Recollection of a Path.--It is difficult to estimate, by recollection
only, the true distances between different points in a road that has been
once travelled over. There are many circumstances which may mislead, such
as the accidental tedium of one part, or the pleasure of another; but
besides these, there is always the fact, that, in a long day's journey, a
man's faculties of observation are more fresh and active on starting than
later in the day, when from the effect of weariness, even peculiar
objects will fail to arrest his attention. Now, as a man's recollection
of an interval of time is, as we all know, mainly derived from the number
of impressions that his memory has received while it was passing, it
follows that, so far as this cause alone is concerned, the earlier part
of his day's journey will always seem to have been disproportionately
long compared to the latter. It is remarkable, on taking a long
half-day's walk, and subsequently returning, after resting some hours,
how long a time the earlier part of the return journey seems to occupy,
and how rapidly different well-remembered points seem to succeed each
other, as the traveller draws homewards. In this case, the same cause
acts in opposite directions in the two journeys.
To Walk in a Straight Line through Forests.--Every man who has had
frequent occasion to find his way from one place to another in a forest,
can do so without straining his attention. Thus, in the account of Lord
Milton's travels, we read of some North American Indians who were
incapable of understanding the white man's difficulty in keeping a
straight line; but no man who has not had practice can walk through trees
in a straight line, even with the utmost circumspection.
After making several experiments, I think the explanation of the
difficulty and the way of overcoming it are as follows:--If a man walks
on a level surface, guided by a single conspicuous mark, he is almost
sure not to travel towards it in a straight line; his muscular sense is
not delicate enough to guard him from making small deviations. If,
therefore, after walking some hundred yards towards a single mark, on
ground that preserves his track, the traveller should turn round, he will
probably be astonished to see how sinuous his course has been. However,
if he take note of a second mark and endeavour to keep it strictly in a
line with the first, he will easily keep a perfectly straight course. But
if he cannot find a second mark, it will not be difficult for him to use
the tufts of grass, the stones, or the other accidents of the soil, in
its place; they need not be precisely in the same line with the mark, but
some may be on the right and some on the left of it, in which case, as he
walks on the perspective of their change of position will be symmetrical.
Lastly, if he has not even one definite mark, but is walking among a
throng of forest trees, he may learn to depend wholly on the symmetry of
the changes of perspective of the trees as a guide to his path. He will
keep his point of sight unchanged and will walk in its direction, and if
he deviates from that direction, the want of symmetry in the change of
perspective on either side of the point on which he wishes to walk, will
warn him of his error. The appreciation of this optical effect grows
easily into a habit. When the more distant view happens to be shut out,
the traveller must regain his line under guidance similar to that by
which a sailor steers who only looks at his compass at intervals--I mean
by the aspect of the sky, the direction of the wind, and the appearance
of the forest, when it has any peculiarity of growth dependent on
direction. The chance of his judgment being erroneous to a small extent
is the same on the right hand as on the left, consequently his errors
tend to compensate each other. I wish some scientific traveller would
rigidly test the powers of good bushmen and find their "probable" angular
deviation from the true course under different circumstances. Their line
should be given to them, and they should be told to make smokes at
intervals. The position of these smokes could be easily mapped out by the
traveller.
The art of walking in a straight line is possessed in an eminent degree
by good ploughmen. They always look ahead, and let the plough take care
of itself.
To find the way down a Hill-side.--If on arriving at the steep edge of a
ridge, you have to take the caravan down into the plain, and it appears
that a difficulty may arise in finding a good way for it; descend first
yourself, as well as you can, and seek for a road as you climb back
again. It is far more easy to succeed in doing this as you ascend, than
as you descend: because when at the bottom of a hill, its bold bluffs and
precipices face you, and you can at once see and avoid them: whereas at
the top, these are precisely the parts that you overlook and cannot see.
Blind Paths.--Faintly-marked paths over grass (blind paths) are best seen
from a distance.
Lost in a Fog.--Napoleon, when riding with his staff across a shallow arm
of the Gulf of Suez, was caught in a fog: he utterly lost his way, and
found himself in danger. He there-upon ordered his staff to ride from
him, in radiating lines, in all directions, and that such of them as
should find the water to become more shallow, should shout out.
Mirage.--When it is excessive, it is most bewildering: a man will often
mistake a tuft of grass, or a tree, or other most dissimilar object, for
his companion, or his horse, or game. An old traveller is rarely deceived
by mirage. If he doubts, he can in many cases adopt the following hint
given by Dr. Kane: "Refraction will baffle a novice, on the ice; but we
have learned to baffle refraction. By sighting the suspected object with
your rifle at rest, you soon detect motion."
Lost Path.--If you fairly lose your way in the dark, do not go on
blundering hither and thither till you are exhausted; but make as
comfortable bivouac as you can, and start at daybreak fresh on your
search.
The bank of a watercourse, which is the best of clues, affords the worst
of paths, and is quite unfit to be followed at night. The ground is
always more broken in the neighbourhood of a river than far away from it;
and the vegatation is more tangled. Explorers travel most easily by
keeping far away from the banks of streams; because then they have fewer
broad tributaries and deep ravines to cross.
If in the daytime you find that you have quite lost your way, set
systematically to work to find it. At all event, do not make the matter
doubly perplexing by wandering further. Mark the place very distinctly
where you discover yourself at fault, that it may be the centre of your
search. Be careful to ride in such places as will preserve your tracks.
Break twigs if you are lost in a woodland: if in the open country, drag a
stick to make a clear trail. Marks scratched on the ground to tell the
hour and day that you passed by, will guide a relieving party. A great
smoke is useful for the same purpose and is visible for a long distance.
(See "Signals.")
A man who loses himself, especially in a desert, is sadly apt to find his
presence of mind forsake him, the sense of desolation is so strange and
overpowering; but he may console himself with the statistics of his
chance of safety--viz., that travellers, though constantly losing their
party, have hardly ever been known to perish unrelieved.
When the lost traveller is dead beat with fatigue, let him exert a strong
control over himself, for if he gives way to terror, and wanders wildly
about hither and thither, he will do no good and exhaust his vital powers
much sooner. He should erect some signal--as conspicuous a one as he
can--with something fluttering upon it, sit down in the shade, and,
listening keenly for any sound of succour, bear his fate like a man. His
ultimate safety is merely a question of time, for he is sure to be
searched for; and, if he can keep alive for two or three days, he will,
in all probability, be found and saved. (To relieve thirst, p. 223;
hunger, p. 197)
Theory.--When you discover you are lost, ask yourself the following three
questions: they comprise the ABC of the art of pathfinding, and I will
therefore distinguish them by the letters A, B, and C respectively:--A.
What is the least distance that I can with certainty specify, within
which the caravan-path, the river, or the sea-shore, that I wish to
regain, lies? B. What is the direction, in a vague general way, towards
which the path or river runs, or the sea-coast tends? C. When I last left
the path, did I turn to the left or to the right.
As regards A, calculate coolly how long you have been riding or walking,
and at what pace, since you left your party; subtract for stoppages and
well-recollected zigzags; allow a mile and a half per hour for the pace
when you have been loitering on foot, and three and a half when you have
been walking fast. Bear in mind that occasional running makes an almost
inappreciable difference; and that a man is always much nearer to the
lost path, than he is inclined to fear.
As regards B, if the man knows the course of the path to within eight
points of the compass (or one-fourth of the whole horizon), it is a great
gain; or even if he knows B to within twelve points, say 120 degrees, or
one-third of the whole horizon, his knowledge is available. For instance,
let us suppose a man's general idea of the run of the path to be, that it
goes in a northerly and southerly direction: then if he is also positive
that the path does not deviate more than to the N.E. on the one side of
that direction, or to the N.W. on the other, he knows the direction to
within eight points. Similarly he is sure to twelve points, if his
limits, on either hand, are E.N.E. and W.N.W. respectively.