Here in Stockholm Township industry is testing the social structure for cracks. We live in a place of transition, a rural economy drifting toward an urban one, a place becoming a land of milk and wine. So far the urban folk have carried the day, descending in large numbers on Stockholm Township board meetings: angry, informed, and ready to fight. Some township residents throw their hands in the air–they think that maybe a frac sand plant proposal, when one is put forth, should be at least considered–they are getting angry too, but have yet to find a voice. Meanwhile big energy probes the foundation walls, looking for the cracks that form in every wall.
I have been spending most of my time lately on the hydrology of Lake Pepin. The relative simplicity of earlier ideas for this map has faded into a maze of hundreds of little rivulets. I am beginning to recognize a character in the endings of my cut lines similar to the endings of certain black letter serifs. I am nearly a third of the way through cutting the blue blocks for the map (perhaps closing in on 100 hours), and I am just beginning to see what I’m doing. It took me 25 years to gain some understanding of this place where I live. There is much to be learned of both.
On the right the rivulets have been outlined with my trusty #5 spitsticker, and the larger spaces cleared with a mechanical router. On the left, the remaining wood has been cleared using first the #38 round scorper and finally the #42 square scorper. Of the dozens of engraving tools in my box, I use these three 99% of the time.
In early June I visited the lower part of the lake on a turtle expedition with book dealer Rob Rulon-Miller and wildlife biologist John Moriarty. June is the time of year that turtles lay eggs, and I hoped to find one doing so. As the Army Corps of Engineers dredges the channel of the river, large islands of sand are formed. These islands are thoughtfully sculpted, generally with a small, land-locked pond at one end, and an overflow drain pipe to the river.
In the ponds ecosystems form that are ideal for the observation of creatures like water snakes, frogs, dragon flies, and turtles.
A female False Map Turtle ((Graptemys pseudogeographica). “The basking turtles extend their legs to maximaize the surface area for the sun to wam up.” –Moriarty
John captured two little turtles from last year’s hatch that I took home for observation:
Meanwhile, I’m nearly ready to begin engraving a large foldout map of Lake Pepin. The map will be printed from end grain maple blocks and metal type. Two sections of the map, each the maximum size that my press can print, will be joined, and eventually folded into the book. I’m working from downloaded PDF’s of the latest generation of USGS survey maps. These maps exist in many layers, which can be made visible, or not: I am using only two: hydrology and contours. Overall, my map employs 25 of the USGS maps. They have been scaled to size, printed out, and taped together.
Making the drawing on tracing vellum to transfer the map image to the block.
Joining pieces of end grain maple rounds.
A glued-up block before sanding.
The blackened surface of a finished block with graphite lines transferred from the tracing vellum.
As the text of this volume is historically based (see post of March 19 A Winter That Wasn’t), I have been looking at old maps. To use as a model, I’ve settled on the maps engraved by Edward Weller for Henry Youle Hind’s Narrative of the Canadian Red River… published in 1860, and in particular this little map of “The Fishing Lakes”. I like the typography, the use of color, and the method of showing contour.
I cut a small test block attempting two possible directions I might go in defining contour: modern contour lines, and a stab at hachuring. While using the modern contour lines model would be much easier (and given the massive scale of this map, much less arduous), I’m inclined to go with hachure lines. I obviously have a way to go in developing a satisfactory hachuring technique (engraving in end grain maple offers less precision than engraving in the copper or steel of 19th century map engravers like Weller), but I’m determined to try.
Contour lines on the left, hachuring on the right.
I have a theory that while out on the lake today, if one squints, what one sees isn’t much different from what Hennepin would have seen in 1680. Here is a plan for a French fort on Lake Pepin that was drawn in 1727.
I was thrilled to spot the exact location of the fort by looking at this contemporary USGS photograph.
Though some change has obviously occurred with the shifting of sediment over the years, I think that the basic geography hasn’t.
Rulon-Miller and Moriarty navigate Lake Pepin backwaters.
