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Title: Going Afoot - A book on walking.
Author: Christy, Bayard Henderson
Language: English
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                               GOING AFOOT

                            A Book on Walking

                            BAYARD H. CHRISTY

                              Published for
                          the League of Walkers


                            ASSOCIATION PRESS
                      NEW YORK: 347 MADISON AVENUE


Special acknowledgment is gladly made to the respective publishers for
permission to use the following copyrighted material:

Quotations from the Journals of Henry D. Thoreau, copyright by Houghton,
Mifflin & Company; “Trees,” by Joyce Kilmer, copyright by George H.
Doran Company; “Uphill,” from “Poems,” by Christina Rossetti, copyright
by Little, Brown & Company, Publishers, Boston; “Overflow,” by John
Banister Tabb, copyright by Small, Maynard & Company; “The Lake Isle of
Innisfree,” by William Butler Yeats, copyright by The Macmillan Company.

None of the above material should be reprinted without securing

                           COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY

                            GEORGE J. FISHER


      I. HOW TO WALK                                           1

           Posture--Wearing Apparel--Equipment--Care of
           Body and Equipment--Companions.

     II. WHEN TO WALK                                         39

           At What Season--The Hours of the Day--Speed
           and Distance--Stunt Walking--Championship
           Walking--Competitive Walking.

    III. WHERE TO WALK                                        63

           Choice of Surroundings--Nature of Country--The
           Goal and the Road--Maps--Walking by Compass.

     IV. WALKING CLUBS IN AMERICA                             79

           The Appalachian Mountain Club--The Green Mountain
           Club--Wanderlust of Philadelphia--Walking Clubs
           of New York--Some Western Clubs--Association of
           Mountaineering Clubs.


           The Activities of a Walking Club--Rules
           for Hiking--A Club Constitution--Juvenile
           Clubs--League of Walkers.

         BIBLIOGRAPHY                                         141


I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who
understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks,--who had a
genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived
“from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and
asked charity, under pretense of going _à la Sainte Terre_,” to the
Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, “There goes a Sainte-Terrer,” a
Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their
walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they
who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean.
Some, however, would derive the word from _sans terre_, without land
or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no
particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret
of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may
be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense,
is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while
sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the
first, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is
a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth
and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.

                                           --Henry D. Thoreau, “Walking.”



Observe the vigorous man as he walks: the stride is long and free; the
feet come surely and firmly to the ground, without twist or jar, toes
pointed straight ahead; the pelvis, swaying easily, carries an erect
body; the arms swing in alternate rhythm with the legs; the head is borne
free over all; breathing is deep and long; the blood courses strongly.
Every member shares in the activity.


It must be the pedestrian’s ideal, when he comes to consider the matters
of clothing and burden, in the least possible degree to interfere with
these full natural bodily motions: Clothing, while serving its purposes
of protection, must not bind nor rub; it may help to maintain, but it
may not disturb normal circulation. Burdens must be so imposed as to be
sustained with least effort, and to leave the limbs unincumbered.

_Footgear_ is of first importance. If one is to walk comfortably,
pleasurably, effectively, the muscles of the feet must have free play;
there may be no cramping, straining, nor rubbing; no unnatural position.
In Japan the elegant people toddle along in rainy weather upon blocks of
wood which raise their dainty slippers above the mud; but your rickshaw
runner splashes through the street on soles as pliant as gloves. Shoes
and stockings serve but one purpose--that of protection. If roads were
smooth and clean, people who live in temperate climates would go

When one walks long and hard, the blood-vessels are distended and the
feet increase appreciably in size. More than that, in the act of walking,
the forward part of the foot is constantly changing in shape: the toes
alternately spread and contract, bend and straighten. The whole supple
member is full of muscular activity.

The pedestrian accordingly will not advisedly clothe his feet in cotton
stockings and close-fitting shoes, however well made. The consequences
of so doing would be rubbing and blisters, impaired circulation and
lameness. Nor will he put on canvas shoes, nor heelless shoes, nor
rubber-soled shoes, nor shoes with cleats across their soles, such as
football players wear.

The best material for _stockings_ is wool, and for shoes, leather. The
preference for woolen stockings is not primarily because of warmth--even
in hottest weather they are preferable. It is because the material
is elastic and agreeable to the skin. In winter, warmth is an added
advantage; and, when one’s footgear is soaked through with water, there
is far less danger of taking cold in woolen stockings than in cotton.

Stockings should be bulky and shoes roomy. The layer of knit wool between
foot and shoe leather is elastic; it gives the exercising foot free
play, cushions the weight of the body, and, by filling all the space,
prevents rubbing. The rough bulky stockings known as lumbermen’s socks
are excellent. If their coarseness is harsh to the skin, finer socks
(of cotton, if preferred) may be worn beneath. If the woolen stockings
available are light, wear two pairs together. Never wear a stocking so
small or so badly shrunken as to draw or constrain the toes.

_Shoes_ should be roomy. They should when put on over heavy stockings
make snug fit about the heel and beneath the arch of the foot, but
the forward part should be soft and wide, to give the toes full play.
The “sporting” shoes of shops are to be let alone. The army shoes are
excellent, both of the Munson and of the Hermann lasts; they have been
carefully designed for just such service as the pedestrian requires,
and they are most successful. It has just been said that shoes should
be large; they should be considerably larger than the wearer’s ordinary
city shoes, both in length and in width. It is not sufficient to find a
shoe which is comfortable in the shop; the shoe may be wide enough, but
unless there be some allowance in length, one’s toes will, after ten
miles of hard walking, be squeezed till they are tender and blistered.
A man who ordinarily wears a 9 B, for example, should buy a 9½ D. There
should be as much allowance as that, at the least. A roomy shoe, its
looseness well filled (though not packed tight) with bulky, springy,
coarse wool, coarsely knit, is the very best foot covering. An additional
advantage should be mentioned: a tight shoe, retarding circulation, may
in extreme wintry weather increase unduly the danger of frosted feet.
Heavy stockings and roomy shoes are free of that defect.

There are no water-tight shoes, except in shop windows; and, if
there were, they would at the end of a long walk, have become very

A pair of army shoes should, with proper care, last, without resoling,
for 200 to 300 miles of walking--depending on the roughness of the way,
and whether one is “hard on his shoes.” If one is planning a longer
tour than this, he should provide two pairs of shoes, and wear them on
alternate days--a plan which, but for the added weight, would in any case
be preferable.

Some men prefer to walk in knickerbockers, others in long trousers (see
below). Most of those who prefer long trousers wear shoes with _high
tops_, reaching to the middle of the calves, and covering and confining
the ends of the trouser legs. Again, bad conditions of footing--such as
deep snow, for instance, or bog land, or low dense growth--may render
high shoetops advantageous. Low shoes are not advisable under any
conditions. For the open road, shoes of ordinary height are best. They
should be laced, not buttoned.

For certain kinds of service, shoes should be specially adapted. _Rubber
heels_ are excellent on macadam roads, but it should be borne in mind
that on hard wet surfaces rubber slips. The value of rubber heels is
greatest when walking through level, well-settled regions. When they are
worn, it is well to carry an extra pair.

_Hobnails_ are to be used only when necessary. Any attachment to,
and particularly any excrescence from, the sole of the shoe, is
disadvantageous. Iron hobs add appreciably to the weight; and they
tend to localize a pressure which should be evenly distributed over
the whole sole. For walking in level or in moderately hilly regions,
for such simpler mountaineering as consists in traversing highways and
mounting wooded slopes, one does not require hobnails; the soles of his
shoes should be of plain leather. One should let alone the rubber hobs
and inlays, the small scattered spikes, such as he sees attractively
displayed as part of the golfer’s outfit. To the pedestrian these things
are not worth the fancy prices asked; indeed, they are worth nothing to
him. Hobnails, then, must justify themselves in advantages which outweigh
their disadvantages; this they do in difficult mountaineering. Worse
than useless on the level, they become in the high mountains practically
a necessity. For climbing steep slopes, the rock faces and the dense
short turf of mountain tops, for scaling precipices of “rotten” rock,
for traversing snowfields and icy ledges, one needs to be “rough shod.”
In the Alps the soles of the mountaineers’ shoes are studded all about
their rims with _flügelnägel_--great square-headed hobs of iron, with
“wings” overlying the edges of the soles. Soft iron proves to be the very
best material to give purchase on rock surfaces, whether wet or dry, and
on ice and snow, too, it is best. These _flügelnägel_, known as “edging
nails,” and round hobs for the middle of the sole, called “Swedish
hobnails,” may be had in this country from dealers in sportsmen’s goods.

For mounting icy slopes, steel spikes in leather carriers, called
_crampons_, are secured to the feet over one’s shoes. These, it is
believed, are not now procurable in this country.

For snowshoeing a soft-soled shoe is preferable. Deerskin moccasins are
not serviceable for, unless protected by some outer covering, they soon
become water-soaked, and then they are worse than useless. Shoepacks
are good, and “Barker” shoes better. Barker shoes are made with vamp of
rubber and upper of leather. On this subject, see “The Snowshoe Manual,”
compiled by the Snowshoe Section of the Appalachian Mountain Club.

Special footwear is provided for other particular pursuits: The duck
hunter on the tide-water procures hip-boots of rubber; the ski-runner
wears shoes of special design, and so does the skater. But here we are in
realms of sports other than walking.

Footgear, then, must be comfortable, durable, adequate.

Sufferers from weak or falling arches will wisely modify these
suggestions, according to the advice of a reliable orthopedist. Indeed
it is well for any one who goes seriously about walking to have his feet
examined by a competent adviser, that he may guard against latent defects
and prevent difficulty.

_Clothing_ should afford necessary protection; should be light in
weight, should be loose, and should be so planned that, as one grows
warm in walking, the superfluous may be taken off. It is best that the
temperature of the body be kept as nearly even as possible, and there
is danger of chill, if one stands in cold wind--as on a mountain top,
for instance--while his underclothing is saturated with perspiration.
Ordinarily one’s clothing will (besides shoes and stockings) include
underwear, shirt, trousers, coat, and hat.

In summer, _underwear_ has no value for warmth; it should be of cotton,
sleeveless, and cut short at the knees. If, however, one is walking in
the mountains, or at a cooler season, he will do well to carry with him a
flannel undershirt, to wear at the end of the day, when resting. In cool
weather light woolen underwear covering both arms and legs is best--and
when the thermometer falls low or one is to endure unusual exposure,
the underwear should be heavier. Some pedestrians will leave cotton
underwear out of account altogether, wearing, by preference, light wool,
and, on a very hot day, none.

The _shirt_ should be of flannel, light or heavy, according to season. In
milder weather, cotton shirts, such as the khaki-colored ones worn in the
army and procurable at army supply stores, are good. On a summer walking
tour it is well to provide one’s self with one cotton shirt and one of
flannel. The collarband should be large; collar and cuffs should be of
one piece with the shirt.

In the matter of _trousers_, one man will prefer long ones; another,

_Knickerbockers_, for summer wear, should be of khaki (or of one of the
various close-woven cotton fabrics which pass under that name; a material
called “cold stream duck” is good), or of jean; for winter, they may be
of corduroy or of woolen goods. The army breeches, narrowed at the knee,
and laced close to the calf of the leg, are riding breeches, really;
and, while fairly good, they are not of best design for walking, since
they restrain somewhat free movement of the knee. Knickerbockers should
be full at the knee, and should end in a band to buckle about the leg
immediately below the knee joint. Such walking breeches may be had of
dealers in sportsmen’s goods.

_Leggings._ If knickerbockers are worn, the calf of the leg should be
properly covered. In spite of such disadvantages as those incident to
travel on dusty roads and over burr-grown land, long stockings secured
at the knee are best for summer wear, without more. Spiral puttees are
good in cool weather; in summer they are uncomfortably hot, and even
when carefully put on, are somewhat confining. They have one notable
advantage: when used in deep snow they prevent, as no other leggings
can, melting snow from running down the legs and into the shoes.
For ordinary service the canvas puttees worn in the army are better
than the spirals--indeed these canvas puttees are on the whole more
satisfactory to the pedestrian than any other covering applied over
shoes and stockings. Leather puttees are unnecessarily heavy, and their
imperviousness is an actual disadvantage. It is only when traveling
through dense undergrowth and briars that leather puttees are really
serviceable--and that sort of wear is very hard on the puttees. High
shoetops, too, become under such conditions useful, as has already been

In wearing breeches laced about the calf, and in wearing spiral puttees,
care should be taken that they do not bind. Many of our soldiers in the
recent war suffered from varicose veins, and this was attributed in part
to the emergency, that many men unused to physical labor had to carry
heavy knapsacks. But it was attributed in part, too, to binding too
tightly the muscles of the legs.

For one special service heavy leg covering is desired: To the hunter
traversing the swamps and palmetto-grown plains of Florida, there is
some danger of snake bites. Ordinarily, apprehensions about snakes are
to be laughed at. The feet, ankles, and legs to a point two or three
inches above the knees, should be protected. This protection may be
effective either by being impenetrable, or by being bulky and thick,
or by virtue of both these characteristics. One expedient, now on the
market, consists of leggings having an interlining of wire gauze. Another
may be improvised: a bulky wrapping of quilted material, incased in tough
leggings of leather or canvas. Care must be taken to protect the ankles
below the reach of an ordinary pair of puttees. Any covering such as here
suggested must in the nature of the case be heavy and uncomfortable,
and will not be worn unnecessarily. One can only say for it, that it is
better than a snake bite.

_Long trousers_ should be of smooth close-woven material, not easily torn
by thorns, and, for winter wear particularly, resistant to penetration
by wind. The legs of the trousers should be confined within shoetops or
leggings. Long stockings are not required, only socks. In long trousers,
the knee movement is quite free. This rig is particularly good for rough

Some men prefer to wear a _belt_; others, _suspenders_. The drag of long
trousers is greater than of knickerbockers, and, generally speaking, the
man who wears knickerbockers will prefer a belt; and the man who wears
long trousers, suspenders. The belt, when worn, should not be drawn very
tight. The best belt is the army belt, of webbing; it should not be
unnecessarily long.

In summer a _coat_ is needed only when resting, or as protection from
rain. On one summer tour, the writer found himself comfortable without
a coat, but in its place a _sweater_ and a short _rubber shirt_,
fitting close at neck and wrists and with wide skirts, to cover man and
knapsack together. Such a rubber shirt, called in the supply houses a
“fishing shirt,” may be had of willow green color, or white or black.
A sweater is so convenient to carry, and so comfortable, as to be all
but indispensable; but, as protection from rain, the rather expensive,
and for all other purposes useless, fishing shirt is by no means a
necessity; a canvas coat or the coat of an old business suit will
answer well. One does not walk far in a downpour, and the slight wetting
of a passing summer shower will do no harm. In the Tyrol where, before
the War, walking as recreation was developed as nowhere else, many
pedestrians carried neither coat nor sweater, but a long full _cape_ of
heavy, close-woven, woolen material; when not needed, the cape is carried
hanging over the knapsack. Such a cape serves, in some degree, the
purposes of a blanket.

A convenient mode of carrying a coat is described by Mr. William Morris
Davis, in “Excursions around Aix-les-Bains” (see Bibliography). Mr. Davis

    “Clothing should be easy fitting, so that discomfort shall not
    be added to fatigue. Even in warm weather, a coat will often
    be wanted on a ridge crest, or mountain top: it can be best
    carried as follows:--Sew the middle of a 30- or 35-inch piece
    of strong tape inside of the back of the collar; sew the ends
    of the tape to the bottom of the arm holes: pass the arms
    through the loops of the tape, and let the coat hang loosely on
    the back; it will thus be held so that nothing will fall from
    the pockets and the arms and hands will be free.”

For winter wear, one will dispense with any such garment as a fishing
shirt, but will require both coat and sweater. The sweater should be a
warm one, and the coat should be, not heavy nor bulky, but windproof

A valuable garment for cold weather is the Alaska “parka,” a shirt-like
frock, light, windproof, and it may be made storm-proof. Made of heavy
denim or of khaki cloth and worn over a sweater, the parka is very
satisfactory. Description in detail will be found in _Appalachia_, Vol.
XI, No. 3, page 287.

The _hat_ should shield a man’s head from a driving rain, and, if it be a
bald head, from the sun. If the man wears spectacles, the brim of the hat
should shield the glass from rain and from the direct rays of the sun.
The hat should be small enough and soft enough to be rolled up and tucked
away when not needed. An old soft felt hat will do; the crown should be
provided with ventilation holes of generous size; a leather sweatband
is uncomfortable, particularly in hot weather, and may sometimes cause
bothersome infection of a sunburned and abraded brow. The writer has
found a white duck hat, its brim faced with green underneath, very
serviceable in summer. In tropical countries the familiar pith helmet is
an almost necessary protection.

One who wears eyeglasses should be careful to provide himself with
_spectacles_, preferably metal-rimmed, and on a long tour will advisedly
carry a second pair, and even the prescription. See further regarding
spectacles, under the caption, “Colored glasses,” page 22.

The choice of _clothing for cold weather_ may be governed by these few
simple rules: (1) The objective is maximum warmth with minimum weight.
(2) The trunk of the body--the spine, particularly--the upper arms,
and the thighs should be most warmly protected. (3) Let the clothing
be soft and bulky within (of wool chiefly), and externally let it be
substantially windproof. The hoods worn by the Eskimos are made of the
skins of water-fowl, worn feathered side in. (4) Have no crowding of
clothing under the arms. (5) Do not wear long coat-skirts; let the coat
be belted at the waist. (6) Protect the ears, when necessary, with
a knitted “helmet,” or with a cap having an ear-flap which, when not
needed, folds across the crown. (7) Woolen gloves or, better still,
mittens should be worn, and, outside of these, if it be very cold,
loosely fitting leather mittens. (8) Except in extremely cold weather, do
not wear leather garments, nor fur. Even a fur cap is intolerable when
one becomes warm in walking.

The _color_ of clothing is not unimportant. Whether as naturalist or
sportsman one desires to be inconspicuously clad, or as a mere wayfarer
on dusty roads he wishes to conceal, so far as may be, the stains of
travel, he will choose khaki color, or the olive drab made familiar
nowadays in the uniforms of the navy aviators. Gray flannel trousers, a
white sweater, a bright-colored necktie, for wear in the evenings, are
good as part of the equipment. But to that subject the next chapter will
be devoted.

In planning an extended hike one will ordinarily have to reckon on some
railway traveling. City clothes may be sent by express to the point
where walking ends. Then the return journey may be made comfortably and

The foregoing notes for men will be found sufficient to indicate what
is a suitable _costume for women pedestrians_. With a woman’s needs
particularly in mind, it should be said that skirts should be short,
hanging at least six inches clear of the ground; shoetops may be
accordingly higher; and all garments should be loose. When walking in
remote regions, many women will prefer to wear knickerbockers rather than
skirts, and in mountaineering knickerbockers are requisite. Even bloomers
are objectionable. In such case a woman’s costume more nearly approaches
that of men.

A girl, writing of a tour upon the Long Trail in Vermont (see page 84),
says: “Khaki riding breeches are best, as they are of light weight and
briars do not catch on them. I can’t picture any one taking the Trail in
a skirt.”

The Appalachian Mountain Club prescribes a climbing outfit for women in
the New England mountains, as follows: High laced boots with Hungarian
nails; woolen stockings and underwear, light weight; woolen or khaki
waist, skirt, and bloomers; felt hat; leather belt.

And the Alpine Club of Canada publishes this among other notes upon
women’s costume: “It is the dropping of the waist line down to the hips
that is the secret of a woman’s wearing her knickerbockers gracefully.
The top of the knickerbockers should hang on the point of the hips, with
the belt as loose as possible. This makes discarding corsets, which of
course is absolutely necessary, most comfortable.”

These notes on costume are intended to cover the subject, and to serve
as reminder and advice to those contemplating walking tours of all
sorts. But the practice of walking as an art and recreation does not by
any means require such elaborate preparations. Otherwise, the devotees
would be few. For an extended tour, or even for a holiday excursion, one
may well give consideration to these many matters; but for a Saturday
afternoon walk, it will suffice to put on proper footgear, leave one’s
overcoat at home, carry a sweater if need be, use forethought about
details, and be ready to betake one’s self from office to highway, with
assurance of comfort and enjoyment. And beyond this, there still remains
to be spoken of the daily round of walking from home to work and back
again, from office to restaurant at noon. This daily regimen of walking
requires no special costume--admits of none, indeed. It may be that as
one is thoughtful to take more steps on the routine path of life, he will
give more careful attention to the shoes he buys and to clothes. But
let no one close his mind to the subject with the too hasty conclusion
that walking requires an impossible amount of special clothing. Any one
who cares to, can make any needed modification of his ordinary business
costume, without making himself conspicuous, and probably with gain in
comfort and consequent well-being.


On a one-day excursion, a man will walk unburdened; and, on exceptional
longer trips, pack-horses may carry the baggage from one camping ground
to another; but, ordinarily, on a tour continuing day after day, one will
carry on his own back all that he requires. Should his route lie through
settled country, where shelter and bed are to be found in farmhouse or
wayside inn, the man will travel with lighter load, and with greater
freedom and enjoyment; if he must carry his blanket, too, walking becomes
harder work. It may be that one will spend his vacation in the woods,
and journey partly afoot, partly by canoe. In that case, a good part of
his walking will be the arduous toting of _impedimenta_ (canoe included)
across portages, from one lake or stream to another. Proportionately as
his burden is heavier, the sojourner in the wilderness will be disposed
so to plan his trip that he may stop for successive nights at favorite
camping places. From these he will make shorter trips, and, unencumbered,
climb mountains, perhaps, or explore other parts of the country about.

The bulk of what is carried should be borne on the back. Drinking cup
may be hung to the belt; knife, watch, money, and various other small
articles will be carried in pockets; map-case, field glasses, or fishing
rod may be slung by straps from the shoulders or carried swinging in
one’s hand, ready for use; but, for the rest, everything should be
carried in the knapsack.

In case the pedestrian is traveling in settled country and is not obliged
to carry a blanket (and such is by far the freest, pleasantest way to
go afoot), the best _knapsack_ to be found is of a kind in general use
in the Tyrol. It goes under its native German name, _rucksack_. It is
a large, square-cornered pocket, 20-24 inches wide and 16-18 deep,
made of a light, strong, closely woven, specially treated fabric, of
a greenish-gray color, and all but water-proof. The pocket is open at
the top, slit a few inches down the outer face, is closed by a drawing
string, and a flap buckles down over the gathered mouth. Two straps
of adjustable length are secured, each at one end to the upper rim of
the sack at the middle point, and at the other end to one of the lower
corners. When the filled knapsack is in place, the supporting straps
encircle the shoulders of the wearer, the closed mouth lies between the
shoulder blades, the bottom corners extend just above the hips, while
the weight of the burden, hanging from the shoulders, rests in the curve
of the back. Genuine Tyrolean knapsacks are, since the War, no longer
procurable in this country; good copies of them are, however, to be had
in our sporting-goods shops. The army knapsack is fairly good.

In case the pedestrian makes his tour in some remote region, where
lodging places are not certainly to be found, he will be obliged to carry
his blanket, and probably some supply of food. In such case, he will
choose a larger knapsack. The sack known as the “Nessmuk” is a good one;
and another, somewhat larger, is the “Gardiner.” These sacks are neither
of them large enough to contain both blanket and the other necessary
articles of camping equipment; the blanket should then be rolled and
the roll arched upon and secured to the knapsack after the latter has
been packed. Grommets sewed to the knapsack afford convenient means
for securing the blanket roll in place. A still larger (and heavier)
knapsack, large enough to contain one’s camp equipment, blanket and all,
is called the “Merriam Back Pack.” It is recommended by an experienced
camper, Mr. Vernon Bailey, chief field naturalist of the U. S. Biological

In hot weather the knapsack becomes uncomfortably wet with perspiration.
_Wicker frames_, sometimes used to hold the sack away from the back to
allow circulation of air beneath, are bothersome and uncomfortable.

For carrying heavier burdens short distances, as when making portage on
a camping trip, a _pack harness_ is used. Its name sufficiently explains
its nature. An additional device, called a _tump line_, may, if desired,
be bought and used with the pack harness. The tump line is a band which,
encircling the load on one’s back, passes over the forehead. With its use
the muscles of the neck are brought into play, aiding the shoulders and
back in carrying. It is astonishing, what an enormous burden a Canadian
Indian can manage with the aid of harness and tump line. These articles
may be bought at sportsmen’s stores, and at the posts of the Hudson’s Bay
Company, in Canada.

The equipment for a summer walking tour, on which one is not obliged
to carry a blanket, should weigh from ten to twenty pounds, according
as one carries fewer or more of the unessentials. It is impossible to
draw up lists of what is essential and what merely convenient, and
have unanimity; one man will discard an article which to another is
indispensable; the varying conditions under which journeys are taken will
cause the same man to carry different articles at different times. The
ensuing lists are intended to be suggestive and reasonably inclusive; for
any given walk each individual will reject what he finds dispensable.

_Requisites carried in one’s pockets_: Watch; knife; money; compass;
matches; handkerchief.

_Requisites carried in the knapsack_: Change of underclothes, stockings,
and handkerchiefs; toilet articles; mending kit; grease for shoes.

_Articles which, though not necessary, are altogether to be desired_:
Second outer shirt; second pair of walking shoes, particularly if the
tour be a long one; sweater; pair of flannel trousers, light socks and
shoes (gymnasium slippers are good), and necktie for evening wear;
medicaments; notebook and pencil; postcards or stamped envelopes; a book
to read.

_Articles which may be requisite or desired, according to season or
circumstance_, to be carried in pocket or knapsack or, some of them,
slung from the shoulders ready for use: Colored glasses; pajamas; head
net, as protection against mosquitoes; woolen underclothing; gloves or
mittens; knitted helmet; naphtha soap, for washing woolens; map case;
canteen; culinary articles; whistle; clothes brush; flashlight.

An indefinitely long list might be made of articles which a man will
choose, according to taste and inclination. A bird-lover will carry
a pair of binoculars; a collector, his cases; the fisherman, rod and
fly-book. Some member of almost every walking party will carry a camera.

Notes upon some of the articles thus far enumerated will be useful:

The _pocketknife_ should be large and strong, with one or two blades;
leave in the showcase the knife bristling with tools of various kinds;
see that the blades are sharp.

Let the _watch_ be an inexpensive one; leave the fine watch at home; do
not wear a wrist watch, particularly not in warm weather. At the wrists
perspiration accumulates and the circulating blood is cooled. Any surface
covering at that point, and particularly a close-fitting band, is in
hot weather intolerable. But, regardless of season, a wrist watch is in
the way, and is sure soon or late to be damaged. For the pedestrian its
disadvantages greatly outweigh the small convenience it affords.

The best _moneybag_ is a rubber tobacco pouch; a leather bill-folder and
its contents will soon be saturated with perspiration.

A _compass_ is a requisite in the wilderness, but not elsewhere.
Regarding compasses, see further pages 75 and 116.

_Matches_ should be carried in a water-tight case.

_Toilet articles_ will include, at a minimum, soap, comb, toothbrush and
powder. A sponge or wash-rag is desirable. A man who shaves will, unless
journeying in the wilderness, carry his razor. The soap may be contained
in a box of aluminum or celluloid; the sponge in a sponge bag; the whole
may be packed in a handy bag or rolled in a square of cloth and secured
with strap or string.

_Towel_ and _pajamas_ are not indispensable; because of weight, they
should be classed as pedestrian luxuries.

The _mending kit_ will include thread, needles, and buttons, and here
should be set down safety pins, too, an extra pair of shoestrings,
and--if one wears them--an extra pair of rubber heels. A small
carborundum whetstone may be well worth the carrying.

The best dressing for leather is mutton tallow. Various _boot greases_
of which tallow is the base are on the market; one, called “Touradef,”
is good. There are lighter animal oils, more easily applied; a good one
is called “B-ver” oil. Mineral oils are not so good; “Viscol,” the most
widely used of these, is sold in cans of convenient size and shape.

_Medicaments_ should be few; a disinfectant (permanganate of potassium in
crystalline form, or tablets of Darkin’s solution), a cathartic (cascara
is best--it may be had in tabloid form, called “Cascaral Compound”),
iodine, a box of zinc ointment, a roll of adhesive tape, and a small
quantity of absorbent cotton will suffice for casual ailments. If one
is going into the wilderness, he may well take a first-aid kit--with
knowledge, how to use it--and medicine to deal with more violent
sickness; ipecac and calomel. In malaria-infested regions, one should
carry quinine, with directions for administering. Talcum powder and
cocoa butter are, in proper time, soothing. Citronella is a defense
against mosquitoes; another repellent is a mixture of sweet oil or castor
oil, oil of pennyroyal, and tar oil; spirits of ammonia is an antidote to
their poison.

As to _reading matter_, each will choose for himself. The book carried
may be the Bible, it may be “The Golden Treasury,” it may be “The Three
Musketeers.” Again, it may be a handbook of popular science or a map of
the stars.

Regarding _map_ and _map case_, see page 75.

_Colored glasses._ On snowfields, on the seashore, where light is
intense, the eyes should be screened. The best material, carefully worked
out for this purpose, is Crooks glass. Its virtue lies in this: that it
cuts out both the ultra-violet rays and the heat rays at the opposite
end of the spectrum. Crooks glass may be had in two grades: Shade A and
Shade B. Shade A, having the properties just described, is itself almost
colorless; Shade B is colored, and cuts out, in addition, part of the
rays of the normal spectrum. Goggles may be had of plain sheets of Crooks
glass, and these will serve merely as a screen; but, if one wears glasses
anyway, since two pairs worn at once are difficult to manage, it is well
to have one’s prescription filled in Shade A, and (if one is going to
climb snow peaks or walk the seabeach) then a second pair in Shade B.
Ordinary colored glasses will serve a passing need; amethyst tint is best.

A _canteen_ is requisite in arid regions and when climbing lofty
mountains; elsewhere it is sometimes a justified convenience.

The writer well recalls the amazement of two Alpine guides some years ago
when, on the top of a snow peak, hot coffee was produced from a thermos
bottle. He hastens to add that the thermos bottle was not his; he regards
such an article as a sure mark of the tenderfoot.

Even though one be traveling light, the pleasures of a summer holiday may
be widened by providing one meal a day and eating it out of doors. In
order to accomplish this, one needs to carry a few _culinary articles_: A
drinking cup, of course--that is carried in any case, conveniently hung
to the belt. Then one should have plate, knife, fork, spoon, a small
pail, perhaps a small frying pan, canisters of salt and pepper, a box of
tea, a bag of sugar, a receptacle for butter. Most of these articles,
and some toilet articles as well, may be had made of aluminum. Do not
carry glassware, it is heavy and breakable. Don’t carry anything easily
broken or easily put out of order. But even here make exceptions. For
example, a butter _jar_ is better than a butter _box_. The writer, for
one, despises an aluminum drinking cup; when filled with hot coffee it is
unapproachable, when cool enough not to burn the lips the coffee is too
cold to be palatable; he, therefore, in spite of its weight, chooses to
carry an earthenware cup.

A _whistle_ will have value chiefly for signaling between members of a

A party of two, three, or four will carry more conveniences than a man
journeying alone. For illustration, in the party, one camera is enough,
one map case, one pail, one butter jar; and these may be distributed, so
that, while carrying only part, each member of the party may enjoy all.
With a camera in the party, a supply of films will be stowed away in a
knapsack; a light, collapsible tripod may be worth the taking, if one
cares to secure pictures under poor conditions of light.

Two usual items of an amateur equipment, better left at home, are a
_hatchet_ and a _pedometer_. A hatchet is of no value, except in the
wilderness, and not always is it worth carrying even there. Ordinarily a
stout, sharp knife will answer every purpose. When one is on a camping
trip on which he makes long stops, he will care for something better than
a hatchet--a light axe. Regarding the uses of a pedometer see page 116.

If the contemplated tour lies through the wilderness, and accommodations
for the night are not to be had under roofs along the way, one must carry
his _blanket_. The blanket should be selected with lightness and warmth
in view. The army blankets are fair, but softer, lighter, warmer ones may
be had. Blankets should be of generous dimensions. A large double blanket
should not exceed eight pounds in weight, and single blankets should
weigh half as much. The Hudson’s Bay blankets are justly famous.

A blanket enveloped in a windproof _blanket cloth_ is very much warmer
than if not so shielded. Herein lies the virtue of a sleeping bag.
Similarly, a tent--particularly a small one, for one or two men--keeps
out wind and retains warm air. With the use of a tent, the weight of
blankets may be less. The blanket cloth serves both to keep the wind from
penetrating the blanket and also to keep the blanket dry. It prevents
penetration of moisture from the ground; and, if one is not otherwise
protected, it shields one from dew and from light rain. The blanket
cloth, too, must be of the least weight consistent with service. Because
of weight, rubber blankets and oiled ponchos are out of the question.
Better light oilcloth, or, better still, the material called “balloon
silk” (really finely woven, long-fiber cotton) filled with water-proofing
substance. “Tanalite” is the trade name for a water-proof material of
this sort of a dark brown color. A tarpaulin seven feet square made of
tanalite is, all things considered, the most serviceable blanket cloth.
With blanket and tarpaulin, one’s pack should not exceed 25-30 pounds in
weight. A mode of rolling blanket and tarpaulin and of securing the roll
to the knapsack is suggested on page 18.

_Blanket pins_ are worth carrying. By using them one may keep himself
snug, nearly as well as in a sleeping bag.

A small cotton bag, useful in a pack, may be stuffed with clothing and
serve as a pillow.

A satisfactory _sleeping bag_ will hardly be found in the shops; those
that are serviceable are too heavy for the pedestrian. And yet the idea
embodied in the sleeping bag, the idea of attaining maximum warmth from
the materials used, jumps precisely with the pedestrian’s needs.

The difficulty with the sleeping bags on the market is that they are
made for gentlemen campers, and not for those who take up their beds and
walk. For one thing, the gentleman camper has abundance of clothing, with
changes of all kinds. But the pedestrian sleeps in his clothes. Of course
he does. It would be folly for him to carry in his pack the equivalent
of what he wears on his back. His day clothes should be serviceable
as night clothes, too. All he need carry is the additional protection
required when he is resting on the ground in the colder night hours.
And, in addition, he will have a change of the garments which lie next
his skin; but no more. If when sleeping a man is not wearing all that he
carries, then he is carrying more than is necessary. He may, indeed, have
stuffed in his pack woolen underclothes, for night wear only. For another
thing, in making choice between one material and another, the weight of
the material is important in far greater degree to the walker than to
the gentleman camper. With these considerations in mind, the pedestrian
contrives his sleeping bag of the lightest material available to serve
the ends in view.

Essentially, a sleeping bag is a closed covering of two layers: an inner
layer of heat-insulating material, and an outer layer of water-tight,
wind-tight material. Even the gentleman camper, scornfully referred to
above, chooses the lightest, warmest blankets he can find; the pedestrian
can do no better. However, he does not take so many. But, respecting the
outer covering, the pedestrian refuses the heavy water-proofed duck of
the ordinary sleeping bag, and selects instead water-proofed balloon silk.

The simplest sleeping bag may be made by folding a six by six wool
blanket within a cover of water-proofed balloon silk and sewing together
the bottom edges, and the side edges, too, from the bottom upward, to
within a foot or so of the top. The bag measures approximately three feet
by six, and should not weigh more than five and one half pounds.

Instead of the blanket, other material may be used. Men differ in the
amount of covering they require; and then there are the inequalities of
climate and season to be reckoned with. A suitable material, lighter than
wool and affording less warmth, is sateen; a somewhat warmer, somewhat
heavier, substitute for the wool blanket is a down quilt. When still
greater warmth is needed the blanket may be double, or blanket and down
quilt may be combined.

A rectangular bag, such as that just described, may be criticized in
two particulars: for one thing, it is not long enough for a man of good
stature, and, for another thing, there is waste material in it. It would
be just as warm and just as serviceable if, instead of being three feet
wide at the bottom, it were at that point only two feet wide.

The specifications of an excellent sleeping bag for pedestrian use
are given in a pamphlet published by the Appalachian Mountain Club,
“Equipment for Mountain Climbing and Camping,” by Allen H. Bent, Ralph
Lawson, and Percival Sayward, and with the courteous assent of the
designers, are here incorporated.

A bag made on the dimensions given is suitable for a man five feet eleven
inches tall.

A strip of the material for the inner layer is cut to the pattern
indicated below. It is 87 inches long, and at its widest point 32½
inches across. The widest point is 45 inches from the foot. At the foot
the strip is 20 inches wide, and at the head, 21 inches. The sides are
outwardly curved. This is the _under_ strip.


A second _upper_ strip is, in over-all dimensions, a duplicate of the
first, but for the fact that it is 9 inches shorter. From the foot up and
for a length of 78 inches it is identical with the first strip, but at
that point it is cut short. A face opening is cut in the upper edge of
the second strip, 10 inches across and 11 inches deep.


These two strips are superposed and their overlying edges are sewed
together. All edges are properly hemmed or bound.

As the user lies in the bag, his feet just reaching the bottom, his face
is encircled in the face opening. The excess length of the under strip
then becomes a flap, to fold over his head. Buttons and buttonholes may
be provided, as indicated in the drawings, to secure the flap in such

The material for the outer layer is cut to the same pattern, with
sufficient enlargement of dimensions to allow the outer bag to contain
the inner bag and cover it smoothly.

The outer material will preferably be water-proofed balloon silk
(“tanalite”); the inner material may be sateen, or blanketing, or down
quilt. The designers suggest still another material: Australian wool
wadding, encased in sateen. They say, “a brown sateen material is the
best covering, as a very finely woven goods is necessary to keep the wool
from working through. The bag does not need to be quilted, but should be
‘tied through’ about every six inches.”

The balloon silk outer bag should weigh about one and one-quarter pounds;
the bag of sateen should weigh about two and one-quarter pounds. C.
F. Hovey Co., 33 Summer St., Boston, and the Abercrombie & Fitch Co.,
Madison Ave. and Forty-fifth St., New York, have made bags to these

It remains only to add a word respecting the outer cover of balloon silk.
Balloon silk, which in reality is a fine-woven cotton, is, relatively
speaking, a delicate material, and furthermore it is not perfectly
water-tight. The great advantage of lightness justifies its use. But the
bag must be carefully handled, and after hard service the cover must be

Dr. Charles W. Townsend, of Boston, an experienced camper, writes:

    “The sleeping bag is a home-made affair, that takes up only
    a small part of the room in a rucksack, and weighs four
    pounds. It is made of lamb’s wool wadding, lined with sateen,
    and covered with flannel. It is about six and one-half feet
    long and tapers, so as to be wider at the mouth than at the
    foot. With ordinary clothing, I have slept warm in it with a
    temperature of forty degrees. I have also a balloon-silk cover,
    which can be arranged to guy-ropes, to make a lean-to tent over
    my head, and gauze curtains for insects. I think that weighs
    two and one-half pounds.”

A _tent_ will be carried when the route lies through unsettled country.
In a sparsely settled region, one will run the risk of heavy rain for
a night or two, rather than bother with a tent; but in the wilderness,
a tent is a necessity, for even such a tarpaulin as has been described
as a suitable blanket cover, is not perfectly water-tight. One cannot
sleep out in a driving rain storm. At a pinch, of course, one can make
shift, and perhaps under rock ledge or shelter of boughs keep fairly
dry; but after a wet night in the open, one needs assured protection the
second night. The lightest tents are made of balloon silk; they weigh
four pounds and upwards. Two men traveling together will have a tent in
common and will distribute and equalize their burdens. As has been said,
a tent affords warmth (particularly when carefully pitched, with a view
to making it wind-tight) and, accordingly, blankets need not be so heavy.
Though water-proofed balloon silk is not perfectly water-tight, one may
keep perfectly dry in a balloon silk tarpaulin or sleeping bag, within a
balloon silk tent.

A note on _sleeping out_ is proper. In summer, when there is no rain,
one should sleep under the open sky; he should choose as his sleeping
place an exposed ridge, high and dry. In such a situation he will suffer
least annoyance from mosquitoes, and, if the night be cool, he will be
warmer than in the valley. Seldom in temperate climates is the night too
warm for sleeping out of doors; but even on such a night the air on the
hilltop is fresher. If it be windy, a wind-break may be made of boughs or
of cornstalks (on a cool night in autumn a corn-shock may be made into a
fairly comfortable shelter.) In case the evening threatens rain, one may
well seek a barn for protection; if one is in the wilderness, he will
search out an overhanging rock, or build a lean-to of bark or boughs.
Newspaper is a good heat insulator, and newspapers spread on the ground
where one is to lie make the bed a warmer, drier one. Newspaper will
protect one’s blanket from dew. Be careful when lying down to see that
shoes and clothing are under cover. If the night proves to be colder than
one has anticipated and one’s blanket is insufficient (or if, on another
tour, the days are so hot that walking ceases to be a pleasure--though
they have to be _very_ hot for that), it may be expedient, at a pinch, to
walk by night and rest by day.

Such _food_ as must be carried will be selected to save weight, so far
as is consistent with nutriment. Rolled oats are excellent; so also
is soup powder (put up in “sausage” form, imitating the famous German
_erbswurst_), and dried fruits and vegetables, powdered eggs, and
powdered milk. The value of pemmican is known. All these articles may be
obtained at groceries and at sportsmen’s stores. Seldom, however, will
one wander so far as to be for many days beyond the possibility of buying
food of more familiar form. Shelled nuts, raisins, dried fruit, malted
milk tablets, and lime juice tablets are good to carry on an all-day
excursion. _Food bags_ of “paraffined” cotton fabric will prove useful.
It is well to bear in mind that food may be distributed along the way,
sent in advance by mail, to await at post offices one’s coming.

The special equipment of the mountaineer--alpenstock, ice axe, rope,
_crampons_, _scarpetti_, etc.--need only be mentioned. They are not
needed in climbing the mountains of eastern America, but only on giddy
peaks, snowfields, and glaciers. Those interested will consult the works
on mountaineering mentioned in the Bibliography.

From the pages of a pamphlet of the Appalachian Mountain Club this note
is taken:

    “Equipment does not end with the purchase of proper food,
    clothing, climbing and camping outfit. The prospective climber
    should give some thought to his physical and mental equipment.
    A strong heart, good lungs, and a reasonable amount of physical
    development and endurance are among the requisites and so,
    too, are courage, caution, patience and good nature. If in
    addition he is interested in topography, geology, photography,
    animal or plant life, by so much the more is his equipment, and
    consequently his enjoyment, increased.”


As to speed of walking and distance, see below, page 51; as to
preliminary walking, in preparation for a tour, see page 53.

One hardly needs the admonitions, eat plain food, sleep long, and keep
body and clothing clean. The matter of _food_ becomes complicated when
one has to carry the supply of a day or two or of several days with him.
Be careful to get, so far as possible, a large proportion of vegetable
food--fresh vegetables and fruit.

When walking, the system requires large amounts of water, and, generally
speaking, one should _drink_ freely. If one stops by a roadside spring
on a hot day, he should rest a few minutes before drinking, and, if the
water be very cold, he should drink sparingly. It is refreshing before
drinking, and sometimes instead of drinking, to rinse mouth and throat
with spring water. In the Alps the guides caution one not to drink snow
water. In settled regions, drink boiled water only, unless assured of the
purity of the source. Beware of wells. It is a matter of safety, when
traveling, to be inoculated against typhoid fever. Practice restraint in
the use of ice cream, soda water, sweets, coffee, and tea.

The pedestrian should be careful to get as much _sleep_ as normally
he requires at home, and somewhat more. He may not be so regular in
hours, for he will find himself inclined to sleep an hour at midday,
and at times to walk under the starlight, to be abroad in the dawn. And
a walking tour would be a humdrum affair, if he did not yield to such

A _bath_ at the end of the day--a sponge bath, if no better offers--is
an indispensable comfort. While on the march one will come upon inviting
places to bathe. Bathe before eating, not immediately after. If the water
is very cold, it is well to splash and rub one’s body before plunging in.
If much bathing tends to produce lassitude, one should limit himself to
what is necessary.

Don’t overdo; on the march, when _tired out_, stop at the first
opportunity--don’t keep going merely to make a record. Don’t invite
fatigue. If, in hot weather, free perspiration should fail, stop
immediately and take available measures to restore normal circulation.

_Lameness_ in muscles is due to the accumulation of waste matter in the
tissues; elimination may be aided and lameness speedily relieved by
drinking hot water freely and by soaking one’s body in a warm bath: the
internal processes are accelerated, in freer blood circulation, while
much is dissolved out through the pores of the skin. At the end of a long
hard walk, the most refreshing thing is a drink--not of ice water, not of
soda water, but a pint or so of hot water. Rubbing oil as a remedy for
lame muscles is hardly worth carrying; alcohol is a mistake. Bruised
muscles should be painted lightly with iodine.

_Care of feet._ Always wash the feet thoroughly at the end of a tramp,
and dry carefully, particularly between the toes. If the skin cracks and
splits between the toes, wash at night with boric acid and soften with
vaseline. It is better to allow toenails to grow rather long, and in
trimming cut them straight across.

When resting at noon take off shoes and stockings, and, before putting
them on again, turn the stockings inside out. If the weather be mild,
let the feet remain bare until about to set out again; if there be water
available, bathe the feet immediately on stopping. If, on the march, the
arch of the foot should grow tired, consciously “toe in.”

If there is rubbing, binding, squeezing, with consequent tenderness at
any point, stop at once, take off shoe and stocking, and consider what is
to be done. It may suffice to protect the tender spot, applying a shred
of absorbent cotton secured with a strip of adhesive tape; perhaps the
thickness of the stocking may be changed, or the lacing of the shoe be
eased or tightened. By _tighter_ lacing sometimes the play of the foot
within the shoe may be diminished and undesirable rubbing or squeezing
overcome. Talcum powder sprinkled on the foot will help to relieve
rubbing, and soap rubbed on the stocking outside, above the tender place,
is efficacious.

Sometimes, in spite of forethought, one may find one’s self walking in
ill-fitting shoes; for example, the shoes though broad enough may be too
short, and one’s toes in consequence may be cramped and squeezed in the
toe of the shoe--particularly on down grades--until they become tender
and even blistered. If then other expedients fail, one has to examine
his shoe carefully, determine precisely where the line of binding strain
lies, and then--remembering that the shoe as it is, is worthless to
him--slit leather and lining through, in a line transverse to the line of

Should a blister, in spite of care, develop, let it alone, if possible.
Don’t interfere with nature’s remedial processes. But, if one must go on
walking with the expectation that the blister unless attended to will
tear open, then one should drain it--not by pricking it through, however.
Take a bright needle, sterilize it in the flame of a match, and run it
under the skin from a point to one side, and so tap the blister. Then
cover the area with adhesive tape. If there is abrasion, paint the spot
with iodine, or apply a few crystals of permanganate of potassium and a
drop or two of water, then cover with absorbent cotton and adhesive tape.

Be careful, on setting out in the morning, that any soreness or lameness
of the preceding day has been met by the measures described.

Corns are caused by wearing tight or ill-fitting shoes. If one has a
corn, he should get rid of it before attempting distance walking, and
should thereafter wear shoes such as to assure him immunity.

For _sunburn_, use talcum powder or cocoa butter. Do not expose large
areas of the body to sunburn.

A _cramp_ in the side may easily be relieved by drawing and retaining a
deep breath, and bending over.

The _bowels_ should be kept open, and will be, if one orders his food
aright. Constipation is to be carefully guarded against. One may, in
spite of himself, after hard walking in hot weather, find difficulty. A
harmless emergency relief is an enema of a few ounces of the colorless
inert oil now sold under such names as “Russian” oil and “Nujol” (the
Standard Oil Company’s preparation).

_Medicines_ are to be used only in emergency: cascara for constipation,
or, in case of a sudden violent onset of illness, calomel; capsicum
plaster for internal inflammation. But hot water within and without
will generally relieve distress, and is the best remedy. But _do not
experiment_; if a physician is available, call him.

Ammonia is an antidote for insect stings.

Snake-bites are, newspaper reports to the contrary, very, very rare. The
bite of a poisonous serpent (rattlesnake or copperhead) requires heroic
treatment. Suck the wound, cut it out immediately with a sharp knife,
fill the incision with permanganate of potassium crystals and drop water
upon the permanganate.

_Care of clothing._ Underclothes and stockings worn today may be washed
tomorrow at the noon hour. Shirt, trousers--and underclothing too--should
go to the tub every few days, as opportunity offers.

Shoes should be cleaned each day, washed in cold water and greased.
If wet they should be carefully dried in gentle heat. Leather is
easily ruined by scorching; never dry a shoe in heat unendurable to
the hand. Shoes packed in newspaper overnight will be measurably dried
by absorption. Keep the leather pliant with grease or oil, but not
saturated. If one is going to walk through bogs, or in shallow water,
then his shoes should be copiously oiled, but ordinarily one should oil
his shoes with sparing hand.


Dr. Finley, President of the University of the State of New York, and
Commissioner of Education, finely says:[1] “It is figurative language,
of course, to speak of God’s ‘walking’ with man. But I do not know where
to find a better expression for the companionship which one enjoys when
walking alone on the earth. I should not speak of this if I thought it
was an experience for the patriarchs alone or for the few. A man does not
know one of the greatest satisfactions of life if he has not had such

The prophets of the cult--Hazlitt and Stevenson--are quite eloquent on
the point, that the first joys of walking are reserved for those who
walk alone; even Emerson cynically observes that a dog may on occasion
be better company than a man. But the solitary Thoreau admits that he
sometimes has a companion, while sociable Lawrence Sterne prettily says,
“Let me have a companion of my way, were it but to remark how the shadows
lengthen as the sun declines.”

Ordinarily, we prefer--most of us--to walk in company; if the tour is
an extended one, continuing through many days, we certainly do. And
nothing is more important than the choice of companions. A mistake here
may be a kill-joy. Daily, hourly intercourse rubs individuality upon
individuality, till every oddity, every sensitive point, is worn to the
quick. Be forewarned, then, and be sure of one’s companions. Conversely,
let a man be sure of himself, resolutely refusing to find offense, or to
lose kindliness, good humor, and good will. “’Tis the best of humanity,”
says Emerson, “that goes out to walk.”

A common interest in things seen, stimulated perhaps by reading matter
carried along, may be the selective process in making up a party; but
friendship underlies all.

A proved company of two, three, or four is best. With greater numbers,
the party loses intimacy and coherence; furthermore, if dependent on
hospitality by the way, difficulties arise. A housewife who willingly
provides for two, may hesitate to entertain six.

If there be one in the party who has an aptitude for it, let him keep
a _journal_ (in the form of letters home, perhaps). Such a record,
illustrated by photographs, is a souvenir to afford long-continued

When walking in out-of-the-way places it is the part of prudence always
to have a companion; for, otherwise, in case of mishap, a man might be in
sorry plight, or even in actual danger.



    Give me the life I love,
      Let the lave go by me,
    Give the jolly heaven above
      And the byway nigh me.
    Bed in the bush with stars to see,
      Bread I dip in the river--
    There’s the life for a man like me,
      There’s the life for ever.

    Let the blow fall soon or late,
      Let what will be o’er me;
    Give the face of earth around
      And the road before me.
    Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
      Nor a friend to know me;
    All I seek the heaven above
      And the road below me.

    Or let autumn fall on me
      Where afield I linger,
    Silencing the bird on tree,
      Biting the blue finger.
    White as meal the frosty field--
      Warm the fireside haven--
    Not to autumn will I yield,
      Not to winter even!

    Let the blow fall soon or late,
      Let what will be o’er me;
    Give the face of earth around
      And the road before me.
    Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
      Nor a friend to know me.
    All I ask the heaven above
      And the road below me.

                     Robert Louis Stevenson.



Any day--every day, if that were possible. Says Thoreau, “I think that I
cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at
least [in the open]”; and, again, he says of himself that he cannot stay
in his chamber for a single day “without acquiring some rust.”

Recall Thoreau’s Journals. Their perennial charm lies largely in this,
that he is abroad winter and summer, at seedtime and at harvest, in sun
and rain, making his shrewd observations, finding that upon which his
poetic fancy may play, finding the point of departure for his Excursions
in Philosophy.


    “The first care of a man settling in the country should be to
    open the face of the earth to himself by a little knowledge of
    Nature, or a great deal, if he can; of birds, plants, rocks,
    astronomy; in short, the art of taking a walk. This will draw
    the sting out of frost, dreariness out of November and March,
    and the drowsiness out of August.”

                                      --Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Resources.”

_The Daily Walk._ Walking is to be commended, not as a holiday pastime,
merely, but as part of the routine of life, in season and out.
Particularly to city-dwellers, to men whose occupations are sedentary,
is walking to be commended as recreation. Will a man assert himself too
busy?--his neighbor plays a game of golf a week; he himself, perhaps, if
he will admit it, is giving half a day a week to some pastime--may be a
less wholesome one.

It is worth a man’s while to reckon on his walking every day in the week.
It may well be to his advantage, in health and happiness, to extend
his daily routine afoot--perhaps by dispensing with the services of a
“jitney” from the suburban station to his residence, perhaps by leaving
the train or street car a station farther from home, perhaps by walking
down town to his office each morning.

_The Weekly Walk._ The environs of one’s home can scarcely be
too forbidding. A range of ten miles out from Concord village
satisfied Thoreau throughout life. Grant the surroundings of Concord
exceptional--Thoreau’s demands were exceptional. Those who will turn
these pages will be for the most part city folk; the resident of any
of our cities may, with the aid of trolley, railway, and steamboat,
discover for himself a dozen ten-mile walks in its environs--many of
them converging to his home, some macadam paved and so available even in
the muddy season, and any one of them possible on a Saturday or a Sunday

What could a pedestrian ask more? A three-hour walk of a Saturday
afternoon--exploring, perhaps, some region of humble historic interest,
studying outcroppings of coal or limestone, making new acquaintance with
birds, bees, and flowers, and enjoying always the wide sky, the sweep of
the river, the blue horizon. No other recreation is comparable to this.

It is pleasurable to walk in fair, mild weather; but there is pleasure
on gray, cold, rainy days, too. To exert the body, to pit one’s strength
against the wind’s, to cause the sluggish blood to stream warm against
a nipping cold, to feel the sting of sleet on one’s face--to bring all
one’s being to hearty, healthful activity--by such means one comes to the
end, bringing to his refreshment gusto, to his repose contentment.

The consistent pedestrian will score to his credit, every week throughout
the year, ten miles of vigorous, sustained tramping. Five hundred miles
a year makes an impressive showing, and is efficacious: it goes far to
“slam the door in the doctor’s nose.”

_The Walking Tour._ Apart from, or, better, in addition to the perennial
weekly walking about one’s home, there is the occasional walking tour: a
two or three-day hike, over Labor Day, perhaps, or Washington’s Birthday;
and then there is the longer vacation tour of two or three weeks’

With important exceptions, we, in our northern latitudes, arrange our
walking tours in summer time. And, so far as concerns the exceptions, it
will here suffice to remind ourselves of mountain climbing on snowshoes
in winter, of ski-running and skating, and of the winter carnivals of
sport held in the Adirondacks, in the Alps, and in the Rocky Mountains.
In our southern states, however, no disadvantage attaches to winter; to
the contrary, over a great part of that region, winter is the pleasanter
season for the pedestrian. But summer is the season of vacations, and is,
generally speaking, the time of good roads, fair skies, and gentle air.
Then one can walk with greatest ease and freedom.

The choice of the particular fortnight for the “big hike” may be governed
by all sorts of considerations; if the expedition be ornithological,
and there is free choice, it will be taken in May or June, or perhaps
in September; if to climb Mt. Ktaadn, it will preferably be in August.
Again, one’s employer may, for his own reasons, fix the time. It is well,
therefore, to formulate general statements, helpful in making choice of
place, when once the season has been fixed.

In early summer, from the time the snow melts till mid July, the north
woods are infested with buzzing, stinging, torturing mosquitoes; to
induce one to brave these pests, large countervailing inducements must
needs appear. Mountaineering in temperate latitudes is less advisable
in the early summer than later; there is more rain then, and nights
are cold, and, in the high mountains, soft snow is often an impedance.
Throughout much of our country, June is a rainy month. In May and June,
accordingly, and early July, one should by preference plan his walk in
open settled country, in the foothills of mountain ranges, or across such
pleasant regions as central New York or Wisconsin.

Late July, August and September are, for the most part, hot and dusty. At
that season, accordingly, the great river basins and wide plains should
be avoided; one should choose rather the north woods, the mountains, or
the New England coast.

For the pedestrian September in the mountains and October everywhere are
the crown of the year; the fires of summer are then burning low, storms
are infrequent, the nip in the air stirs one to eagerness for the wide
sky and the open road.

    “The world has nothing to offer more rich and entertaining
    than the days which October always brings us, when after the
    first frosts, a steady shower of gold falls in the strong south
    wind from the chestnuts, maples and hickories: all the trees
    are wind-harps, filling the air with music; and all men become
    poets, and walk to the measure of rhymes they make or remember.”

                                   --Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Country Life.”

If one is so fortunate as to have his holiday abroad, he will find the
Italian hills or the Riviera delightful either in early spring or in
late autumn; he will find the Alps at their best in midsummer; and, at
intermediate seasons, there remain the Black Forest and the regions of
the Seine, the Rhine, and the Elbe. As for Scotland and Ireland, no one
has ventured to say when the rains are fewest.


    “Can you hear what the morning says to you, and believe _that_?
    Can you bring home the summits of Wachusett, Greylock, and the
    New Hampshire hills?”

                                   --Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Country Life.”

It is well, and altogether pleasantest, on the hike, to be under way
early in the morning; and sometimes--particularly if the day’s march
be short--to finish all, without prolonged stop. Ordinarily, it is
preferable to walk till eleven or twelve o’clock, then to rest, wash
clothing, have lunch, read, sleep, and, setting out again in the middle
of the afternoon, to complete the day’s stage by five or six o’clock.
Afterward come bath, clean clothes, the evening meal, rest, and an early

But one’s schedule should not be inflexible; one should have acquaintance
with the dawn, he should know the voices of the night. One forgets how
many stars there are, till he finds himself abroad at night in clear
mountain air. An all-night walk is a wonderful experience, particularly
under a full moon; and, in intensely hot weather, a plan to walk by night
may be a very grateful arrangement.

Dr. John H. Finley, of the University of the State of New York, writes in
the _Outlook_[3] reminiscently of walking by night:

    “But the walks which I most enjoy, in retrospect at any rate,
    are those taken at night. Then one makes one’s own landscape
    with only the help of the moon or stars or the distant lights
    of a city, or with one’s unaided imagination if the sky is
    filled with cloud.

    “The next better thing to the democracy of a road by day is the
    monarchy of a road by night, when one has one’s own terrestrial
    way under guidance of a Providence that is nearer. It was in
    the ‘cool of the day’ that the Almighty is pictured as walking
    in the garden, but I have most often met him on the road by

    “Several times I have walked down Staten Island and across
    New Jersey to Princeton ‘after dark,’ the destination being
    a particularly attractive feature of this walk. But I enjoy
    also the journeys that are made in strange places where one
    knows neither the way nor the destination, except from a map
    or the advice of signboard or kilometer posts (which one reads
    by the flame of a match, or, where that is wanting, sometimes
    by following the letters and figures on a post with one’s
    fingers), or the information, usually inaccurate, of some other
    wayfarer. Most of these journeys have been made of a necessity
    that has prevented my making them by day, but I have in every
    case been grateful afterward for the necessity. In this
    country they have been usually among the mountains--the Green
    Mountains or the White Mountains or the Catskills. But of all
    my night faring, a night on the moors of Scotland is the most
    impressive and memorable, though without incident. No mountain
    landscape is to me more awesome than the moorlands by night, or
    more alluring than the moorlands by day when the heather is in
    bloom. Perhaps this is only the ancestors speaking again.

    “But something besides ancestry must account for the others.
    Indeed, in spite of it, I was drawn one night to Assisi, where
    St. Francis had lived. Late in the evening I started on to
    Foligno in order to take a train in to Rome for Easter morning.
    I followed a white road that wound around the hills, through
    silent clusters of cottages tightly shut up with only a slit of
    light visible now and then, meeting not a human being along the
    way save three somber figures accompanying an ox cart, a man at
    the head of the oxen and a man and a woman at the tail of the
    cart--a theme for Millet. (I asked in broken Italian how far
    it was to Foligno, and the answer was, ‘_Una hora_’--distance
    in time and not in miles.) Off in the night I could see the
    lights of Perugia, and some time after midnight I began to see
    the lights of Foligno--of Perugia and Foligno, where Raphael
    had wandered and painted. The adventure of it all was that when
    I reached Foligno I found that it was a walled town, that the
    gate was shut, and that I had neither passport nor intelligible
    speech. There is an interesting walking sequel to this journey.
    I carried that night a wooden water-bottle, such as the Italian
    soldiers used to carry, filling it from the fountain at the
    gate of Assisi before starting. Just a month later, under the
    same full moon, I was walking between midnight and morning in
    New Hampshire. I had the same water-bottle and stopped at a
    spring to fill it. When I turned the bottle upside down, a few
    drops of water from the fountain of Assisi fell into the New
    England spring, which for me, at any rate, has been forever
    sweetened by this association.

    “All my long night walks seem to me now as but preparation for
    one which I was obliged to make at the outbreak of the war
    in Europe. I had crossed the Channel from England to France,
    on the day that war was declared by England, to get a boy of
    ten years out of the war zone. I got as far by rail as a town
    between Arras and Amiens, where I expected to take a train on
    a branch road toward Dieppe; but late in the afternoon I was
    informed that the scheduled train had been canceled and that
    there might not be another for twenty-four hours, if then.
    Automobiles were not to be had even if I had been able to pay
    for one. So I set out at dusk on foot toward Dieppe, which was
    forty miles or more distant. The experiences of that night
    would in themselves make one willing to practice walking for
    years in order to be able to walk through such a night in whose
    dawn all Europe waked to war. There was the quiet, serious
    gathering of the soldiers at the place of rendezvous; there
    were the all-night preparations of the peasants along the way
    to meet the new conditions; there was the pelting storm from
    which I sought shelter in the niches for statues in the walls
    of an abandoned château; there was the clatter of the hurrying
    feet of soldiers or gendarmes who properly arrested the
    wanderer, searched him, took him to a guard-house, and detained
    him until certain that he was an American citizen and a friend
    of France, when he was let go on his way with a ‘_Bon voyage_’;
    there was the never-to-be-forgotten dawn upon the harvest
    fields in which only old men, women, and children were at work;
    there was the gathering of the peasants with commandeered
    horses and carts in the beautiful park on the water-front at
    Dieppe; and there was much besides; but they were experiences
    for the most part which only one on foot could have had.”

In answer to a request for a contribution to this handbook, Dr. Finley
replies generously, and to the point:

    “I have never till now, so far as I can recall, tried to set
    down in order my reasons for walking by night. Nor am I aware
    of having given specific reasons even to myself. It has been
    sufficient that I have enjoyed this sort of vagrancy. But since
    it has been asked, I will try to analyze the enjoyment.

    “1. The roads are generally freer for pedestrians by night.
    One is not so often pushed off into the ditch or into the
    weeds at the roadside. There is not so much of dust thrown
    into one’s face or of smells into one’s nostrils. More than
    this (a psychological and not a physical reason) one is not
    made conscious by night of the contempt or disdain of the
    automobilist, which really contributes much to the discomfort
    of a sensitive traveler on foot by day. I have ridden enough
    in an automobile to know what the general automobile attitude
    toward a pedestrian is.

    “2. Many landscapes are more beautiful and alluring by
    moonlight or by starlight than by sunlight. The old Crusader’s
    song intimates this: ‘Fair is the sunlight; fairer still the
    moonlight and all the twinkling starry host.’ And nowhere in
    the world have I appreciated this more fully than out in Asia
    Minor, Syria, and Palestine, where the Crusaders and Pilgrims
    walked by night as well as by day. But I have particularly
    agreeable memories, too, of the night landscapes in the Green

    “3. By night one is free to have for companions of the way whom
    one will out of any age or clime, while by day one is usually
    compelled, even when one walks alone, to choose only from the
    living and the visible. In Palestine, for example, I was free
    to walk with prophet, priest, and king by night, while by day
    the roads were filled with Anzacs and Gurkhas and Sikhs, and
    the like. Spirits walk by day, but it takes more effort of
    the imagination to find them and detach them. One of my most
    delightful night memories is of a journey on foot over a road
    from Assisi that St. Francis must have often trod.

    “4. There is always the possibility of adventure by night.
    Nothing can be long or definitely expected, and so the
    unexpected is always happening. I have been ‘apprehended’--I do
    not like to say ‘arrested’--several times when walking alone
    at night. Once, in France, I was seized in the street of a
    village through which I was passing with no ill intent, taken
    to a guard-house and searched. But that was the night of the
    day that war was declared. Once, and this was before the war, I
    was held up in Rahway, toward midnight, when I was walking to
    Princeton. I was under suspicion simply because I was walking,
    and walking soberly, in the middle of the road.

    “5. By day one must be conscious of the physical earth
    about one, even if there is no living humanity. By night,
    particularly if one is walking in strange places, one may take
    a universe view of things. Especially is this true if the stars
    are ahead of one and over one.

    “6. Then it is worth while occasionally to see the whole circle
    of a twenty-four hour day, and especially to walk into a dawn
    and see ‘the eye-lids of the day.’ I had the rare fortune to be
    on the road in France when the dawn came that woke all Europe
    to war. And I was again on the road one dawn when the war was
    coming to its end out in the East.

    “7. There are as many good reasons for walking by night as by
    day. But no better reason than that one who loves to walk by
    night can never fear the shadow of death.

    “You will ask if I have any directions to give. I regret to
    say that I have not. I seldom walk with else than a stick, a
    canteen of water, and a little dried fruit in my pocket--and a
    box of matches, for sometimes it is convenient to be able to
    read signboards and kilometer posts even by night.”


Stevenson speaks contemptuously of “the championship walker in purple
stockings,” and indeed it is well to heed moderate counsel, lest, in
enthusiasm for _walking_, one misses after all the supreme joys of a
_walk_. At the same time, there is danger of too little as well as of
too much. To loiter and dilly-dally (to borrow again Stevenson’s phrase)
changes a walk into something else--something more like a picnic.

Really to walk one should travel with swinging stride and at a good round
pace. Ten or twenty miles covered vigorously are not half so wearying to
body nor to mind as when dawdled through. One need not be “a champion
walker in purple stockings” covering five miles an hour and fifty miles a

If one is traveling without burden, he should do three and a half to
four miles an hour; if he carries twenty pounds, his pace should be not
more than three and a half; and if he carries thirty, it should be three
miles an hour, at most. When traveling under a load, one has no mind to
run; on an afternoon’s ramble, one may run down gentle grades “for the
fun of it,” but on the hike it is best always to keep one foot on the
ground. The perennial, weekly, conditioning walk should require about
three hours; and the distance covered should be at least ten miles. On
a tour, continued day after day, one should ordinarily walk for five,
six, or seven hours a day, and cover, on the average, fifteen to twenty
miles. With three weeks to spare, one has, say, ten to fifteen walking
days--rain may interfere, there are things to be seen, one does not want
to walk every day. At the average rate of twenty miles a day--which one
can easily do under a fifteen-pound pack--the distance covered should be
200 to 250 miles. If one carries thirty pounds, he travels more slowly,
and makes side trips, and covers a stretch of say a hundred miles of

The figures given are applicable to walking in comparatively level
regions; in mountain climbing, of course, they do not hold. To ascend
three thousand feet in elevation, at any gradient, is at the least a
half-day’s work; it may be much more. Furthermore, in mountaineering at
great and unaccustomed altitudes--8,000 feet and upwards--great care must
be taken against over exertion. One who has had experience in ascending
Alpine peaks will remember that, under the leadership of his guides, he
was required to stop and rest for fifteen minutes in each hour, to eat an
Albert biscuit, and to drink a swallow of tea mixed with red wine.

Professor William Morris Davis, in “Excursions around Aix-les-Bains,”
gives the following notes upon speed in mountain-climbing:

    “While walking up hill, adopt a moderate pace that can be
    steadily maintained, and keep going. Inexperienced climbers are
    apt to walk too fast at first and, on feeling the strain of a
    long ascent, to become discouraged and “give it up”; or if
    they persist to the top, they may be tempted to accept bodily
    fatigue as an excuse for the indolent contemplation of a view,
    the full enjoyment of which calls for active observation. Let
    these beginners remember that many others have shared their
    feelings, but have learned to regard temporary fatigue as
    a misleading adviser. There is no harm done if one becomes
    somewhat tired; exhaustion is prevented by reducing the pace
    when moderate fatigue begins. Let the mind rest on agreeable
    thoughts while the body is working steadily during a climb;
    when the summit is reached, let the body rest as comfortably
    as possible while the mind works actively in a conscious
    examination of the view. Avoid the error of neglecting the view
    after making a great effort in attaining the view point.

    “An ascent of 400 or 475 m. [1300-1550 feet] an hour may
    ordinarily be made on a mountain path; where paths are wanting,
    ascent is much slower; where rock climbing is necessary, slower
    still. Descent is usually much shortened by cutoffs at zigzags
    in the path of ascent: the time of descent may be only a half
    or a third of that required for ascent.”

One should not set out on any tour, whether in the mountains or
elsewhere, and, without preparation, undertake to do twenty miles a day.
During the weeks preceding departure, one should be careful not to miss
his ten-mile weekly hike; and he should, if possible, get out twice a
week, and lengthen the walks.

In planning his itinerary, he will not fix the average distance and walk
up to it each day. Let him go about the matter gradually--fifteen miles
the first day, twenty the second; on the third day let him lie by and
rest, and on the fourth do twenty again. With the fourth day he will find
his troubles ended. The second day is, usually, the hardest--ankles
tired, feet tender, shoulders lame from the burden of the knapsack; but,
by sticking at it bravely through the afternoon, the crest of difficulty
will be overpassed.

In this matter of speed and distance, figures are to be accepted with
freedom. Individuals vary greatly in capacity. The attempt has been made
to give fair estimates--a rate and range attainable by a fairly vigorous,
active man, with clear gain. The caution should be subscribed, “Do not
try to do too much.”


These are tests of endurance in speed, in distance, or in both; the play
of the habitual pedestrian. Discussion of the matters of _speed_ and
_distance_ gives opportunity for the introduction, somewhat illogically,
of this and the following sections.

There is, in the environs of a certain city, a walk of ten miles or
better, a favorite course with a little company of pedestrians. No month
passes that they do not traverse it. Normally, they spend two hours and
a half on the way; if some slower-footed friend be of the party, it
requires an hour more; their record, made by one of their number, walking
alone, is two hours and twelve minutes.

Fired by the example of a distinguished pedestrian, who in the newspapers
was reported to have walked seventy-five miles on his seventy-fifth
birthday, one of the company just mentioned essayed to do the like--a
humbler matter in his own case. He is, however, so far advanced into
middle age that he won with a good margin the trophy of the League of
Walkers, given to every member who covers thirty miles afoot in a single


     EVENT      TIME              HOLDER           NATION    DATE

   1 mile--6m. 25 4-5s.        G. H. Goulding     Canada   June 4, 1901
   2 miles--13m. 11 2-5s.      G. E. Larner       England  July 13, 1904
   3 miles--20m. 25 4-5s.      G. E. Larner       England  Aug. 19, 1905
   4 miles--27m. 14s.          G. E. Larner       England  Aug. 19, 1905
   5 miles--36m. 1-5s.         G. E. Larner       England  Sept. 30, 1905
   6 miles--43m. 26 1-5s.      G. E. Larner       England  Sept. 30, 1905
   7 miles--50m. 50 4-5s.      G. E. Larner       England  Sept. 30, 1905
   8 miles--58m. 18 2-5s.      G. E. Larner       England  Sept. 30, 1905
   9 miles--1h. 7m. 37 4-5s.   G. E. Larner       England  July 17, 1908
  10 miles--1h. 15m. 57 2-5s.  G. E. Larner       England  July 17, 1908
  15 miles--1h. 59m. 12 3-5s.  H. V. Ross         England  May 20, 1911
  20 miles--2h. 47m. 52s.      T. Griffith        England  Dec. 30, 1870
  25 miles--3h. 37m. 6 4-5s.   S. C. A. Schofield England  May 20, 1911
   1 hr.--8 miles 438 yards.   G. E. Larner       England  Sept. 20, 1905
   2 hrs.--15 miles 128 yards. H. V. L. Ross      England  May 20, 1911


Mr. George Goulding, the Canadian world’s champion, has generously
contributed the following paragraphs on Competitive Walking. The
definition of a “fair gate,” taken by Mr. Goulding for granted, is, “one
in which one foot touches the ground before the other leaves it, only one
leg being bent in stepping, namely, that which is being put forward.”

    “In the present mad scramble of the business world, men forget
    the need of exercise; they are intent on rapid transit, but
    give little thought to walking. Walking is the natural mode of
    travel, it is one of the best forms of exercise, and should be
    engaged in by everyone, and by most people in larger degree.

    “If ordinary walking for health and recreation has fallen
    into disuse, so has speed walking in competition. There are,
    however, still a few of the old school left, in Weston,
    O’Leary, Ward, and others, who remind us of the time when the
    art of fast walking was more highly esteemed in the athletic

    “You have asked me to give my ideas on fair heel and toe
    walking for competition, or speed walking, and in replying I
    ask you at the outset to take Webster’s Dictionary from your
    shelf and see what the definition of _walk_ is: ‘To proceed
    [at a slower or faster rate] without running or lifting one
    foot entirely before the other is set down.’ Based on that
    definition, a set of rules has been drawn up to govern the
    sport, differentiating a fast walk from a running trot. The
    chief thing for the novice just starting is to get thoroughly
    acquainted with the rules and stick to them, never violating
    them in the slightest.

    “I cannot here make minute comment upon all the rules of
    championship walking, but I will do my best to bring out in
    a brief way the essentials. To simplify and make vivid what
    I have in mind to say, let the reader accompany me to some
    athletic track and see with me a bunch of walkers in action.

    “It is a principle of walking which I have set before myself,
    to economize effort, to attain maximum speed with minimum
    expenditure of strength; but you do not see that principle
    carried out by all the walkers before you on the track. One
    fellow over there is twisting his body on the back stretch
    in an awful contortion, showing he is not a natural walker.
    Another, just behind him, is jumping in a jerky way all the
    time, owing to the fact that he is not using his hips to
    advantage. But look at this young chap just taking the turn,
    how smoothly he works! What freedom of action he has! Look at
    his hop motion! In order to get a better view, let us step
    out upon the track. Now see how his hip is brought well round
    at each stride, the right being stretched out a little to the
    left, and the left in the next stride to the right, in order
    that he can bring his feet, one directly in front of the other.
    Notice that he walks in a perfectly straight line. That is to
    say, if a direct line were drawn around the track, he would
    place each foot alternately upon it. Bear in mind that the
    shortest distance between any two points is a straight line. By
    this time the walker has passed us, and we get a view of him
    from the field. In contrast with the other contestants, he does
    not seem to have any hip action. That is because his stride
    is perfectly straight, no overlapping; his stride shoots out
    right from the waist; he gets into it every possible inch, and
    yet there is no disturbance of the smoothness of his action.
    And with his perfect stride note how he works his feet to
    advantage: the right foot comes to the ground heel first, and
    as the left leg is swung in front of the right, the ball of the
    right comes down; then, as the right foot rises to the toe
    position, the heel of the left strikes the ground and in turn
    takes the weight of the body. Notice how one foot is on the
    ground all the time; there is no possibility of a lift. A good
    test, to judge whether a walker is ‘lifting’ or not, is to note
    whether his head moves in a straight line; for, when one lifts,
    the head moves up and down.

    “Now notice the difference in the way the different men ‘lock’
    their knees. The knee should be perfectly straight or ‘locked’
    as the foremost foot reaches the ground, and should continue
    so through the beginning of the stride. It is easier to reach
    forward with a straight knee than with a bent one. As the heel
    comes to contact with the ground, the weight of the body is
    shifted from the rearward to the forward foot, and the leg
    that has just swung forward now begins to propel the body.
    The straightened knee is at this instant locked. The ‘lock’
    should be decided and complete. Remember this clearly, that
    the knee should be first straight and then locked. A knee bent
    throughout the stride is not to be approved. The rules call for
    a fair heel and toe walk, with a stiff knee, and we have got to
    live up to them.

    “With our walkers still in view as they go around the track,
    let us study their arm motion. Notice how that fellow is
    slashing away across his chest. That is not necessary. Neither
    is the action of the man just ahead of him, who is throwing his
    arms away out laterally from the hips. Now look at the fellow
    with the freedom of action we have already noted. His arms are
    fairly low, they do not rise higher than the breast. On the
    forward swing of his arm the elbow does not pass the hip, and
    on the backward swing the hand does not pass the hip. The man
    does not carry corks. (The less concentration of mind upon the
    action of muscles the better.)

    “I think I have illustrated the chief points involved in
    walking according to the rules laid down. Perhaps a summary of
    the rules for fair heel and toe walk will be useful:

    “_Hip motion_: Just enough twist or curve given to bring the
    feet alternately in one straight line.

    “_Leg action_: Below the waist shoot the leg out in a straight
    clean drive to its full, natural limit: hip locked, knee
    locked, and free play given the foot.

    “_Foot action_: The heel of the right foot strikes the ground
    first. As the left leg is swung in front of the right, the foot
    of the right comes down flat, then, as it is raised to toe
    position, the heel of the left strikes the ground and in turn
    takes the weight of the body.

    “_Carriage of the body_: To be perfectly upright, with the
    center of gravity on the heels, the head all the time traveling
    in a straight line.

    “_Knee action_: Knee to be straight at first and afterwards

    “_Arm action_: Arms act with the shoulders to give good
    balance. Keep them fairly low, not ascending any higher than
    the nipples; good even swing; hand and elbow alternately
    reaching the hips.

    “_Hands_: Recommended to be kept loose, corks not necessary.

    “Having pointed out to you wherein individuals differ, and
    having indicated what constitutes a fair heel and toe walk, a
    few hints on training may be helpful. My first advice to any
    athletic aspirant is to undergo a medical examination, in order
    to find out if he is strong enough constitutionally to risk
    strenuous track work without injury to his health. I would
    further suggest that such an examination be an annual affair.

    “What is the purpose of training? We train to gain efficiency
    in whatever branch of sport we enter. To train properly one
    must concentrate attention upon whatever pertains to his
    particular sport. Through such attention one strengthens
    the muscles and nerves, gains knowledge of the strength he
    possesses, so that he can use it in the right way and at the
    right time, to attain the maximum amount of speed with the
    minimum amount of effort. Training increases strength of mind,
    self-confidence, strong nerves, patience, thinking power, and

    “The amount of track work needed to prepare for a walking-match
    will depend upon the individual, but remember that staying in
    bed and reading a set of rules will not do. There is a lot of
    hard work ahead. To start with, I would never think of entering
    a race without at least three months’ preparation, be it daily
    or three times per week. A long and careful training is far
    better than a short and severe one, and so I would recommend
    easy work for the first month, with a gradual increase of speed
    as one goes along. Do not bother with a stop watch until the
    second month at the earliest.

    “Let me also suggest that one do a little morning calisthenics.
    These exercises should focus on developing alertness and
    endurance; consequently, light, rapid movements that give the
    muscles tone and firmness are the qualities to seek in such
    individual exercise.

    “I have always found deep breathing a great help when training
    for a contest. I always practice deep breathing when out for a
    street walk, inhaling through about eight steps, exhaling for a
    like period.

    “One of the things I learned early in my career was the value
    of sun baths. The blood needs light, and one needs pure blood
    to win a race. The direct rays of the sun on one’s body will
    give it. Of course one should use discretion in taking a sun

    “One should not forget that he needs a lot of sleep--eight
    full hours of it. Sleep is necessary for resting not the body
    only; it should also be a rest for the mind and the nervous
    system. Remember that sleep is not mere rest in the sense of
    inaction; sleep is a vital process in repairing and rebuilding
    used-up nerve and brain cells, so you see it is essential that
    the brain be at rest in order to gain full recuperation.

    “As one becomes more advanced in the sport he will realize how
    large a part the mind plays in a race. Mental action has a
    great deal to do with winning. A man should not be bluffed; let
    him make up his mind he is going to win, and that he must not
    get rattled; let him have his thoughts well collected, and he
    will be all right.”



    I think that I shall never see
    A poem lovely as a tree.

    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
    Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

    A tree that looks at God all day
    And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

    A tree that may in Summer wear
    A nest of robins in her hair;

    Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
    Who intimately lives with rain.

    Poems are made by fools like me,
    But only God can make a tree.

                                   Joyce Kilmer.



Anywhere. Surely the pedestrian may claim for his recreation this
advantage: it may be enjoyed when one will and wherever one may be. But
this does not mean that there is no choice, no preference. Says Thoreau
again, “If you would get exercise, go in search of the springs of life.
Think of a man’s swinging dumb-bells for his health, when those springs
are bubbling up in far-off pastures unsought by him!” And Emerson has
this fresh, breezy comment:

    “The true naturalist can go wherever woods or waters go; almost
    where a squirrel or a bee can go, he can; and no man is asked
    for leave. Sometimes the farmer withstands him in crossing his
    lots, but ’tis to no purpose; the farmer could as well hope to
    prevent the sparrows or tortoises. It was their land before it
    was his, and their title was precedent.”

Stevenson would make the surroundings a matter of small import; the
landscape, he says, is “quite accessory,” and yet, within a page after,
he rallies Hazlitt, and playfully calls him an epicure, because he
postulates “a _winding_ road, and three hours to dinner.”


There is the region about home, the region one knows best. For
muddy weather, macadam; but, when they are at all negotiable, then
always country roads by preference. The macadam road is all that is
unpleasant--hard, dry, glaring, straight, monotonous; overrun with
noisy, dusty, evil-smelling machines, with their curious and often
unpleasant occupants. It is bordered, not with trees, as a road should
be, but with telephone poles; a fine coating of lime dust lies like a
death pallor on what hardy vegetation struggles to live along its margin;
it is commercial, business-like, uncompromising, and unlovely. But the
country road belongs to another world--a world apart--and is traveled
by a different people. It, too, has its aim and destination, but it is
deliberate in its course; it neither cuts through the hills nor fills the
valleys, but accommodates itself to the windings of streams and to the
steepness of slopes. It is soft underfoot, shaded by trees; it finds and
follows the mountain brooks; rabbits play upon it, grouse dust themselves
in it, birds sing about it, and berries hang from its banks black and
sweet. The people who live in the country travel upon it; it is instinct
with the life of a hundred years.

If the day be clear, seek the hilltops; if not, the wooded valleys. The
pedestrian learns the by-paths, too, and the short cuts across lots. He
can find the arbutus in its season, the blackberries and the mushrooms
in theirs. Here is a suggestive page from Thoreau’s Journal (August 27,

    “Would it not be well to describe some of those rough all-day
    walks across lots?--as that of the 15th, picking our way over
    quaking meadows and swamps and occasionally slipping into
    the muddy batter midleg deep; jumping or fording ditches
    and brooks; forcing our way through dense blueberry swamps,
    where there is water beneath and bushes above; then brushing
    through extensive birch forests all covered with green lice,
    which cover our clothes and face; then, relieved, under larger
    wood, more open beneath, steering for some more conspicuous
    trunk; now along a rocky hillside where the sweet-fern grows
    for a mile, then over a recent cutting, finding our uncertain
    footing on the cracking tops and trimmings of trees left by
    the choppers; now taking a step or two of smooth walking
    across a highway; now through a dense pine wood, descending
    into a rank, dry swamp, where the cinnamon fern rises above
    your head, with isles of poison-dogwood; now up a scraggy hill
    covered with scrub oak, stooping and winding one’s way for
    half a mile, tearing one’s clothes in many places and putting
    out one’s eyes, and find[ing] at last that it has no bare
    brow, but another slope of the same character; now through
    a corn-field diagonally with the rows; now coming upon the
    hidden melon-patch; seeing the back side of familiar hills
    and not knowing them,--the nearest house to home, which you
    do not know, seeming further off than the farthest which you
    do know;--in the spring defiled with froth on various bushes,
    etc., etc., etc.; now reaching on higher land some open
    pigeon-place, a breathing-place for us.”

Another page, too, is worth quoting (July 12, 1852):

    “Now for another fluvial walk. There is always a current of air
    above the water, blowing up or down the course of the river,
    so that this is the coolest highway. Divesting yourself of all
    clothing but your shirt and hat, which are to protect your
    exposed parts from the sun, you are prepared for the fluvial
    excursion. You choose what depths you like, tucking your toga
    higher or lower, as you take the deep middle of the road or
    the shallow sidewalks. Here is a road where no dust was ever
    known, no intolerable drouth. Now your feet expand on a smooth
    sandy bottom, now contract timidly on pebbles, now slump in
    genial fatty mud--greasy, saponaceous--amid the pads. You scare
    out whole schools of small breams and perch, and sometimes a
    pickerel, which have taken shelter from the sun under the pads.
    This river is so clear compared with the South Branch, or main
    stream, that all their secrets are betrayed to you. Or you meet
    with and interrupt a turtle taking a more leisurely walk up the
    stream. Ever and anon you cross some furrow in the sand, made
    by a muskrat, leading off to right or left to their galleries
    in the bank, and you thrust your foot into the entrance, which
    is just below the surface of the water and is strewn with
    grass and rushes, of which they make their nests. In shallow
    water near the shore, your feet at once detect the presence of
    springs in the bank emptying in, by the sudden coldness of the
    water, and there, if you are thirsty, you dig a little well in
    the sand with your hands, and when you return, after it has
    settled and clarified itself, get a draught of pure cold water

    “I wonder if any Roman emperor ever indulged in such luxury as
    this,--of walking up and down a river in torrid weather with
    only a hat to shade the head. What were the baths of Caracalla
    to this?”

It might seem that all the joys of walking are rural; but it is not so;
the city dweller knows as well as his country cousin how to make his
surroundings serve his need. Doctor Finley, veteran pedestrian though he
be, delighting to walk to the ends of the earth, has no word of disdain
for the streets of the city of his home. The following passage is taken
from a paper of his which appeared in the _Outlook_ and from which
quotation has already been made:

    “My traveling afoot, for many years, has been chiefly in busy
    city streets or in the country roads into which they run--not
    far from the day’s work or from the thoroughfares of the
    world’s concerns.

    “Of such journeys on foot which I recall with greatest pleasure
    are some that I have made in the encircling of cities. More
    than once I have walked around Manhattan Island (an afternoon’s
    or a day’s adventure within the reach of thousands), keeping
    as close as possible to the water’s edge all the way round.
    One not only passes through physical conditions illustrating
    the various stages of municipal development from the wild
    forest at one end of the island to the most thickly populated
    spots of the earth at the other, but one also passes through
    diverse cities and civilizations. Another journey of this
    sort was one that I made around Paris, taking the line of the
    old fortifications, which are still maintained, with a zone
    following the fortifications most of the way just outside,
    inhabited only by squatters, some of whose houses were on
    wheels ready for ‘mobilization’ at an hour’s notice. (It was
    near the end of that circumvallating journey, about sunset,
    on the last day of an old year, that I saw my first airplane
    rising like a great golden bird in the aviation field, and a
    few minutes later my first elongated dirigible--precursors of
    the air armies.)…

    “About every city lies an environing charm, even if it have no
    trees, as, for example, Cheyenne, Wyoming, where, stopping for
    a few hours not long ago, I spent most of the time walking out
    to the encircling mesas that give view of both mountains and
    city. I have never found a city without its walkers’ rewards.
    New York has its Palisade paths, its Westchester hills and
    hollows, its ‘south shore’ and ‘north shore,’ and its Staten
    Island (which I have often thought of as Atlantis, for once
    on a holiday I took Plato with me to spend an afternoon on
    its littoral, away from the noise of the city, and on my way
    home found that my Plato had stayed behind, and he never
    reappeared, though I searched car and boat). Chicago has its
    miles of lake shore walks; Albany its Helderbergs; and San
    Francisco, its Golden Gate Road. And I recall with a pleasure
    which the war cannot take away a number of suburban European
    walks. One was across the Campagna from Frascati to Rome, when
    I saw an Easter week sun go down behind the Eternal City.
    Another was out to Fiesole from Florence and back again;
    another, out and up from where the Saone joins the Rhone
    at Lyons; another, from Montesquieu’s château to Bordeaux;
    another, from Edinburgh out to Arthur’s Seat and beyond;
    another from Lausanne to Geneva, past Paderewski’s villa,
    along the glistening lake with its background of Alps; and
    still another, from Eton (where I spent the night in a cubicle
    looking out on Windsor Castle) to London, starting at dawn. One
    cannot know the intimate charm of the urban penumbra who makes
    only shuttle journeys by motor or street cars.”


When it comes to the matter of choosing the region for a walking
tour, all sorts of considerations enter in. This has been indicated
already; your naturalist will fix upon some happy hunting ground where
flowers or birds are abundant, or fossil trilobites or dinosaurs are
to be discovered; the fisherman will seek out the mountain brooks; the
antiquarian, some remote rural region, perhaps, or scene of battle; the
genealogist will visit the graves of his ancestors. But, leaving for the
moment such special and individual considerations out of account, what
should influence the average pedestrian in his choice of locality?

The choice of locality with relation to season has already been
considered, page 43 above.

The choice will not fall upon a flat, undiversified region, particularly
if the season be hot and the roads much traveled and dusty. Emerson, in a
passage extolling the pedestrian advantages of his native Massachusetts,

    “For walking, you must have a broken country. In Illinois,
    everybody rides. There is no good walk in that state. The
    reason is, a square yard of it is as good as a hundred miles.
    You can distinguish from the cows a horse feeding, at the
    distance of five miles, with the naked eye. Hence, you have the
    monotony of Holland, and when you step out of the door can see
    all that you will have seen when you come home.”

Having said so much, Emerson adds, in order to put the Illinoian in good
humor again:

    “We may well enumerate what compensating advantages we have
    over that country, for ’tis a commonplace, which I have
    frequently heard spoken in Illinois, that it was a manifest
    leading of the Divine Providence that the New England states
    should have been first settled, before the Western country was
    known, or they would never have been settled at all.”

In Oklahoma, they say, one can look farther and see less than anywhere
else in the world.

The pedestrian seeks wide horizons, but he seeks more than that. The only
classical walk which the writer now recalls, taken in a level region,
was Thoreau’s tour along the beaches of Cape Cod; but there was the
sea--itself an unending delight and stimulus to imagination--and the sand
dunes, with all the beauties of mountain form in miniature.

There are, of course, the great recreation grounds of the world: the
Swiss Alps, the Tyrol, and in our own country the Glacier National Park,
the Yellowstone, and the Yosemite. Such a place is the pedestrian’s
paradise. But such a place is, for most of us, far away; ordinarily, the
requirement is of something humbler.

Let the choice then be broken country. There is all of New England, the
Adirondacks, the Appalachian region, the Ozarks, and the great mountain
lands of the West. Some fringe of one or another of these regions is
accessible to almost any holiday seeker. In addition to the mountainous
areas, there are the drumlins and lakes of our glaciated northern
states--New York, Michigan, Wisconsin; and, excepting only the prairies,
there is diversity of rolling hills and winding streams everywhere.


It is well to have an objective in a walk, a focus of interest, a climax
of effort: a historical objective--the grave of Washington, perhaps, or
the battlefield of Israel Putnam; or a natural objective--the summit of
Mt. Marcy, or Lake Tahoe, or the Mammoth Cave.

Do not, however, set out from the point of chief interest; let there be
a gradual approach; if possible, let the hardest work come near the end;
let the highest mountain be the last.

Search out objects of interest within five hundred miles of home,
choose one of them as the goal--be it mountain, trout stream, or Indian
mound--and let the way lead to it.

On long tours, seek variety--variety of woods, rivers, mountains. Do not,
by choice, go and return over the same road, nor even through the same
region. Better walk one way and go by train the other.

In crossing mountain ranges, ascend the gradual slope and descend the
steep. (On precipices, however, there is less danger in climbing up than

Walk from south to north, by preference; it is always best to have the
sun at one’s back.

Avoid macadam roads--except when country roads are muddy, or on a night
walk. By night smooth footing is especially advantageous. Macadam is
wearing to both body and mind--and sole leather; immediately after rain
it is tolerable. Avoid highways, seek byways. Leave even the byways at
times, and travel across country.


On map making, see page 111.

A map is useful, and, on an extended tour, almost necessary. Topographic
maps, showing towns and roads also, of a large part of the United States
are published by the United States Geological Survey. Better maps could
not be desired. Different regions are mapped to different scale, but, for
the greater part, each map or “quadrangle” covers an area measuring 15′
in extent each way; the scale is 1:62,500, or about a mile to an inch.
Each quadrangle measures approximately 12¾ × 17½ inches and displays an
area of 210-225 square miles, the area varying with the latitude. To
traverse one quadrangle from south to north means, if the country be
hilly and the roads winding, to walk twenty miles or more.

On these maps water is printed in blue, contour lines in brown, and
cultural features--roads, towns, county lines--in black. A contour line
is a line which follows the surface at a fixed altitude; one who follows
a contour line will go neither uphill nor down, but on the level. The
contour interval, that is, the difference in elevation between adjacent
contour lines, is stated at the bottom of each quadrangle. It is not
uniform for all the areas mapped, and is greater in mountains and less in
level regions. Every fourth or fifth contour line is made heavier than
the others.

A little experience will teach one to read a contour map at a glance; the
shape of the hills is indicated, and their steepness. In addition, these
maps bear in figures (and in feet) actual elevations above sea level.

Besides the quadrangles on the unit of area mentioned, the Survey
publishes maps to larger scale, of regions of exceptional importance:
Boston and vicinity, for instance; Washington and vicinity; the
Gettysburg battlefield; the Niagara gorge; Glacier National Park;
industrial regions such as Franklin Furnace, N. J., and vicinity.

Application may be made to The Director, United States Geological Survey,
Washington, D. C., for an index map of any particular region in which one
is interested; the index map is marked off into quadrangles, and each
quadrangle bears its distinctive name. Information regarding larger maps
is also given. So that, on consulting the index map, one may order by
name the particular quadrangles or larger maps he may desire. The price
of the quadrangles is ten cents each, or six cents each for fifty or
more. The larger maps units are of varying price.

For remoter regions, not yet mapped by Government, ruder maps may
ordinarily be had.

Such foreign regions as the Alps are, of course, perfectly mapped. The
maps in Baedeker’s guidebooks are good, and better still may be had, if
one desires.

It is a good plan to have the maps of one’s home region mounted on linen
and shellaced.

_Map case._ Maps of small size and constantly in use may be put in form
for carrying by cutting them into sections and mounting them on linen,
with spaces for folding left between the edges of adjacent sections.
A map so mounted may be folded and carried in an oiled silk envelope.
Leather is not a satisfactory material for such a case, for, when carried
in one’s clothing, it becomes wet through with perspiration.

For a walk on which one has occasion to use a number of maps, it is
preferable to provide oneself with a cylindrical case of sheet tin,
in which the rolled maps may be contained. A suitable case for the
Geological Survey quadrangles measures eighteen inches in length and
two in diameter. A close-fitting lid slips over the open end, and there
are runners soldered to one side, through which a supporting strap may
pass. A small hole in the bottom facilitates the putting on and removal
of the lid. Any tinsmith can make such a case in a short time. It should
be painted outside. It may be suspended by a strap from the shoulders,
and so be easily accessible, or it may, if preferred, be secured to or
carried within the knapsack.


Where roads are many and villages frequent, one may easily find his way,
map in hand. But in the wilderness the map must be supplemented by the
compass. The beginner should go gradually about this matter of traveling
by compass; he should gain experience in small undertakings. For one
acquainted with the art, there is in its practice an alluring element of
novelty and adventure. Most of all, one needs to teach himself to rely on
his compass _implicitly_.

A few suggestions about walking by compass may be useful. _First_, study
the map, and note the objective points; _second_, on setting out, have
always a definite point in mind and know its exact bearing; refer to the
compass repeatedly, directing one’s course to a tree, rock shoulder,
or other landmark, and on reaching it, appeal to the compass again, to
define a new mark; _third_, in making detours, around bogs or cliffs, use
the wits, and make proper compensation; _finally_, and as has once been
said, but cannot be too often said, trust the compass.

From a mountain top, if the destination can be seen, one may study the
contour of the land between and, engraving it surely in mind, direct his
course accordingly. But ability to do this is gained only through long
experience. For a novice to attempt it were foolhardy, and might lead to
serious consequences.

In making mental note of landmarks, one should, so far as possible, get
_two aligned points_ on the course ahead, for by keeping the alignment
deviation may be corrected.

On a clear day, having laid one’s course, one may follow it by the
guidance of one’s shadow. But here again, some experience is needed,
before trusting one’s ability too far.

One’s watch may serve as a rude compass, remembering that at sunrise
(approximately in the east and approximately at six o’clock) _the watch
being set to sun time_, if the watch be so placed that the hour hand
points to the sun, the north and south line will lie across the dial,
from the three o’clock index number to nine. And at any succeeding time
of the day, if the hour hand be pointed to the sun, south will lie midway
between the point where the hour hand lies and the index number twelve.
Manifestly, this improvised compass can be exactly right only at equinox,
and only when the watch is set to meridian time.



    Does the road wind uphill all the way?
      Yes, to the very end.

    Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
      From morn to night, my friend.

    But is there for the night a resting-place?
      A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.

    May not the darkness hide it from my face?
      You cannot miss that inn.

    Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
      Those who have gone before.

    Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
      They will not keep you waiting at that door.

    Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
      Of labor you shall find the sum.

    Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
      Yea, beds for all who come.

                                          Christina G. Rossetti.



The walking clubs of Europe have had a long and useful history. The
favored regions, particularly the Alps, the Bavarian highlands, and the
Black Forest, have, time out of mind, been the holiday land for all the
European peoples. Walking there is in vogue as nowhere else in the world,
unless it be among the English lakes. Before the war it was interesting
to an American visitor in the Tyrol to observe how many people spent
their holidays afoot--and how many sorts of people: men, women, old,
young. Sometimes one met whole families walking together. It was not a
surprising thing to encounter a fresh-cheeked schoolgirl on the peak of
the Wildspitze; and pedestrian bridal tours seemed to be, in some strata
of society at least, quite the thing. But the impressive fact was that
there were hundreds of people--men, women, and children--tramping the
mountains together, and finding the inseparable desiderata, health and

This enthusiasm for walking has expressed itself in walking clubs; they
are part of the “Movement”: The Alpine Club, _Le Club Alpin Français_,
_Il Club Alpino Italiano_, _Die Deutsche und Oesterreiche Alpenverein_,
_Der Schweize Alpenclub_, etc. These clubs lay trails and blaze them,
through chasms, across passes, and to summits. (It is the pedestrian
alone to whom the mountains reveal their extremest beauties.) The clubs
maintain, at comfortable intervals, mountain huts, where one may find
simple food and a clean bed; and they prepare and publish maps and

We are followers of the Europeans, and we have this advantage of
followers, that we may see and profit by all that they have done.

Already there are many walking clubs in America; their memberships
are greatest, as might be expected, in New England and on the Pacific
Coast. Some of these organizations are concerned chiefly with feats of
mountaineering; others with the needs of the greater number of ordinary
people. It is of the clubs of this latter class that some account will
here be given. But at the outset a word of apology is needed. The
data from which this chapter is prepared are in the necessity of the
case casually collected; it cannot be otherwise than that they are
fragmentary; and the result must be faulty and ill proportioned. The
chapter is offered as a provisional one. Organizations not mentioned, but
which might have had place with those which are, are requested to furnish
data respecting themselves; all interested are invited to note mistakes
and give advice of corrections, to the end that a more useful and more
nearly satisfactory chapter may ultimately appear. Communications may be
addressed to the League of Walkers, 347 Madison Avenue, New York.


One of the oldest and the most distinguished of the walking clubs of
America, is the Appalachian Mountain Club, of Boston, with its two
outlying “chapters,” in New York, and in Worcester, Mass. Following is
the official statement of the Club’s objects and activities.

    “The Appalachian Mountain Club was organized in Boston in
    January, 1876, to ‘explore the mountains of New England
    and the adjacent regions, both for scientific and artistic
    purposes.’ Its activities are directed not only toward
    the preservation of the natural beauty of our mountain
    resorts,--and in particular their forests,--but also toward
    making them still more accessible and enjoyable through
    the building of paths and camps, the publishing of maps
    and guidebooks, the collecting of scientific data, and the
    conducting of numerous field excursions.

    “In the fulfilment of its main purpose it has built and
    maintained over two hundred miles of trails, three stone huts
    and nine open log shelters, all in the White Mountains, and
    a clubhouse on Three Mile Island in Lake Winnepesaukee. It
    has also acquired sixteen reservations, held purely in trust
    for the benefit of the public, in New Hampshire, Maine, and
    Massachusetts. It annually conducts four long excursions: one
    in February for snowshoeing, one in July, one in August, for
    those who prefer camp life, and one in early autumn, besides
    the same number of shorter trips in February, May, early
    September, and at Christmas. These are mainly in New England
    and New York. In addition there are Saturday afternoon walks
    to various points of interest in the country around Boston
    and New York City, the latter under the New York Chapter.
    Occasionally there are special walks for those interested in
    natural history. Those wishing to go farther afield can obtain
    privileges in connection with the annual outings of the western
    mountaineering clubs.

    “From October to May monthly meetings are held in Boston and
    to these members may invite friends. In connection with these
    meetings illustrated lectures are given upon mountain regions
    and other outdoor subjects of interest.

    “Clubrooms are maintained in the Tremont Building [in Boston],
    where committee meetings and small informal gatherings are
    held, and where the fine library, many maps, and a large
    collection of photographs are kept.…

    “Members are kept informed of the activities of the Club by
    a monthly Bulletin, and at least once a year an illustrated
    magazine, entitled _Appalachia_, is published.… In addition the
    Club has published a ‘Guide to Paths in the White Mountains
    and Adjacent Regions’ ($2.00), a ‘Bibliography of the White
    Mountains’ ($1.00), ‘Walks and Rides about Boston’ ($1.25), a
    booklet ‘Equipment for Climbing and Camping’ (10 cents), and a
    ‘Snowshoe Manual’ (10 cents).

    “In January, 1919, there were about 2300 members (the New
    York Chapter numbers 145). Membership in the Club costs eight
    dollars for the first year and four dollars a year thereafter.
    No climbing qualification is necessary, but candidates must
    be nominated by two club members, to whom they are personally
    known, and approved by the Committee on Membership. Application
    blanks and further information may be had by addressing the
    Corresponding Secretary, 1050 Tremont Building, Boston.”


The Green Mountain Club, of Vermont, was organized March 11, 1910, with
the object of making the remotest and wildest regions of the Green
Mountains accessible to pedestrians. As rapidly as its income permits,
it is building the Long Trail, which when completed will be a “skyline”
trail for walkers, following the mountain ridges and ascending the
peaks, throughout a course of about 250 miles, from the Canadian line to

Two portions of the trail have already been built and are in use: one,
a stretch of thirty miles, extending north and south near Rutland;
the other, a continuous section of sixty-seven miles, extending from
Middlebury Gap, fourteen miles east of Middlebury, northward, to
Smugglers’ Notch, on the east side of Mount Mansfield. It requires eight
days to cover this section of the Trail. There is a cabin of the Club, or
a clubhouse, farmhouse, or hotel available at the end of each day’s hike.
It is better to carry food and blankets, though blankets may be hired and
food sent in under arrangements made in advance. There is good prospect
that by the end of the summer (of 1919) new trails will be built,
connecting the two portions mentioned, and extending the northern stretch
some miles further, to Johnson. The Club will then have built and brought
under its care 130 miles of continuous trail.

Some account of walking the Long Trail may be found in “Vacation Tramps
in New England Highlands,” by Allen Chamberlain.

The dues of the Club are $1.00 a year; the membership exceeds 600.
There are several sections or branches, each of which has charge of the
construction and maintenance of a section of the Long Trail.

The Burlington Section in the course of the year holds a number of
outings in the vicinity of Burlington, and conducts two or three trips
into the mountains. On Washington’s Birthday, each year it makes a trip,
either to Mount Mansfield or to the Couching Lion.

The New York Section, organized in 1916, has 212 members. It conducts
many half-day, full-day, and week-end outings in the vicinity of New York
City, and an occasional excursion to the Green Mountains. During the year
1918-1919, in addition to the activities indicated, it gave three social
reunions with camp fire suppers, four illustrated lectures, conducted a
pilgrimage to the home of John Burroughs, and held a membership dinner at
a New York hotel.

For information regarding the Long Trail, advice about shelters, for
maps, and for suggestions regarding particular hikes, write to the
Corresponding Secretary, 6 Masonic Temple, Burlington, Vt.


The American Alpine Club requires the highest qualifications for
membership of any walking club. Its one hundred members come from all
parts of the country. An annual dinner is given in Boston, New York, or
Philadelphia. The address of the secretary is 2029 Q St., Washington, D.


Mr. Albert Handy is the historian of the walking clubs of New York, and
his account of them is, with his generous permission, here given. It
appeared first in the New York _Evening Post Saturday Magazine_, for May
6, 1916, and has been revised for the purposes of this handbook.

    “The first walking club in America of which any record is found
    was the little Alpine Club organized by some of the professors
    at Williamstown, Mass., which came into being about 1863 and
    went out of being a few years later. But before its demise Mr.
    and Mrs. Henry E. Buermeyer and William B. (better known as
    ‘Father Bill’) Curtiss had formed the habit of exploring the
    wilds of Staten Island or the highlands of the Hudson--there
    were no developments then, and it was a wilderness--on Sundays.
    ‘Father Bill’ Curtis was the premier athlete of America and the
    founder of the New York Athletic Club. Mrs. Buermeyer was one
    of the first women to ride a bicycle in this country, and Mr.
    Buermeyer was a noted swimmer.

    “This little group constituted the beginnings of the Fresh Air
    Club, which is today the oldest walking club in New York, and
    which can alone contest the claim of the Appalachian Mountain
    Club to the premiership of the United States. Shortly after its
    foundation the winged-foot organization sent a score of its
    members on these walks and Mrs. Buermeyer dropped out. Later
    some members of the old American Athletic Club, in conjunction
    with others from the Manhattan Athletic Club, developed a
    walking cult, and for a time pedestrianism seemed destined to
    become a popular pastime. In this group was E. Berry Wall,
    whose name is associated with dancing rather than athletics in
    the minds of the majority of New Yorkers.

    “Then interest diminished gradually until each organization
    furnished but a negligible number of walkers. Followed
    something in the nature of a renaissance, the two groups
    consolidated, and the present Fresh Air Club came into being.

    “In the early eighties interest in athletics increased, there
    were organized baseball clubs, tennis clubs, cricket clubs, but
    for a long period the Fresh Air Club was the only organization
    devoted to walking, with the exception of the Westchester
    Walking Club, otherwise known as the Westchester Hare and
    Hounds (whose members were recruited from the then prosperous
    but long since defunct Harlem Athletic Club), which rose,
    flourished, and decayed, leaving its spirit and traditions to
    be carried by the Fresh Air Club, which in February, 1890, was

    “What the Appalachian Mountain Club did for New Hampshire the
    Fresh Air Club did for the country within a fifty-mile radius
    of New York; there is not a section of northern New Jersey, or
    of Rockland, Westchester, or Orange County, which has not been
    explored by some of its members. On Friday of each week during
    the tramping season ‘Father Bill’ who was official pathfinder,
    would go over the route of the walk projected for the following
    Sunday, when necessary blazing a trail, so that the party might
    proceed without any delay or casting about for the right road,
    until finally the paths up Storm King, Bear Mountain--there
    wasn’t any Interstate Park then--Anthony’s Nose, and the
    highlands of the Hudson became as familiar to him as the path
    to his own door.…

    “Today the Club has about seventy-five members, of whom some
    forty are active. Its walking season extends from October to
    December and from March to June, and walks are scheduled for
    all Sundays and holidays, to a few of which women friends
    of members are invited. During the winter months skating
    excursions, when weather conditions are favorable, are
    substituted for walking. The Fresh Air Club does not seek an
    increase in membership; in fact, a member remarked to the
    writer that it did not desire publicity or even a considerable
    amount of inquiry from would-be candidates for membership. Its
    bulletin states:

    “‘That its constitution, by-laws, and rules have not been, and
    will not be, published; that it accepts no members who are not
    good cross-country walkers, and that membership can be obtained
    only after personal acquaintance and such participation in the
    excursions of the Club as is needed to prove the candidate’s
    fitness and ability.… Participation by non-members in the
    excursions of the Club is by invitation only.’

    “As a veracious chronicler it becomes incumbent upon me
    to here set down that during its long existence of nearly
    half a century it has exercised practically no influence
    and has never attained a place in the sun as a constructive
    factor in the encouragement of general walking, although its
    object, according to its certificate of incorporation, is the
    ‘encouragement and promotion of outdoor sport for health and

    “The year 1911 was momentous in the history of walking.
    Outdoor life was enjoying a popular boom; for this condition
    the motor car and the country club were in large measure
    responsible. The open-air enthusiast found a ready hearing,
    his preachments falling upon fertile ground. In this year a
    little group of about ten walkers organized the Walkers’ Club
    of America, and almost simultaneously Charles G. Bullard, of
    the Appalachian Mountain Club, established a New York branch
    of that organization, the membership being drawn principally
    from the members of the Boston Club residing in or near this
    city. Prominent among the organizers of the Walkers’ Club was
    James H. Hocking, one of the most enthusiastic pedestrians in
    this country, and one who believes that walking will cure most
    of the ills to which mind and body are heir. This organization
    was opposed to hiding its light under a bushel; its conception
    of its functions was thoroughly democratic; its primary purpose
    was to induce the largest number of people possible to use
    their legs in the way that God intended that they should.

    “Now, while walking could scarcely be said to be attaining
    widespread popularity, there was in the ensuing year or two
    a steady growth in interest. A walking organization was
    formed by some of the members of the Crescent Athletic Club
    in conjunction with the Union League Club, also of the ‘city
    of homes and churches,’ and a programme of Sunday walks was
    prepared. But it was in 1913 that the actual recrudescence
    in walking occurred, when the _Evening Post_ and the _Times_
    gave considerable space to articles on walking. In the late
    winter of that year, too, there began to appear inconspicuous
    paragraphs on the sporting pages of the Monday morning papers
    to the effect that on the previous day members of the Walkers’
    Club had hiked from City Hall to Coney Island, or perhaps from
    St. George to New Dorp or from Columbus Circle to Hastings.

    “The schedule time of the Coney Island walk, for the novice
    squad, to be completed before noon, was about two hours and a
    half. And the average New Yorker, who regards a long sleep and
    a good breakfast on Sunday mornings as his inalienable rights,
    gazed gloomily at these items, and then turned to an account
    of a murder or a break in the stockmarket, anything in fact
    radiating a more cheerful influence. Even the enthusiastic
    golfer sighed to himself as he thanked God that he was not as
    some other man.

    “It was in 1913, too, that the Ladies’ Walking Club, affiliated
    with the Walkers’ Club of America, was organized, but it
    has never had many members or attained any marked degree of
    popularity. Prior, however, to its formation, the Alumnæ
    Committee on Athletics of Barnard College prepared a programme
    of intercollegiate outings for Saturdays, Sundays, and
    holidays, which included several pleasant hikes; and these
    attracted a much greater number of participants than did the
    events of the Ladies’ Walking Club.

    “Under the impetus derived from the Walkers’ Club several of
    the evening high schools formed pedestrian organizations which
    turned out with the parent body. One of the morning newspapers
    offered century medals, which seems to have materially
    stimulated interest, and by the beginning of 1915 there were
    six or eight schools that sent out their squads of hikers every

    “It was early in 1915 that the Walkers’ Club, with a membership
    of over two hundred, was incorporated. Shortly thereafter a
    schism arose in its ranks, which resulted in the birth of the
    American Walkers’ Association. At a meeting of the Walkers’
    Club, held in June, seven members withdrew. Within a week
    twelve men had formed the Walkers’ Association, which was
    almost immediately incorporated. Of the split it may be said
    that it was deplorable, and beyond that its history must occupy
    a blank page in the annals of American walking.

    “The Walkers’ Association immediately began an aggressive
    campaign to secure members. It adopted a small emblem which the
    majority of the one hundred and twenty men on its rolls wear.
    It also adopted the walking associations of most of the evening
    high schools, as well as all promising material which it could
    discover. Finally it organized a women’s branch with a schedule
    of walks of its own. It points with pride to a membership of
    over 135, a record of 17,856 miles covered by members on its
    hikes, so that if a message had been relayed it might have
    crossed the continent five times; to one hike on which 107 men
    turned out, and to another--not the same hike--when fifty miles
    was covered in a day.

    “The walks of the Walkers’ Club and the Walkers’ Association
    invariably start from New York, and up to the present time have
    invariably been along the high roads which the pedestrian must
    share, in unequal distribution, with the motorcar and other
    vehicles. A speed of four to six miles an hour is maintained
    and the walks vary from ten to fifty miles in length. The
    walkers are divided into squads, graded according to speed
    and the distance to be covered. The hikes of the Fresh Air
    Club, on the other hand, start from some point reached by
    train, twenty to forty miles from New York, and the trail leads
    through the woods and over the hills, through streams and bogs
    and over rocks and fallen trees, with an occasional stretch of
    road as an incident to the walk.

    “Like the Walkers’ Club it has a schedule, and where the going
    is good a speed of four miles or better is maintained. The
    walks terminate at a railway station which must be reached
    before train time. The Appalachians, however, saunter, they
    rarely exceed ten miles on their local tramps, they proceed
    leisurely cross country, if they see a hill that appeals
    to them they climb it and enjoy the view, or they linger
    on the shores of some lake. The Club walks are all held on
    Saturday afternoons and holidays, Sunday walking being mildly

    “As a purely constructive factor in the development of
    pedestrianism in the eastern United States, the Walkers’ Club
    and Walkers’ Association probably lead. Other clubs have
    conceived theories--ideals, perhaps--these organizations have
    created pedestrians. Their walking season extends from the 21st
    of June to the 22nd of December, and from the 22nd of December
    to the 21st of June. Both clubs have trained people to walk. An
    officer of one of them once remarked to the writer that fifty
    per cent of the members did not know how to use their legs.

    “The Walkers’ Club has to its credit an extended list of
    activities. It fathered the evening high schools’ walking
    movement; it inaugurated a campaign of publicity; it has
    through Pathfinder Hocking planned walks of from one day to
    one week for individuals and groups; it has done much to raise
    pedestrianism from its low estate to an equality with other
    sports and the end is not yet. ‘Hocking,’ said a member of a
    rival organization, ‘has done more for walking than any other
    man in America, but--’ and the rest of the sentence I have
    transferred to that unpublished page in the annals of walking
    on which the recording secretary spilled his ink.

    “A few years ago the Walkers’ Association mapped out a most
    elaborate program. With the consummation of its plans, however,
    the war materially interfered. It was intended to create a
    large number of walking squads. There was to be a squad for the
    ‘tired business man’--that variety of the genus homo of whom we
    read much and whom we never see; a cross-country squad, which
    would take tramps similar to the hikes of the Fresh Air Club;
    an afternoon squad for the man who desired to spend his Sunday
    mornings in dreams; and any other kind of squad that anyone
    might desire to suggest.

    “It planned the establishment of affiliated clubs in other
    cities, and ultimately an organization which would in some
    respects resemble the _Wandervogel_, the great national
    pedestrian body of Germany. At the present time it has a
    prosperous branch at Cleveland with a membership in excess of
    five hundred.

    “In the meantime, before a consummation of their more ambitious
    plans can be hoped for, much less realized, it were well if a
    federation of all the walking clubs in New York was perfected,
    with a common headquarters, where maps and data of much value
    might be made available to all hikers, and where frequent
    gatherings might be held for the interchange of ideas and
    experiences. And to the attainment of this object the Walkers’
    Association may well address itself.”


“Wanderlust” is the appellative under which Saturday afternoon walks in
the vicinity of Philadelphia are organized. They have been conducted for
now ten years. Schedules of walks are published quarterly in advance, and
the leaflets bear this advertisement:

    “These walks are arranged for the general public. There are no
    fees, dues nor other requirements. Everyone is welcome, on one
    walk or all. All that is necessary is to be at the starting
    place at the time appointed. The only cost is that of carfare.
    The walks are all about five miles, and often include some
    points of interest, although no special effort is made by the
    leaders toward that aim. No fast walking is done, as new people
    come each week, and might not be able to keep up. The whole
    aim of the walks is to get people out into the open, to learn
    how even a simple exercise like walking can mean strength and
    health for those who seek it, and pleasure for all.… Copies
    [of this announcement] will be mailed only to those who send
    a stamped, addressed envelope to any active member of the
    Committee, or to the Secretary.”

The secretary (address 351 East Chelton Avenue, Germantown, Pa.) writes
(June 13, 1919):

    “The Wanderlust goes on about the same as it has done since
    1910, though our numbers have been much smaller during and
    since the war. So many of our followers were engaged in war
    work, or working overtime, that we noticed their absence very
    much. For many years our average was about fifty, but for the
    past two years it has been around thirty.

    “We have two classes of walkers, the regulars, many of whom
    have been along from the start, and the irregulars, who come
    from one to a dozen times, and seem to drop away for no reason
    we can learn. Many people come once and never again, probably
    disappointed to find the walkers a happy lot, who apparently
    need little to satisfy them. That conclusion we arrived at
    after hearing their remarks on many occasions. But the critics
    were not ‘hikers’ and did not have the spirit.

    “About the permanence of such an undertaking, I can only
    say that I feel sure we have lasted so long because we
    avoided any form or attempt at organization, and kept it a
    free-for-all-come-once-or-always outing party.

    “We profited by the mistakes of some other cities, where they
    organized, with the usual factional rivalry, and breaking-up
    of the club, and in another case, the growth of an exclusive
    club, shutting out many who could not afford to continue. So
    we have fought all attempts (on the part of a few) to organize
    in any way. Of course that means that someone must head the
    committee and volunteer to be the secretary or chairman. Being
    an assistant to the Director of Physical Education, I was
    asked to take charge of the Wanderlust about eight years ago
    and am still a willing secretary, and believe that by keeping
    the hike under the Department we are keeping it from breaking
    up or changing into a less desirable form. Our aim is to give
    an opportunity to grown people to get some of the physical
    training and efficiency that the school children get in our
    schools, and at the same time to encourage outdoor ‘play’ for
    young and old.

    “Unfortunately this year our Board felt unable to bear the
    small expense necessary, so we are charging a small sum for the
    announcements and so far have been able to be self-supporting.
    But it is not in keeping with our ‘free’ policy, and we hope
    soon to do away with the charges, small as they are.”


This organization, now fifteen years old, conducts weekly walks. The
secretary’s address is 249 Martsolf Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa.


The Prairie Club, of Chicago, was organized in 1908 by a committee of the
Playground Association of Chicago as “Saturday Afternoon Walks.” It was
incorporated in 1911 as “The Prairie Club.” The objects of the club are:
“The promotion of outdoor recreation in the form of walks and outings,
camping, and canoeing; the encouragement of the love of nature and the
dissemination of knowledge of the attractions of the country adjacent
to the city of Chicago and of the Central West; and the preservation of
those regions in which such outdoor recreation may be pursued.” There
are three kinds of memberships: active, associate, and honorary. The
initiation fee for active membership is $2.00, and the annual dues are
$2.00. The club maintains a Beach House and Camp, situated in the heart
of the Indiana dunes, on the south shore of Lake Michigan, 47 miles from
Chicago, the privileges of which are available to active members of the
club and their guests. The club also publishes an attractive monthly
bulletin. During the year 1918 the club conducted 42 Saturday afternoon
walks, 8 all-day walks, 4 week-end outings, and 1 extended outing. Up to
March, 1919, the club reported 645 active members.


The Sierra Club, of San Francisco, California, is the largest of American
pedestrian clubs, with a membership of more than 2,000. It was founded in
1892, and was further distinguished in having as its president, until his
death (in 1914), John Muir. Its purposes are defined in these words:

“To explore, enjoy, and render accessible the mountain regions of the
Pacific Coast; to publish authentic information concerning them; to
enlist the support and cooperation of the people and the Government in
preserving the forests and other natural features of the Sierra Nevada.”

The annual dues of the Club are $3 (for the first year, $5). The club
headquarters are at 402 Mills Building, San Francisco. A Southern
California Section of the Club exists, and advice concerning it may be
had of its chairman, address 315 West Third Street, Los Angeles.


The following note has been furnished by the secretary of the

    “To explore and study the mountains, forests, and water courses
    of the Northwest; to gather into permanent form the history
    and traditions of this region; to preserve, by protective
    legislation or otherwise, the natural beauty of north-western
    America; to make expeditions into these regions in fulfilment
    of the above purposes; to encourage a spirit of good-fellowship
    among all lovers of outdoor life--these were the avowed
    purposes for which a group of nature lovers met in Seattle in
    January, 1907, and organized The Mountaineers. Since then, the
    membership has expanded to over half a thousand, and knows no
    geographical bounds. Nearly a hundred men and women contributed
    themselves in the recent war, while those at home rendered
    active service in collecting sphagnum moss, making surgical
    dressings, and otherwise trying to do their part. Branches have
    been organized, property acquired, permanent funds established,
    and the Club has now become one of the worthwhile organizations
    of the Pacific Northwest.

    “Summer outings and the snowshoe trip to Mt. Rainier with which
    the Club welcomes in each new year are the most striking
    of its activities. For three weeks each summer a hobnailed,
    khaki-clad party of from fifty to one hundred men and women
    enjoy a well planned hike into some mountainous region, and
    usually climb some famous peak. Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, Mt.
    Olympus, Glacier Peak, Mt. Stewart, Mt. St. Helens, and many
    others have been climbed once or more. Glacier National Park,
    as well as our own Monte Cristo region, has also been visited.

    “With pack trains, hired packers, and professional cooks along,
    little of the unpleasant work of camping falls on the members,
    yet, with each individual’s dunnage limited to thirty-five
    pounds, and with frequent shifting of camps and plenty of snow
    and rock work, genuine outing experience is afforded. The
    leadership is wholly by members, and every precaution is taken
    for the safety of the party.

    “The snowshoe trip to Mt. Rainier in midwinter must be taken to
    be comprehended. Paradise Valley in summer is brilliant with
    its mountain flowers, but in winter it is enchantingly somber
    with its deep-laid snow, through which emerge the conical
    trees with their symmetry of drooping branches peculiar to
    the snow-laden conifers. Snowshoeing, skiing, tobogganing,
    and climbing afford ample exercise, while the hotel (usually
    approached through a snow tunnel) with its comfortable beds and
    provisions brought up in summer time, relieves the party of the
    usual hardships of winter trips. In the evenings, before the
    big fireplaces, vaudeville performances, circuses, and other
    entertainments rival similar affairs held in the evenings of
    the summer outings.

    “Winter and summer trips are taken to Snoqualmie Lodge, a
    large log structure built by the Club near the backbone of
    the Cascade Range, but easily accessible both to railroad and
    highway, as well as to rugged mountains like Chair Peak and
    Silver Tip.

    “A wholly different region may be enjoyed at the Club’s
    Rhododendron Park, a large area across Puget Sound, brilliant
    each May with a profusion of the white and pink of the state
    flower. The Club is planning the construction of a cabin in the
    mountains near Everett, and also one near Tacoma.

    “Lecturers are procured for monthly meetings, a collection of
    slides maintained of the mountains visited by the Club, botany
    and other sciences pursued, and the results of each year’s
    activities summarized in an annual publication. A bulletin is
    also published forecasting each month’s activities.

    “Beneficial as the foregoing may be, the greatest service to
    the greatest number is afforded by what are prosaically known
    as ‘local walks.’ On each of two or three Sundays of the month
    a committee in charge has carefully planned a hike of from
    eight to twenty miles by road, trail, or beach. As many as two
    hundred persons have sometimes gone on one of these trips.
    Stenographers, teachers, clerks, professors, nurses, lawyers,
    doctors, men and women, are taken from the cramped atmosphere
    of offices, schoolrooms, and hospitals out into the freedom of
    the wild, to breathe the fresh sea air, and to acquire that
    physical health and hearty mien which are such stimulants to
    the growth of character.”

The secretary’s address is 402 Burke Building, Seattle, Washington.

Other western mountaineering clubs are the Mazamas, of Oregon,
headquarters, Suite 213-214 Northwestern Bank Building, Portland; and the
Colorado Mountain Club.


The Associated Mountaineering Clubs of North America, an organization
effected in 1916, characterizes itself as a _Bureau_. It has brought
into association thirty-one clubs and societies, having an aggregate
membership of 62,000. A list of these follows:

    American Alpine Club, Philadelphia and New York.

    American Forestry Association, Washington.

    American Game Protective Association, New York.

    American Museum of Natural History, New York.

    Adirondack Camp and Trail Club, Lake Placid Club, N. Y.

    Appalachian Mountain Club, Boston and New York.

    Boone and Crockett Club, New York.

    British Columbia Mountaineering Club, Vancouver.

    Colorado Mountain Club, Denver.

    Dominion Parks Branch, Department of the Interior, Ottawa.

    Field and Forest Club, Boston.

    Forest Service, U. S. Dept. Agriculture, Washington.

    Fresh Air Club, New York.

    Geographic Society of Chicago.

    Geographical Society of Philadelphia.

    Green Mountain Club, Rutland, Vermont.

    Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club, Honolulu.

    Klahhane Club, Port Angeles, Washington.

    Mazamas, Portland, Oregon.

    Mountaineers, Seattle and Tacoma.

    National Association of Audubon Societies, New York.

    National Parks Association, Washington.

    National Park Service, U. S. Dept. Interior, Washington, D. C.

    New York Zoological Society, New York.

    Prairie Club, Chicago.

    Rocky Mountain Climbers Club, Boulder, Colorado.

    Sagebrush and Pine Club, Yakima, Washington.

    Sierra Club, San Francisco and Los Angeles.

    Tramp and Trail Club, New York.

    Travel Club of America, New York.

    Wild Flower Preservation Society of America, New York.

The Bulletin of the Bureau, published in May, 1919, states:

    “Associated by common aims these clubs and societies are
    standing for the protection and development of scenic regions,
    and for the preservation of tree, flower, bird, and animal
    life. We encourage the creation, development, and protection of
    National Parks, Monuments, and Forest Reserves, and our members
    are being educated by literature and lectures to a deeper
    appreciation of our natural wonders and resources.

    “During the past year the Bureau has continued to send to its
    members many books on mountaineering and outdoor subjects. The
    collection of mountain literature and photographs in the New
    York Public Library, 476 Fifth Avenue, has been increased. The
    Library has published a selected Bibliography of Mountaineering
    Literature, which was compiled by the librarian of the American
    Alpine Club, and expects to issue a similar list of the
    literature of Wild-life Protection.… The secretary has written
    and has published a series of articles on little-known scenic
    regions of North America, and he is lecturing before leading
    clubs and societies on The National Wonders of the United
    States and Canada.…

    “Lantern slides may be borrowed by members of the Association
    on application.”

Note is made in the Bulletin of the International Congress of Alpinists,
which is to be held at Monaco, May 10 to 16, 1920. Relationships
with the several organizations which have to do with the care of and
development of the national parks are explained. A directory of the
constituent organizations is given.

The secretary is Mr. LeRoy Jeffers, 476 Fifth Avenue, New York City.



        With sudden gush
    As from a fountain, sings in yonder bush
        The Hermit Thrush.

        Did ever Lark
    With swifter scintillations fling the spark
        That fires the dark?

        Like April rain
    Of mist and sunshine mingled, moves the strain
        O’er hill and plain.

        As love, O Song,
    In flame or torrent sweep through Life along,
        O’er grief and wrong.

                                           John Banister Tabb.



Those who live reasonably near the home or field of existing clubs are
urged to relate themselves to them. Don’t organize hastily. Be sure,
first, of two things: that a fair-sized continuing membership is to
be expected, to be advantaged by a club; and, second, that, in the
multiplicity of already existing societies, there is place for another.
Remember that the persons who will be interested and whose interest and
support are desired, will in large part be persons already giving much
time to altruistic activity. Think this matter through, taking advice of
persons of experience and judgment. It may be better, in a given case, to
widen the activities of some existing organization--canoe club, perhaps,
or Audubon Society--than to form a new one. Pedestrianism may well have
place in the program of school, Y. M. C. A., or Boy Scout Troop. But of
this something will be said in the sequel. In a city, however, a walking
club may well stand on its own feet; and, in such a favored region as the
Green Mountains, for example, to organize a walking club comes near to
being a public duty.


Before opening a discussion of the formalities of organization, it will
be well to consider what the normal activities of a walking club are;
for to the end in view the machinery of organization, simple or complex,
should be adapted. The activities of a club may be regarded as of two
sorts, and, in lieu of better terms, may be designated as primary and
secondary. Primary activities concern the actual business of walking:
development of the pedestrian resources of some particular region, trail
making, map making, publishing of data, maintaining a bureau, conducting
hikes, affording instruction, and contributing seriously to the growing
literature of pedestrianism. Secondary activities consist in conducting
dinners and other social entertainment, in providing illustrated lectures
on travel, popular science, and kindred subjects. There is need of care,
to keep such activities in their proper secondary place. The primary
activities require further consideration.

_Development of the Pedestrian Resources of Some Particular Region_

This should be an aim of every walking club. The region to be developed
will in many--in most cases, indeed--be the region about home. Clubs in
large cities, however, and clubs situated in regions not suitable for
walking, may well turn attention, wholly or in part, to regions far from
home. The mountainous parts of a continent are the natural recreation
grounds for the whole people, and those who live far away may still
have their proper share in making these parts more readily available.
In the Alps, the pedestrian is pleased to find the lodges where he
stops at night called by the names of distant cities, whose citizens
maintain them--_Breslauerhütte_, for example, or _Dusseldorferhütte_.
In this country, too, the Green Mountain Club (see page 84) has its New
York Section; and to the New York Section it has allotted a certain
portion of the Long Trail (a length of fifty miles). The New York club,
accordingly, while not neglectful of pedestrianism at home, opens,
develops, and maintains its part of the route in Vermont, and conducts
annually a hike in that region.

The development of a region involves observation and putting into
communicable form the results of observation, and it may and ordinarily
does involve further a greater or less amount of physical preparation.
First of all, the region must be traversed, and that again and again,
under varying conditions of season and climate, and thus thoroughly
known. Maps, if available, must be carefully studied, and particular
attention must be given to distances, steepness of roads, and to the
nature of the footing--whether the way be rough or smooth, hard or
soft, wet or dry. Note should be made of obstructions, such as briars,
fallen trees, and unbridged streams. The possibility of using railways
and trolley lines to widen the available area should not be forgotten.
Hotels should be noted, and restaurants, and farmhouses, where rest and
refreshment may be had; and, in the wilderness, camp sites should be

Observation should next be directed to such natural resources as may
engage the attention and interest of the pedestrian: scenery, of course,
hilltops, waterfalls, and such matters; then to plant and animal life,
and that with the interests of sportsmen and lovers of natural science
particularly in mind. Attention should be given to geology and to
mineral deposits. Then the history of the region should be studied,
its traditions learned, and its monuments considered--distinctive and
characteristic matters touching the life of the people, industries,
factories, public works, and buildings.

All of these matters should be taken into account, with a view to making
the results of observation and study generally available.

_Trail Making_

“Of trail making there are three stages. There is dreaming the trail,
there is prospecting the trail, there is making the trail. Of the first
one can say nothing--dreams are fragile, intangible. Prospecting the
trail--there lies perhaps the greatest of the joys of trail work. It has
a suggestion of the thrill of exploration. No one of us but loves still
to play explorer. And here there is just a bit of the real thing to keep
the play going. Picking the trail route over forested ridges calls for
every bit of the skill gained in our years of tramping. There is never
time to go it slow, to explore every possibility. Usually there is one
hasty day to lay out the line for a week’s work. For a basis there is the
look of the region, from some distant point, from a summit climbed last
year, perhaps. For a help, there is the compass, but in our hill country
we use it little. Partly we go by imperfect glimpses from trees climbed,
from blow-down edges, from small cliffs--but chiefly we feel the run of
the land, its lift and slope and direction. The string from the grocer’s
cone unwinds behind--an easy way of marking and readily obliterated when
we go wrong. We pay little heed to small difficulties, those are for the
trail makers to solve. Only a wide blow-down, a bad ledge, a mistake in
general direction, cause us to double back a bit and start afresh.…

“Making trail is the more plodding work; yet has reliefs and pleasures
of its own. Each day, as the gang works along the string line, problems
of detail arise. Ours is no gang of uninterested hirelings. If the line
makes a suspicious bend, the prospectors have to explain or correct.…
Decision made, the gang scatters along the line, each to a rod or two,
for we find working together is not efficient.[4]”

As has already been said, a club ordinarily will find occasion to do
some work of physical preparation of its pedestrian routes. Highways are
ordinarily beyond control, but byways are not. The opening of trails,
cutting away of briars and windfalls, making the footing sure for a man
under a pack, the building of footways and handrails in dangerous places,
the cleaning of springs and providing water basins and troughs, the
marking of trails--all these matters are such as manifestly should engage
a club’s energies.

Trail making is by no means a simple matter. The successful trail-maker
(and trails should be successfully made) must be expert in woodcraft;
he must understand topography--the “lay of the land”; he must know from
what side to approach a summit, how best to pass a valley--whether to go
around or through it. With knowledge of these matters, his occupation
is a most interesting one. Irresponsible and unauthorized trail making
should be discouraged.

A word of caution is, “Do, but don’t overdo.” Particularly is this word
of caution to be carried in mind in the matter of blazing trails. Let
the marks be sufficient, and no more; let them be as inconspicuous as is
consistent with their purpose. In marking trails, don’t blaze trees, nor
deface objects of interest and beauty. The best trail mark is a colored
arrow, affixed to tree trunk or fence post, or painted on a rock face.
Such an arrow may, by color, position, and legends displayed upon it,
afford as much information as may be desired, about route, distance,
elevation, detours, springs, and other matters.

Resting places may be built; pavilions, perhaps, in the woods, where
walkers may have lunch under protection from rain. Or, when conditions
justify, houses may be built and equipped, to afford food and lodging. In
this connection, the _alpenhütten_ elsewhere mentioned (page 106) will
come to mind. In other places, tents may be erected for the summer, and
caretakers employed.

In case a club has under its care a wide extent of wilderness--as has
the New York Section of the Green Mountain Club, for example--a ranger
will be employed, and his duties will include the care of trails,
prevention of fires, and protection of property. He may, if expedient, be
constituted game warden also.

    “Some of us have been blessed of the Gods, permitted to make
    trail in the timberline country of the Mt. Washington range.
    Everyone who has tried it is unhappy till he is doing it again.
    That is why there are so many trails there. I came rather late;
    my experience in that fascinating country has been little more
    than that of the common or idiotic tramper, scuttling from
    hut to hut on schedule. Always, summer or winter, I am glad
    to be starting for timberline, and content when there. When,
    after the long climb, I suddenly realize that the trees are
    lowering fast, that underbrush has vanished, that a sensation
    of altitude and space is pressing for conscious recognition, I
    feel a lift and urge--timberline again!

    “And what is timberline? It is the level at which the mean
    annual temperature--yes, but it is the sweep of vast spaces,
    the drift of cloud-shadows, the infinite gradations of distant
    color. It is the hiss of wind in the firs, the strain against
    bitter gusts, the keen concentration to hold the trail through
    dense and drifting fog. It is the plod and lift under the pack,
    the crunch of creepers, the slow struggle through tangled

_Map Making_

Maps of unmapped regions should be prepared.

Study a good map--a quadrangle of the U. S. Geological Survey, for
instance. Note what things are represented, and how representation is
made: study the map, until it is thoroughly understood.

There are three factors with which the map-maker deals: direction,
distance, and elevation. With the first, he must always reckon, and
usually with the second and the third as well.

Direction is fundamental. Suppose there are three dominant points in the
area to be mapped, relatively situated as here indicated.


The first problem is, to get those points set down on paper accurately,
in proper relative positions.

The map-maker begins, say, at _B_. He has provided himself with a
_sketching board_, having a sheet of paper tacked upon it, and with a
ruler and a _pencil_. He sets his board up and carefully levels it. He
then marks upon the paper a point _b_ which in the completed map is to
indicate this station _B_ of first observation--the point where he now
stands. Knowing in a general way the area which he wishes to map, and
observing from his station the directions in which the distant objects
_A_ and _C_ lie, he so places point _b_ that his paper will afford space
for the intended map.

The map-maker then lays his ruler upon the paper, brings its edge close
to point _b_, and sighting from point _b_ on the paper to the distant
object _A_, turns the ruler until its edge coincides with the line of
sight. Then he draws upon the paper a line or “ray” from point _b_ toward
object _A_. In like manner he sets his ruler again and draws a second
ray, from _b_ toward the distant object _C_, thus:


Having fixed point _b_ and drawn the two rays _b-A_ and _b-C_, the
map-maker leaves station _B_ and goes to either of the other points: to
point _C_, say. He there sets his board up again, and levels it carefully
as before. He turns the board until, sighting along the previously drawn
ray _C-b_, the now distant station _B_ is exactly covered. Then he lays
the ruler again upon the paper, and turns it until, sighting along its
edge, distant object _A_ is exactly covered. He then draws a ray along
the edge of the ruler thus:


The points _a_ and _c_, where this ray intersects the two previously
drawn rays, are the presentment of the points _A_ and _C_ in the area
under observation, and a map of the area is begun.

These three points may be mountain summits, trees, telegraph poles,
chimneys, or any other conspicuous features of the landscape, and they
may be distant one from another 50 miles or 500 yards; they are set down
on paper in their true relative positions; they are _mapped_.

In the making of the map thus far, one and only one of the three factors
mentioned above has been taken into the reckoning: the factor of
_direction_, namely; and the resulting map is drawn to an unknown scale.
It is drawn to _some_ scale, of course; there is _some_ ratio between its
distances and the distances at which the objects stand apart, but the
ratio is unknown. It may be determined: the distance from _B_ to _C_ may
be measured, and the distance _b-c_ on the map may be measured, and the
ratio of the two distances ascertained. That ratio is the scale to which
the map is drawn. Thus the second factor, that of _distance_, enters in.
It may be reckoned with from the beginning.

Suppose the two points _B_ and _C_, above mentioned, to be signal towers
on a straight stretch of railway, and the point _A_ to be the chimney of
a house standing by the side of a wagon road which crosses the railroad
at _C_. The map-maker, having at _B_ set down the data described above,
in proceeding to _C_, paces the distance from _B_ to _C_, and finds it to
be, _e.g._, 3,500 feet. He has previously determined what the scale of
his map is to be: say, 1 inch to 1000 feet. He then carefully lays off on
ray _b-C_ 3½ inches from the point _b_, and thus he fixes point _c_. He
then sets up his drawing-board at _C_; but, instead of shifting the ruler
freely upon the paper, he sights from point _c_ to distant object _A_ and
brings the edge of the ruler into coincidence with the line of sight. He
draws along the edge of the ruler the ray _c-A_, which, intersecting the
previously drawn ray _b-A_, gives him the point _a_.

The railroad from _b_ to _c_ may be indicated thus,


and the highroad from _c_ to _a_ represented by two closely spaced
parallel lines. (The conventional signs for various features of
topography may be found on the back of a U. S. Geological Survey
quadrangle.) On the way from _B_ to _C_ there may be a bridge, crossing
a stream. The map-maker, pacing the distance, will, without stopping or
interrupting the swing of his stride, note the number of paces from _B_
to the bridge, as well as from _B_ to _C_. He will then have the figures,
and can accurately place the bridge upon his map.

He now has a map of a length of railroad and of a length of intersecting
highway, drawn to the known scale of 1″ = 1000′.

And, be it noted, this has been accomplished without visiting the point
_A_ at all.

Suppose now there be a haystack _D_, and a tree on a hilltop _E_,
situated with respect to the points already considered thus:


They may be mapped in like manner. The map-maker goes successively to
any two of the three points _A_, _B_, and _C_ from which the object to
be plotted (_D_ or _E_) is visible; he sets his board at each place,
levels it, and turns it until the ray on the map from the point where
he stands to another point lies directly in the line of sight to that
other point in the landscape. Having so oriented his board, he draws at
his successive stations rays in the direction of the object to be mapped
(_D_ or _E_.) The point _d_ or _e_ where those rays intersect will be the
mapped location of the object.

Proceeding thus, the outstanding features of the area may be mapped, one
after another. The intervening details may be filled in, freehand.

It will have been remarked that only very simple apparatus is required
for map making: the _sketching board_ may conveniently be mounted on
a tripod, with provision for turning it evenly and surely. Boards so
mounted and intended for the very purpose may be had of dealers in
draftsmen’s and surveyors’ supplies. A _level_ should be provided, for
use in setting the board up. The _ruler_ will be graduated to inches and
fractions of inches, if the map is to be drawn to predetermined scale. In
pacing, one must carefully count his strides. A _pedometer_ may be used,
but a pedometer is a sort of toy; it requires to be carefully adjusted to
the stride of the user, and is hardly worth while for any purpose. It may
be convenient in pacing to use a _tally register_, and so relieve one’s
self of the necessity of keeping count.

The value of a map is vitally dependent on the accuracy with which it
is made. Measurement and observation should be repeated, and errors
eliminated by averaging variant readings.

Nothing has yet been said about a _compass_, and a compass, though not
necessary, is so serviceable as to be almost indispensable. With a
compass one can not only do, and do more expeditiously, what has thus far
been described; he can do some things which could not otherwise be done.

A sketching board is ordinarily provided with a compass, set near its
upper margin, and bears also an orientation line passing through the
compass. The board is set up and leveled and then turned until the
orientation line coincides with the line on which the needle points. At
each station the board is oriented, not by sighting along penciled rays,
but always in the manner described, by bringing it to a truly north and
south position. In other respects, the plotting is performed in the
manner already described.

Orientation by compass is advantageous in this respect: given two points,
as _a_ and _b_, on the map, the map-maker may plot a third point, as
_D_ for example, while standing at _D_, and without being obliged to
go either to _A_ or to _B_. He sets up his board at _D_, levels it,
and orients it; he sights and draws rays through points _a_ and _b_
in line with the objects _A_ and _B_ as they appear from his point of
observation, _D_. The point _d_ of intersection of the rays will be the
station _D_ plotted.

A north and south line may be drawn upon the map, and then the user,
wherever he may be in the area, if only he has in view two known points
and can identify them on the map, can “find” himself. He orients the map
by compass, fixes upon the map and in the manner indicated his point of
observation, and may then observe the distance and direction of any other
point in the area, whether visible or not.

The measurement of distance by _pacing_ has been noted. Practice is
requisite, before one can so measure distance accurately. When the
greatest precision is desired, a bicycle wheel equipped with a cyclometer
may be rolled over the course, or a surveyor’s chain may be used, or even
a tape line.

The measured line _B-C_ of the map begun as above described is the base
line of the map. It should be carefully chosen, carefully measured,
and carefully plotted; for all the rest of the map will, in accuracy,
be conditioned on the accuracy with which this base line is drawn. In
location it is preferably (though not necessarily) situated near the
center of the area to be mapped; in length, it is best that it be about
one third of the distance across the area. Its terminal points should be
conspicuously marked, and widely visible throughout the area; and, for
ease and accuracy of measurement, it should lie across level ground. A
reach of railroad is an ideal base.

It will often be the case--generally in mountainous regions--that an
adequate level base cannot be found; the terminals _B_ and _C_ may
be eminences unequal in height, and between may lie mountain slope
or valley. Now the third of the factors mentioned at the outset,
_elevation_, has to be taken into account. It is not the surface distance
between the two points _B_ and _C_ which is to be ascertained, nor
even the distance from one point to the other on an air line, but the
distance projected upon a horizontal plane--for that is what the map is
intended to afford, the _horizontal_ distance from point to point. In
order to determine this distance, if the ground between be other than
substantially level, the distance along the surface must be measured
(keeping a straight course by compass if necessary) and the _slope_ from
point to point must be measured. To determine the angle of slope one
may either use a _slope board_ or a _clinometer_ (an instrument built
on the principle of the sextant). Having measured distance and angle of
slope, one may betake himself to schoolboy trigonometry and a table of
logarithms, to determine the corresponding distance in horizontal plane.

_Contour lines_ (see page 119) pass through points of equal elevation,
and are spaced apart according to a predetermined plan, to indicate
intervals in elevation of five, ten, or twenty feet, as may be desired.
This predetermined contour interval has no necessary relation to the
scale to which the map is drawn. Two otherwise identical maps of the same
area may be provided with contour lines, one at the interval of five
feet, the other at the interval of twenty-five.

A skilled map-maker, observing a slope, is able to sketch contour lines,
freehand, with an accuracy sufficient for most purposes. But such skill
is the result of much careful measured work.

In plotting contour lines it is best to work, not from line to
line--errors of observation then accumulate--but to measure the altitude
and the mean inclination of the whole mountain side, and go from the
over-all measurements to the minutiae.

In drawing the contour of a mountain, rays may be laid by compass from
the summit along ridges and through valleys, and then minute observations
may be made along those several lines. The sweep of the contour lines
between the points plotted along the rays may be filled in freehand, with
the mountain side spread in view.

The data necessary for contour lines may be got by the use of the slope
board alone; for, manifestly, at any certain angle, a contour interval
of ten feet means a certain distance between successive contour lines.
But in plotting contour lines, an _aneroid_ is invaluable; with it
one measures directly differences in elevation, and measuring thus
the altitude of a slope, from bottom to top, the _number_ of contour
lines requisite may immediately be known; it remains to determine their
_distribution_. Here observation, calculation, and experience combine to
afford the result.

An aneroid should be used only under settled conditions of weather; and,
even so, correction should be made, when possible, by taking the average
of many readings of the same range.

It is not necessary to go afield with sketching board and its
accessories. A map-maker who has taught himself a well-regulated
stride may, when equipped with compass and notebook (and, if conditions
require it, with an aneroid), collect all the necessary data; and then,
subsequently, at home he may draw his map. It should here be said that,
if one is going to gather data for map making after the manner just
suggested, his compass should be one having a delicately mounted needle.
It may advantageously be equipped with sights, and the scale should be
reasonably large and the graduation minute. It should, in short, be a
surveyor’s compass.

For more explicit instruction, the reader is referred to the manuals on
Military Map Making. One by Major C. O. Sherrill, published by George
Banta Publishing Company of Menasha, Wisconsin, is excellent. It should,
however, be remembered that the ideal military map is one for particular
needs, of maximum accuracy, based on a minimum amount of observation;
timesaving is an important factor. Making proper allowance, the military
manual affords all needed instruction and advice.

_Publishing of data_

Descriptions of routes should be prepared, illustrated with maps, if
necessary, and should be made available to those who wish to use them,
whether members of the club, visitors from a distance, or the general
public. For a club, rightly conceived, is, within its sphere, a public
benefactor, and its policy should be always to enlarge its usefulness.

A proper description of a route should give, (1) distances from start to
finish, as well as from point to point along the way; (2) approximate
time requisite to walk each stage. (Here it may be noted that Baedeker’s
famous guidebooks err on the safe side, and give very liberal time
allowance in describing walking tours.) The description should further
give (3) elevations, where range in elevation is appreciable, with
note of steep ascents and descents; (4) the nature of the surface; (5)
stopping places for rest and refreshment and springs; (6) such matters
of caution as the particular route may require, in regard to dangerous
places, heavy roads, obstructions, and the like; (7) objectives and
points of particular interest. Recommendations should be made on such
matters as preferred season, special equipment, need for guides, and
incidental expenses. Descriptions should be concise, easily intelligible,
and should be at once accurate and inviting.

A handbook of routes of the region may well be prepared, and in such
a handbook descriptions of particular walks may be prefaced by such
general statements regarding topography, science, history, and sport, as
are applicable to the whole region. Such general matters may, however,
be published in leaflet form, and separate leaflets be prepared and
published for the several pedestrian routes in the region.

An excellent specimen handbook is “Excursions Around Aix-les-Bains,”
mentioned in the Bibliography (page 148).

It has just been said that the descriptions of routes should be published
and distributed. They may be printed under the imprint of the club, or,
more economically, they may be published in the local newspaper, and
extra copies, separately printed for distribution by the club, may be
procured by arrangement with the printing office. If the club be a small
one and young, and the cost of printing too great, at least typewritten
copies of descriptive matter and blue prints of maps should be available.

In addition to such descriptions of its own region, a club should
similarly prepare and make available other routes traversed by its
members in other and undeveloped regions.

_Maintaining a bureau_

A club should have a place where its data are filed, available to those
who wish to consult them. This place should be a distributing point for
the club’s publications. If the region has already been mapped by the
Geological Survey, the club should lay in a supply of the quadrangles
covering the region, sufficient to meet the needs of applicants.

A _library_ should be maintained, or a _bibliography_ at least, to which
the members of the club may have access, to acquaint themselves with all
that concerns the art of walking, the choice of route, and the sources of
enjoyment along the route chosen. Cooperation in this regard will readily
be accorded by any local public library or museum of natural history.

In such manner a walking club becomes a source of information for
visiting pedestrians. Out of the wider relationships so established
will come increased membership and livelier interest. Incidentally,
it will have become apparent to one who reads these pages that
the organization--though, by recommendation, kept as simple as
possible--will, in an early stage of development, include an office with
a secretary in charge. The library may be conducted, perhaps in the
secretary’s office, perhaps in the rooms of a general public library.
Club rooms or a club house will be maintained only under exceptional

_Conducting hikes._

Hikes will be of two or three sorts: first, afternoon hikes, on Saturdays
or Sundays, perhaps weekly throughout the greater part of the year,
perhaps at less frequent intervals, or during spring and fall only--such
matters depend on locality and circumstances. Second, there will be less
frequent overnight hikes--perhaps two or three in the spring and as many
more in the autumn. And, third, there will be the annual tour of two or
three weeks’ duration, in a chosen region. Some observations applicable
to all these are the following:

_Rules for hiking_

Hikes should be carefully prepared and adequately carried out.

Don’t walk in a herd; to do so is tiresome; and, when the novelty is
gone, failure is sure to follow. Divide larger companies into groups,
each group numbering preferably not more than six.

See that strong and feeble walkers are not grouped together.

Bring together, so far as may be, people of common interests--bird-lovers
in one group, geologists in another, historians or antiquarians in

Let there be a leader for each group.

The general outline of the trip, in case the party numbers more than two,
should be determined in advance and adhered to. Otherwise, contradictory
suggestions regarding the route to be followed are likely to arise, and
argument to follow. This is to be avoided.

The leader should have always in mind the physical endurance of the
weakest member of his party and govern accordingly. One tired and
querulous person may be a kill-joy for all. It is not necessary that
every group traverse the same route, nor that all should walk at equal

Don’t allow racing, nor loitering, nor too much picnicking.

In traversing highways pedestrians will walk two or three abreast; but
when walking single file, as on woodland trails, companions will walk
most comfortably at intervals of two paces.

Walkers should travel quietly, especially when passing through villages.

See that property rights are respected; there should be no trespassing on
forbidden land.

Guard most carefully against fire. Mr. Enos A. Mills says:[6]

“Since the day of Tike’s Peak or bust,’ fires have swept over more
than half of the primeval forest area of Colorado. Some years ago,
while making special efforts to prevent forest fires from starting, I
endeavored to find out the cause of these fires. I regretfully found
that most of them were the result of carelessness, and I also made a
note to the effect that there are few worse things to be guilty of
than carelessly setting fire to a forest. Most of these forest fires
had their origin from camp-fires which the departing campers had
left unextinguished. There were sixteen fires in one summer, which I
attributed to the following causes: campers, nine; cigar, one; lightning,
one; locomotive, one; stockmen, two; sheep-herders, one; and sawmill,

See to it that proper regard is had for public interest and welfare;
lunch boxes, paper, and refuse should be collected and destroyed;
springs should be kept scrupulously clean; the gathering of wild
flowers should be indulged in sparingly; plants and trees should not be
mutilated; nor monuments defaced. The trail should be left unmarred, for
those who follow.

Do not permit irresponsible trail-blazing.

Discourage the carrying and use of firearms; they should under no
circumstances be permitted on an organized hike.

Do not permit the rolling of stones down declivities.

On the conduct of mountaineering parties, Professor William Morris Davis
writes, in “Excursions around Aix-les-Bains”:

    “Do not make high mountain ascents alone.… Excursions are best
    made in small parties of three or five. If a large party sets
    out, it should be divided into squads of ten or fewer members.
    Those who wish to make the excursion without stopping should
    join a separate squad from those who wish to stop frequently
    for photographing or sketching.

    “Each squad should, if possible, have an experienced leader; he
    should make a list of the members, head the line of march on
    narrow paths, and set the proper pace, slow for ascents, faster
    for descents; a shrill whistle will aid in summoning his party
    together. A marshal should follow in the rear to round up the
    stragglers. Before setting out on a long mountain walk, place
    the members of each squad in a circle land let each member take
    note of his two neighbors, one on his right, one on his left,
    for whose presence he is to be responsible whenever the march
    begins after a halt: each member will thus be looked for by two
    others. Once on the road, keep together; those who wander away
    from their squad cause vexatious delays. The marshal’s report,
    ‘All present and ready to start,’ is especially important when
    a descent begins. If a member wishes to leave his squad after
    low ground is reached, he should so report to his leader.”

Mr. Albert Handy[7] notes another matter, in the following pleasant and
sagacious comment upon walking parties:

    “A writer on walking has suggested that tramping parties
    should usually consist of but two or three persons. Having
    in mind a much hackneyed quotation concerning the trend of a
    young man’s fancy in the spring, and the fact that it seems
    to have the same trend in the summer, autumn, and winter, I
    can conceive circumstances in which two would be an ideal
    number--out of consideration, primarily, not for the two, but
    for the remainder of the party. But I set down here another
    precept worthy of commendation: ‘twosing’ should be sternly
    frowned upon. In the first place, two ‘twosers’ are apt to get
    ‘lost’--this in direct proportion to their interest in each
    other--that is, separated from the rest of the party; and time
    and tempers are likewise lost, permanently, very likely, in
    the effort to retrieve the wanderers; while if they happen
    to be carrying all the lunch, tragic possibilities present

_Instruction_ about walking--about posture, gait, clothing, and the
like--may be afforded in talks before groups of pedestrians, or (often
with better effect) individually, by the group leader. Needless criticism
and officiousness will, of course, be avoided; it will suffice to provoke
and then to answer questions.

_Contributions to the literature of pedestrianism_ will take the form
of description of particular regions in those respects of interest to
pedestrians; it will include descriptions of particular walks, and maps.

Clubs are invited to relate themselves to the League of Walkers (page
137), which in publishing such material will of necessity give preference
to what is to be commended to widest interest.


With such activities in mind as normal to a pedestrian club, certain
matters of policy may be presented for consideration.

Two tendencies are sure to manifest themselves in any flourishing club:
the one toward a limited membership of those who qualify by accomplishing
difficult feats; the other toward an indiscriminate membership, including
those who are ready to join anything--providing the rest do. Both
tendencies are bad. The club should on the one hand require of its
members an especial interest in the object of its being, but it should on
the other hand avoid exclusiveness. Emulation may be stimulated in other
and better ways.

The aim of a club should be to bring home and make available to as
many persons as possible the advantages in health and happiness to be
derived from the pursuit of this recreation. This is a higher and better
aim than to produce phenomenal walkers and mountain climbers--though
such may incidentally be produced. It is a higher and better aim than
a self-adulating company of those who have perched themselves on alps.
Alpine climbing is splendid sport, but the aim mentioned is an ignoble
one. Says one mountaineer,[8] who is incidentally a delightful writer,
with humility:

    “I utterly repudiate the doctrine that Alpine travellers are
    or ought to be the heroes of Alpine adventures. The true way
    at least to describe all my Alpine ascents is that Michel or
    Anderegg or Lauener succeeded in performing a feat requiring
    skill, strength, and courage, the difficulty of which was much
    increased by the difficulty of taking with him his knapsack and
    his employer. If any passages in the succeeding pages convey
    the impression that I claim any credit except that of following
    better men than myself with decent ability, I disavow them in
    advance and do penance for them in my heart.”

Avoid membership campaigns and such like advertising; a club to be
enduring must rest on interest in the intrinsic thing for which the club
stands. An artificially created interest must be artificially maintained;
genuine natural interest is harmed by artificial interference.

Dues should not be burdensome, discouraging membership, but should be
adequate to accomplish reasonable ends, and so tend to enlist and to
widen interest.

Attention should center on the primary activities and upon them chiefly
money should be spent.

Publications should be sold at cost.

Adequate charge should be made for the use of property. The Alpine clubs
of Europe fix small membership fees, and give members preference over
non-members in their lodging places. Members enjoy more favorable rates
also for meals and lodging. The ideal of the club here should be a nice
balance of simplicity, comfort, and adequacy; no waste, no extravagance,
no surplus funds.

Club _emblems_ are often adopted and worn. As in other sports, emulation
may be awakened by the offer of _trophies_. These may be won in
competition, or, as is usually preferred, by walking a certain number of
miles in a day, or by covering a certain distance in a two-weeks’ hike,
or the like.

In any case, organization should be simple and inconspicuous: the wheels
should turn automatically.

If acquisition of property is contemplated, incorporation will ordinarily
be desired, and trustees will be chosen.


For the benefit of those who may consider organization, a copy of the
by-laws of the Appalachian Mountain Club is, by permission, here inserted.



The Corporation shall be called the APPALACHIAN MOUNTAIN CLUB.


The objects of the Club are to explore the mountains of New England and
the adjacent regions, both for scientific and artistic purposes; and, in
general, to cultivate an interest in geographical studies.



1. There shall be three classes of membership, to be known as active,
corresponding, and honorary.

2. Active members only, except as hereinafter provided, shall be members
of the Corporation.

3. Elections to active membership shall be made by the Council, and the
affirmative votes of at least four-fifths of the members present and
voting shall be necessary to election.--Nominations, in the form of a
recommendation, shall be made in writing by at least two members of the
Club and forwarded to the Recording Secretary. Notice of such nominations
shall be sent to all active members, who shall have two weeks from the
date of mailing in which to express to the Council their objections, and
no person shall be admitted to membership against the written protest of
ten members of the Club.

4. Corresponding members may be elected from among persons distinguished
in the fields of mountaineering, exploration, and geographical science,
or for public spirit in the conservation of natural resources or in other
interests of which the Club is an exponent. Their election shall be in
the manner prescribed for that of active members, except that the names
of candidates shall first be submitted to a special committee.--Honorary
members, not to exceed twenty-five in number, may be elected in the same
manner from among the Corresponding members.--Corresponding and Honorary
members shall not be members of the Corporation, unless they were such
at the time of their election, and shall not be subject to any fees or
liabilities whatever.

5. The annual dues shall be four dollars, payable January first. Each
candidate elected to active membership shall pay an admission fee of
eight dollars, and on such payment shall be exempt from the annual dues
of the current year.--The admission fee and annual dues of members under
twenty-one years of age shall be half the above rates.--Members elected
later than September of any year shall be exempt from annual dues of
the year following.--Persons elected to active membership shall pay the
admission fee within two months of their election (which payment shall
be considered to be an assent to these By-laws), otherwise the election
shall be void.

6. Any person elected to active membership may become a life member
at any time upon payment of fifty dollars, and shall thereafter be
subject to no fees or assessments. Such sum shall include payment of
the admission fee or dues for the current year. Active members who have
completed thirty years of membership, or who have completed twenty years
of membership and have reached seventy years of age, shall become life
members upon giving written notice to the Recording Secretary, or by vote
of the Council.

7. Bills for annual dues shall be sent to all members on or near January
first, and those whose dues are unpaid on April first shall have notice
of the fact sent them by the Treasurer. He shall send, on May first, to
members whose dues are still unpaid, notice referring to this article,
and those in arrears on June first shall thereupon cease to be members,
which fact, in each case, shall be certified in writing by the Treasurer
to the Recording Secretary, who shall enter it of record; but such
membership may be revived by the Council in its discretion upon payment
of past dues. The President and Treasurer are authorized to remit any fee
_sub silentio_, when they deem it advisable.

8. If the Council by four-fifths vote shall decide that the name of any
member should be dropped from the roll, due notice shall be sent to such
member, who shall within two weeks have the right to demand that the
matter be referred to an investigating committee of five active members
of the Club, two to be appointed by the Council--but not from its own
number--two to be selected by the member, and the fifth to be chosen by
these four. In the absence of such a demand, or if a majority of this
committee shall approve the decision of the Council, the name of the
member shall be dropped, and thereupon the interest of such person in
the Corporation and its property shall cease.



1. The officers of the Club shall be a President, two Vice-Presidents,
Recording Secretary, Corresponding Secretary, Treasurer, four
Departmental Councillors, and two Councillors-at-Large, and there may be
an Honorary Secretary. These officers shall form a governing board, to
be termed the Council, and this body shall elect new members, control
all expenditures, make rules for the use of the Club’s property, except
as hereinafter provided, and act for its interests in any way not
inconsistent with these By-laws. Five members of the Council shall form a

2. The President shall preside at the meetings of the Club and of the
Council, and shall appoint (with the advice and consent of the Council)
the several standing committees. One of the Vice-Presidents shall act in
the absence or disability of the President.

3. The Recording Secretary shall be the Clerk of the Corporation, and
shall have charge of the muniments of title and of the corporate seal.
He shall keep a record of all the proceedings of the Club and Council,
give notice to the members of the time and place of meetings, and prepare
each year a report of the Club and Council to be presented at the annual

4. The Corresponding Secretary shall conduct the correspondence of the
Club with kindred organizations and with Honorary and Corresponding
members, keeping proper files and records of the same, and shall prepare
a report for the previous year to be presented at the annual meeting.

5. The Treasurer, under the direction of the Council, shall collect, take
charge of, and disburse all funds belonging to the Club, except such as
are in the hands of the Trustees of Special Funds or by legal restriction
are under separate control. He shall keep proper accounts, and at the
annual meeting, and at other times when required by the Club or Council,
present a report of its financial condition.

6. The four Departmental Councillors shall represent severally the
departments of Natural History, Topography and Exploration, Art, and
Improvements. It shall be their duty to conserve and foster the interests
of their several departments, and they are authorized to call special
meetings of members interested therein, at which they shall act as
chairmen, and to appoint departmental committees, subject to the control
of the Council. They shall present at the annual meeting reports of their
respective departments for the year.

7. There shall be a Board of Trustees of Real Estate, consisting of a
member of the Council, to be designated by it, and four other members of
the Club, one being elected annually by ballot to serve four years and
until his successor is chosen.--These Trustees shall elect annually from
their own number a chairman and such other officers as may be required,
and may employ such assistance as they shall find necessary. They shall
administer and manage any real estate which may be held by the Club as
a public trust; subject, however, to the general supervision of the
Council.--Any real estate other than public trust reservations to which
the Club holds title shall be managed under the direction of the Council,
but nothing herein shall be construed to mean that the management of
such property may not be delegated to the said Board of Trustees or to
a standing committee created for the purpose.--No real estate shall be
acquired or title to the same accepted except by vote of the Council upon
the recommendation of this Board.--The Trustees of Real Estate shall
make to the Club at the annual meeting a report in writing relative to
the property committed to their care, together with a statement of the
finances connected with their trust.

8. There shall also be a Board of Trustees of Special Funds, consisting
of three members of the Club, one being chosen by ballot annually to
serve for three years and until his successor is elected. They shall
choose their own chairman. The Treasurer of the Club shall not be
eligible to election upon this Board.--All permanent endowments and funds
of a permanent or special nature (unless otherwise legally restricted),
as well as the Reserve Fund hereinafter provided, shall be entrusted
to these Trustees, and they shall have power to make, change, and sell
investments.--All moneys received for life membership, and such other
sums as may be received or appropriated for this special purpose, shall
be known and invested separately as the Permanent Fund, of which the
income only shall be expended.--There shall also be a Reserve Fund to and
from which appropriations may be made by not less than five affirmative
votes at each of two meetings of the Council, notice of the proposed
action having been given on the call for the second meeting.--At each
annual meeting, and at such other times as the Club or Council may
request, the Trustees of Special Funds shall make a written statement of
the condition of each of the funds in their hands.

9. The fiscal year of the Club shall end on December 31. The Council
shall at the close of each year employ an expert accountant to audit the
books and accounts of the Treasurer and of the Boards of Trustees, and
shall present at the annual meeting the written report of his findings;
it may also cause to be audited in the same manner the accounts of other
agents and committees of the Club.

10. The following Standing Committees shall be appointed: on
Publications; on Field Meetings and Excursions; on Legislation; on
Active Membership; and on Honorary and Corresponding Membership. These
Committees shall consist of not less than five members each, and members
of the Council shall be eligible to appointment thereon. They shall be
vested with such powers as the Council sees fit to delegate to them,
and nothing herein shall be construed as prohibiting that body from
appointing such other committees as may be required.



1. The Officers and Trustees shall be chosen by ballot at the annual
meeting, and may be voted for on one ballot They shall hold their offices
until the next succeeding annual meeting, or until their successors are
chosen in their stead; but any vacancy may be filled by the Council,
subject to confirmation by the Club at its next regular meeting.--The
President and Vice-Presidents shall not be eligible for more than two
consecutive terms of one year each, nor the Councillors for more than
three consecutive years; the Honorary Secretary may be elected for life.

2. A Nominating Committee of at least five active members shall be
appointed by the President, with the advice and consent of the Council.
No elective officers of the Club shall be eligible to serve on this
committee. The names of said committee and a list of the offices to be
filled shall be announced in the call for the October meeting, with a
request for suggestions for nominations from members of the Club. The
list of candidates nominated by the Committee shall be posted in the Club
Room and published with the notice for the December meeting.--Twenty-five
or more active members desiring to have a candidate or candidates of
their own selection placed upon the official ballot may at any time
prior to December 20 send their nominations, duly signed by them, to
the Recording Secretary, and the names of such candidates, in addition
to those presented by the Nominating Committee, shall be printed on
the call for the annual meeting and upon the ballots. No person shall
be eligible to office unless nominated in accordance with the foregoing



The Council, or the officers to whom it may delegate this power, shall
call a regular meeting of the Club in Boston in each month except between
June and September inclusive, and special and field meetings at such
times and places as may seem advisable. The January meeting shall be the
annual meeting, and shall be held on the second Wednesday of that month.
Fifty members shall form a quorum.



These By-laws may be amended by a vote to that effect of at least
three-fourths of the members present and voting at two consecutive
regular meetings of the Club, notice of the proposed change having been
sent to all active members.


What has been said of the conduct of clubs generally will, so far as it
is worth the saying, afford sufficient suggestion to school teachers,
secretaries of young men’s and young women’s Christian associations,
and other welfare workers. Organization is not the important thing. The
important thing is to direct the minds and activities of young people
into wholesome and educative channels.

In dealing with boys and girls the educational factor in pedestrianism
becomes more important. Lessons in biology, geology, astronomy, and
history are more adequately taught and more thoroughly learned, when
teacher and pupil come face to face with the actual physical objects to
which study is directed. And the way opens wide here, not for natural
and social science, merely, but for seemingly more remote subjects:
surveying, for instance, and cartography; appreciation of architecture
and of other fine arts; sketching and English composition. Incidentally,
powers of observation, memory, thought are quickened, and physical
well-being promoted.

Even in such minor matters as clothing and shoes, a good deal of folly
among boys and girls may be dissipated, to the substantial benefit of
these same girls and boys when older grown.

The handbook of the Boy Scouts will be found particularly suggestive and
helpful to those in charge of walking for young people.

Much wider use is made in Europe than in this country of excursions as a
feature of school life; here as well as over there, excursions afoot may
be encouraged. But teachers must themselves become pedestrians, before
such advantages and enjoyment as walking affords will become available to
school children generally.


The plans for the League, as thus far developed, are:

To encourage the organization of walking clubs, and to cooperate with
such organizations, aiding them in making their proposals inviting.

To maintain a Bureau of Information, where specific advice about
particular walks and particular regions will be preserved and made
available to all applicants. Particular attention will be given to
collecting data concerning scenery, geology, history, and, generally,
matters of interest on particular walks.

To publish a “blue book” or guidebook for pedestrians.

To give advice regarding clothing, equipment, training, etc.

To promote inter-Association and other inter-club walking tours.

Certificates will be given to walking clubs which enroll in the League.
The cost of enrolment is $1.00, simply to pay for the cost of the

Members of constituent walking clubs may wear bronze buttons or pins
bearing the emblem of the League. These may be procured at a nominal cost
at 347 Madison Avenue, New York.

A bronze medallion, to be worn as a watch fob, will be awarded to any
one, a member of a constituent walking club, who walks 30 miles in
twenty-four hours, or 150 miles in two weeks, or who makes a mountain
climb of 3,000 feet in a day. An applicant for a medallion will furnish
with his application two letters, in addition to his own, from those best
advised, stating the facts as they know them. The secretary of the club
of which the applicant is a member (it may be of a Y. M. C. A.) should
also write, and his may be one of the two letters required, as just said.
If possible, the letters should be written by persons present, one at the
start and the other at the finish of the feat. The applicants will pay
the cost of the medallion.

A silver medallion will be awarded, at the expense of the League, one
each year, (1) to the person who sends to the Bureau the best original
essay on walking, based upon actual experience; (2) to the person who
sends to the Bureau the best epitome of a walking tour; and (3) to the
person who sends to the Bureau the best photograph taken on a walk.

A silver medallion may be awarded to one who performs some notable feat
in walking, or who renders some valuable service in the interest of

Special recognition will be given each year to that walking organization
which has rendered the best service to the walking movement.

The emblem of the League is pictured in the design appearing in the
frontispiece. The design was modeled by Mr. Royal B. Farnum, Specialist
in Industrial Arts in the New York Department of Education, at the
instance of Dr. John H. Finley, President of the University of the State
of New York.

The desire of the League is to inspire and incite people to get out of
doors, to walk regularly and systematically, to cultivate a love for the
open, and to develop health and vigor and the joy of well-being.

All organizations interested are requested, for the common good, to
communicate with the New York Bureau all data respecting regions under
cultivation, and respecting particular walks and tours.

Communications should be addressed to the League of Walkers, 347, Madison
Avenue, New York City.



    I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
      And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
    Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
      And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

    And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
      Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
    There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
      And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

    I will arise and go now, for always night and day
      I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
    While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
      I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

                                                      William Butler Yeats.



      _William Hazlitt_--On Going a Journey.

      _Robert Louis Stevenson_--Walking Tours.

      _Henry David Thoreau_--Walking. Journal for Jan. 7, 1857.

      _Ralph Waldo Emerson_--Country Life. Concord Walks.

      _Bradford Torrey_--An Old Road.

      _John Burroughs_--The Exhilarations of the Road.

      _A. H. Sidgwick_--Walking Essays.


      _C. P. Fordyce_--Touring Afoot.

      _Arnold Haultain_--Of Walks and Walking Tours; an attempt to
         find a philosophy and a creed.


      _Alpine Journal_, published by the Alpine Club, of London.

      _Appalachia_, published by the Appalachian Mountain Club,
         of Boston.

      _Sierra Club Bulletin_, published by the Sierra Club of San

      _Mazama_, published by the Mazamas, of Portland, Oregon.

      _Canadian Alpine Journal_, published by the Canadian Alpine


      The Boy Scout Handbook.

      _G. W. Sears_--Woodcraft.

      _Charles S. Hanks_--Camp Kits and Camp Life.


      Scribner’s Out-of-Door Library--Mountain Climbing.

      _C. T. Dent_ and others--“Mountaineering” (Badminton Library
         of Sports).

      _Frederick H. Chapin_--Mountaineering in Colorado.

      _J. S. C. Russell_--Mountaineering in Alaska. (Bulletins of the
         Amer. Geog. Soc.).

      _Hudson Stuck, D.D._--The Ascent of Denali (Mt. McKinley).

      _Belmore Browne_--The Conquest of Mount McKinley.

      _Filippo de Filippi_, Duke of the Abruzzi--The Ascent of Mont St.
         Elias (translated by Signora Linda Villari).

      _A. O. Wheeler_ and _Elizabeth A. Parker_--In the Selkirk

      _E. A. Fitz Gerald_--The Highest Andes.

      _Edward Whymper_--Scrambles amongst the Alps.

      _Leslie Stephen_--The Playground of Europe.

      _Professor F. Umlauft_--The Alps.

      _A. F. Mummery_--My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus.

      _Charles Edward Mathews_--The Annals of Mont Blanc.

      _Guido Rey_--Peaks and Precipices: Scrambles in the Dolomites
         and Savoy.

      _Leone Sinigaglia_--Climbing Reminiscences of the Dolomites
         (translated by Mary Alice Vials).

      _Harold Spender_--Through the High Pyrenees.

      _Fanny Bullock Workman_ and _William Hunter Workman_--Peaks and
         Glaciers of Nun Kun.

      _William Martin Conway_--Climbing and Exploration in the

      _E. A. Fitz Gerald_--Climbs in the New Zealand Alps.


      _Harry A. Franck_--A Vagabond Journey Around the World.

      _Charles F. Lummis_--A Tramp across the Continent (America).

      _John Muir_--A Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf.


      _Henry D. Thoreau_--The Maine Woods.
                        --Cape Cod.

      In “A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers,” under _Tuesday_,
        is an account of Climbing Saddleback Mountain (Greylock) in

      _Frank Bolles_--Land of the Lingering Snow. At the North of
         Bearcamp Water.

      _Bradford Torrey_--Footing It in Franconia.
                       --Nature’s Invitation.
                       --The Foot-Path Way.
                       --A Rambler’s Lease.

      _Allen Chamberlain_--Vacation Tramps in New England Highlands.

      _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_--An Old Town by the Sea.

      Guide to Paths and Camps in the White Mountains and Adjacent
         Regions (published by the Appalachian Mountain Club).

      Walks and Rides about Boston (published by the Appalachian
         Mountain Club).


      _Joel T. Headley_--The Adirondacks.

      _John Burroughs_--Locusts and Wild Honey (Chap. “A Bed of Boughs”).

      _T. Morris Longstreth_--The Catskills.
                            --The Adirondacks.

      For walks in the vicinity of New York city, see “Little Trips
         Near-by,” by Albert Handy, a series of eight articles which
         appeared in the New York _Evening Post_, Saturday Supplement,
         for Nov. 15, Dec. 6, 20, 1913, and Jan. 10, April 18, May 30,
         July 25, and Aug. 8, 1914.

      _John Burroughs_--Winter Sunshine (Washington, D. C.)

      _E. P. Weston_--The Pedestrian. (Being a correct journal of
         incidents on a walk from the State House, Boston, Mass., to
         the U. S. Capitol, at Washington, D. C., performed in ten
         consecutive days), 1862.


      _Horace Kephart_--Our Southern Highlanders.

      _Bradford Torrey_--Spring Notes from Tennessee.
                       --A World of Green Hills.

      _Margaret W. Morley_--The Carolina Mountains.


      _Bradford Torrey_--A Florida Sketch-Book.


      _Enos A. Mills_--The Spell of the Rockies.
                     --The Rocky Mountain Wonderland.
                     --Wild Life on the Rockies.
                     --Your National Parks.

      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _John Muir_--Our National Parks.

      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.

      _Hiram Martin Chittenden_--The Yellowstone National Park.


      _Mathilde Edith Holtz_ and _Katharine Isabel Bemis_--Glacier
         National Park.

      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.

      _Walter McClintock_--The Old North Trail.


      _George Wharton James_--In and around the Grand Canyon.

      _John Muir_--Steep Trails.

      _Bradford Torrey_--Field Days in California (Chap. “A Bird-gazer
         at the Canyon”).

      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.


      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.


      _John Muir_--Steep Trails.
                 --My First Summer in the Sierras.
                 --The Mountains of California.
                 --Our National Parks.
                 --The Yosemite.

      _J. Smeaton Chase_--California Coast Trails.
                        --Yosemite Trails.

      _Bradford Torrey_--Field Days in California.

      _Dallas Lore Sharp_--Where Rolls the Oregon.

      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.


      _John Muir_--Travels in Alaska.

      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.

      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _Lawrence J. Burpee_, Among the Canadian Alps.

      _Enos A. Mills_, Your National Parks.

      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _Harry A. Franck_--Tramping through Mexico, Guatemala and

      _William T. Hornaday_--Camp Fires on Desert and Lava.


      _Enos A. Mills_--Your National Parks.


      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _Robert Louis Stevenson_--Travels with a Donkey.

      Baedeker’s Guidebooks.

      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _H. H. Bashford_--Vagabonds in Perigord.

      _William Morris Davis_--Excursions Around Aix-les-Bains
         (published for Y. M. C. A. Natl. War Work Council by
         the Appalachian Mountain Club).


      _John Tyndall_--Hours of Exercise in the Alps.

      _F. Wolcott Stoddard_--Tramps through Tyrol.

      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _Harry A. Franck_--Four Months Afoot in Spain.


      _Denton J. Snider_--A Walk in Hellas.


      _Stephen Graham_--A Tramp’s Sketches.
                      --A Vagabond in the Caucasus.


      _Stephen Graham_--With the Russian Pilgrims to Jerusalem.

      _W. J. Childs_--Across Asia Minor on Foot.


      _Stephen Graham_--Through Russian Central Asia.


      _John Finley_--A Pilgrim in Palestine.


      _Edmund Candler_--A Vagabond in Asia.


      _Lucian Swift Kirtland_--Samurai Trails.


      (See “Mountaineering.”)


      _H. J. Tompkins_--With Swag and Billy (issued by the Government
         Tourist Bureau, Sidney).



[1] The _Youth’s Companion_, Aug. 31, 1911.

[2] From “Poems and Ballads,” by Robert Louis Stevenson; copyright 1895,
1913, by Charles Scribner’s Sons.

[3] Issue of April 25, 1917.

[4] Nathaniel L. Goodrich, “The Attractions of Trail Making,” in
_Appalachia_, Vol. XIV, No. 3, page 247.

[5] Nathaniel L. Goodrich, _ubi supra_.

[6] “Wild Life on the Rockies,” page 209.

[7] New York _Evening Post_, July 25, 1914.

[8] Leslie Stephen, “The Playground of Europe.”

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