SLOW AND IMMERSIVE travel in nature can bring HUGE rewards. I’ve been fortunate to have experienced a few of them myself, and I’ve tried to convey them in my writing as best I can. Moving gently, senses open and engaged, stopping often to lose oneself in the details of the land, strolling along, or sauntering – to use this word’s modern definition (saunter: to walk in a slow and relaxed manner, without hurry or effort) – can lead to a deep connection with nature, even to a transcendent connection… as, hopefully, the two books I’ve written about my longest walk show. That 7,000-mile journey involved a fair amount of sauntering. At its core the walk was all about approaching nature slowly and with reverence. The second book title, On Sacred Ground, is an attempt to sum up this approach and philosophy in three little words.
And yet, I don’t regard slow and immersive as the only way to visit nature. Or even, necessarily, as the best way. Instead, I simply regard it as one way – one way among many. I’ve also found connection and transcendence through other approaches, through hard hiking for example, and even through a faster approach, through running – through racing, even – through reaching toward my own perceived limits to discover what might lie beyond them, and pushing hard and fast into nature to see what might be revealed from doing this.
And what can be revealed, I’ve found, is far more meaningful than many people who don’t ever go fast or hard might imagine.
I’ve been a runner for most of my life. There really isn’t space here to list all the reasons why. But here’s one: for the existential joy of it. If death is absolute stillness then life is the opposite: it is motion, a whirling exuberant dervish of motion, and what could be more motionful than running? Loping over mountains and through forests, leaping over rocks, moving on dancing feet, limbs working to their maximum, blood coursing, heart pumping, every sense open, sensations amplified, impressions coming thick and fast, total experience dialed up far beyond ten, losing one’s sense of self and blending inseparably into the natural environment one is passing through, transcending… this is a perfect example of being truly alive. While I might not ‘see’ every tiny detail of the land while running I’m experiencing and feeling an immense amount with all my senses, emotions and instincts… even tapping into instincts, insights and rewards that sauntering alone can never bring.
Different approaches can bring different rewards. Yes, there’s a great deal to be said for sauntering. But there’s also much to be said for running, as well as for backpacking, and scrambling, and rock climbing, and skiing, and snowshoeing, and swimming, and tree climbing, and just sitting, and… well, hopefully you get the idea? The more ways one approaches nature the more deeply one can get to know it. And the more deeply one can get to know oneself.
But not every saunterer appears to understand this. On several occasions now when I’ve been out running people met on the trail have told me to “slow down.” People who evidently believe that I’m ‘doing it wrong’; that I need saving from myself; that they have The Answer; that they know better than I do how I should be living my life and how I should be engaging with nature.
Of course, their intentions are probably good – even if they’re misguided, are lacking in imagination, and are (potentially) acting upon a cognitive bias that causes people to overestimate their own knowledge relative to their peers (known as the the Dunning Kroger effect). But, regardless of the intentions, I’ve come to treasure these encounters – just as I treasure almost all encounters in the hills. So far, every time someone has told me to slow down I have, and not just slowed but stopped… to talk, to explain, to laugh… which has prompted some wonderful expressions of surprise: oh, I didn’t expect a runner to stop and talk! That’s where the lack of imagination comes in. Some people seem unable to imagine that someone going fast might be willing to stop, in fact that they often do; that they might also on other occasions go very slowly; that they might even have spent thousands of hours sitting quietly immersed in nature not going anywhere at all; that they might have developed their own deep relationship with nature, a personal relationship forged over decades in a way that best suits them.
That’s the problem with making assumptions about others, with believing we know what’s best for others, with giving unsolicited advice, especially unsolicited advice to someone one doesn’t know. Unsolicited advice: it’s usually far more fun to give than receive!
But, as you’ve no doubt seen, this kind of unsolicited ‘you’re doing it wrong’ advice (and opinion) is shared daily, especially on social media, even within the hiking community. While the majority of hikers seem happy to let others ‘hike their own hike’, a small number still feel it’s their place to say “slow down”. This is most evident when stories about Fastest Known Times (FKTs) surface. Let’s say someone has just set a new FKT on the Appalachian Trail, and news of it has just been posted. You can be sure that comments like these will soon appear: “How about enjoying the AT instead of breaking some pointless ‘record’?” “You miss EVERYTHING going fast! You don’t see ANYTHING! What a waste!” “Why? It’s missing the whole point of being in nature. If you’re going to rush it why not just drive?” “Why cram a trail into six weeks that should take five months? The trail is supposed to be taken slowly, savoured. Smell the roses! Doing anything else is just stupid”
Such comments! Watch out for them online. A failure of the imagination in so many ways.
Often in situations like this a certain quote by John Muir will be shared among the comments, ‘evidence’ if not ‘proof’ that sauntering is the best approach. After all, if Muir, the patron saint of the American wilderness, said the following, then it must be true:
“I don’t like either the word ‘hike’ or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains – not hike! Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the middle ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going they would reply, ‘A la sainte terre’, ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not hike through them.”
This quote pops up on my social media feed with fascinating regularity. It appears far more than any other Muir quote (which is a shame as there are many far better quotes that could be used). It always strikes me the same way: as judgy and preachy, and as a clear display of flawed reasoning.
Now, don’t misunderstand me: I’m not criticising Muir here, merely this one quote and specifically the misguided intentions behind the sharing of it. Like millions of wilderness travellers, I owe Muir a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. His impact on wilderness conservation is inestimable and unparalleled. His philosophies likely inform my own thoughts in ways I don’t even realise. Goodness, where would we be without Muir and his legacy?! And I don’t completely dislike the quote, either. At least, I don’t dislike the central theme within it, of treating nature with reverence and seeing the wilderness as a ‘holy land’. This is something I whole-heartedly agree with (although, unlike Muir, I see the wild as a non-religious natural holy land, not as God’s). The message to treat nature with reverence is present throughout Muir’s writings, and it’s clearly a message still needed today. One could argue that this is the only message within the quote that really matters. After all, if every single person on the planet heeded it the world would be a far better place.
But, alas, there’s the ill-conceived ‘people ought to’ part of the quote, and it’s abundantly clear that this part is why so many people share it: to tell others what they ‘ought to’ be doing, and sometimes even to boost themselves, to demonstrate their own virtue, to say that ‘my slow way is the best way’. This is why the quote catches my attention, because of the misplaced assumption of superiority – the elitism – frequently evident behind the sharing. You don’t have to look very hard to uncover a surprising amount of elitism within hiking communities – elitism around the idea that ultralight is superior to other forms of backpacking, that thru-hikers and especially ‘triple-crowners’ are superior to hikers who cover shorter distances, and that sauntering is vastly superior to hiking, running, and any other adventurous form of self-propulsion you might think of.
I can’t help but wonder how Muir would react if he saw his words being used in this elitist way. There’d be some consternation… I hope.
Interestingly, Muir didn’t even write the quoted words. (I bet that many of the people who share the quote aren’t aware of that!) Instead, they are a report of what he supposedly said. For all we know, the actual author of the quote, Albert W. Palmer, might have misremembered or misrepresented Muir’s words, perhaps unintentionally, or perhaps even deliberately. Deliberately re-interpreting Muir’s words to make a point can’t be entirely ruled out. Writers have been known to do such a thing! The quote appears in a book, The Mountain Trail and Its Message (published in 1911), within a passage: ‘A Parable of Sauntering’. Muir’s reported words are used to support a tidy argument that sauntering through nature is superior to other approaches, and that sauntering is also a great lesson for life. And perhaps it is, although I believe that if you only saunter through life you’ll be missing out on many other things that life can be, because some rewards really DO have to be earned the hard way!
But, regardless of its merit as a life lesson, I don’t think it’s a lesson well made. If you read the full ‘parable’ you’ll soon see hikers being mocked and disparaged for their approach. As I see it, disparaging others is a poor way of making any point. And telling others what they ‘ought to’ do seldom achieves any desired aim. (To see the Muir quote in a fuller context, a 500-word excerpt from The Mountain Trail and Its Message featuring Muir’s (supposed) reply on sauntering is available on this Sierra Club link: A PARABLE OF SAUNTERING
Finding flaws in the Muir ‘quote’ isn’t hard to do, even aside from the elitist ‘ought to’ part and the question of whether or not Muir even said or meant those words. One serious flaw is that Muir did far more than saunter throughout his life. His rock climbs, mountaineering exploits, and lengthy journeys on foot throughout the Sierra Nevada (and beyond) were often significantly more strenuous and adventurous than mere ‘sauntering’. Actions speak louder than words!
And then there’s the flaw in the stated etymology. Muir’s supposed explanation of saunter’s origin was almost certainly inspired by Thoreau’s explanation, who penned the following text in his 1861 treatise, Walking:
I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks — who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived “from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, “There goes a Sainte-Terrer,” a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.
The similarity with the Muir ‘quote’ is curious, isn’t it? But this borderline plagiarism by Albert Palmer isn’t the flaw. The flaw is the way these origins of ‘saunter’ are given as fact – when in fact modern etymologists don’t take the a la Saint Terre origin seriously. For more on this, see this interesting webpage: ‘JOHN MUIR and ‘Saunter’ (as well as a more detailed examination of the origins, linked to at the end of this blog).
Perhaps, when it comes down to it, none of this is remotely important. I only introduced the Muir quote because of how people too often misuse it – because it’s a good example of people telling others what they ‘ought to’ do. So, I’ll take a step back. Who cares if Muir’s/Thoreau’s etymology of saunter is true or false? Who cares if Palmer has Muir essentially saying “slow down” when Muir might not have meant it quite that way? Who cares if some random stranger online or on a trail says: “slow down”? Who cares about any of the other patronising, condescending, Dunning Kroger-ish comments people so frequently make to strangers: “There are more important things to worry about!” “Don’t take life so seriously!” “Stop over-thinking this!” “Don’t be so sensitive!” “Calm down!”
Yes, perhaps none of it matters. Perhaps I should just let it all go? (I wouldn’t be surprised if someone reading this is thinking that at this very point!)
Well, on one hand, I have let it go. I’ve let the Muir quote, for example, come and go many times over the years! Rest assured, I’m not losing sleep over any of this. I’ve smiled in amusement (and bemusement) at this entire topic many times.
Then again, just because this isn’t the most important topic in the world doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring. Considering ideas can be play, after all. Does examining a topic of personal interest really hurt anyone? Does occasionally examining small issues mean one has no time for anything else?
And… perhaps it’s possible that there IS more to this than at first appears? Might it not be a symptom of something larger? The tip of a behavioural iceberg? A hint of a deep-rooted, subconscious, incredibly impactful and broadly held cultural attitude? Maybe, at its heart, it’s about how people see (or don’t see) others, and how they treat (or mistreat) others. Maybe it’s about empathy… or about the lack of it. Telling others what they ought to do! Assuming that ‘we’ know what is best for them! Trying to force ‘our’ ideologies and beliefs on them!
Isn’t this – the absolute certainty that our way is the right way and the only way – a HUGE issue, in politics, religion, and beyond?
Just imagine if everyone started doing the opposite: seeing and treating others in a three-dimensional way, without making snap judgments, without assumptions, without condescension, without telling them what they ‘ought to do’, and with an understanding that they might have opinions as valid as ours, and might have had experiences we haven’t and might know things we don’t or can’t… just imagine how different the world would be! Perhaps that’s why this small ‘people ought to’ issue IS worth a moment’s consideration!
Well, I think it’s worth consideration. You, of course, might think the opposite, and that’s fine!
To wrap up all this waffle then, I want to loop back to the opening question: to saunter, or not to saunter?
Here’s my answer (for whatever it’s worth): it’s entirely up to you! Whether or not you saunter has got nothing to do with me. Hike your own hike. Run your own run. Climb your own climb. Coddiwomple your own coddiwomple.
Except I do have one small request… that whatever you do, please try not to step on the flowers!
(For a deeper dive into the origins of the word saunter, see this fascinating page on WordOrigins.org)