“I don’t like either the word 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. Way 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,’ or ‘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.”
John Muir
I would’ve no doubt loved meeting Mr. Muir. I sometimes imagine that we would’ve been quite close friends. Oh, we would’ve had our difference of opinions on the best way to enjoy America’s wildlands, but I know we could’ve put contentions aside and connected on the more tender aspects of wilderness immersion. We would’ve enjoyed sharing the glow of a campfire, and a nip from a jug of homemade Apple Jack. He would’ve probably enjoyed a snack of wild edibles that he dug from the humus layer on the forest floor, and I would’ve no doubt been munching on a chunk of elk or deer jerky.
We would stare up at a night sky, void of artificial light, and count the stars while the scent of balsam, sage, and mahogany washed through the smoke and into our noses. Crickets would chirr from the shadows and weave their songs among the spark-filled cracks and pops of blazing tamarack.
Yes, I’m sure we would’ve been friends.