single day's walking, a - narrating self & landscape on the south west coast path

A Single Day's Walking: Narrating Self and Landscape on the South West Coast PathAuthor(s): John WylieSource: Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, Vol. 30, No. 2 (Jun.,2005), pp. 234-247Published by: Wiley on behalf of The Royal Geographical Society (with the Institute of BritishGeographers)Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3804521 .

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A single day's walking: narrating self and landscape on the South West Coast Path

John Wylie

This paper tells the story of a single day's walking, alone, along the South West Coast Path in North Devon, England. Forms of narrative and descriptive writing are used here as creative and critical means of discussing the varied affinities and distanciations of self and landscape emergent within the affective and performative milieu of coastal walking. Discussion of these further enables critical engagement with current conceptualizations of self-landscape and subject-world relations within cultural geography and spatial-cultural theory more generally. Through attending to a sequence of incidents and experiences, the paper focuses upon the distinctive ways in which coast walking patterns into refracting orderings of subjectivity and spatiality - into for example, sensations of anxiety and immensity, haptic enfolding and attenuation, encounters with others and with the elements, and moments of visual exhilaration and epiphany.

key words South West Coast Path landscape narrative affect subjectivity

Department of Geography, University of Sheffield, Sheffield S10 2TN email: j.w.wylielsheffield.ac.uk

revised manuscript received 27 January 2005

Preface The South West Coast Path edges England's entire south-west peninsula. It scrolls for some 630 miles along the coastlines of Somerset, Devon and Cornwall, pivoting around Land's End, to terminate in Poole, Dorset. It runs through various topographies, some gentle and pastoral, some sandy, some estuarine, some savage and fractured. And it is walked for different reasons by many different groups of people. The vast majority of the Path's users are recreational: holidaymakers and residents striking out from the many seaside towns and villages in the region in order to walk for a mile or so to a beach or cove, or perhaps simply with the aim of spending a day in the open air on the cliffs. Others, dedicated long-distance walkers, take the Path itself as their focus and spend several days, or weeks, walking along stretches of it. The hardiest walk the entire Path.

Two summers ago, I spent three weeks walking, alone, along a 200 mile long stretch of the Path, from its starting point in Minehead to Padstow, a port on the North Cornwall coast. At the start it is

important to state that this solo walk was under- taken with a particular intellectual agenda in mind. The aim was not to study the Path's history or its recreational use today. Rather the walk sought to activate a space and time within which I might engage with and explore issues of landscape, subjectivity and corporeality, in the context of their current discussion within cultural geographies and cultural theory more generally (for example, see Ingold 2001; Rose 2002; Hinchcliffe 2003).

This paper discusses some aspects of the walking experience. More specifically, it details various affinities and distanciations of self and landscape which emerge in the course of walking a fairly wild, lonely and demanding stretch of the Path. The paper thus works within a particular narrative and topographic frame: it tells the story of a single day's walking, a day that was the mid-point of the journey, 4th July 2002.

There are several reasons for adopting this format. Firstly, as will hopefully become clear, it was on that particular day that certain arguments regarding self-landscape relations seemed to crys- tallize. Secondly, we might argue that days are

Trans Inst Br Geogr NS 30 234-247 2005 ISSN 0020-2754 ? Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2005



A single day's walking pragmatic 'units' of sorts within long-distance walking; days emerge and are processed as useful, recognizable and recurrent measurants of distance, practice and experience. Thirdly, such a format helps to maintain a sense of fidelity to the original research. The project as a whole was, from the start, framed and specified in terms of an experimental approach to the performative milieu of coastal walking. So in the spirit of recent geographical experimentations with format, narrative and modes of address (e.g. Wylie 2002; Lorimer 2003a 2003b; McCormack 2003), most often inspired by non-representational manifestos (see Dewsbury et al. 2002; Thrift 2000b; Latham and Conradson 2003), the paper aims to explore and exemplify the possibilities of deploying a fragmentary and narra- tional rather than thematic or schematic structure: the story of a single day's walking.

4th July was the day I walked from Clovelly in North Devon to Hartland Quay, an isolated anchorage just north of the Cornish border. Clov- elly is an almost-vertical village of white cottages, smeared like polyfilla into the deep crack of a steep coombe that tumbles down to an exposed and unlikely harbour, ringed by sheer cliffs (Plate 1). As I got myself ready for another walk out on the cliffs, I felt, it must be said, strained and nervous. The day before had been punishingly hard; I was very jarred, tired and footsore. With little sense of adaptation to a life of walking in the open, over rough ground, the dominant mood of the walk

Plate 1 Nerves

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was one of nervous restlessness. The Path ahead resonated not in muscles or bones but in nerves.

The distance to Hartland Quay was ten-and-a-half miles.

Introduction

It takes an entire volume, as Rebecca Solnit's (2001) Wanderlust shows, to summarize the major philosophical, aesthetic and ethical currents historically associated with the activity of walking, both in the country and the city. A philosophical history of walking such as hers quickly enrols Kant's clock- work constitutionals, Rousseau, Wordsworth and Thoreau's romantic wanderings in nature, Benjamin and Baudelaire's distracted flaneuring, Debord's psychogeographies, and De Certeau's utopian urban practice. Solnit's work shows that even as a metaphor for thought, walking is irreducibly multiple and complex, moving from precise, calculative pacing (as with Kant), through more ruminative, leisurely reflections (in the Socratic, dialogic and pedagogic traditions), all the way to disruptive and anarchical gestures (from seventeenth-century Levellers to Parisian situationists). Clearly there is no such thing as 'walking-in-itself', no certain physical motion which is, as it were, elementary, universal and pure. There are only varieties of walking, whether these be discursive registers (pilgrimage, courtship, therapy, exercise, protest), or particular modes of engagement (strolling, hiking, promenading, pacing, herding, guiding, marching).

In this context, to walk in the English countryside involves at least some attunement with the various sensibilities still distilling from sublime and romantic figurations of self, travel, landscape and nature (see, for example, Andrews 1989; Wal- lace 1993; Gilroy 2000). As McNaughten and Urry (1998) and Darby's (2000) historical and sociological analyses demonstrate, such ways of being-in and being-with a landscape practised as both nature and nation, remain the precondition and the milieu of contemporary countryside walking in England. And tropes such as romantic or sublime notions of the walking self - male, solitary and self- reliant, but also dizzied by extension and expanse - advance ineluctably into cultural politics, into complex histories of protest and access and discursive entanglements of walking, gender, rurality, health, fitness, happiness and patriotism (for example, see Kinsmann 1995; Matless 1995 1998; Gruffudd 1996; Edensor 2000).



236 An initial point to draw here is that to set foot

upon the South West Coast Path is inevitably to be configured in some way within such entanglements. Countryside walking is 'beset by conven- tions about what constitutes appropriate bodily conduct' (Edensor 2000, 83), and the zoning-off of various territories as landscapes of natural, national and nostalgic significance remains a gen- dered and racialized process of excluding and including (see Darby 2000).

But this paper is not a sociological or historical study of long-distance walking. It does not take as its focus questions such as who walks, or why. Nor is it primarily concerned with discussing the varied cultural practices and politics of the Path; for example, its everyday use as a leisure space, its apprehension as a 'wild' antithesis and antidote to urban life, and its visibility as a landscape where some features are deemed acceptable and others less so. The existence and ongoing refraction of complex cultures of walking, identity and landscape clearly both affords and backgrounds this piece. But its analysis has a more specific, delim- ited objective. It aims to describe some of the dif- ferential configurations of self and landscape emergent within the performative milieu of coastal walking. Such configurations, this paper shall argue, are variable and multiple. Walking in the woods, on the exposed cliffs, by the sea, in tandem with inherited cultures of the visual: all these registers, I hope to show, require separate attention and delineation.

The accent is thus upon specific walking corpo- realities and sensibilities: moments, movements, events. The paper aims to spotlight tones, texts and topographies from which distinctive articulations of self and landscape arise within the course of a day's walking along a scrolling and fractured coastline. And here it is worth making initial men- tion of the notions of affect and percept, insofar as these are often implicitly engaged with throughout this piece. As Thrift (2004) details, the intellectual genealogies of these notions are complex and multiple; they emerge differentially from vitalist and bio-philosophies, psychology, performance studies and neo-Darwinist biologies. Lately within human geographies, the terms affect and percept, in particular the former, have been used in a predomi- nantly Deleuzian vein (see Massumi 2002), to signal both the non-rational or more-than-rational aspects of life, and also the broader notion of a charged background of affective capacities and

John Wylie

tensions acting as a catalyst for corporeal practice and performance (see, for example, McCormack 2003; O'Tuathail 2003; Anderson 2004). Affect thus denotes the shifting mood, tenor, colour or intensity of places and situations, whether this be the vibrancy of cities (Thrift 2004), the anxiety of ago- raphobia (Davidson 2003), terror (O'Tuathail 2003) or boredom (Anderson 2004).

While retaining these senses I want to work, perhaps more exactly, through the suggestion that affect and percept 'are that through which subject and object emerge and become possible' (Dews- bury et al. 2002, 439). This highlights that while affect and percept of course imply and involve human emotions, perceptions and sensations, they are not simply synonymous with or reducible to them. Affects and percepts are precisely domains of experience that are more-than-subjective. Thus, for Deleuze and Guattari,

percepts are no longer perceptions; they are independent of a state of those who experience them. Affects are no longer feelings or affections; they go beyond the strength of those who undergo them. Sensations, percepts and affects, are beings whose validity lies in themselves and exceeds any lived. (1994, 164)

In the context of coastal walking these terms connote configurations of motion and materiality -

of light, colour, morphology and mood - from which distinctive senses of self and landscape, walker and ground, observer and observed, distil and refract. Just as there is no question of confining all sense, meaning and passion to the interior of the self, so there is no a priori and fixed exterior matter determining perception. Instead, the circulation and upsurge of affects and percepts is precisely the relation, the primary capacity of affecting and being affected (Massumi 2002), from which these two horizons, inside and outside, self and landscape, precipitate and fold. Thus, a percept is a style of visibility, of being-visible, a configuration of light and matter that exceeds, enters into, and ranges over the perceptions of a subject who sees. An affect is an intensity, a field perhaps of awe, irritation or serenity, which exceeds, enters into, and ranges over the sensations and emotions of a subject who feels. Taking these definitions as an initial cue, discussion in this paper focuses upon the multiple patternings of affect and percept into performative orderings of self and landscape.

Pressing these perhaps torturous theoretical propositions into service on behalf of a walk by



A single day's walking the sea, along cliffs, and through fields may seem quixotic. But the advent and advocacy of a more sinuously post-structural geography must necessarily be experimental and affective, if the insights of non-representational theories are to amount to more than an additional element to be subsumed within the structuralist and empiricist analyses of contemporary human geographies. Recent recogni- tions of this include Thrift's suggestion that geographers should 'weave a poetic of the common practices and skills which produce people, selves and worlds' (2000b, 216), and Dewsbury et al's argument that academic writing should aim to Icontribute to the stretch of expressions in the world' via a 'resolute experimentalism' (2002, 439). In an effort to respond to such calls this paper seeks to deploy both critical and creative registers, blending descriptions of incidents and places with commentary upon current landscape theory.

In this vein, it is worth further noting that forms of narrative - memoir, montage, travelogue, eth- nography - are being used both within and beyond academia as creative and critical means of express- ing post-humanist philosophies of place. I am thinking especially here, for example, of the stricken, existential intonations of W.G. Sebald's (1998) East Anglian odyssey, The rings of Saturn, of the anthropologist Kathleen Stewart's (1996) evoca- tive Virginian ethnographies, of the poet Thomas Clark's (2000) and the artist Richard Long's (1995) pastoral cartographies, of lain Sinclair's (1997 2003) occult beatnik zigzags across London, and of Alphonso Lingis's (1998 1999) blend of phenomenological analysis and critical travel writing.

In different ways, all these diverse avatars query the traditional attributes and associations of the walking subject. Solitary walking, in particular, emerges from romantic discourses of the self and nature in which a commonly male subject undergoes rhapsodic or epiphanic experiences in the vicinity of a nature explicitly framed by the pre- cepts of sublime aesthetics, a nature at once fearful, awesome and transformative (see Rose 1993; Darby 2000; Mills 2000). The gendering of this field, and the concomitant valorization of certain practices and perceptions, such as those of the poet, explorer or fieldworker, is an inheritance which contemporary writers such as those cited above must necessarily engage with and work within, whether by introducing postcolonial and post-romantic doubts and hesitancies (as in W.G. Sebald's writing), or through exaggerated parody (as maybe in lain

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Sinclair's work). The point, perhaps, is that this solitary romantic inheritance is precisely what is open to reflexive questioning and re-working in contemporary travelling narratives. Equally, this paper seeks to at once inhabit and disturb an equivocal legacy of cultural practices, a register of aesthetic understandings, and a repertoire of gestures which make up, without determining or closing, the performance of self and landscape in solitary walking.

To expand a little more on this theme, another element common to this paper's avatars is a certain sense of spectrality. The point of view of the narrator - and the entire trope of the narrator as point of view - is, in all of the examples cited above, precisely what is questioned, dispersed, spectralized, and thus is precisely what is at stake. A walker is poised between the country ahead and the country behind, between one step and the next, epiphany and penumbra, he or she is, in other words, spectral; between there and not-there, perpetually caught in an apparitional process of arriving/departing (Derrida (1994), and see also Pinder's (2001) essay on ghostly urban walking). Pursuing the travel narrative as a potential form of geographical epistemology, this paper seeks to describe and instanti- ate such senses of emergence and spectralization. If the romantic, solitary, walking self was once a totemic emblem of a coherent, masculine narrating subject, then precisely through a walking narrative this subject may be disassembled and differently cohered and scattered. Nothing holistic accrues as a result. Like Alphonso Lingis, who wants to 'describe separately the night, the elements ... the carpentry of things ... the faces' (1998, 4-5), I want in this paper to present the walk from Clovelly to Hartland as a mosaic of moods, incidents, intro- spections, speculations about landscapes and bodies.

In the woods

On the edges of any village the Path is fragmentary; lanes and bye-ways stitched together at oblique angles to each other. West of Clovelly, it stutters like this before trailing silently into dense woodland. As I walked in unnoticed on 4th July, the woods were spooky in a morning sea-mist (Plate 2).

Gaston Bachelard writes that 'we do not have to be long in the woods to experience the always rather anxious impression of "going deeper and deeper" into a limitless world' (1994 [1969], 185). The woods and the forests thus signal first of all for Bachelard the abrupt and sudden emergence of



238

Plate 2 Immensity/intimacy

limitless spaces, in particular their manner of being already boundless, an immediately endless m;nilieut. In this way, the walker in the woods is straightaway, nervously and anxiously, an encompassed self. In temperate latitudes at least, woodland commonly has a particular density, one which admits enough light to make it clear that beyond this tree, these branches, a tangle of wood and leaf extends in all directions.

But this infinity and immensity is, simultaneously, an intimacy. Bachelard theorizes that the immensity of a milieu such as a forest or an ocean is poetically entwined with forms of reflexive intimacy. In particular, it resonates with a 'daydream- ing' state of preoccupation and self-reflection, a peculiarly intense space of interiority itself experienced as boundless. Immensity is thus an affective affordance for the emergence of electively affined subjectivities and worlds, solitudes and vastnesses. Bachelard suggests,

It is through their immensity that these two kinds of space - the space of intimacy and the world-space - blend. When human solitude deepens, then the two immensities touch and become identical. (1994 [1969], 203)

This seems apt to a walk in the woods, which do seem endless, or at least appear as an environment in which motion and ground are untied from each other in some way, and you move without advancing forward, ruminatively, as on a treadmill. Stopping in the woods, however (as I did that morning about two miles from Clovelly, coming to an elaborately-roofed bench, Plate 3), has the precise effect of arresting the sensation of endlessness to which Bachelard alludes. Stopping in the woods is different, I think, from halting on a hill or cliff-top, or on a plain or plateau. In the

John Wylie

Plate 3 Cluster

woods, to halt is become attentive, suddenly, to the details and textures that are immediately to hand: this tree, these branches.

And yet at the same time a distinct sense of an endless milieu lingers. The woods configure the near and the far in a particular, peculiar fashion. This configuration perhaps links to the 'anxiety' which Bachelard associates with 'going deeper and deeper into a limitless world'. While walking, the woods are endless but practicable, they have a homely, crunchy feel. But to stop is to be hemmed in. If immensity is, for Bachelard, the realization of a self-in-solitude, then stopping is the re-insertion of otherness into this 'daydream' in which the horizons of self and landscape coincide. The others cluster around the figure standing alone; the woods are the home of satyrs, bacchants, bandits, sasquatch.

One message in Kathy Prendegast's geopathic artwork, 'Lost' (1997), is that being lost is oddly coeval with being located: here, in this precise spot, I am lost. Fumbling the map for reassurance in the dripping silence. The woods may emerge as immediately endless spaces, but on stopping they become endlessly immediate; a loom and a lurk. The anxiety of Bachelard's poetic persona is that of a walker who halts too often, maybe even every few paces, until finally becoming caught in the interplay between the immediately endless and endlessly immediate; this is why they are 'always anxious' in the experience of immensity.

The Other

Suddenly the morning silence of the forest was broken by a cry. A loud, ululating cry, one which perfectly mimicked, in every detail of pitch, variation and length, the cry of Tarzan, lord of the



A single day's walking jungle, familiar to me from old Saturday morning black-and-white serials. In its wake everything hushed. But there was no follow-up. The cry had come from somewhere ahead and to the left - from quite a long way off.

I continued along the Path now descending for the first time that day, and presently emerging out onto the open, mossy floor of a small valley. Mouthmill: a secluded, silent idyll, cupped in the green hands of the enclosing forest. A river, just a small stream, trickled and curled through grassy banks to a pebble beach. Unusually, the Path was right by the sea. Across the stream, as if put there to charm, an abandoned, mossy, grey-stone building was slowly crumbling away.

I was about to cross the stream and go down to the shore when a dog appeared, as if from nowhere; a thin, greyhound-shaped dog with a grey coat, sniffling its way erratically shoreward, and pausing at one point to turn and gaze intently back into the trees on the other side. A moment later, from out of the trees the figure of a man appeared, striding steadily towards the sea. He walked erect, fixedly, with a wooden staff in one hand. The crown of his head was smoothly bald, but a long and straggly beard hung down from his face. He was naked to the waist and his leathered, lean torso writhed with tattoos. He was barefoot. A battered, earth-stained kilt was all he wore. Straightaway I knew that he was the source of that Tarzan-like cry, and knew as well that that he had cried out like that all alone in the middle of the woods, at the very top of his voice.

As he approached he seemed not to notice me. I crossed the stream, nervously, with eyes down, watching my step. On the other side he had stopped, and stood waiting, staff in hand, a couple of feet away from me as I clambered up the bank. He was much older than I had thought, maybe even sixty, with eyes set deep in his walnut-brown skull. 'Good morning', he said, in one of the deepest, richest voices I had ever heard. 'Isn't it a wonderful morning?'

A few minutes later, from the height of the far side of the valley, I turned to look back, and he was walking steadily out into the sea, staff gripped in both hands and held high above his head, the dog lapping and splashing about him as the waves broke over his legs.

In the thick of it The woods cleared and for a time the Path found open air and a level course upon a billowing

239

.. . TV:.

Plate 4 Tense: ductile

landscape, with fields of pasture running right up to the cliff-edge and the grey-blue sea sponging in the background. Odd to be edging microscopically along a flat wedge of land that dropped so suddenly and vertically. Then it crinkled into a series of abrupt, densely vegetated rises and plunges, twisting and creasing through steep coombes. I found myself, as happened every day, in the thick of it. In the thick of it: wet, livid green ferns all around, the Path a thin, muddy rope (Plate 4). Limbs and lungs working hard in a haptic, step-by-step engagement with nature-matter. Landscape becoming foothold. Walkers on the Path very often find themselves in such a close visual, tactile and sonorous relation with the earth, the ground, mud, stinging vegetation. Topos in quickstep, in a succession of short sharp bursts. The sound of breathing and the rustle of the rucksack shifting about awkwardly no longer emanate from inside; the affirmation, as it were, of inten- tional action and effort. Instead they become an anonymous soundtrack through which movement is realized. As if the pre-established boundary between self and landscape, subject and object, could become soluble, osmotic, in the engaged, involved practice of walking.

This is one possible account of coastal walking: a self forgotten in unintentional corporeal hexis, a landscape inhabited and processed rather than beheld. Ingold's (1993 1995) articulation of a phenomenological understanding of landscape as a milieu of embodied, quotidian dwelling perhaps points in this direction. A range of recent cultural geographical studies have equally taken corporeal practices such as walking as exemplary instances of how senses of landscape and self are mutually configured. Accounts of practices as varied as orchard growing (Cloke and Jones 2001), reindeer herding (Lorimer forthcoming), voyage by ox- drawn cart (Dubow 2001) and rock-climbing (Lewis 2000), gain purchase and direction through



240 the classically phenomenological manoeuvre of placing the self in the body and embedding the body in landscape. Thereby, a range of practices - perceptions, memories, physical movements, dis- tanciated topologies - are understood as being both in and of landscape, and gather landscape together as lived milieu.

In this context, walking would appear, at least superficially, to have some affinity with the every- dayness of being-in-the-world: rhythmic, practical absorption. But the coastal walker, with downcast eyes, a hunched, laboured rhythm, sealed in an envelope of mobility not much bigger than the dis- placement of their body by one step - he or she cannot be described as being in some unmediated relation of corporeal circumspection. Walking does not embed the self 'in' landscape, nor does it put in motion a relation in which some auratic sense of self and place emerges. In other words, walking does not in any straightforward way constitute an 'embodied' connection or immersion that is foreign or resistant to the knowledges produced by gazing, contemplating or navigating. The recent re-discovery of phenomenological modes of understanding offers a corrective to the sometimes structuralist readings proffered by new cultural geographies. But, just as the latter tended to present landscapes whose meanings were always already structured (see Rose 2002), then so accounts of landscape-as- dwelling run the risk of presenting subjects and landscapes always already conjoined.

The walking subject must not be presented in terms of some pre-thematic flux of the lived equivalent to Heidegger's preliminary account of cir- cumspect, everyday practice (Heidegger 1962 [1927]; Dreyfus 1991). Walking is not thoughtless. This would oppose it to contemplating, and the consequence would be another abstraction of the visual from the corporeal. Further, the argument that a constitutive sense of self is suspended or placed beneath a threshold of awareness when one is intensely environmentally involved is an argument that fails in terms of the very experiential plane it takes as its measurant. Because when one is thrashing through ferns, brambles, mud, rocks; when one's sensory horizon appears, or rather does not appear, equivalent to the Heideggerian ready-to-hand, then yes, in one sense, involvement and immersion in the immediate environment occurs in a distinctive manner. But in another sense, it is precisely from such affectual situations, from such 'complexes of gestural, figural and

John Wylie

musical refrains . . . [crossing] the threshold of cultural consistency' (McCormack 2003, 498-9) that a distinctive sense of self emerges and is maintained.

To be 'in' the landscape, but also up against it. To be dogged, put-upon, petulant, breathless. Partly, of course, this emerges via the tension of self-preservation. A tactile and tactical focus: when else are your feet, the ground, so visible? The rising mercury of involvement pushes upward a men- iscus of subjectivity. Put this another way: an involved walking affect, a particular density of materialities and movements, precipitates a certain sense of self. The performance of walking on broken, steepling, muddy ground, in one way a contraction of sensibility to the immediate environs, is, in fact, strangely intertwined with a particular separation of subject and object. A double, reversible articulation is what occurs in practice. A folding together of self and landscape, which, through its knotting, draws both out once again; a double movement of contraction and dilation in which a certain corporeal sensibility twists forth in ache, ennui and enervation.

In The fold, Deleuze's critique of Heidegger argues that being-for-the-world precedes being-in- the-world. Self and world overlap and separate in a ductile and incessant enfolding and unfolding: 'the torsion that constitutes the fold of the world and the soul' (1993, 26). In the midst of things, in the thick of earths and bodies, the self is pressed up against the landscape, at one and the same time part of it, emergent from it and distinct from it, like a blister on a toe.

Hartland Point: the path and the sea When I finally struggled free of the fern-choked gullies and saw the coastline ahead sweeping to Hartland Point, it was almost midday (Plate 5). I had been walking for nearly three hours and had covered maybe six of the ten-and-a-half miles to Hartland Quay (which lay a few miles around the coast from the Point). In that time I had met only one other person. In late June and early July, once away from the towns and villages, the north Devon and Cornwall coasts are surprisingly deserted. You can walk for hours and hours without meeting anyone in an expanse of grass, wind, sky, rock and sea.

Elemental solitude lent each daywalk a fanciful allegorical quality. It rendered reaches of coastal landscape as symbolic staging-posts - enchanted forests, valleys of despond. With no one to talk to,



A single day's walking

Plate 5 Pivot

my companions were Ordnance Survey Explorer maps; more than adequate because the Path was usually obvious, and walking it required little skill. In the face of the Path's muscular consciousness, however, the maps' surface tracing of roads, paths and settlements faded from view. This gave way to depth and contour in rust-coloured nests and fans. Studied in the evenings, the maps unfolded fraught topographies. Like a later Cezanne, they were vivid with depth, crisply alive with sheer three-dimensionality. They bulged and rolled with landscape; the coastline in waveform, with whirl- pools of gradient, leg-buckling plunges to sea-level and languorous, aching rises.

Seen from along the vertiginous cliff-edge, Hartland Point itself is a dramatically exposed promontory, with a lonely lighthouse besieged by incessant waves. The Path pivots here, after several days of ambling westward, and tracks directly south along the exposed Cornish coastline. The Point also marks the end of the Bristol Channel and the start of the Atlantic - the start, for the coast walker, of more wild and fractured configurations of cliff, sky and ocean. The entire Hartland Coast is still a noto- rious wrecking-ground.

I stopped to eat and rest just past the Point, by a recently erected stone and plaque commemorating the First World War hospital ship Glenart Castle, sunk by torpedo in the early hours of 26 February 1918. The plaque read: 'the ship lies 20 miles west- northwest from this stone' (Plate 6). I sat down and stared out to sea in that direction. 'The ship lies 20 miles west-northwest from this stone': these words, for some reason, affected me deeply. It seemed a fearful distance beyond the already lonely and agoraphobic spot I had arrived at. In the breaking sunlight the sea swilled and glittered malevolently.

241

Plate 6 Malevolence

After a few days walking, the sea stops being, as it were, the edge of the land, the end of one thing and the beginning of another. It becomes instead a sort of encircling element. As a coast walker I

began to be very aware of being on an island, of being on an aqueous globe, an earth encircled by a world of ocean, if that doesn't sound too fanciful. Yet the sea seemed indifferent to the land. Lilting hugely away in every direction, its real partner was the sky. In exchanging tones and moods with the

sky, the sea languidly calibrated and reconfigured geometries. The land was fractal, the sea Euclidean: it was difficult to believe that this coastline was the

product of their interactions. The sea was a smooth and intensive space incessantly striating itself. And then collapsing back into an atavistic state of phenomenological totality. There was nothing really to

say about the sea's character except what we always already know from looking at it - it's

always different, always the same, or, rather, it is

composed of innumerable differences so finely different that their incessant production is also their apparent erasure. A line from the poet Thomas Clark: 'every inscription is erased, every direction countered, that it might be the sea, not current, tide or wave, that rests in the gaze that rests upon it' (2000, 35).

Smoothlands

The pressure of the Path forced me to my feet. About five minutes' walk south from Hartland Point,



242

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Plate 7 Smoothiands

having meandered through a series of sleepy, hedged lanes, it curved left, and I found myself, in an instant as it seems in memory, standing before a resplendent landscape, the best for days: the view looking south into the Smoothlands valley and the coastline carried far beyond (Plate 7).

The shelving promontory is marked on the maps as Damehole Point, the first of a series of head- lands knifing out into the waves. And behind the apparently nameless, faceless cliff, gathering the sunlight and becoming the configuring centre of the landscape, there is the 'strange, lonely, wild little valley' (Tarr 1996, 106) of Smoothlands. Lofty scenes are commonly supposed to inspire lofty thoughts. This one seemed peculiarly affecting and archetypal. It looked somehow too good to be true, as if it had been digitally enhanced and cleaned. It was spectacular: I was all eyes.

The quotidian rhythm of walking, connoting an understanding of landscape as a milieu of corporeal immersion, is counterposed by a visionary moment of drama and transfiguration. The ambit of landscape seems to range all the way from humdrum occupancy to sublime optics. But the latter register emerges from Western visual cultures extensively critiqued for their objectification of externality and centring of the gazing subject. Sublime experience is predicated upon an initial fracture that places observer and observed on either side of an abyss. And just as the sublime beholder dissolves in dreadfril delight, so he or she simultaneously undergoes an energizing apotheosis: the event of vision begins and ends with a cleaving apart of subject and world (see Schama 1995; Ashfield and de Bolla 1996; Michaels 2000). In this way the poetic apprehension of dramatic natural scenery clarifies within a

John Wylie

spectatorial epistemology, one which positions landscape as a slice of external reality seen from the perspective of a detached subject, a subject whose gaze is variously invested with notions of control, separation, authority and voyeuristic judgement. If corporeal rhythms immerse, then visual events, however dramatic and unforeseen, distance.

My notes from Smoothlands, however, queried this axiom. Earlier, this paper argued that the labour of coast walking is less a mutual embedding of body and landscape, and more a double movement of contraction and dilation in which a certain corporeal sensibility twists forth in ache, ennui and enervation. Equally, exhilarating encounters with elemental configurations of land, sea and sky are less a distanced looking-at and more a seeing-with. This is not to re-invent sublime landscape and its correlate, the unified, gazing subject of Western aesthetic practice. Instead, it is to suggest the possibility of another, hopefully distinctive account of the emergence of a corporeality and sensibility that is 'all eyes'.

Alphonso Lingis (1994 1998 1999) pursues Merleau-Ponty's (1968 [1962]) notion of the tran- scendence of the visible world and Levinas's (1999 [19691) account of the summons of the Other, to develop an affectual phenomenology of perception. For Lingis, the visible world not only transcends the subject, in the sense of being more than the sum total of human perceptions, it further summons and directs it in certain ways. Subjectivity arises in the course of perceptual processes as a vector of response to exteriorities - to encountered others, to sights and sounds, to both textures and intangibilities. In corporeal, cultural and natural processes Lingis detects levels of sense, levels through which lived, material sensibilities, for example attunations self and landscape, are emergent and themselves effective as relays and genera- tors of new ordinances and summons.

A level may be defined as a certain setting or tuning of the visible, the sonorous and the tangible within which, in a double movement of solicitation and response, the self is emergent. A level does not occur in a particular location or at a given moment, because levels (of light, of sound, of colour etc.) produce spatiality and temporality. A red rose brought into a bedroom, for example, one of Lingis's most vivid examples:

Even as it surfaces as a property inherent in a thing, this red also plays across the room; the red of the roses intensifies the green of the leaves, bleaches the white- ness of the sheets of the bed, rouges the cheeks of our



A single day's walking

friend in the bed ... this red would not be the red it is if it did not mould surfaces with a certain grain and elasticity and quilt depth with a particular spongy density ... a colour ... sends forth a wave which brings other colours into relief and solicits their approach, lays open a field of possibility and materialises a wave of duration. A tone is not an event localised in a line of time ... it extends a specific kind of duration in a space it opens. (1998, 28-9)

Levels - levels of light, colour, texture, sound, morphology - are thus neither objective empirical facts and processes, nor projections of subjective or discursive meaning. As Lingis argues,

a level is neither a content grasped in a perception nor a form imposed on an amorphous matter of sensation; it is that with which or according to which we perceive ... an ordinance taken up and followed through. (1998, 27, my emphasis)

In walking into an amber-lit caf6, for example,

after some moments, the luminous haze neutralises and ... the tone of the light has become a level about which the colour of things and faces surface according to the intensity and density of their contrast with this level. The light ceases to function as a radiance in which we are immersed; we begin to look not at it but with it and according to it. (1998, 25)

Or, equally,

when we set out to feel something, our extending hand locates the level of the tangible, which it makes contact with not as an objective but as a directive, imposing the pressure, sweep and periodicity of the movement that will distinguish the grain of the wood, the fur of an animal. (1998, 26)

Through such descriptions, Lingis engages a phenomenological register of affect and percept. Affect and percept are neither mysterious trans-human determinants of our sensibility, nor are they simply vectors of personal psyche, emotion or intention. They produce and circulate within a non- subjective, sometimes intersubjective, relational spacing composed of moods, tones, postures and topographies. These are affective levels with which we perceive, a seeing-with, or sensible becoming, in which distinctive articulations of viewer and viewed, for example, precipitate and unfold.

Following Lingis, the Smoothlands landscape is in part

a visible that extends unobserved, a sonority that is no longer listened to but that prolongs itself ... a substantiality no longer palpated but that subtends the reliefs and contours felt. (1998, 30)

243

And the relation between self and landscape is not always or strictly that of observer and observed. The eyes of the gazing subject are not an exercise of judgement or a bestowal of meaning upon a passive and neutral scene. Instead these eyes arise and look in a relation with visibilities, sonorities and tangibilities that 'organises as it proceeds' (1998, 31). This narration is neither a factual record of coastal scenes nor simply an arbitrary, subjective point of view. Landscape is neither something seen, nor a way of seeing, but rather the materialities and sensibilities with which we see (see Wylie forthcoming).

When we arrive at a viewpoint - as I arrived that afternoon before the Smoothlands landscape - its tone, topography and acoustic is a summons which constitutes the viewer and the viewed, which makes arrival arrival. A corporeal gaze dawns as a separation from that which is seen, but 'this separation is not the effect of its own power' (Lingis 1994, 190): it remains a seeing-with. It is the crystal- lizing of percept and affect into a perceptual and affective state, a certain duration of bodily postures and dispositions, a constellation of eyes on skin. The curve and gleam of Smoothlands made it an epiphany unto itself. The imperative in witnessing this scene was 'to be reborn as the locus in which the free elements are glorified' (1994, 210), to be all eyes before a numinous configuration of wind, waves and contours.

In pain I spent some time watching the Smoothlands valley, a calm, green, curve that seemed to cohere boundless circles of sky and sea. Then I walked through it. From the far side, the Hartland Quay Hotel - my destination - was visible, about an hour's walk away along a clawlike coastline (Plate 8).

The walk from Smoothlands to the hotel is hazy in memory. At one point a pair of fighter planes ricocheted low overhead, dislocating the entire world and sending a group of gulls screaming up into the air in wan imitation. The truth is I was never fit enough to walk fully-laden over steep, broken ground for nearly 200 miles. The afternoons emerged as footsore, doleful spaces of self-pity. Bruised shoulders, aching hip-joints, kneecaps and, above all, heels and toes.

Michael's study of the 'mundane technology' of walking boots notes that they function to 'reshape the affordances of nature by expanding the range



244

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Plate 8 Wrecking grounds

of possible actions available to the body' (2000, 112). This expanding world, however, is to a large extent dependent upon a 'contact with the ground [that] is phenomenologically unproblematic' (2000, 115). In other words, as a walker becomes chaffed, jarred and footsore, so the landscape no longer takes shape as a set of readily affording surfaces for purposive and smooth motion. Instead, the world contracts and the subject splits. The footsore body 'can no longer experience the sublime' (2000, 116) and there occurs 'a distanciation of the "self" from the body', and from the world (2000, and see also Scarry 1985). The consequence is that the painful, footsore body is externalized from the self, and shimmers into view as a problem to cope with.

However, the difficulty with Michael's (2000) otherwise insightful account is that its focus is exclusively internal. The surrounding environment is wholly eclipsed in the shadows of the footsore body. In painful walking, however, externalization is extended beyond one's body to extension itself, the surrounding great outdoors. The body-in-pain and its environs appear as a duo of othered antago- nism. New postures and surfaces materialize and new affectual extensions resonate. The bone pain of walking is realized in an aching halo of landscape, with the ground immediately beneath your feet and the slope climbing above and the coast unspooling relentlessly ahead. Pain occurs neither 'in me' nor 'in that' - the externalized body - but 'between me and it', in this step, this next step. And so the landscape emerges as malignant.

The pain of footsore walking is neither wholly internal, nor a splitting of self and body, but rather a resonance of things as a whole, an architecture of refrains, stones, footfalls, refracting forces anterior

John Wylie

to the subject-object distinction. 'I am in

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jarred.. ... and jd, I hbl out of the rok and cliffs, :ginto20yi: thEiq~ie 0Li~i~i~ii:000tiX:WH1Ff~lobbyi o~ti:;gE~iS:04000f 005,l~iTE~l~tighi~iSE~el:| Hartland,,l Quay Hotel (P4;ij la::te2i2.. 9 )

tof uneasubecwasoajerceie disjuncture Iami between nth

tat s-i-wre-sabstrctintellectuarld goal oft' the resea

janrd the jloale, colour' ouof the placessalon theiPath Becaushe lofb thewa the warlkn seeme Htol hurryatself

osal ong a sense oftcleingaghemsent withn placuedit partiiculareloaldities went rsasray. FuThermai oureh resuearch was angledrtoward aijucadremi narrtives;th aitowards recetraccountelculgas of lanscpe embodimen and subjectivityloand thetissueaofshowotheseeinter-

Bycueo the post-henoenoalogiesmof wrter suchy atsel alingis(94,98 andnefcls Dengaeuzeand Guattpari, (1994) Asarescult, Ilorrliied, thet walkthad. authtesaraorefited rsatmoshe, one inflectewad bycwatdBurieu (1990)ves coalls the'chol astcpoints of view',capepeectoiveint whic oujetverly-reflexivisueandho itletual concerns

ar te ipustedtomqotdinoplaces and pracitionrchs.

It reutook monthsd, and wal serie of dimscussionsiat

seminars and conferences, before it became clear that these concerns were based upon an encompassing error. This error involved presuming a distinction



A single day's walking between 'indigenous' and 'imported' knowledges, between articulations of self and landscape which seemed to emerge in situ, located and rooted, and those apparently manufactured elsewhere and then applied like a fresh but foreign coat of paint. One facet of this error was methodological: an assumption that landscape would always speak most cogently via archival, archaeological or ethnographic field- work. Another was ontological: that worlds were split into features which were external, pre-given and inherent, and interpretations which were internal, experiential and projected out onto an exterior. The issue, pace Bourdieu's scholastic fallacy, was not one of over-intellectualizing everyday practice, but of situating practice at a certain point of entry into conceptual debate. In sum, disquiet haunted the walk because of a failure to apply the very principles underpinning the research to what was actually happening in its unfolding. The movements, sensations, thoughts and encounters which animated the walk around the Path, and which equally animated me, were not an alien or fleeting facade obscuring some underlying, authentic landscape, nor were they a tissue of significations infusing an in-itself mute landscape with meaning - the gathering of localities, geologies and transient gazes with the eyes of Deleuze, Lingis, Bachelard, was itself a particular complex from which distinctive senses of self and spatiality distilled.

Unease perhaps also surfaces with the narrative format I have adopted. This choice was based initially upon a sense that the discussion of self- landscape relations I wished to present should necessarily be placed in the midst of process and performance, and would not be best served or explicated by a retrospective or thematic treatment. A narrative structure hopefully allows for contrast and progression to emerge; additionally it is intended to be an experiment, of sorts, in scripting post-structural geographies of self and landscape. Of course it has limitations. It flirts with the very figure it wants to query: the coherent, narrating subject. Further, as was noted as the start of this piece, walking is irreducibly multiple, and shared, collective or guided walking (see Matless 1998; Darby 2000; Pinder 2001; Lorimer forthcoming) is obviously conducted within and productive of very different resonances and relations than the solitary variety discussed here. But at the same time, solitary walking is always, necessarily, already relational: a set of relations with landscapes, with others, with cultural histories operate

245

so as to effect the very possibility and emergence of solitude. In other words the coast walk as described transcends the point of view of its narrator, or is rather anterior to the narrator; the narrator is an outcome, not a presupposition, of the walk. In fact, to say that a first-person narrative is merely an arbitrary, subjective perspective is to presuppose the very epistemological principles this paper argues against: a conception of individuals as discrete, monadic subjects, an a priori separation of subject and object, perceptions and facts, mind and matter. Of course it is I who have chosen to assemble the paper in this particular way; it was me who experienced these things, but not as an un- affected, unaffecting atom. I am equally assembled and dispersed in this pathfinding process, I precipitate amid tones, topographies, theoretical discourses. This is a credo of sorts. As Rose argues, engaging post-humanist geographies will require that we

recognise not only the movement of deconstruction but also the movement of what Derrida (1976) calls our 'dreams of presence': our dreams of being a subject. (2004, 465)

In this sense, the wider argument emerging from the Path is that landscape is not just a way of seeing, a projection of cultural meaning. Nor, of course, is landscape simply something seen, a mute, external field. Nor, finally, can we speak altogether plausibly of the practice of self and landscape through notions of a phenomenological milieu of dwelling. Taking a first step past constructivist, realist and phenomenological visions, this paper writes its way through what might be termed a post- phenomenological understanding of the formation and undoing of self and landscape in practice. Therein, landscape might best be described in terms of the entwined materialities and sensibilities with which we act and sense. In considering again the question of how the geographies of self and landscape might be written, the paper has attended to a sequence of emergences, affinities and distanciations: woodland enclosure and anxiety, haptic enfolding and attenuation, encounters with others and with the elements, moments of visual exhilaration and epiphany, the rocks and bones of footsore spaces.

In concluding, however, I want to briefly revisit an idea floated in the introduction to this paper concerning the spectrality of walking. In retrospect, part of my unease en route came from a sense that I



246 John Wylie

became more ghostly with every passing step. A feature of the Path is its onwardness. Unlike the criss-crossing walks through which one might come to know a given region, and view the same scenes from a variety of perspectives, the Coast Path is a continual passing-through. Between an unknown country ahead and an already-forgotten country behind, the walk moves at best within pro- visional parcels of space: this slope, this view of the coast ahead, the Path as far as that curve round a bend. To be spectral, however, is not to vanish but to haunt. The spectral, as Derrida's (1994) analyses make clear, is the revenant: that which is always coming-back. To haunt a landscape is to supple- ment and disturb it. Equally, passing-through is at once both passing-into and emerging-from.

Speaking of walking as spectral signals not absence or alienation, but rather a manner of being- with landscape neither holistic nor arbitrary, a particular, restless and supplemental mode of engagement with texts, bodies, senses and materialities. In my rucksack I carried, among other things, Deleuze's (1993) The fold, Merleau-Ponty's (1968 [1962]) The visible and the invisible, Lingis's (1998) The imperative, Bachelard's (1995 [1969]) The poetics of space. These materials circulated through footfalls, the sound of the waves, views along the chaotic, curving coastline, the sun setting over the sea.

Acknowledgements

The research upon which this article is based was funded by an AHRB Innovations Award, project code 17320. Thanks to Paul Harrison, Mitch Rose and Ben Anderson for helpful discussions, also to audiences at seminars and conferences in Ply- mouth, Durham, Sheffield, Nottingham and Phila- delphia. The careful and supportive comments of three referees have further helped to sharpen and improve the paper.

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