Editor's Note: From the January-February 1965 issue of Summit, Northwestern Editor Dee Molenaar reviewed a new pictorial relief map of the North Central Cascades. At Molenaar’s request, the map maker, Richard Pargeter, wrote about his experience producing the illustrative work.
By Richard Pargeter
One day in April, 1954, George W. Martin, Registrar of Olympic Community College in Bremerton, came to see me. Normally, this wouldn't have been an unusual event as we both had much in common as climbers. George had initiated the mountaineering and campcraft classes at the college several years before, and I had completed the classes as a break from day and night art courses. But the meeting on that day was to give our lives a new direction.
Relative to the mountaineering course which conducted its field trips in the nearby Olympic Mountains, George realized the need for a map type of a different concept than the usual U.S. Forest Service maps and U.S. Geological Survey topographic quadrangles. He wanted a map that would show the neophyte climber what the country really looked like, showing the terrain from an extreme altitude, but still showing the man-made features of roads, towns and trails, with trail mileages. George asked the question: Would I, as an illustrator, assist him on this project? Since I had spent the previous three summers with the Park Service in Olympic National Park, I had become familiar with the many secrets of its rugged and vast back-country terrain. Being thus bolstered, I happily consented, and the map, "Olympics in Relief" was started.
Twenty months later and with two more summers in the Park behind me, the project was nearing completion. Toward the end, two and three o'clock periods in the morning were familiar hours to me. My eye-balls assumed the appearance of a typical H. M. Gousha Company publication (minus highway numbers). On the morning of my military conscription, the board was illuminated until 3:30. George took it from there and, with great effort, finished the informational material for the back of the map, and had it printed by February of 1956.
From an art technique standpoint, I was never happy with the map, "Olympics in Relief." It did, however, accomplish its purpose of indicating generally what the country looks like, in addition to furnishing road and trail information. Also, this map has since proved to be a popular and consistent seller.
In 1957, George Martin suggested that we continue in the pictorial relief map business and produce one on the Cascades. I agreed that this would be very well received by the public, as I knew of no map of a similar nature which covered this increasingly popular mountain recreation area.
Early in 1958, Martin, acting in his usual capacity as reference procurer, started the initial work. This included procurement of every type of map in captivity on the area. Correspondence with various agencies resulted in receipt of copious quantities of information, including many types of maps and Forest Service I.B.M. listings on roads and trails. Flights were made to photographically capture the images of the countless peaks, ridges, valleys, glaciers, snowfields, rivers and lakes that compositely make up the rugged Cascade Range.
Then came my turn. But before a drop of paint could be applied, the entire mountain area had to be first drawn in pencil. This took months and was done directly from contour maps and the photos. What the map amounts to is an illustrator's interpretation of contour maps and aerial photographs.
The painting was to begin only after I was satisfied with the pencil drawing of the map in its entirety. The painting was to be the "fun" part. However, this turned out quite to the contrary and can be compared with climbing Mount Rainier—every weekend. You climb for hours and still don't see the summit. Here, I would paint for hours in the space of one square inch—after nine square inches were painted in seven days' spare time, I still had six hundred square inches to go. Here, I seriously pondered the wisdom of ever starting this project. But, I was committed—if it took the rest of my life. However, after frequently passing through moments where I wondered about my sanity, my mental equilibrium gradually stabilized, as I noted that my new map would artistically, and for accuracy, be a great improvement over the Olympic map.
Such close, confined art work sometimes had frustrating results. On occasion, I would get lazy and ignore the careful re-checking of pencil work before applying the paint. After about an hour's painting I would discover that in a certain square inch where there should have been two spur ridges leading from a main ridge, I had room for only one. To squeeze in both of them would not only have been dishonest, but would have warped the proportions. At this point, with resignation, the incorrect area would be painted out with white and started all over again.
Painting of this type has its physical and mental after-effects. I would retire at night with the hope, at least, to escape the thought of this self-imposed headache, only to be confronted with visions of contour lines en masse. After many nights of this curious phenomenon I began to wonder if, through some kind of a transfer process, those contour lines weren't actually being imprinted on the insides of my eyelids!
When I reached the halfway point in the painting process I began to realize a sobering fact—my style was improving, and my later work was inconsistent with the style of my initial work. What I had been fairly well satisfied with in the beginning now disappointed me. I now found myself confronted with the sobering fact, which was a directive: Paint nine-tenths of it over again. After one and a half years of meticulous painting I had to re-paint almost all of it to match the style which now uniformly covers the map.
Such work demands a very real need for an inspirational "crutch." George Martin was a source of this inspiration with his constant encouragement. From the start he would pat me on the back and say "Good job!" but, as the work passed through the stages where inconsistencies in style appeared and changes seemed necessary, George's words didn't hide the look of horror in his eyes.
A major source of inspiration was the F.M. radio with its broadcasts of classical and light classical music. Two of my favorites were Sibelius' "Finlandia" and Grieg's "Peer Gynt Suite." I found that a mountain range is comparable to a symphony. Broad pastoral valleys bespeak comforting notes of tranquility. Visually ascending the ridges, tempo and volume seem to increase, then to subside, and rise again with suggestions of musical undulation. The velvet soft mountain meadows, and concomitant jewelled lakes, seem to translate into entrancing notes higher on the scale. A sparkling stream, splashing through a flower-covered meadow, though inseparable from the rest, is a musical entity in itself. Thunder is heard—but the day is clear. The symbols and drums are weak imitations of the avalanche. Full orchestral climax is achieved at the grandest summits of Glacier Peak, Mount Stuart and Dome Peak.
It is obvious that, interspersed with the tedium of the job, I was grateful for the many moments where my love of the mountains could be interpreted through my brush while listening to such appropriate background music.
The picture on the cover of the folded map does not represent a specific peak or area. However, components of this painted scene can be found in many parts of the North Central Cascades. The mountain may remind one of a peak in some part of the Mt. Stuart area, or in the area around Holden. The lake is representative of many a high mountain lake. The fully timbered ridge is reminiscent of those on the Cascade western slope, and many people have noted on a ridge crest this lone, gnarled sentinel guarding the skyline. As one views this matured alpine fir, each gnarl and scar a symbol of a battle fought and won, one may contemplate this ridge crest resident and admire, not only its aesthetic quality, but the patient, enduring strength that it exhibits. Further down the ridge, one may note a silent story—a tale of the inevitable concession to nature's laws. The silver snag, even in death, stands with aloof dignity. By contrast, the gentle, white Beargrass, nodding in the breeze, offers little resistance and will feel only the initial subjugation of winter, there being prostrated by the first snow. Its decaying upper substance will provide nourishment for seed and its own next year's effort.
Statistics
The original painting of the map was very slightly smaller than the reproduced size. I simply considered this format size more convenient than a larger, more cumbersome one. It was brush painted in opaque water color (tempera and designer's colors). Drawing board time added up to 993 hours. This time included base map painting, overlays, and the cover painting.
The place names, roads, trails, etc. were placed on two clear plastic overlays, one for the red, the other for the black. Onto the black overlay were affixed the place names in their exact position. This copy was ordered from a commercial printer at no small cost, as was all the copy for the back side of the map.
Lines indicating roads, trails, etc., and additional wording, to be printed in red, required the second overlay. The wording on this overlay had to be placed so as not to conflict with anything on the black, with the exception that black names were printed over red roads and trails on occasion.
To facilitate placement of the stick-on names, we incorporated a three-person assembly line. It consumed a full weekend, twelve hours both days for George, my wife Dee, and me. After this was done and the back was set up, we were ready for press.
The first printing gave us only one hundred maps. These were all marked "Proof Copy Only," and were not in full color. Our intention was to send these proofs to as many people familiar with the mountains as we could for final checking. The recipients were fishermen, climbers, scouting people, and Forest Service personnel. The information, comments, and corrections we received from these people proved to be invaluable to the accuracy of the final published map.
Our next project? —a pictorial relief map, "The North Cascades," an extension of the present man north to the Canadian border.
But, first, a much needed rest.
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Another Richard Pargeter Cover
Richard Pargeter's April 1967 Summit cover features three mountaineers resting on a rocky outcropping, perhaps atop Mount Stewart, one of Pargeter’s favorites.
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