Woolf The Great Horizon

50 Tales of Exploration
1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-1-910985-89-2
Verlag: Sandstone Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 400 Seiten

Fifty stories of adventure and exploration over more than two hundred years of human history. The Great Horizon features those who set out to conquer new territories and claim world records alongside those who contributed to our understanding of the world all but accidentally. Published in association with the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, and with full access to their extensive records, the book includes unique images and insights from the RSGS archives, along with never-before seen material.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Woolf, Jo

Leseproben

Introduction

In December 1913, when Sir Ernest Shackleton publicly announced his plans for the Endurance expedition to the Antarctic, he received nearly five thousand letters from hopeful applicants. Shortly afterwards, a friend noticed that these letters had been sorted into three large drawers in his desk, which he had labelled ‘Mad’, ‘Hopeless’ and ‘Possible’.

Shackleton could only accept fifty of those applications, and it is tempting to wonder how many from each category were successful. I would love to believe those he considered ‘mad’ stood the best chance of all.

When asked to imagine an explorer, we likely picture someone muffled in furs and battling Arctic winds, or perspiring in the heat as they hack their way through an equatorial jungle. Exploration seems to be a basic human instinct; the Phoenicians and ancient Greeks, the Romans, the Vikings and the Polynesians all set sail in a quest for new territory. This questing spirit is also seen in the European Age of Discovery which inspired Christopher Columbus, Vasco da Gama and Ferdinand Magellan. In more recent centuries, explorers such as James Cook, Mungo Park and John Franklin staked their lives – and lost them – in the great unknown.

By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, vast regions of the world still lay unexplored; there were, quite literally, blank spaces on the map. In the pure spirit of adventure, these attracted men and women whose curiosity spurred them to travel the unknown landscape, and tantalised the minds of scientists eager to expand and enhance their knowledge. Then there was political power; if a nation could plant a flag in these uncharted places, it could claim them as its own. Explorers often took on many roles, for example as scientists, cartographers, ethnographers, even negotiators and diplomats. Very often, therefore, their stories are linked with events in the wider world. In the late 1800s the ‘scramble for Africa’ saw European countries vying to claim slices of the continent for trade; meanwhile the ‘Great Game’ was playing out in Central Asia, as Russia and Britain manoeuvred for power in the Himalayas. This is true even of more modern figures; Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon were arguably precipitated by the Cold War.

Some found themselves especially drawn to those inhospitable parts of the globe where the extremes of climate made human survival all but impossible. The Arctic and the Antarctic captured the imagination. The discovery of the Northwest and Northeast Passages opened up shorter routes for trading vessels, while the Antarctic was identified as a vast continent. For a growing band of explorers, the ultimate prizes were the Poles.

In more recent decades, our perception of exploration has undergone a subtle change. The euphoria that greeted new ‘conquests’ in previous centuries has gradually been replaced by a sense of responsibility. As we begin to understand the absolute dependence of human life on the survival of our natural environment, the efforts of modern-day explorers are focused on enhancing our awareness and encouraging us to look ahead for the welfare of generations to come. Although Sir Patrick Geddes warned us that ‘environment and organism, place and people, are inseparable’1 over a hundred years ago, we are only just beginning to appreciate the truth in his words.

The experience of the explorer himself has changed, too. From the time when voyagers would bid goodbye to their families and head off into the great unknown, with absolutely no contact for several years at a time, we have progressed into an era of digital technology which allows instant communication and precise global positioning. Increasingly, the feeling that those early pioneers must have known is going to be lost to us: their vulnerability, their total isolation. It took nearly eleven months for the news of Scott’s death to reach the outside world. Admiral Teddy Evans, along with Tom Crean and William Lashly, was one of the last people to see him alive; as the two groups parted ways and Scott’s men headed towards the South Pole, Evans watched them until they became specks on the ‘great white horizon’.2

In 2014 I was invited to the headquarters of the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, to discuss writing about some of their medal recipients. The long list of names, stretching back to the late 1800s from the present day, reads like a Who’s Who of exploration. Alongside the ‘greats’ of Scott, Shackleton and Amundsen were some unfamiliar names that invited further investigation. From that point I set out on my own journey of exploration.

The RSGS was established in 1884, the brainchild of a forward-thinking young cartographer named John George Bartholomew, whose influential friends included Agnes Livingstone Bruce, the daughter of David Livingstone, and Professor James Geikie of the University of Edinburgh. A meeting to constitute the newly formed Scottish Geographical Society was held in the Hall of the Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh on 28th October 1884, and a little over a month later the inaugural address was delivered by the celebrated African explorer Henry Morton Stanley. In 1887 the Society was granted Royal status by Queen Victoria.

Besides promoting geographical education, the Society will direct its attention to the encouragement and assistance of exploration in unknown countries...3

It was an auspicious beginning. Indeed, the RSGS was blessed with so much support, from both Council members and public subscriptions, that the newspapers wondered openly why a Scottish geographical society had never been thought of before. The nineteenth century had seen an explosion in scientific knowledge and the public’s appetite for new discoveries was perhaps unprecedented at that time. The RSGS was welcomed as a champion of the newly emerging science of geography, setting the stage for explorers to share their stories of daring adventure with audiences throughout Scotland – which they did in their hundreds, year after year. Some sought purely to share their knowledge, while others also hoped to engage public interest in order to finance their next expedition.

It is hard to describe my excitement as their stories began to unfold, for the life of each person turned out to be a revelation. Mountains, deserts and oceans opened up for me as they had for the explorers themselves. I realised that these people were vulnerably human, with all the human qualities of fear and doubt. Diverse as the characters were, each had a connection with the RSGS, either as a medal recipient, a Fellow, a Council member or a guest speaker. I felt there must be a way of celebrating the Society’s wholehearted support of these explorers and scientists throughout its 130-year history. That is how the idea for this book was born.

On the first page of each chapter you will find brief details about the explorers and their connection to the RSGS. This includes any medals or Fellowships they have received. The Society periodically bestows a total of eleven different awards, but here I have described only those that are relevant to these particular explorers.

The Gold Medal (renamed the Scottish Geographical Medal in 1933) is the Society’s oldest gold medal, first awarded in 1890 ‘for work of conspicuous merit within the science of geography itself, e.g. by research, whether in the field or otherwise, or by any other contribution or cumulative service to the advancement of the science.’4 The Society continues to present it periodically for ‘conspicuous merit and a performance of world-wide repute.’5 From its early years, the Society also bestowed Silver and Bronze Medals, which were often given to additional members of an expedition.

Struck in gold, the Livingstone Medal was endowed in 1901 by Agnes Livingstone Bruce in memory of her father, David Livingstone. Originally presented for ‘outstanding public service in which geography has played an important part, either by exploration, by administration, or in other directions where its principles have been applied to the benefit of the human race’6, it is now awarded ‘for outstanding service of a humanitarian nature with a clear geographical dimension.’7

The Mungo Park Medal was introduced in 1930. Named in honour of the Scottish-born explorer, this medal is presented ‘for outstanding contribution to geographical knowledge through exploration or adventure in potentially hazardous physical or social environments.’8 The Geddes Environment Medal, introduced in 2009, celebrates the philosophy of Sir Patrick Geddes and is awarded ’for an outstanding contribution to conservation of the built or natural environment and the development of sustainability’.9 Finally, Honorary Fellowships, first introduced in 1888, are awarded ‘in recognition of services to the Society and to the wider discipline of geography’10; recipients may place the letters FRSGS after their name.

The very bones of the pioneers became the stepping stones of knowledge.11

Wherever possible, I have used reference material from the RSGS archives. Of these, the Scottish Geographical Magazine (the academic journal of the RSGS) is the primary source. Newspaper cuttings, especially from the early days, are a goldmine of detailed observation, while other reference material includes lecture programmes, leaflets, invitations and even banquet menus. It is lovely to look...