Sam Anderson

Every morning, as I struggled to metabolize the daily news, I found myself dreaming of dropping out of society, following in his footsteps, knocking on the doors he knocked on, sitting in the caves he sat in. In the same way other people fantasized about moving to Canada, I fantasized about walking the old Leatherman's loop. But how? As a practical itinerary, the loop turned out to be tricky.

Every morning, as I struggled to metabolize the daily news, I found myself dreaming of dropping out of society, following in his footsteps, knocking on the doors he knocked on, sitting in the caves he sat in. In the same way other people fantasized about moving to Canada, I fantasized about walking the old Leatherman's loop. But how? As a practical itinerary, the loop turned out to be tricky.

It was regular, but also elusive. A network of highways, country lanes, backwoods trails, and railroad tracks that could shift subtly on his tiniest whim. Once, when one of his regular households got a pet dog, the old Leatherman never stopped there again.

It was regular, but also elusive. A network of highways, country lanes, backwoods trails, and railroad tracks that could shift subtly on his tiniest whim. Once, when one of his regular households got a pet dog, the old Leatherman never stopped there again.

As one of the great old Leatherman researchers, Allison Albee, has put it, all effort to tie directions he is said to have followed into a single contiguous pattern seems utterly futile. Nevertheless, I tried. I visited research archives, made long lists, studied hand-drawn maps.

As one of the great old Leatherman researchers, Allison Albee, has put it, all effort to tie directions he is said to have followed into a single contiguous pattern seems utterly futile. Nevertheless, I tried. I visited research archives, made long lists, studied hand-drawn maps.

I tapped into the knowledge of other old Leatherman obsessives, a scattered group of amateur enthusiasts who've been stockpiling data points for 150 years. I spoke with Steve Grant, a journalist who walked the old Leatherman's loop for the Hartford Courant in 1993. Grant told me with a real sense of loss that most of his maps are gone.

I tapped into the knowledge of other old Leatherman obsessives, a scattered group of amateur enthusiasts who've been stockpiling data points for 150 years. I spoke with Steve Grant, a journalist who walked the old Leatherman's loop for the Hartford Courant in 1993. Grant told me with a real sense of loss that most of his maps are gone.

Years ago, some other old Leathermanophile borrowed them and never gave them back. I pored over an online cave guide compiled by Lee Stewart Evans, an outdoorsy Englishman transplanted to Connecticut. And I basically wore out my copy of Dan W. DeLuca's heroically thorough book, The Old Leatherman, Historical Accounts of a Connecticut and New York Legend.

Years ago, some other old Leathermanophile borrowed them and never gave them back. I pored over an online cave guide compiled by Lee Stewart Evans, an outdoorsy Englishman transplanted to Connecticut. And I basically wore out my copy of Dan W. DeLuca's heroically thorough book, The Old Leatherman, Historical Accounts of a Connecticut and New York Legend.

Eventually, I cobbled together what I thought was a reasonable outline of the loop. It was a bizarre travel itinerary, as if someone closed their eyes and drew with a shaky hand the most random possible cross-section of small northeastern towns.

Eventually, I cobbled together what I thought was a reasonable outline of the loop. It was a bizarre travel itinerary, as if someone closed their eyes and drew with a shaky hand the most random possible cross-section of small northeastern towns.

There are once-bustling river ports like Ossining and Old Saybrook, and former manufacturing centers, Bristol, Terryville, Plymouth, and destination antique shopping towns like Woodbury. You could live 1,000 very full lives and never think about any of these places. But that was also its appeal. There's nothing obvious about this route.

There are once-bustling river ports like Ossining and Old Saybrook, and former manufacturing centers, Bristol, Terryville, Plymouth, and destination antique shopping towns like Woodbury. You could live 1,000 very full lives and never think about any of these places. But that was also its appeal. There's nothing obvious about this route.

The old Leatherman was giving me an excuse to step outside my own life, to look at old American places firsthand, slowly, to think about how they had changed, to walk around like a weirdo, knocking randomly on doors, talking to people who I had no business talking to. I just needed the right inspiration to start. I started walking on November 6th, 2024.

The old Leatherman was giving me an excuse to step outside my own life, to look at old American places firsthand, slowly, to think about how they had changed, to walk around like a weirdo, knocking randomly on doors, talking to people who I had no business talking to. I just needed the right inspiration to start. I started walking on November 6th, 2024.

For months, I realized I'd been living inside of screens, vibrating on poisonous frequencies. And now the inside of my skull was itchy and all human language felt like packing peanuts in my mouth. I had a very strong impulse to move. So I grabbed a backpack and drove down to the old leather man's grave.

For months, I realized I'd been living inside of screens, vibrating on poisonous frequencies. And now the inside of my skull was itchy and all human language felt like packing peanuts in my mouth. I had a very strong impulse to move. So I grabbed a backpack and drove down to the old leather man's grave.

The cemetery is just off the Hudson River in Austin, New York, on a street called Revolutionary Road. It is, by American standards, ancient. The headstones are thin with fancy font and odd spellings and little carved pictures full of feeling. The memorial to the old leather man is a big rock with a plaque.

The cemetery is just off the Hudson River in Austin, New York, on a street called Revolutionary Road. It is, by American standards, ancient. The headstones are thin with fancy font and odd spellings and little carved pictures full of feeling. The memorial to the old leather man is a big rock with a plaque.