In reply to John Clinch (Ampthill):
Yes, your're right John: I climb in the Lakes and Lancashire, mostly, and when you're climbing there you're kidding yourself if you think of those landscapes as 'natural'. You often end up at the interface of industry, agriculture and nature - which have changed the landscape on such a scale, and so irrevocably, that these changes have been "naturalised". You end up imagining "this is nature", when actually it's a product of, say, 19th century quarrying and monocultural agriculture. In this context, as you say, the tradition, documentation and practice of climbing also inscribes its micrography on the landscape - from the idea that some green cliff is climbable to the erosion of constant visitation; and from the chipped Victorian-era hold, to the well-worn nut placement, to the glued-in bolt.
Of course, climbing is a human production, not a 'natural impulse in the untamed wilds', then. And I approve wholeheartedly of that - as I said above, make your crag your home! When the world is being constantly rewritten by power, capital, industry and consumption, why not cherish these more fragile and esoteric forms of shaping and naming and knowing the landscape? These are spaces where ordinary people are able to author something, to make it their own.
With this in mind, I feel like the crags - as well as the knowledge and tradition of climbing - are conceived of by many as a commons: a set of practices and resources to which all have rights, and which are more-or-less regulated by the tradition of the community. The greeting of another climber at a crag, the sharing of gossip about the routes, and the beady eye out for the litterer or dry tooler - all these are kinds of spontaneous association around and regulation of a resource held in common.
The obvious exception here, of course, is that of crags on private land - often grouse moors or forest owned by the descendants of aristocracy, who violently seized and enclosed (privatised) the commons back in the C18th and C19th. As E. P. Thompson describes it:
"In agriculture the years between 1760 and 1820 are the years of wholesale enclosure in which, in village after village, common rights are lost. [...] Enclosure (when all the sophistications are allowed for) was a plain enough case of class robbery."
So, where we can and can't climb is marked by this dispossession, as well as by more recent struggles against it (e.g. the mass trespass of the 1930s) to re-establish some kind of "common rights".
But, are we still thinking of the crags as a "commons" when we consider turning them into 'attractive venues'? Or is a shift in the air?
On the one hand, maybe they continue as a commons: lots of voluntary (hard and dangerous and sometimes personally expensive) work carried out for the benefit of "the climbing community". But, I wonder if the recent desire to increase that "community", to increase footfall, and to smooth the way for the circulation of people and the consumption of "climbing" is actually akin to the capitalist imperative to constantly up productivity, to grow consumption, to open new markets, and so on. And, I wonder (without having enough experience to determine either way, but just picking up on certain signals) whether the BMC itself is an organisation democratically representing the views of the community, or whether it has, to some extent, become a bit separate of that community as it has grown, staked its current and future success on capitalist business models and, along the way, digested certain ideas and tenets of this kind of pervasive "business-think".
It's important to stress, I don't want to ascribe such views to any individual or anyone in this thread or to the bolting of Berry Head Quarry - because I know sweet f-all about this crag, these individuals and their motivations. But, it was just that the word "clientele" and a recent experience of climbing in a silent valley set off a meandering chain of thought and concern, which - apologies to the OP - is probably tangential to the original thread.