The magic of maps
A map is the greatest of all epic poems. Its lines and colors show the realization of great dreams.
A map is the greatest of all epic poems. Its lines and colors show the realization of great dreams.
— Gilbert H. Grosvenor, Founder of the National Geographic Society
There are two plastic bins for maps in my basement. One of them contains long tubes of paper, rolled up and secured with rubber bands. The other contains stacks of waterproof paper, folded into quarters for fitting into a map case.Those are my Boundary Waters maps.
I use maps in two different ways. When the water is soft, I take them on trips with me. When the water is hard, I just look at them. I look at them a lot. Especially as we approach permit time next month.
Maps have been around forever, but some medieval guy called one a Mappa Mundi, which roughly translates to “napkin of the world,” since you wrap a globe in textiles to make a round thing as flat as is possible. As the world was discovered, so followed the cartographers, obsessed with documenting things which could be known, and making it up when they didn’t. Cartographer is basically Greek for person who writes on paper. That’s why maritime maps are called charts.
Maps were worth their weight in gold, and the cartographers who drew them were held in high esteem. Roger II, King of Sicily, commissioned Moroccan cartographer Muhammed al-Idrisi to create a map of the known world and an encyclopedia of accounts of excursions to back it up. The Tabula Rogeriana (“Roger’s Book,” an excellent public relations move to name it so) was remarkably accurate, depicting the round world in 1138 with amazing accuracy. Roger was delighted. So delighted, in fact, that he had the map engraved on a 300-pound disc of silver. Of the paper copies, a handful of copies still exist. I want one of them. My birthday is in April.
First map of the known world. 12th century Sicily.
Now you can Google Sicily and see a triangular island and zoom in so far you can see the dome over the chapel where King Roger II is buried in the Cathedral of Palermo. What was precious beyond measure has now become practically mundane, since NASA can take a picture of a gnat's butt from 25 miles up.
And now, for the cost of a peppermint latte (with whip) from your favorite barista, you can buy a waterproof map of a 150-square-mile section of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. With a map with such exquisite detail (and a little imagination), you'll be able to see a three-dimensional representation of the topography. (“Topographer” is Greek for person who writes about places. Languages are cool.)
The precise lines on the maps represent the contours of the land. The closer the lines, the steeper the cliffs. Other thicker red lines represent portages, listed in rods, an arcane measurement of distance equivalent to 16.5 feet or 1/320 of a mile. Where the red lines intersect a tight cluster of contour lines, you know the portage isn’t going to be a walk in the park. When a small blue line parallels the portage, it means a picturesque though difficult walk.
Rivers run through the Boundary Waters, and many of them are navigable, especially at times of high water. Small streams aren’t necessarily navigable, but the lines are pretty. Around them little tufts of vegetation indicate a marshy area. But the best mark is a red dot.
Red dots mean campsites. Sometimes a larger lake is riddled with dozens of red dots; sometimes a small lake might have just one. It’s the red dots that intrigue me. Each red dot means a campfire circle and a pit toilet. I know of several of the latter that have panoramic views, which is somewhat incongruous when your pants are at your ankles. Nevertheless, some of the latrines provide stunning vistas. One of them is in this picture. Happy hunting!