“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 world.“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 ofwalkis: ‘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 domy 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 involvedin 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 locked.“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 concentrateattention 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 character.“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 bath.“One should not forget that he needs a lot ofsleep—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.”
“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 world.
“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 ofwalkis: ‘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 domy 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 involvedin 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 locked.
“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 concentrateattention 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 character.
“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 bath.
“One should not forget that he needs a lot ofsleep—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 seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is prestAgainst the earth’s sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in Summer wearA 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.
I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is prestAgainst the earth’s sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in Summer wearA 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.
I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prestAgainst the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wearA nest of robins in her hair;
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.
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.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer.
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.”
“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 “awindingroad, 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, 1854):
“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 forsome 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.”
“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 forsome 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 wholeschools 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 there.…“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?”
“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 wholeschools 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 there.…
“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 theOutlookand 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 workor 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 henever 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.”
“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 workor 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 henever 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 43above.
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, observes:
“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.”
“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.”
“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. Sucha 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 gradualslope and descend the steep. (On precipices, however, there is less danger in climbing up than down.)
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, seepage 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 goneither 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 guidebooksare 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 compassimplicitly.
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, gettwo aligned pointson 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 northand 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.
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.
Does the road wind uphill all the way?Yes, to the very end.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
Christina G. Rossetti.
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 happiness.
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 guidebooks.
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 themountains 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 meetingsand 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, entitledAppalachia, 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 Appalachian Mountain Club was organized in Boston in January, 1876, to ‘explore themountains 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 meetingsand 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, entitledAppalachia, 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 Massachusetts.
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, inaddition 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. C.
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 YorkEvening 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 theHudson—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 incorporated.“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 pleasure.’“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 aprogramme of Sunday walks was prepared. But it was in 1913 that the actual recrudescence in walking occurred, when theEvening Postand theTimesgave 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 beginningof 1915 there were six or eight schools that sent out their squads of hikers every Sunday.“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. Thehikes 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 disapproved.“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 theWandervogel, 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.”
“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 theHudson—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 incorporated.
“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 pleasure.’
“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 aprogramme of Sunday walks was prepared. But it was in 1913 that the actual recrudescence in walking occurred, when theEvening Postand theTimesgave 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 beginningof 1915 there were six or eight schools that sent out their squads of hikers every Sunday.
“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. Thehikes 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 disapproved.
“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 theWandervogel, 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 conductedfor now ten years. Schedules of walks are published quarterly in advance, and the leaflets bear this advertisement: