an advocate of deep ecology who might construct or endorse an idea of extended self, Wainwright has no broader interest in issues such as endangered species or the use of pesticides in farming. Though writing at the beginning of the ﬁrst wave of concerns about ‘‘environmental crisis’’—his work spanning the 1950s to 1980s—no trace of concern about more general environmental issues appears. His environmental identity, as his environmental aesthetic, is embedded and place-speciﬁc, closely tied into his self-identity. This is likely, as Clayton (2003, p. 60) suggests, to be a strong motivator for environmental protection: ‘‘the natural objects to be protected are tied to the self, thus allowing the motivation to be internal rather than external.’’ But it’s only the ‘‘sacred’’, beloved land of the Lakes that are tied to Wainwright’s self; intense though the desire to protect may be, its scope is limited. And even within the Lakes, as we’ve seen, the kind of environmental protection for which Wainwright argued is focused on the preservation of particular kinds of aesthetic experience. So the possible ecological value of the bog, for example, is unnoticed on account of its visual and sensory disvalue. As someone familiar (as his books suggest) with every crag and declivity, every view and valley, Wainwright understood himself to have special, intimate landscape knowledge—knowledge derived from the engagement of the mind in solitary reﬂection and recollection, of the pen in imaginative reconstruction and recreation, of the feet in tracing paths, of the back in hauling loads. This wholeself immersion in the land seems to have given Wainwright a sense of his own authority about what’s in place and out of place in the land. His is a knowledgeable self, a knowledge hard-won from physical, psychological and emotional commitment, qualifying him as a good judge, able to be an advocate of some values and practices, and an opponent of others. Indeed, after such selfimmersion in the land, these become the land’s values, for which as we’ve seen, Wainwright seems to see himself as the spokesman. Particularly striking here is that although special ‘‘place knowledge’’ is often appealed to as authoritative by those that work the land (such as farmers and ranchers), Wainwright’s special Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 416 C. Palmer & E. Brady knowledge comes from walking—which more generally in this literature is associated with those who pass over, but do not deeply engage with the land (see, for instance, Clayton & Brook, 2003). Two broader implications of this kind of immersion-generated, place-attached environmental identity seem to follow here. First, it’s diﬃcult to question such values, unless one can claim similar land immersion, for these values are seen as emerging both from long-standing, embedded experience and from the land itself. If self-embeddedness is accepted as an (or the) origin of good judgment about the land, then Wainwright’s views about (for instance) ‘oﬀcomers’ as being bad judges will naturally follow. And equally it’s clear why this place-related sense of environmental self does not necessarily provide grounds for any broader environmental concern; indeed, it may be somewhat in tension with it. For if the grounds for capability to judge what’s ‘in place’ and ‘out of place’ rest on place embeddedness, then one is not qualiﬁed to comment on what happens in other places, let alone globally. This seems to be a view that Wainwright takes with regard to landscape developments in other places: he is not in a position to judge, for in those places he is himself an oﬀcomer, lacking authority. Where Wainwright pleads for environmental protection, it’s the special features of the Lakes he has in mind: ‘‘this hallowed ground is small, a paradise in miniature, and because it is small it is precious indeed, like a rare jewel it should be treasured and guarded’’ (1993, p. 176). This plea to treasure the Lakes is not something generalizable to other places and landscapes—the rarity of its qualities forms part of the plea itself—nor is it part of a more general environmental concern. This account of environmental identity, and Wainwright’s landscape aesthetics more generally, seem to raise further questions. If authority is gained by landimmersion, what of those who are, as it were, on the land but not of the land? In what position does this vision of landscape leave those who are unfamiliar with these landscape values, or unable or unwilling to accept them? Thinking Critically about Wainwright Wainwright’s landscape aesthetic is rooted—at least to some degree—in picturesque and Romantic aesthetic values. It may thus be linked with the power and privilege historically associated with these aesthetic tastes (Barrell, 1993; Darby, 2000; Porteous, 1996). His environmental identity, the source of his authoritative judgements about the land, is based on place-immersion as a local walker. It may thus exclude those who do not, or cannot, share this immersion. Should this be grounds for concerns about Wainwright’s work, and that of others who adopt similar perspectives? Might worries about Wainwright’s work be related to those focused on the role of wilderness in both ethics and aesthetics in the North American context? The wilderness orientation has been argued to be ethnocentric, predominantly middle class, and exclusionary (see for instance, Bullard, 1990; Guha, 1989), an emphasis on the ‘untouched’ wild has been seen as undermining the aesthetic and ethical value of humanly modiﬁed environments, including the human-shaped countryside and the urban (Light, 2001). Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 417 We lack space to do full justice to all these concerns. Clearly, Wainwright’s work is less obviously vulnerable to some of these criticisms than others. The multisensory, embodied aesthetic captured in his fell-walking guides, to some extent at least, tempers the emphasis on the merely scenic, and de-emphasizes the importance of the ‘gaze’. And given that the Lakes is a human-shaped landscape, he is not open to the criticism that he adopts a human/nature dualism, nor that he emphasizes the wild at the expense of other landscapes. Wainwright shows a clear preference for wilder parts of the Lakes, but he is well aware of the Lakes as a cultural landscape shaped and inhabited by humans. The long human historical traditions, physically etched on the fells in the form of old paths and roads, abandoned mines and other workings, add to, rather than detract from, Wainwright’s reverence for the land. He does not desire a land ‘‘untrammelled by man’’, as enshrined in the US Wilderness Act. Certainly, some kinds of human structure are unwanted in the fells and should be unseen, but Wainwright does not suggest—as does McKibben (1989)—that the touch of humans brings the ‘‘end of nature’’. And although his love of freedom and solitude are reminiscent of a wilderness ethic/aesthetic, he does not extensively discuss the value of nature apart from human presence. His landscape aesthetic, and his ideas of fell-walking virtues, all emerge from the perspective of an engaged human body moving through the landscape. But these responses do not deny that Wainwright’s landscape values are still tied to a particular cultural perspective and one that is in some respects exclusionary. It is at least plausible, for instance, to suggest that Wainwright’s guides are to some degree ethnocentric. His landscape aesthetic, his emphasis on the importance of ‘nativeness’, his preference for a rural idyll to a technologically encumbered landscape and some of his fell-walking virtues, including communion with nature through physical exercise, seem to express a certain interpretation of Englishness (Darby, 2000; Matless, 1998). While there is no explicit racism in his writings, his vision of fell-walking and the distinctive ways he values the countryside as a tranquil place of beauty and leisure have been associated with an English or British national identity and with the countryside as a ‘white domain’ that excludes Asian and other ethnic groups (Agyeman & Spooner, 1997, pp. 206 – 207; Darby, 2000; see also Ingrid Pollard’s photographic work on visiting the Lakes as a black British woman). Wainwright’s idea of appropriate walking behaviours ﬂows from a special insider’s knowledge that visitors new to the countryside, from diﬀerent cultural backgrounds, could not be expected to know. Wainwright’s guides, encultured as they now are into particular Lakeland traditions (solitude, how to walk on paths), may be alienating to outsiders, especially those who are members of ethnic minorities, or who are of lower socio-economic status (Agyeman & Spooner, 1997, p. 206). In addition, as Morin et al. (2001) note, Wainwright occupies a subject position as a fell-walker just not available to some—those with some kinds of physical disabilities for instance. Of course, Wainwright came to the Lakes as an outsider of sorts and was himself from an extremely impoverished urban family. But as we’ve seen, his subsequent immersion in the Lakeland environment, and the development of an ecological identity that bound him to the land, gave him, in his eyes at least, a privileged, Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 418 C. Palmer & E. Brady insider’s knowledge of how one should act and what should be in the Lakes. Although there’s a sense in which this insider’s knowledge is available for anyone who is willing to make a suﬃcient commitment, there’s another way in which, of course, such knowledge is far more diﬃcult for members of some groups than others either to generate or to access. (Indeed, in the years since Wainwright died, such knowledge has become even more privileged, as property prices in the Lakes soar out of the reach even of those born there.) The charge that Wainwright’s embodied landscape aesthetic is exclusionary thus has some force: some bodies are likely to ﬁnd it much easier to appreciate than others. So, a response to these criticisms must be mixed. Wainwright held his views on the Lakeland landscape to be authoritative: so much so that he took them to be ‘natural’ and inevitable, growing out of the land. In doing so, his work no doubt does exclude others unable to spend time immersed in the same kinds of experiences as Wainwright (and so unable to acquire, in his terms, authoritative voices) and for whom, in other respects, his views may seem far from obvious. But he did not hold the view that land is more to be valued the less inﬂuence people and domestic animals (for instance, the domestic sheep that John Muir calls ‘‘horned locusts’’) have had in shaping it; human presence, of the right kind and in the right ways, can enhance the land, and in fact helped to shape that which Wainwright found so irresistibly desirable about it. Conclusion Through his intimate descriptions of bodily experience of environment, Wainwright shows how this physical experience can ground love for and intimacy with the land. His sense of a locally embedded ecological self generates an authority for his environmental value judgements, whilst at the same time conﬁning that authority only to the beloved place. His distinction between good and bad fellwalking practices blends a practical environmental ethic with an environmental aesthetic of movement and quietness. In creating this complex of locally authoritative values, given that his palette is the mountains and dales of the English Lake District, it is not surprising that early, established aesthetic categories of the sublime, picturesque and ugly, feature importantly in his descriptions and drawings of routes through the fells. But, as we’ve attempted to argue, Wainwright’s work does much more than this. The environmental identity he manifests reveals a potential disjunction between an environmental identity generated by aesthetic immersion in a particular environment, and the kind of environmental identity that’s generated around concern for global or scienceoriented environmental issues. The landscape values he endorses are strikingly interesting and contemporary. He constructs an active landscape aesthetic that moves the body within the environment. The result is an intimate and multisensory aesthetic, extending experience of nature beyond the limits of an observational perspective. And while one may have reservations about the exclusionary nature of some of Wainwright’s behavioural prescriptions, he presents a historically oriented, human-appreciative landscape aesthetic far more suitable for the cultivated landscapes of Europe than the importation of a North American Landscape and Value in the Work of Alfred Wainwright 419 wilderness aesthetic. In this way, Wainwright was ahead of his time. His landscape aesthetic had a foot in the future as well as one in the past. Acknowledgement Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 Clare Palmer would like to acknowledge the ﬁnancial support of the AHRC Research Centre for Environmental History at the University of Stirling/University of St Andrews in carrying out research for this paper. Notes 1 Penguin stopped publication in 2003; the books were republished, very successfully, by Frances Lincoln. See Addison (2003). 2 Described as ‘‘quick-buck coﬀee table versions’’ by M. Wainwright (no relation), Short Cuts, Guardian, 14 January 2003. 3 Indeed, just this claim has led to criticisms that, ironically, despite his advocacy of solitary fell-walking, Wainwright’s very accounts have led to the fells being less solitary and more crowded. 4 In this emphasis on roughness and cragginess, Wainwright’s work stands in contrast to those writers of Englishness who characterize Englishness in relation to a smooth and bare, not rocky or craggy ‘‘south country’’ (see Howkins, 1986, p. 64). 5 Wainwright’s Pictorial Guides to the Lakes do not have standard page numbering. Each section, headed by a fell, has its own set of numbers; there is also an unnumbered introduction and set of concluding author’s personal notes. We reference as follows: date of book; name of fell section; page within section. 6 This provides an interesting contrast with Burke’s idea of the beautiful, which he thought must be constituted by smooth things (Burke, 1958). 7 This also likely puts Wainwright’s work at odds with the tradition in positive environmental aesthetics that natural landscapes cannot be ugly (Carlson, 1984). Of course, in Lakeland, there are no ‘natural’—in the sense of ‘untouched’—landscapes, but his aesthetic objection to wetlands would presumably hold even if they were ‘natural’. 8 See, for instance, Wainwright’s discussion of just this mistaken impression in Old Roads of Eastern Lakeland (1985, p. 1). 9 For a history of plantations in the Lakes, see Berry and Beard (1980). 10 Wainwright would have been pleased about the new ‘Wild Ennerdale’ joint initiative between the National Trust, Forestry Commission and United Utilities, which is working ‘to allow the evolution of Ennerdale as a wild valley for the beneﬁt of people relying more on natural processes to shape its landscape and ecology’ (www.wildennerdale.co.uk, 20 October 2005). The dale is to be managed to allow natural processes to return in signiﬁcant ways. The regeneration of woodlands will increase biodiversity and the aesthetic appeal that comes with increased variety and a sense of wildness. 11 Wainwright’s negative view of non-native species is not uncommon. Conservationists commonly show a preference for native species for at least two reasons. Native plants are seen as part of the ‘natural order’ and have a ‘rightful place’ in contrast to non-native species (Agyeman & Spooner, 1997, p. 207). Besides being marginalized simply in virtue of being foreign, such species are also shown to damage native ecosystems. Indeed non-native species are commonly referred to as ‘invasive’ species. 12 He regarded overseas travel as unpleasant and pointless, and with respect to metric measurements, called himself a ‘jingoistic Englishman’ (Striding Edge Ltd, 1988; Wainwright, 1988, Itinerary; 1989, p. 9; 1993, 176). 13 There is one instance where Wainwright goes so far as to praise an out-of-character aﬀorestation project (Wainwright, 1966a, Caw Fell, p. 8). 14 John Wylie re-works the tradition of solitary walking in his reﬂective essay about walking the South West Coast Path in England (2005). He notes the gendering of the solitary walker in ‘romantic discourses of the self’, citing Darby’s (2000) discussion of this. Our paper does not explore gender, but like Wylie we are interested in considering how Wainwright’s solitary walker emerges from past traditions but also meshes with current understandings of self and landscape. 420 C. Palmer & E. Brady 15 Urry maintains that the idea that only quiet recreation is appropriate in the Lakes has become part of the ‘place myth’ of the area (1995, p. 197). 16 Here the good fell-walker seems rather like the tourist in Taylor’s account (as opposed to the traveller or tripper) who looks away from those things that are not part of ‘landscape’ (1994, p. 262). 17 At present, there’s no clear distinction in use between these two terms as Clayton and Opotow (2003, p. 12) point out; we will follow their use in adopting the expression ‘environmental identity’. Downloaded by [Texas A&M University Libraries] at 19:30 06 May 2015 References Addison, M. (2003) Wainwright books walk oﬀ the shelves, Westmorland Gazette, 9 May 2003. Agyeman, J. & Spooner, R. (1997) Ethnicity and the rural environment, in: P. Cloke & J. Little (Eds) Contested Countryside Cultures, pp. 197 – 217 (London and New York: Routledge). Baddeley, M. J. B. (1909) The English Lake District (London: Nelson). Barrell, J. 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