Big heaps of stones

 

Cadair Idris, 19/04/2018

I remember the reactions of the removal crew when we went to live among the mountains. Never having driven through Gogledd Cymru before, they were visibly shaken after crossing the high passes of Eryri. They were yet more terrified from the raised level of their cab where they could see the drops below the protective parapets. They felt safer with the view in the wing mirrors, knowing the worst was behind. I hope I tipped them generously enough. What they described reminded me of those 18th century travellers, who could only appreciate the “fearsome declivities” with the aid of a framed mirror, the Claude Glass. Accidents ensued as they turned their backs on the scenery to gaze at the image, presaging the risks from casual selfies today.

When the awesome horror of the vista was now reframed as “picturesque”, tourism quickly followed. First the elite, then the masses, as railways spread their tentacles. Now we mourn the trains which have departed from so many platforms around the world.

 
Tyrrau Mawr, loosely “big piles of stones”, is the name of a subsidiary peak on Cadair Idris. In his eponymous art installation of 2015, Bedwyr Williams transforms a rugged mountain scene into a dystopian urban future. He imagines an updated rendering of Richard Wilson's iconic painting of the same spot and the lake below, Llyn y Cau (1774). Tyrrau Mawr explores what would happen if landscapes initially inhabited by sheep farmers, then exploited and overrun since the days of the Claude Glass, were engineered and commodified ad absurdum. At least similar real-world developments, in the Alps and elsewhere, will thankfully always be dwarfed by the size of the mountains. The scale is smaller in Cymru of course, but Williams' work is nevertheless entertaining and thought-provoking. A short video, available online (see links), concludes with poetic justice for the imagined architect.
  
This piece of visual psychogeography is for the individual to interpret, but reminds me of my own changing mountain perspectives. I crawled over Crib Goch on Yr Wyddfa at 17, and later slid along Sharp Edge on Blencathra and Striding Edge on Helvellyn. The thought of them now fills me with dread. Never a climber, just a fair weather walker, even the North Face Trail on the Eiger was easy in comparison. Immediately below the sheer wall of rock and ice, a path meanders through meadows from Kleine Scheidegg railway station down to the one at Grindelwald, with a choice of refreshment stops along the way.

On a recent visit to Cadair Idris, I admit to yearning for the ease of walking the Swiss Alps, and had a guilty admiration for over-engineered tracks. There, there are level paths between chairlifts and funiculars. And in any case “alps” are meadows not mountains. The purists will cry shame, but my knees aren’t what they were.

 
Sixty years ago, my experiences were closer to the images of two centuries back. Walking holidays were seen as eccentric rather than mainstream. People were shod in ex-army boots with heavy Commando soles, rather than today's designer-label gear. They seemed less concerned then with ticking off a list of “destinations”. I’ve used a variety of cameras to enjoy, record and remember the scene, but relish the idea of going back to basics, and to enjoying the view for the moment. As soon as someone can find me a Claude Glass.

LINKS

When Mountains Were Ugly | Hazlitt

The Claude Glass Revolutionized the Way People Saw Landscapes - JSTOR Daily

‘Llyn-y-Cau, Cader Idris‘, Richard Wilson, ?exhibited 1774 | Tate

Tyrrau Mawr - Collections Online (museum.wales)

Tyrrau Mawr | Film London

The upsides of feeling small - BBC Future

The Counter Revolution of the Rambling Rodneys