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 Path
Author(s): John Wylie

Source: Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, Vol. 30, No. 2 (Jun.,
2005), pp. 234-247
Published by: Wiley on behalf of The Royal Geographical Society (with the Institute of British
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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, sub-
jectivity 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 for-
mat. 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 experi-
mental approach to the performative milieu of
coastal walking. So in the spirit of recent geograph-
ical 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
235
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 philo-
sophical, 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 country-
side 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 sociologi-
cal 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 com-
plex 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 entangle-
ments. 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 land-
scape 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 regis-
ters, 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 mul-
tiple; 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 partic-
ular 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 inten-
sity 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, per-
haps 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
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 geo-
graphers 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 phenome-
nological 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 under-
goes 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 contempo-
rary writers such as those cited above must neces-
sarily 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
237
Sinclair's work). The point, perhaps, is that this
solitary romantic inheritance is precisely what is open
to reflexive questioning and re-working in contem-
porary 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 per-
formance 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 narra-
tor - and the entire trope of the narrator as point of
view - is, in all of the examples cited above, pre-
cisely 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 epis-
temology, 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
straighta-
way, nervously
and
anxiously,
an
encompassed
self. In
temperate
latitudes at least, woodland com-
monly
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, simultane-
ously,
an
intimacy.
Bachelard theorizes that the
immensity of a milieu such as a forest or an ocean is
poetically entwined with forms of reflexive inti-
macy.
In
particular,
it resonates with a
'daydream-
ing'
state of
preoccupation and self-reflection, a
peculiarly
intense
space
of
interiority
itself
experi-
enced 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 imme-
diately 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
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 build-
ing 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 stead-
ily 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
phe-
nomenological 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 equiv-
alent 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 argu-
ment 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 cul-
tural 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 con-
traction of sensibility to the immediate environs, is,
in fact, strangely intertwined with a particular sep-
aration 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,
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
ago-
raphobic spot
I had arrived at. In the
breaking
sun-
light
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
phe-
nomenological 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
dif-
ferent 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
IIII 11N|? B|S.t?Z,, ?<BaS&*fi0BT BA.;..)M 8<,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ......
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 land-
scape
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 apprehen-
sion 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 move-
ment 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 emerg-
ence 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 percep-
tion. For Lingis, the visible world not only tran-
scends the subject, in the sense of being more than
the sum total of human perceptions, it further sum-
mons 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 emer-
gent 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
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 pheno-
menological 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 separa-
tion 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
, i , :..051.. A. %L 5 %25i{,024E,{ESH i {50002:ESS tiL 5 ti 5 %L {L
i{2i;-~.... ... ...
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 pain-
ful, 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
tha aS pre-g{400ivHen 'IS'S exeience pa 1 in, bu ;t :t ;tha :t a; cetain;~~~ :s:i 20,g.
i Bii iFi0 0 fi !ii... ..... ... i i i !0! :; if t ; j igg5 '....... ... .. ti iB
tha is pre-subjecive; a.'woldof.hurt..Once.mor
..........s
. . .: .gi ... .5 ...0 . .0 .i ...:.0- . .g .. .':g .
;
.
:
.
:
.
;
..
l: i: > B~ g g 0
i: $I nl ic
i
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. .. ...B.....i ...
~g0 . ..igX .itii .~ .i .......i-g i-gii-gigit ;!g;igP{ i
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
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 inter-
nal, 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 move-
ments, 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 distinc-
tive 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 land-
scapes, 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 narra-
tor, or is rather anterior to the narrator; the narra-
tor 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 pre-
cipitate amid tones, topographies, theoretical dis-
courses. 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 dis-
tanciations: woodland enclosure and anxiety, haptic
enfolding and attenuation, encounters with others
and with the elements, moments of visual exhilara-
tion 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 materi-
alities. 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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Single Day's Walking, A - Narrating Self & Landscape On The South West Coast Path

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