“The glaciers are melting, and I have more work to do,” as Adrian Dähler, part of that special group, put it.

Dähler is one of only three cartographers at the agency—the Federal Office of Topography, or Swisstopo—allowed to tinker with the Swiss Alps, the centerpiece of the country’s map. Known around the office as “felsiers,” a Swiss-German nickname that loosely translates as “the people who draw rocks,” Dähler, along with Jürg Gilgen and Markus Heger, are experts in shaded relief, a technique for illustrating a mountain (and any of its glaciers) so that it appears three-dimensional. Their skills and creativity also help them capture consequences of the thawing permafrost, like landslides, shifting crevasses and new lakes.

The article is a fascinating look at an extraordinarily exacting aspect of cartography. [WMS]

Since 2013, Peter Bolt—whose company is called Landfall—has been making bespoke 3D relief models based on from nautical charts, Ordnance Survey maps and aerial photographs (see his portfolio for examples). The models are layered along contour lines—a process that can be seen in several of his videos. Everything is a custom job, made by hand; prices begin around £250 for an A4-sized model and go up from there.

“Mapping a Better Tomorrow” is a 30-minute film produced in 1971 to explain the work of the U.S. Army Topographic Command (TOPOCOM). After explaining maps from first principles, it covers the state of the art in terms of cartography, computer mapping, photogrammetry and surveying circa 1971, including the production of topographic maps, maps of the Moon and maps of, erm, southeast Asia. Since U.S. government publications are public domain, it’s available in several locations, including the Internet Archive (above), DailyMotion and Vimeo.

TOPOCOM itself had a short history. Created in 1968 (PDF) as the successor to the U.S. Army Map Service, it lasted less than four years before being merged into the Defense Mapping Agency (DMA) in 1972. Which in turn was merged into the National Imagery and Mapping Agency (NIMA) in 1996. Which in turn was renamed the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) in 2003.

But on certain maps, in Switzerland’s more remote regions, there is also, curiously, a spider, a man’s face, a naked woman, a hiker, a fish, and a marmot. These barely-perceptible apparitions aren’t mistakes, but rather illustrations hidden by the official cartographers at Swisstopo in defiance of their mandate “to reconstitute reality.” Maps published by Swisstopo undergo a rigorous proofreading process, so to find an illicit drawing means that the cartographer has outsmarted his colleagues.

It also implies that the mapmaker has openly violated his commitment to accuracy, risking professional repercussions on account of an alpine rodent. No cartographer has been fired over these drawings, but then again, most were only discovered once their author had already left. (Many mapmakers timed the publication of their drawing to coincide with their retirement.) Over half of the known illustrations have been removed. The latest, the marmot drawing, was discovered by Swisstopo in 2016 and is likely to be eliminated from the next official map of Switzerland by next year. As the spokesperson for Swisstopo told me, “Creativity has no place on these maps.”

The article suggests these drawings are a coping mechanism, an opportunity to blow off a little steam. I can believe it. [r/MapPorn]

(The Canadian government tried something similar back in 2006, but the decision was overturned after a public outcry.)

Previously: John Loacker and the Kroll Map Company; A Paper Maps Roundup.

If the purpose here is to point to the route less travelled, well and good, but I suspect the effect will be rather like what happens when a travel guide raves about an out-of-the-way, hidden gem of a restaurant.

“The world-changing differences documented by maps in the Eastern Bloc Borderlands project cannot be overstated,” says Michelle Dalmau, head of Digital Collections Services for IU Libraries, and the project’s principal investigator. “In some cases we see villages and settlements depicted that no longer exist.”

Created by the Russian Military from 1883 to 1947, the maps traveled widely through their tactical use in the field. In the years surrounding World War II, many were captured by opposing forces, including German and American troops. As a result, myriad stamps from institutions they passed through—such as the University of Berlin, the U.S. Army Map Service, and the CIA Map Library—mark the maps with a unique and visual history.

More than 1,000 have already been digitized. These maps are similar to the maps chronicled by John Davies and Alex Kent in The Red Atlas (see my review), but date from before the Cold War. [Osher]

The Red Atlas is not the definitive history of those Soviet mapping efforts because so much about those efforts remains a secret. The only reason we know about them is because, in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union, so many physical copies of those once-highly secret maps fell into the hands of map collectors. The Red Atlas talks about that: for more than a decade, Davies and Kent have been studying those maps. (I’ve been following their work. See the links at the bottom of this post for my earlier posts on the subject.) What they know about the Soviet mapping efforts—sources, methods, their reason for doing it—is extrapolated from the final product of those effort: the maps. The Red Atlas is above all else an exercise in cartographic forensics.

Deciphering the Soviet maps is more than a matter of reading Cyrillic. Soviet maps were standardized, with consistent and highly specific use of symbols and labels that would not necessarily be obvious to the casual map reader. Because these maps had no casual readers: they were secret maps for official use only. You needed to be trained to create or use these maps; the handbook was 220 pages,¹ and there were a number of training posters. Without that training, it would not be immediately obvious that, for example, an underlined town name meant that the nearby train station shared the name,² or that navigable rivers were labelled in uppercase.

The level of detail required by those standards made compiling information in western countries something of a challenge. The extent to which the Soviet maps were copied from existing western sources, based on satellite reconnaissance or derived from on-the-ground observation and surveillance is something The Red Atlas delves into in some detail.

If The Red Atlas suffers from being too anglocentric—too focused on Soviet maps of the United States and Great Britain—it may be because the authors spent time comparing and contrasting the Soviet maps with their USGS and Ordnance Survey counterparts. On the one hand, the Soviet maps so resembled the Ordnance Survey’s work that the OS moved to block their use in the United Kingdom.³ On the other hand, there are differences, even outright errors, that come from the Soviets’ attempts to reconcile different sources (places that no longer existed, but appeared on older maps), linguistic or cultural confusion and misunderstanding, and differences in emphasis on the part of Soviet mapmakers (who assigned greater importance to railways and heavy industry than western mapmakers would).

And there is clear evidence that the Soviets did do their own mapmaking, such as military installations left blank on OS maps or under-detailed by the USGS mapped in intricate detail on the Soviet maps. There are also, here and there, attempts to include data that were standard on Soviet maps that did not normally appear on an OS Explorer or USGS quad map—notably bridge information (length, width, clearance, carrying capacity, what it’s built of), river flow direction and speed, and the width, in metres, of roads. That data could only come from on-the-ground surveying. As the authors speculate, these data suggest maps intended for administrative use rather than to support a military invasion.

The Red Atlas is a truly handsome book, filled with dozens of examples of Soviet mapmaking. For someone interested in the Cold War and spycraft, it’d make a hell of a gift this season. But as you have probably figured out by now, this is not, despite its name, a true atlas. We are given examples of Soviet cartography. Lots and lots of examples. The point of the book is to puzzle out, based on the too-fragmetary evidence in our hands, what Soviet cartography looked like, and how it (likely) was made. What we get is tantalizing. It isn’t enough. But, barring a sea change in Russia, it’s all we’re likely to get for some time.

I received a review copy of this book from the publisher.

Previously: Soviet Topo Maps; Old Russian Maps; Soviet Spies Map the World; Soviet Mapping Update; Soviet-Era Topo Maps of Russian Cities; Soviet Spy Maps, Redux.

Amazon | iBooks

Update, 9 June: More from CityLab.

More: A-Z Maps blog post from 2013, Amazon UK.

Daniel Macháček released his topographic map of Mars, based on the latest probe data, in November 2014. It uses the Mercator projection between 65° north and 65° south latitude and stereographic projections for the poles. It can be downloaded in insanely high resolution: 17,400×14,700 (78 MB JPEG, 106 MB PDF). His blog post (in Czech: use the translate button) has all the technical details. I particularly like the colour scheme he used for elevation data: the low-lying areas are coloured like deep oceans, which seems appropriate. [Maps on the Web]

Switzerland is updating its official map series. The new maps are digitally based and use new fonts, symbols and colours—railways, for example, are now in red. They replace the 1:25,000 series that dates back to the 1950s; all 247 sheets should be replaced by 2019. You can compare the old and new map designs on this interactive map (screencap above). [via]

The Ordnance Survey has created a map of Mars. “The one-off Ordnance Survey Mars map, created using NASA open data and made to a 1:4,000,000 scale, is made to see if our style of mapping has potential for future Mars missions.” It looks very much like a topographic map of Mars might; the reduced version is a bit more screen-friendly.

The Michigan State University Map Library now has on display three copper plates used to make the 1912 USGS topographic map of the Lansing, Michigan area. “From the 1880s to the 1950s, the U.S. Geological Survey used engraved copper plates in the process of printing topographic and geographic quadrangle maps. Copper alloy engraving plates were inscribed with a mirror image of the points, contour lines, symbols, and text that constitute a topographic map. Each plate was inscribed with details for a single color of ink.” [via]

Two stunning maps of the Moon have been released by the USGS, both based on data collected by the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter: one an image mosaic assembled from visual imagery, the other (above) a colour-coded topographical map derived from laser altimeter data. Via io9.