In order for Pick to invert traditions in topographical writing, she must do so in a way that also defines them. Here we receive a morphed version of travel writing, a Lewis-and-Clark-esque exploration of flora and fauna tinged by a modernist anxiety of influence: "Boulders, / tall grass, shrubs I can’t name, / birds I can’t name. . .Bottles, I know. / Condoms, I know." What is interesting about this passage is that, at least in the beginning, it quite resembles traditional topographical writing: it addresses an unknown physical feature in the landscape as any good explorer would. However, it is the lack of inquisitive nature, the acceptance of ignorance, that moves "Hinterland" away from traditional territory: much like how the speaker looks towards the sea, an entity whose surface hides its own detail, she decides to ignore the details surrounding her in favour of ignorance. Pick takes a modernist spin on topographical literature by defining those things the speaker does know as manmade, hedonistic trash. By contrasting unknown natural specimens and familiar manmade items, Pick tinges her poem with a Modernist anxiety of influence, suggesting that we have lost touch with nature and orienting us towards the past to find it again. Finally, instead of continuing explorations, the speaker "heads home:" home in this instance not being beyond the sea as it was for early explorers such as Columbus, but inland, towards the hinterland those explorers sought.