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- ESSAY, Page 70Walking on the Wild SideBy Lance Morrow
-
-
- The part of the self that is Toad of Toad Hall took to the open
- road again.
-
- The interior Toad rhapsodized, "Walking is the finest thing in
- the world, but wild walking like this is finer still."
-
- Toad's muscles glowed with well-being. He sported a touraco
- feather in his slouch hat. He had walked for days out of Kitich,
- a remote, beautiful camp on the Nyeng River in Northern Kenya, and
- now was skirting the Mathews Range in sandy, thorny country.
- Vultures wheeled over a distant lion kill. Toad was walking through
- heaven.
-
- This was the line of march: first bright Lutupen, the Samburu
- guide, with his spear and tribal finery, the yellow-and-black-bead
- cords crisscrossed on his chest, the tops of his ears sprouting the
- bead horns that gave the Samburu warrior, Toad thought, an air of
- medieval imp. Toad admired Lutupen's sense of style. Lutupen had
- slipped a trapezoid of broken mirror under his bead headband for
- decoration, so that he now had a kind of third eye, a window in the
- center of his forehead that flashed as he slipped along through the
- forest.
-
- After Lutupen came the mule, Miss Mule, policed by another
- Samburu warrior named (it is true) Livingston. After Miss Mule at
- a cautious distance marched Toad and friends -- the guide Chrissie
- Aldrich, the Kitich Camp manager Ian Cameron and the others. And
- last, the ten donkeys that carried water and food (short rations
- that got shorter as the days passed and the wild walking grew more
- wonderful). The donkeys advanced along the trail like a party of
- schoolgirls in dove-gray uniforms, sociable and disorderly, the
- sheer din of their progress driving off elephants and lions and all
- other wilder beasts as Toad's parade advanced. Toad surveyed the
- line of march with a jump of pleasure. En passant with his
- olive-wood walking stick, he poked cannonballs of elephant dung and
- judged how long ago the beasts had passed. Now and then they came
- upon Samburu tending herds of high-humped Boran cattle. But mostly
- they walked in solitude. Toad savored the wild walker's joys -- the
- peace of utter remoteness, the little thrill of vulnerability and
- self-testing.
-
- The jerry cans on the donkeys' backs got lighter. Toad the
- linguist asked Lutupen in Swahili, "Wapi maji?" (Where is water?)
- Then after finding a few dung-fouled cattle watering holes, he
- learned to be more precise: "Wapi maji mazuri?" (Where is good
- water?) At length they fell to quarreling over water and stopped
- speaking to one another for hours at a time.
-
- One day, pointing the march back into the mountains, on steep,
- thickly wooded tracks, thirsty and quarrelsome, they came upon an
- emerald pool in the forest, a sweet, shaded secret. Toad drank
- water for half an hour without stopping. That night they
- slaughtered a goat and feasted. Lutupen hung the remaining goat
- meat in a tree above him as he slept curled up on a flat rock, and
- in the morning Toad found leopard tracks around the camp.
-
- But that day as Toad tramped on through the undiscovered
- country, his eye was suddenly transfixed by the sight beside the
- old cattle track of four Eveready size-D batteries lying in the
- dust. It was as if a passing whaleship had answered Ahab: "The
- white whale? Yeah, we killed him yesterday." An old joke. Toad
- suffered a deflation.
-
- Well, he reflected later, the planet can no longer sustain the
- luxury of pure wild walking, which may in any case carry a certain
- taint of the elitist or the narcissist, a demand for virginity.
- (Americans and Europeans have always liked to think of themselves
- as the first white men ever to have walked into some wild place.)
-
- Wild walking intoxicates the Toad. But all walking is a matter
- of style. In finer sensibility, Toad might admit that a tramp
- through hyena droppings would rank pretty low on the evolutionary
- scale of walking.
-
- William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge did not fight
- over drinking water as they rambled through the Lake District. In
- any case, the important thing to Toad was that walking put the mind
- in motion, and might even set poetry in motion. A line of verse is
- a march of poetic feet, the trudge of iambs and shuffle of dactyls,
- the ambulations of language.
-
- Toad simultaneously loved walking as an escape from thought,
- a way of setting the world itself astir, like a cycloramic dream,
- so that it flowed through his eye to his mind at the speed that
- suits the total creature best -- all higher speeds being a mere
- greed for frivolous accelerations, for wind in the face.
-
- The best walking is a liberation, and a way of thinking. A
- creature like Toad is not a tree, but is designed to move across
- earth's surface, perpendicular to gravity and companioned by time.
- Somehow walking, thought Toad in his mellower moments, makes time
- a passage that is not only bearable but also sweet and festooned
- with an everlastingly changing array of scenery.
-
- So many kinds of walking did Toad savor. Beach walking took
- him along the edge of eternity. Night walking carried him through
- another mysterious fluid, darkness. Walking populated his solitude
- with multitudes of fancies and inner images, and let his mind roam
- up and down in time. Yet walking in the city also gave him
- sometimes an ecstatic solitude -- a paradoxical apartness and
- serenity.
-
- Conversation, Toad thought, was best when walking, since talk
- itself is an ambling. Toad even talked better to himself when
- walking -- though if he moved his lips when doing it, he looked
- like a street crazy. It was at last in the walking that Toad's
- soul, he found, was most at rest.
-
- Toad yearned always for the wild walking, of course. But he
- sighed the sigh of resignation. The whole world now is a beaten
- track. Even if Toad went to the moon for a hike, he would find
- footprints there.