As a walking person who walked around Lake Superior with my wife in 2010 I enjoy the thoughts of both Muir and Thoreau on walking - sauntering (which is my preference) and your reflections. I have walked parts of many major hiking trails, but chose to walk the wild shores of Lake Superior because so much of our travels would be off paths. It was a great freedom, but one that should not be abused. Trails link places - they lead from one spot to another and each step we take is actually a step in someone else's footprint. Walking trails is like reading a book, extracting meaning and moving towards an end. Sauntering is the act of just being there and free to feel the breeze, scent, feel of the landscape. I advocate both. But most of all I join you in advocating for people to get out, get into nature and like Muir would say experience its glad tidings. Our natural world is being challenged by people, government, profiteers who do not know what a light footprint is. We need to enjoy and work to make sure these great trails, these wild and natural places endure.
That's all beautifully said, Mike. Walking around Superior sounds like a perfect choice: an intentional saunter. I am a big fan of both staying on the trails and bushwhacking where the spirit moves me (and conditions allow). Thank you for such a thoughtful note.
I thought you might enjoy this I just read in Thoreau:
“I would not have missed that walk for a good deal. If you want an exact recipe for making such a road, take one part Mud Pond, and dilute it with equal parts of Umbazookskus and Apmoojenagamook; then send a family of musquash through to locate it, look after the grades and culverts, and finish it to their minds, and let a hurricane do the fencing.” [The Maine Woods.]
That's so good. Thank you, B. Funny, I had thought about adding something to the writing about a wild, muddy, swampy, rooty, ancient 2-mile portage in eastern Maine, but decided it wasn't necessary. Glad you gave me a chance to mention it here. It's millennia old, most likely, and not used much today, but if you zoom in with google maps you can actually see part of it bee-lining from Gassabias Lake toward Fourth Machias Lake. I remember that parts of it were slightly trenched from all those centuries of use.
Glad it brought back a ‘good’ memory, Jason. All us longtime walkers have a few of those kind of slogs along our backtrail. Your work here is invaluable, and much appreciated.
I came across this essay right after stumbling over rocks and roots in the forest close to my home here in Sweden. A great read; thank you, Jason. I love your description of the traces we leave behind us as signatures similar in kind just not scale to those of other beings.
Thank you, Suzanne. I imagine those Swedish trails look similar to those here in Maine. And yes, I have to remind myself too that we're animals leaving traces (if hyperactively)...
Ha! When I saw the title, I could only think of one of our first hikes after moving to Michigan. Someone, probably a local cross-country coach, had spray-painted all the roots in the trail day-glo orange. After that, whenever we would stumble over a root, we’d say (sarcastically), “where’s the guy with the spray can?”
Anyway, nice essay! You captured the dual nature of how walking over roots makes us more aware of the living forest while also knowing our footsteps probably aren’t too good for the trees the trail passes by.
I'm doing a short triathlon next weekend on a college campus, and the run course is partially in pine woods with some spray-painted roots. I didn't think of it until I saw your comment, Larry. I doubt I'll be in much of a contemplative state by the time I stumble into the woods, but maybe I'll smile a bit. Thanks for this.
I just looked it up, Tina, to have a better idea. It sounds far more entertaining than my essay here, and something to consider if I ever make it to Scotland. Thanks for the heads-up.
As a walking person who walked around Lake Superior with my wife in 2010 I enjoy the thoughts of both Muir and Thoreau on walking - sauntering (which is my preference) and your reflections. I have walked parts of many major hiking trails, but chose to walk the wild shores of Lake Superior because so much of our travels would be off paths. It was a great freedom, but one that should not be abused. Trails link places - they lead from one spot to another and each step we take is actually a step in someone else's footprint. Walking trails is like reading a book, extracting meaning and moving towards an end. Sauntering is the act of just being there and free to feel the breeze, scent, feel of the landscape. I advocate both. But most of all I join you in advocating for people to get out, get into nature and like Muir would say experience its glad tidings. Our natural world is being challenged by people, government, profiteers who do not know what a light footprint is. We need to enjoy and work to make sure these great trails, these wild and natural places endure.
That's all beautifully said, Mike. Walking around Superior sounds like a perfect choice: an intentional saunter. I am a big fan of both staying on the trails and bushwhacking where the spirit moves me (and conditions allow). Thank you for such a thoughtful note.
I thought you might enjoy this I just read in Thoreau:
“I would not have missed that walk for a good deal. If you want an exact recipe for making such a road, take one part Mud Pond, and dilute it with equal parts of Umbazookskus and Apmoojenagamook; then send a family of musquash through to locate it, look after the grades and culverts, and finish it to their minds, and let a hurricane do the fencing.” [The Maine Woods.]
Keep walking, and writing, Jason Anthony!
That's so good. Thank you, B. Funny, I had thought about adding something to the writing about a wild, muddy, swampy, rooty, ancient 2-mile portage in eastern Maine, but decided it wasn't necessary. Glad you gave me a chance to mention it here. It's millennia old, most likely, and not used much today, but if you zoom in with google maps you can actually see part of it bee-lining from Gassabias Lake toward Fourth Machias Lake. I remember that parts of it were slightly trenched from all those centuries of use.
Glad it brought back a ‘good’ memory, Jason. All us longtime walkers have a few of those kind of slogs along our backtrail. Your work here is invaluable, and much appreciated.
So good! This essay was riveting.
Thank you, Susan.
I came across this essay right after stumbling over rocks and roots in the forest close to my home here in Sweden. A great read; thank you, Jason. I love your description of the traces we leave behind us as signatures similar in kind just not scale to those of other beings.
Thank you, Suzanne. I imagine those Swedish trails look similar to those here in Maine. And yes, I have to remind myself too that we're animals leaving traces (if hyperactively)...
I feel so peaceful and rooted when I read your essays
That's wonderful to hear, Carol. Thank you.
Treading trampled paths,
o’er/in tangled roots find heart.
Become woods-woven?!
Walking is my loving-Earth language 🥰
As it should be, Nia, for all of us.
Ha! When I saw the title, I could only think of one of our first hikes after moving to Michigan. Someone, probably a local cross-country coach, had spray-painted all the roots in the trail day-glo orange. After that, whenever we would stumble over a root, we’d say (sarcastically), “where’s the guy with the spray can?”
Anyway, nice essay! You captured the dual nature of how walking over roots makes us more aware of the living forest while also knowing our footsteps probably aren’t too good for the trees the trail passes by.
I'm doing a short triathlon next weekend on a college campus, and the run course is partially in pine woods with some spray-painted roots. I didn't think of it until I saw your comment, Larry. I doubt I'll be in much of a contemplative state by the time I stumble into the woods, but maybe I'll smile a bit. Thanks for this.
We have Storying the Paths in Scotland.
I just looked it up, Tina, to have a better idea. It sounds far more entertaining than my essay here, and something to consider if I ever make it to Scotland. Thanks for the heads-up.
No, you inspired me with your essay.