Viewscapes
On Wildcat Mountain, in Wisconsin’s Driftless region. This high observation point–from where the photo was taken–is around 1200 feet elevation, no more than a few hundred feet above the height of the surrounding plateau. But I was high enough to gain an awareness of the overall shape of the terrain (e.g., the knob to the left of the photo), to see the pattern of the topography (woods interrupted by open fields) and to see over all impediments, to the straight line of the ultimate horizon. I’ve stood on many mountains higher than this, and here I had the sensation that I was on a peak thousands of feet higher than it was–at great height. What is the term for when one landscape evokes another? The imagination allows itself to be tricked, perhaps out of nostalgia for a more familiar scene or a homeland. Heimatgefühl, the Germans would say.
The trick here is the elongation of relatively modest slice of vertical distance. In a few hundred feet this “mountain” (apparently the locals called it a hill before it was turned into a state park) gives the viewer a sense of detachment from the flatlands. There is a productive loss of connection between the high ground one stands on and the plateau below–a little bit like you’re flying. When I saw this view in person it made me feel like I was seeing the jigsaw puzzle of my surroundings. One doesn’t usually get views this comprehensive from Wisconsin. Looking at the photo now, I am reminded of the title to Rebecca Solnit’s 2013 book The Faraway Nearby. At this paradoxical point in space, we get close to something far away, and become far away from something near. Height creates both sensations at the same time. This is one source of its sublimity. Isn’t this feeling a privilege of rest, of getting away from the everyday, of being in a position to contemplate? Let’s hope that it can happen from more places, from even more unassuming elevations.