End of the Trail

As he began the last lap of his 178-mile, eight-day hike down the old Chesapeake & Ohio Canal last week, Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas wore the air of a missionary savoring a particularly satisfying conversion of the heathen tribes. Some of his 37 original companions (TIME, March 29) had dropped out (only eight walked the whole way with Douglas), and a good many more were physically reduced by blisters, swollen ankles and aching muscles. But along the way, even the Washington Post's Editorial Writers Merlo Pusey (who walked 140 miles) and Robert Estabrook (150 miles) had become enthusiastic admirers of nature in the raw.

During the hike--which the Justice proposed after a Post editorial advocated construction of a modern parkway along the wilderness-bordered canal--both came to the conclusion that at least parts of the area should be a protected woodland preserve. But despite this triumph, Douglas was obviously unprepared for the sort of welcome he received as the hikers marched on Washington. A dozen volunteers attached themselves to the party at Seneca, 18 miles from the capital. A group of enthusiastic boys, one of whom carried a large U.S. flag, joined up at Great Falls.

By the time he was ten miles from the city, Douglas had 50 followers, and was being paralleled in the canal by canoeists bearing such signs as SAVE THE CANAL and LESS CARS--MORE CANOES !

The long walk ended at an old canal lock a quarter of a mile farther along. A National Park Service sightseeing barge, drawn by two mules, awaited the hikers. They climbed aboard to ride the last five miles to Georgetown. Their triumphal entry into the city, however, was just beginning. As the barge sloshed down the canal, hundreds of men, women & children hustled along the banks exchanging greetings with the expedition. Other well-wishers called greetings from overhead bridges. The escorting fleet of canoes grew. Automobiles jammed up along a parallel roadway.

The Justice seemed undisturbed. He sat on the poop of the barge holding a branch of forsythia, smiling and doffing his tan Stetson. When the party climbed out onto the Georgetown cobblestones at the end of the trip, he seemed as fresh and springy of step as ever. But as he got into his chauffeur-driven Oldsmobile to go home, certain marks of wilderness attrition were unmistakably evident: somehow, somewhere, Justice Douglas had got his chin into some poison ivy.

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