Mapped

“I have an existential map. It has 'You are here' written all over it.”
― Steven Wright (Not that one)

I was once told that the difference between a map and chart is; maps are something you look at, charts are something you work on. That obviously came from someone with campfire, canteen, and cot firmly in the chart camp. I spent a few years “working” on charts, manipulating compasses, dividers and parallel rulers, learning dead reckoning, and counting flashing lights on lighthouses and buoys. I enjoyed predicting when we would be here or there and being right. I always said that if I ever got a tattoo it would be of a compass rose. I ended up not getting any tattoo but their popularity has skyrocketed so maybe it’s not too late.

But getting back to maps and their “use,” I read an article today on the “Best of Show” award at the annual meeting of the Cartography and Geographic Information Society. I know most of you want to wait for the primetime television broadcast hosted by Ricky Gervais so I’ll understand if you stop reading now. For those of you who don’t mind spoilers, the winner this year was a map of the United States from Imus Geographics of Eugene Oregon. Imus Geographics employee roll consists of a single man named David Imus and he drew the winner on a computer, by hand. I know, I know. How does one draw by hand on a computer? Well, Mr. Imus did it without using any computer assistance software. He just picked fonts, selected what would be left out and what would be put in, and did it all in just under 6,000 hours over a two year period.

What sets his map apart from entries by the National Geographic Society and the U.S. Census Bureau is his abandonment of tinting the states different colors and instead putting thick, green lines along their borders, his use of colors to show forestation and population centers, green and yellow respectively, and relief shading to indicate terrain. His map while still functional comes across as more a piece of art than a reference tool. He shores up the argument that charts are for working and maps are for looking at, and if you enjoy looking at maps, his will thrill you.

As I look at the map from far away, the population centers of America pop out at me like I’ve never noticed before; the megalopolis from New York to Washington, the constellation-like smattering from the Appalachians to the Mississippi, the lonely dot of Denver, and two big blobs of California. You can see the history of our expansion west and the leapfrog to the West Coast. I became aware of the green areas only when I’ve stopped concentrating on those cities and take another 30-thousand-foot view; a wide swath from Maine to East Texas, a crown across Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, and a long wax dripping from Seattle that splits in two at the north end of the San Joaquin Valley. And I got all that from the small representation on the Internet. What this map must look like in person.

Last week I used the GPS on my phone (amazing right?), to find not the quickest but the least stressful way through Los Angeles from San Diego. I found it by the way, with help from my brother-in-law. Here’s a hint, it goes through Pasadena. But the GPS while incredibly useful and functional will never be mistaken for art, even if I switch the pleasant woman’s voice to French. (prenez l'ouest d'autoroute de colline à Pasadena?) The GPS is like spell check in its ability to hide all but the exact information I need while using it, and we have lost something in that efficiency. In the old days if you needed to find out how to spell a word you’d look it up in a dictionary, and find half a dozen other words that were new to you on the way. Also in the old days, you’d look up a place on a paper map, and find half a dozen other places you’d never heard of around it. Maybe even visit one or two.

Some day, when I have something that might be considered a den, I hope to get a copy of Mr. Imus’ map and display it where I can look at both closely and from across the room. Where I can run my fingers along the crooked border from San Diego to Port Isabel, Texas, and the razor-straight border from Bellingham, Washington to Roseau, Minnesota. I hope that map will prompt me to look up night life in Port Isabel or find out how a town Minnesota got the name Roseau.

My parallel rulers and dividers have long ago been relegated to a box somewhere and I don’t remember the cadence of buoy lights, but maybe someday I’ll have this beautiful map and a compass under the skin on my arm to complement it.