Walking Manners
There are several points of what may be termed walking manners, common to all types of long mountain walking and not only to climbing, whose observance contributes a great deal to the individual peace of mind during the early and late hours of a long alpine day. Men when they are off the rope, or who have never been on a rope, almost universally neglect them, and are blind to the cumulative effect upon a tired companion’s temper or upon their own humour. Every one thinks he can walk, and most men never bother to discover why the excellent companion of the Sunday afternoon ramble proved a failure on a long walking tour.
The first point of manners for the man in control is that of pace. Most climbers suffer from the weakness of increasing the pace the moment they take the lead on a path, slope or glacier. This is trying to the party, consciously or not, and wasteful. A manager should either block the way himself, or, if he is behind, keep consistently to what he considers the right tempo. It is better he should be thought to be getting old or lazy than that the party should be rushed inopportunely.
A second and frequent failing is the ‘half step’ trick. Some fifty per cent. of fast walkers, whenever they walk abreast on road or path or hill, persistently keep half a stride in front, their shoulder just clear of their companion. It may be due to some half-formed feeling of satisfaction in setting the pace and having a margin to turn round and talk from. Its effect is that the friend is perpetually straining to catch up, and the pace thus steadily accelerates till both are practically racing. Then one gives up, and both lag, until the game starts again. The habit is often unconscious, but it is extraordinarily irritating on a long tramp, or to a tired companion.
A third breach of manners, all too common, is passing ahead in the line of march. Over most broken country, glacier, snow or rough hillsides, men naturally fall into single file. Cattle tracks or man tracks are rarely wide enough for two abreast, and if it is a question of selecting a line, it saves reduplication of the effort to leave the task to one and to drop in behind him. There are few inexperienced walkers who do not take advantage of the slightest error in the choice of route on the first man’s part, to break off and pass him on the shorter line. In doing so, they take the responsibility of taking all the rest who follow off the line also. On an ordinary hill walk, when the going is all free and easy, this is excusable,—no one is compelled to follow another longer than suits him; as also in the case when the first man is obviously mistaken, and to cut his line is a distinct saving of effort for those who follow. But, done as by one of a line of men either tired or with a big day before them, where one has been taking the extra burden of route-selecting for the rest, it is a serious breach of mountain manners. The gain is probably only a yard or two, and the front man may justly resent having been left the labour of choosing the route at a hundred points, only to have advantage taken of his single doubtful choice in order to displace him. He either runs ahead to regain his place, and the rhythm of the party is broken in a silly competition none the less irritating that it is rarely acknowledged in words, or he plods behind with a slight sense of injury.
A more debatable occasion, where the same point comes into prominence, is on the ascent of steep slopes or open hillsides. An experienced front man will probably take these on a zigzag. To a less experienced walker, and to all beginners of energy and leg muscle, it is generally a temptation to cut the zigzags on the direct line, and so pass ahead. This is bad walking, but there is the more excuse for it in that on such slopes men rarely do follow each other exactly, and most of the party will probably be preferring each to take his zigzag at the most comfortable angle to himself. The best rule of manners to remember is that, while every man is free to choose any line and pace he likes on such places, yet, if one man has been definitely leading and choosing the line, the others ought to drop into their places in the line behind him again so soon as the single-file formation is resumed. It is more politic to be considered a well-mannered tramp than to assert one’s powers as a limber hill-rusher.
Another blunder, from which many a good walker is not free, is the inclination to hurry the pace if the line or short-cut he has chosen takes the party for a while over worse ground, or proves, for other reasons, not to have been the best route. His almost unconscious acceleration is due to some impulse to get back quickly and unnoticed to good going, and so to slur over the mistake, or the momentary disagreeability of the route for which he is responsible, as much to himself as to those who follow. It is a trick to notice and avoid. It forces the rhythm and pace over just the ground where it should, if anything, be eased. Men who walk much with parties which are afflicted with the ‘racing’ or ‘passing’ manias, are particularly liable, from a sort of nervous self-defence, to develop this failing also.
A leader must not walk carelessly or break the rhythm of step arbitrarily. The man who forces a plodding following to change feet unexpectedly does not know his business. Again, when walking in single file, or any way but comfortably abreast, men inexpert in acting as guides do not realize that although the man in front can hear all that is said behind him, yet that, unless he turns his head over his shoulder and throws his words out, he himself is inaudible down the line behind him. As the remarks from the leader on a long tramp, and when men are tired, have usually some direct bearing on the way, those behind him crowd up to hear; they break step, and are often put irritably on the strain. The complaint of many a young mountaineer, that his elder companion will never answer at all while walking, usually finds its explanation in the fact that the young man’s energy carries him ahead, and as his remarks are addressed to the scenery, his companion prefers consistent silence and inattention to the strain of trying to hear, or to the irritation to himself and his friend of continually repeating, “What d’you say?” These matters may seem too slight to mention, but neglect of their observance brings many a party home with some member or other out of harmony and unappreciative of the sunset.
In the grumpy morning start or during the evening tired return it is for such details that the manager has to be most on the look out. He should, if possible, set the pace himself, and keep it without questioning or remark to what he judges to be the best pace of the laggard of the day. He should never let himself be pressed by some one at his heels, race ahead, or allow others to do so, except for some specified and universally beneficial reason (such as ordering tea ahead!), merely because the difficulties seem to be over and the way plain for the stronger members of his party. There is no pleasure in being left behind; it provokes a tired man and generally makes him obstinately slower.
It used to be said, and by the best authorities, that with a tired or tramping party it is essential to keep the pace always the same, or they will lose the rhythm that alone can keep them going. This is a mistake. In the first place, variations in pace are a rest in themselves, provided that the actual effort put into each step does not vary. In the second place, it is definitely more fatiguing to be held back to a fixed pace on a sudden downhill gradient; and it is vexatious to pass from a long uphill grind on to a level stretch without the relief of a ‘swing out.’ Similarly, it is futile to change from a level to an uphill gradient and attempt to keep a party to the same rate. The mistaken teaching has been due to a confusion between actual rate of movement over the ground and the amount of effort required for each step.
Rhythm is essential to ensure good tramping, and to minimize fatigue. To secure rhythm the amount of effort put into each step, and not necessarily the pace, should be kept constant. Thus, in changing from uphill to level ground, the pace can be pleasantly quickened and the step lengthened, without any increase of effort in the stride or any change of rhythm. A longer stride is often a positive relief. In changing from level to uphill the length of the step shortens, since a lifting step is always more fatiguing, and the pace should be taken more slowly, though the output of effort is kept the same. On a change to a downhill gradient it is possible to change to a longer stride, or even a run, without altering the rhythm or increasing the amount of effort exacted of the muscles or of the lungs.
In resuming, after a halt, a frequent error is to start too fast. Young climbers, like young giants refreshed with wind, rush off at top pace. The re-start should always be slow—if anything slower than the average pace before the halt. Gradually, as the circulation and organs begin to readjust themselves to their work, the previous pace can be recovered. But a halt is definitely making reparation for the past, not accumulating a margin to waste in the immediate future.
When the energy of the party is running out, it is better to avoid halts altogether. To break the rhythm in such case and relax the mechanism is to make the resumption each time more difficult and the recovery of an equal rate afterwards very improbable.
To lead and choose the line is definitely more fatiguing than to follow. To save strength and maintain pace, during a long day, the leader ought to be changed at regular intervals. This is too rarely done.
Some Notes on Hill Walking.
There are one or two further points connected with walking up or down hill which are matters of method rather than of manners, but which in so far as they affect the individual comfort react upon the peace of a party.
In walking uphill, the foot should always be placed so that the heel rests on the ground. It is a beginner’s mistake to rush a hill and spring from the toes alone. If the flex of the ankle is stiff—men vary much in this respect—and the gradient is too steep to allow the heel to drop, look out for any little stone or excrescence, however small, to set it upon. If the path is very steep, and without stones, it is more comfortable to set the foot slightly sideways, so that the heel gets some support. This is often particularly useful at the turns of the interminable zigzags on alpine paths, where the track is apt to swoop up steeply round the bend. If the foot is thus placed slightly aslant at every turn, it is ready to advance at once after the bend in the direction of the new zag. A very slight economy, you may say: but multiply it by several thousand zags in a day!
Always take the outside and easiest line round such curves in ascending tracks.
The secret of all long grinds uphill is to set, and maintain, a regular pace that becomes rhythmic from the first. The moment you get behind a good hill walker, you will see the difference between his regular, restrained swing, more of the whole body than the leg, and the uneven jumping step, that seems each time to be a separate balancing effort, of the inexperienced walker.
Do not take long steps uphill, or lift the foot high. Raise it by slightly swaying the body across the firm leg and let the loose foot swing forward with its own weight. A good hill walker, of the ‘tireless’ variety, always moves with a slight balance or sway.
Always ‘accept a slip.’ That is, if the foot slips back on a loose surface, do not tire the muscles by a convulsive effort to stop it and to keep your balance. Let the foot go till it stops of itself as the topple of your weight, out of balance, comes upon it; and then swing from that point with the other foot.
The effort you put into each step should be kept the same, whatever the change in the angle of the surface.
If you are leading and doubtful of your pace, try to sing. So long as you can sing or whistle two lines without panting or effort, you are keeping within your measure.
On a zigzag uphill, do not take the apparent short-cuts. They are made by men descending, and only waste strength and spoil rhythm.
On an open hillside, zigzag as if on a path, starting at the angle which lets you comfortably get the heels down. For a step or two, if there is no room to zag, you can walk with only the one heel down, and the other foot springing from the toe; but not for more.
If circumstances make it imperative to go fast, lean well forward over the feet, and as it were ‘tumble up’ the slope. This eases the work of the heart. If you have to race, and legs and breath begin to give out, make the hands do their share, and unashamedly pull the knees up to the stride by the breeches. You can thus keep a long uphill stride at a fast pace going long after the leg muscles, unaided, would have given out.
In descending take the shortest cuts you like. There are two weak points to look to: one the toes, and the other the muscles of the back, which do most of the balancing. The toes are protected by well-fitting boots and a well-placed foot. The back muscles are best indulged by letting the shoulders go loose, as you do when jog-trotting on horseback. This eases the effort of balance and the amount of holding back and taut that the muscles have to perform. It also diminishes the jar.
Except for grown men, of exceptionally strong ankles and knees, it is best not to plunge ‘all-out’ downhill, leaping straight-legged from heel to heel. The legs should be kept under control, and the feet pointed down and kept well under the body. The knees should be bent, tense, but not rigid; they will serve to take up all the jar, and act as springs. The step resembles a dancing pace, with a bent knee.
Do not be shy of using the arms and hands, on trees, rocks or scrub, to ease in any way the effort of balance and the leg-strain during rapid descents. An ankle or sinew once wrenched is permanently weakened.
Long, hard road-tramping, with the leg swung straight, is not a good preparation for climbing. It jolts and stiffens the muscles, and fixes them in certain stereotyped movements. Good climbing guides are rarely good or fast road walkers. A long trudge often breaks them down and renders them unfit temporarily for severe climbing.
Standing about on the feet while the arms are being exercised merely tires the legs, and does not strengthen them. Many guides, who work hard at wood-chopping or in quarries during the winter, find their legs are all to pieces when the season begins. The knees are especially sensitive in this respect.
A climber’s leg machinery is a delicate engine of educated springs and fine interactions. It can do a rough-and-tumble better than most, at need, but it should be guarded for its special and exacting work, and not battered or shaken out of gear unnecessarily.
Hill walking exercises and develops all the movements of foot, ankle, knee and trunk which we use in balance-climbing on rock or snow. It is the best training for the fine and precise motions that we need to educate. There is no doubt of the soundness of a man’s climbing if he is seen to be a light and tireless hill walker. He may not necessarily be brilliant on rocks, but what he does he will do in good style.
If we wish to interest our young folk in climbing, the surest way is to let them walk and run loose by themselves upon the hills in early years. Rocks will meet them naturally, and if they are going to climb, they will begin to climb them naturally as they occur, with the feet and with the balance they have practised on their hill walks. To take them to rocks too early, as to a gymnasium, is to spoil their taste and deprive them of the chance of developing a personal enthusiasm and a natural style. Every good mountaineer must rediscover the hills and the passion for climbing them as of himself.