On the Wild Side
Our editorial addresses the problem of how to reconcile access with respect for the wildness of natural landscape.
Written by Alison Prince
Thursday, 12 March 2009
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Our front page story about the yellow arrows painted on rocks raises the recurring question of how far we should go to make ‘nature’ accessible to humans who want to see and experience it – or simply to get through it with the greatest possible convenience. That there are these twin aims at once sparks off a controversy about how much human right we have, and whether we should condone the making of changes in the interests of easy access.
Until relatively recently, it was accepted that people only made their way through wild and unknown territory through a combination of common sense, physical endurance and luck. Many older people have memories of childhood forays that led to a temporary state of being lost, usually resolved by following a water course downhill or looking at the sun’s position and making a rough calculation of the way home, but these out-of-touch moments are becoming less acceptable. In a culture that consistently values accepted fact above the less derivative qualities of common sense and an intelligent vision, we increasingly demand predictability and security – not as a desire, but as an assumed right.
Those who love the natural world for its very wildness can have little sympathy for such a view. For them, the gradual take-over of the woods and hills by those who see their main value as a source of enjoyment and resulting profit is close to downright sinful. There are good reasons for such wariness. Anyone familiar with the intensive farming practices common in ‘barley belt’ areas such as East Anglia will know only too well how soil can be reduced to an inert medium fit only to retain the chemicals and insecticides showered upon it. Fortunately, the physical geography of Arran protects it from such barbarity, but at a lower level disguised as ‘sympathetic development’, a slow suburbanisation is taking place. It’s a gradual change that erodes the idea that there will be places you cannot reach without a scramble and/or a risk of wet feet. The demand for safety and comfort has grown into something very close to arrogance, and where it is catered for too readily, the changes wrought in the environment are lasting, and not always beneficial. Many visitors to the small isle of Rum, for instance, have been saddened by the marked trails that display bold letters and numbers every few yards, turning the woodland into a park. Others, of course, welcome the ‘park factor’ for the tameness and security it offers. Humans are nothing if not varied.
When it comes to a tract of land such as the shore below Corriegills, the conflicting attitudes collide. With good intentions, some try to aid the hapless tourist, but in so doing, bring about changes that others find deeply offensive. Possibly the most neutral course would be to offer a handbook or set of leaflets advising walkers of where they may encounter rough going. But even that is probably not neutral enough.
Thursday, 12 March 2009
1 view
0 commentsOur front page story about the yellow arrows painted on rocks raises the recurring question of how far we should go to make ‘nature’ accessible to humans who want to see and experience it – or simply to get through it with the greatest possible convenience. That there are these twin aims at once sparks off a controversy about how much human right we have, and whether we should condone the making of changes in the interests of easy access.
Until relatively recently, it was accepted that people only made their way through wild and unknown territory through a combination of common sense, physical endurance and luck. Many older people have memories of childhood forays that led to a temporary state of being lost, usually resolved by following a water course downhill or looking at the sun’s position and making a rough calculation of the way home, but these out-of-touch moments are becoming less acceptable. In a culture that consistently values accepted fact above the less derivative qualities of common sense and an intelligent vision, we increasingly demand predictability and security – not as a desire, but as an assumed right.
Those who love the natural world for its very wildness can have little sympathy for such a view. For them, the gradual take-over of the woods and hills by those who see their main value as a source of enjoyment and resulting profit is close to downright sinful. There are good reasons for such wariness. Anyone familiar with the intensive farming practices common in ‘barley belt’ areas such as East Anglia will know only too well how soil can be reduced to an inert medium fit only to retain the chemicals and insecticides showered upon it. Fortunately, the physical geography of Arran protects it from such barbarity, but at a lower level disguised as ‘sympathetic development’, a slow suburbanisation is taking place. It’s a gradual change that erodes the idea that there will be places you cannot reach without a scramble and/or a risk of wet feet. The demand for safety and comfort has grown into something very close to arrogance, and where it is catered for too readily, the changes wrought in the environment are lasting, and not always beneficial. Many visitors to the small isle of Rum, for instance, have been saddened by the marked trails that display bold letters and numbers every few yards, turning the woodland into a park. Others, of course, welcome the ‘park factor’ for the tameness and security it offers. Humans are nothing if not varied.
When it comes to a tract of land such as the shore below Corriegills, the conflicting attitudes collide. With good intentions, some try to aid the hapless tourist, but in so doing, bring about changes that others find deeply offensive. Possibly the most neutral course would be to offer a handbook or set of leaflets advising walkers of where they may encounter rough going. But even that is probably not neutral enough.
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