Mary Louise Pratt’s somewhat disparaging description of the political and scientific atmosphere during explorations like the La Condamine expedition sound alarmingly similar to more recent expansions of knowledge. The space race provides a pertinent example of how nationalism and the quest for scientific supremacy in a modern world can drive a wedge between potential collaborators much the same as it did in the 1700’s. More subtle demonstrations abound; over the last few centuries of exploration at the expense of native peoples, mistrust of scientific authority has become rampant among native populations worldwide and is only recently quelling. Even here in Montana the interface between science and the private sector is an embattled frontier, with ranchers and farmers frequently butting heads with land managers, researchers, and federal regulatory agencies.

I was relieved that this chapter of Imperial Eyes also sheds light on the scientific exploration as a mechanism for exploration; exploration was sometimes no longer enough to justify itself. Contrarily, Pratt focuses on the “travel-writing” of La Condamine as a useful byproduct despite it’s lack of scientific substance. This exploration for its own sake lives on at all borders of knowledge, but scientifically oriented expeditions are now the norm. If an expedition is not primarily scientific it has become common for some institute of learning or another to attach an academic to any expedition of note.

I was a little thrown off by the inclusion of Linnaeus and his classification of the natural world. Yes, his Eurocentric worldview was representative of the scientific climate at the time, but his best known work was in many ways non-exploratory. Pratt seemed to be trying to draw attention to the scale and style of Linnaeus’ work; his system for biological classification both brought continuity forth from the “chaos” of biology and cultivated a unified scientific conscience. The author carries on with the vein of “global European consciousness” that (somewhat unconsciously) stemmed from and flourished following the examples of Linnaeus.

To say the least of Robert MacFarlane’s historical-biographical-geological-autobiographical-philosophical-geographical-narrative, I was inspired. The perception of mountains as unwelcoming sentinels of evil and mystery has indeed given way to a normalization of these pinnacles as recreational objectives. This may be some residual metaphor-hunting from last week on my part, but for every imagined or magical mountainous danger there is an analogous but very real and objective danger present in modern alpinism. The “Dragon of the Mountain” could well replace violent storms, or manifest some mental affection such as fear or doubt.

The connection to Linnaeus is evident here; geology as a scientific impetus and is every bit as powerful as physics, navigation, and biology.

As for the magnetism of mountains, “possession” is an adequate description, but only sheds light on the pull, not the push. In reality every dead end faced is just that, a dead end. Something’s gone wrong. When overcome, the reward is fantastic! Lessons learned. Character built. The words “I survived!”, come with a note of surprise… But then there’s Henry Worsley, who died this week after calling for rescue 900 miles into a 930 mile solo foot traverse of the Antarctic continent. Having succumbed to exhaustion after over 70 days on the ice, he’d “shot his bolt” in the words of his own hero, Ernest Shackleton. Worsley’s dead end ledge was a hidden infection in the lining of his stomach. There are countless other dead end encounters that end not with lessons learned but with unrecovered bodies. For every intoxicating, liberating experience in the mountains (of which there is an abundance) there is a sobering comeuppance.

In truth, I had little patience for Marjorie Hope Nicolson’s work.