Walk This Way

Scurrying and Strolling the World

Thoughts from Cascade Pass

Marmots scurry.
Grouse scurry.
Bears do not scurry. Bears saunter.
Clouds scurry.
Goats scurry.
Grasshoppers don’t scurry. Grasshoppers flit.
Chipmunks scurry; in fact, I think they define scurrying.
Thunder does not scurry. Thunder rumbles, roars, rebounds, and rumbles more.
Pikas scurry.

Love the high country and the changing weather. A recent visit to Cascade Pass, North Cascades National Park.

I didn’t see all of these scurriers right at Cascade Pass but I noticed them in the vicinity as my wife and I certainly were not scurrying under the weight of our backpacks. This gave us to time to savor and enjoy the speed of others around us. Each scurry began with a vocalization, then a blur of legs or wings, followed by a vanishing act into a crevice or vegetation. If I was lucky and quiet and motionless, I might see the return of the one who scurried, which typically led to another round of motion.

To me, and to the OED, scurrying implies haste, a deliberate movement of speed. In the case of most of the animals mentioned above haste stemmed from them seeing me, prompting them to scurry away, usually out of sight to a protected location. Of course, clouds do not move with haste but watching them flow through Cascade Pass, creating diaphanous waves, I couldn’t help but compare them to the movement of the animals I encountered.

The one downside of our location in the mountains was that we were generally close to or above tree line so I didn’t get to observe a highlight of the scurryphilic clan—the disappearance via a smeuse, or hole in a hedge made by the regular passage of a small animal, or so defined by Robert MacFarlane, in one of my favorite books, Landmarks. Other similar terms include glat (Herefordshire), lunkie (Scots), shard (SW England), and smout (a variety of regions in England.) (I encourage you to use one of these terms in an upcoming conversation; I am sure you will be greeted with a smile and glad tidings.) Without the benefit of a hedge, the Cascade Pass scurriers disappeared into crevices or grasses.

As someone who sees the world through geologically-tinted lenses (mica, of course), scurrying is not usually part of my vocabulary. My lithic language centers on the languid creep of plate tectonics or the glacial pace of ice. Occassionlly, I get to drop in phrases such as “the lahar shot down Mt. Rainier at more than 100 mph” or “Mt. St. Helens generated pyroclastic flows of between 50 and 80 mph” but neither of these phenomena are scurrying along. In geology, things either move at a speed that humans can’t outrun or can’t perceive.

Non-scurrying geology at its finest.

Similar to my geological world, I try not to scurry, though my wife may disagree when we are moving through an airport. Many years ago, a friend who speaks Italian taught me the phrase lo struscio (or la passeggiata). Pronounced STROO-show, struscio is an evening amble or stroll and comes from the word strusciare in reference to shuffling feet or people brushing against each other. Lo struscio is a time to walk arm in arm, to slow down, to enjoy the pleasure of existence. Unlike scurrying, it is dignified and deliberate motion.

Another non-English term is the French flâneur. In another fascinating book, Wanderlust, Rebecca Solnit centers the image of a flâneur as “an observant and solitary man strolling about Paris.” Cultural critics have made all sorts of lofty statements, and sometimes denigrations, of the flâneur but for me, the idea is about wandering, observing, and paying attention, particularly in an urban setting.

To me there is no better way to get to know a city than to stroll its streets, looking up and down at architectural elements, noticing the curious detail, wondering why this design or that design was chosen, and interacting with my fellow walkers. It doesn’t make a difference if you are in a new neighborhood or a long time haunt; there will always be something new or you overlooked or to experience through the lens of someone you are with.

If you are looking for suggestions of where to go, here’s a list of self-guided walks put together by the Pacific Northwest Historians Guild. If you know of other tours, please post them in the comments section.

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Wow, I was quite pleased and surprised to see that Homewaters made it to number 7 on the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association sales list for paperback non-fiction. Thanks to all of the wonderful local, independent booksellers for their support.