This past weekend our group (William Buschur, Marlene Hurst, Michael Creech, Sean Ellis, and me) did a thirty mile march over three days, in late 15th century medieval military equipment. The goal was to demonstrate long distance, sustainable marches over notional medieval infrastructure, in friendly territory, stopping at two structures along the way to spend the night.

The team. Left to right, Marlene Hurst, Michael Creech, Sean Ellis, me (Charles Lin), and William Buschur.

The thesis of this march is that infrastructure determines the parameters of travel, and that by replicating medieval infrastructure we can travel in a way that they did. For example, most road trips today do not carry tents or all of the fuel needed for the trip, because they can rely on motels and gas stations on the roads at regular intervals. Similarly, by traveling on roads that have the same amenities that a medieval road had, we were able to travel mostly equipped as we see in historical depictions of marching soldiers.

The Route and Infrastructure

The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal – not medieval, but still historical!

The march traveled along the towpath of the Chesapeake and Ohio (C&O) Canal, starting from Georgetown and ending at Lockhouse 25, 30 miles (48km) away. The C&O Towpath is an amazing 19th century piece of infrastructure that predates both the automobile and the train. It is flat, runs parallel to the Potomac River, and has many places along the route where fresh water can be acquired. The longest stretch of distance that we were without water was 4.8 miles (7.7km) The C&O Canal also has several primitive lockhouses for rent along its length, which we used as notional inns or friendly accommodations.

By comparison a similar hypothetical march from Altendorf, a town near Nuremberg, to Nuremberg itself, a distance of 30 miles (48km), runs along the Regnitz and Pegnitz rivers, and in the 15th century had a higher density of infrastructure than what we used, based on the named towns we know existed by the late 15th century.

We reserved two lockhouses at mile 8 and 20 (12.9 and 32.2 km) of our march, respectively. These lockhouses had varying levels of technology. The first was constructed in the early 19th century, but was outfitted in the style of the 1930s. It had electricity, water, heat, showers, etc. The second was a very rustic cabin in the style of the 1830s, with no electricity or running water. In both houses, I prohibited the use of artificial light for those tasks that were relevant to the march. Self care, sewing or repair had to be conducted under sun, fire, or candle light. Cooking, light inside the bedroom, restrooms, and navigating near the canal were allowed to use artificial light.

Support Vehicle

This event would not have been possible without Marlene, who was working our modern support vehicle, which had three major roles. First, it replicated a small baggage wagon. Second, it would travel forward to the lockhouses before we arrived and set up the infrastructure that would theoretically already be present for our arrival. Third, it served as a medical/safety vehicle in the event someone could no longer complete the march.

In its first role, the support vehicle as baggage wagon helped reduce the carried load of each person. I instructed every person to keep their baggage as simple as possible – most people were able to get their baggage weight under 15 pounds (6.8kg). This included things like blankets, warm clothing, spare clothing, eating set, and toiletries. For all five of us, I estimate our personal baggage did not weigh more than 100 lbs (45 kg) total.

In its second role, the support vehicle replicated infrastructure that would have already existed before our marching group arrived. Marlene quickly set up a kitchen and prepared meals for us. This service allowed us to not have to count cooking equipment and paraphernalia among our group baggage. We were able to get a hot dinner, a breakfast, and carry a lunch each day.

In its third role, the support vehicle served as a medical/safety vehicle, in the event that someone wasn’t able to complete the march, or to take up gear that was abandoned. This ended up playing a critical role.

Personal Load

We carried some extra items that we have little historical evidence that soldiers on the march carried. First, we all carried purses that had our cell phones and other small items. These cell phones are not just convenient, but also serve as multifunction safety devices (communication, light, navigation). Our purses also carried a small multitool, a small keychain light, and a lighter (mini-Bic). Second, we all carried approximately .75-1L of water, either in historical containers, or modern containers concealed with a bag. This reflects a modern understanding about dehydration, but given the frequency of water sources along our route, I don’t think it was strictly necessary. In addition, I carried group emergency items on the march: a first aid kit, a radio, a satellite communicator, and a small water filter.

This event was designed to contrast against events where a stationary camp with tents is set up. In America especially, the absence of authentic medieval structures or backdrops means that most events tend to use tents as a shelter and a backdrop for their activities. However, because of the effort needed to set up and break down camp, and because of the valuables left in and around the tent, most activity is subsequently limited to the immediate area of the tent. And, because activities are largely stationary, people are not penalized for bringing along extra, heavy items which they might not need. These compounding factors make marching – perhaps the most quintessential activity of infantry, difficult to accomplish given how events are set up.

Day 1

We had an initial inspection with baggage, and loaded our baggage into the support vehicle. I specified that personal gear went in first, and group baggage went in last. Group baggage always had the “last in first out” rule, because it contained items that would be of critical modern use (first aid kits and radios) and historical use (repair kits, food items). We arranged to rendezvous with Marlene at mile 1 (1.6km). This short distance is a valuable “shake out” opportunity to make immediate gear swaps. Michael ended up immediately ditching his sallet for most of Day 1, and switched to his barbute on Day 2.

Pace. After a slight delay, we (Will, Sean, Michael, and me) departed Georgetown at 9:50am. Our goal pace was 2mph (3.2 kph) including breaks (roughly 2.2 mph (3.5 kph) moving pace), a slow but sustainable pace. We initially went a little too fast from excitement, but quickly found the right pace. We encountered C&O Towpath and encountered many hikers and bicyclists near Georgetown, but did not stop to engage with any. We stopped for a long lunch next to the Potomac River. It was beautiful.

Shortly before lunch along the Potomac River.

Water. In our march, we broke up the distance by intervals between water locations. Generally, this was every 2-3 miles, which meant we did not have to carry much water on us as we went. Rather, we drank as much as we could at each stop, and topped up our containers, which carried .75-1 liters. Given the historical density of towns along our historical analogue route, I think this practice is feasible, and could explain why we rarely see depictions of soldiers carrying water containers. Dehydration was not an issue, but this was also aided by the fact that the temperature was nearly perfect, between 50- and 65 degrees F.

Daylight. We arrived at our first shelter, Lockhouse 10, around 3pm. We had roughly three and a half hours to set up camp before sunset. I had everyone unload baggage – group baggage first, and then personal baggage. We assigned bunks and gear storage locations, and “sanitized” certain portions of the house, removing obviously modern items.

A quick gathering before setting up camp to address priorities.

Afterwards, the priorities for everyone were to take care of their body first (feet, hydration, etc), then their shoes, then their hose, then their weapons and armor, and then everything else. I was generally preoccupied with how much daylight we had left. Once it grew dark, certain tasks, such as sewing, repairs, or foot care, would become harder. In addition, in the dark it would be very easy to misplace and lose things, so I put a lot of effort into organizing our gear while it was still light out.

Gear organized. Will and his gear next to his chair on the left. My gear near the chair on the right. Sean’s is in the far corner on the right.

Three and a half hours turned out to be plenty of time to take care of our needs, and I think most people had taken care of organizing and maintenance tasks by 5:30pm, one hour before sunset (6:30pm). We had a wonderful dinner of venison sausage pottage and apple fennel salad. We had time to learn and play several games of Karnöffel, a very counterintuitive trick-taking game, with a set of Flemish hunting cards.

Playing a game of Karnöffel with Flemish hunting themed playing cards.

Day 2

Stand-to. We started Day 2 with stand-to at sunrise 7:30am, with helmet, sidearm, and weapons. Stand-to was historically to assume a state of readiness in case of dawn or dusk attack. In this case, as we were doing it for the first time as a group, I chose a luxurious sunrise stand-to, rather than an early dawn one.

This is actually the stand-to of the next morning, but you get the idea.

One thing I noted about stand-to was that it gave me an extremely valuable opportunity to either i) immediately launch a morning mission and/or ii) brief everyone in one place about the upcoming day. I found the previous evening that when everyone was busy taking care of tasks, it was hard to collectively brief everyone on new information. Designated group meeting opportunities, even if brief, gave me a valuable chance to efficiently address everyone at once.

It allowed me to discuss the parameters of the upcoming march, which would inform individual equipment selection. I did not micromanage everyone’s gear, but rather gave them information about the length and terrain of the march, the temperature, the known water points, and expected pace, and let them make their own decisions.

Support Vehicle. At mile 5 (8km) of Day 2, Michael’s ankle was troubling him. He had injured it about a year ago, and it was bothering him as we continued along the rocky roads. He decided to not continue the march – Marlene picked him up at Great Falls Visitor Center, which was mile 13 (20.9km) overall, and he supported Marlene with her work. This episode highlighted the importance of having the support vehicle – it allowed us to push our limits safely, while also having a backup plan in case it was too much.

We also ran into a lot of people near Great Falls, who usually had some throwaway remark as we passed by. We usually ignored them and never stopped to chat, as public education isn’t really one of our goals, and we had pace goals to make.

During the second half of march on Day 2, our pace began to slow. We stopped at Swain’s Lock at Mile 10 of 12, where we ran into the local paramedics and a swift boat rescue team. They asked for our picture in their boat- we indulged them because we were resting at the time, and we figure it wouldn’t hurt to have them friendly to us in case we got into trouble later on.

We got into Lockhouse 22 with roughly 2 hours of daylight left. We were exhausted, but I made sure we set up our camp as well as we could and were taking care of the priorities we established the night before. I imagine that as time wore on, fatigue, reduced camp discipline, and chaos can compound each other, so it was important to constantly exert effort to stay organized and prioritize critical tasks.

Lockhouse 22 was very rustic – we had a simple but delicious meal, a bean stew with kale and smoked trout made by Marlene. We were too beat for cards after dinner, and went straight to bed.

Day 3

Stand-to was at 7am, about half an hour before the sun rose. Everyone was on time and properly equipped. Will, Sean, and I were very beat up, but otherwise okay to continue. Our pace started around 1.9 mph (3.1 kph), but descended to about 1.5 mph (2.4 kph) by the end.

Music. To take our mind off of the pain, we began singing songs to each other. It really helped to pass the time, and I can understand the psychological need for music. We didn’t necessarily look for historical songs, but rather songs that were consistent with our emotional state. Sometimes they were songs about dreary work, bad life decisions and regrets. Other times they were upbeat songs about better days or victory, or nonsensical repetitive mantras.

Locals. On Day 3, we ran into a man named Young, a Korean cyclist who asked about what we were up to during our break. We told him what we were up to, and he seemed interested in helping – I asked him for as much information about the road and water conditions up ahead. He knew the area very well and told us that one of the water sources we were counting on was not potable (we used a backpacking filter there).

This interaction felt very organic, and I imagine that in friendly territory, one can get very good, up to date, local information about the condition of roads, water sources, and rest stops. Even in hostile territory, it could still theoretically be possible to coerce locals into providing information or other assistance (shelter, food, etc.), albeit less reliably. This is one aspect of infrastructure I had not accounted for, because I had planned the route with the luxury of reams of online information. In addition to water, food, and shelter along most roads, there are people there with detailed, current information that can make travel a lot easier and more predictable.

The last pic on the march, roughly one more mile left.

We reached Lockhouse 25, Mile 10 (16.1 km) for the day, and mile 30 (48.3 km) overall, at 6:20pm as the sun was setting. Unfortunately this was roughly 3 hours after we had planned to arrive. We had initially thought that perhaps we would rest for a few hours and then do a five mile night march to reach another waypoint, White’s Ferry, before heading home. Will and Marlene had scouted the road the previous night, and established that there was enough moonlight and light pollution to safely walk the towpath (without falling into the canal and drowning). While the three of us were physically capable of continuing, I decided that the responsible decision was to call it good at 30 miles.

On Planning Challenging Things

As we grew more tired and as it grew darker and colder, the probability of critical mistake – misplaced gear or a twisted ankle, a fall in the canal was rising. (For example, I forgot my canteen on the morning of Day 3. Luckily Marlene found it and got it to us before we left.) Additionally, our general capacity to handle emergencies and unexpected developments, which I shorthand as “headroom” was diminishing. Our support vehicle had one less slot because Michael was riding with Marlene. Our trail had spotty cell reception, and we established the radios we were carrying had an effective range of less than two miles. Night time meant that emergencies would be exacerbated by the cold, and that there would be fewer (if any) hikers on the trail if we were in an emergency.

I think this is an important lesson for people who are reading this and thinking of doing something similar. If you are planning challenging or dangerous things and bringing other people along, you are responsible for their safety. It’s not just important to have plans for specific emergencies (injuries, medical emergencies, evacuation, nonpotable water), but to also constantly assess how your general capacity to address unforeseen emergencies changes throughout an event.

Lessons Learned

Our goal was to demonstrate long distance sustainable movement, and we got a lot of great information about this task. At our current state, I don’t think 30 miles in 3 days was a sustainable pace for us, with our load and condition. I think with some small tweaks, 8 miles per day would be perfectly doable almost immediately. Our main limiting factor was our bodies, in a few, specific ways.

The road was very rough on all of our lower joints, especially our feet. All of us had achy feet by the end of the march, a combination of the rocky, uneven road we walked on, and our load. Michael made the prudent decision to bow out on Day 2 to preserve his ankle, and the distance wore on Will’s foot the most on Day 3. We spent a lot of time talking about shoes – we nearly all agreed turnshoes with a reinforced, more rigid sole would be enormously valuable.

Sean felt the load on his shoulders, as he was using a new breastplate that was slightly too loose at the hips. However, neither Will (with a haubergeon) nor I (with cuirass) felt shoulder pain. A lot of my background preparation involves rucking in modern gear, which likely helped me avoid shoulder fatigue.

However, I suffered from three very large, bloody blisters. I was the only one using footed hose – and the seams at the foot, combined with not enough miles in that specific hose and shoe combination, led to large, bloody blisters on my feet. I lanced and drained them every day, and they were painful but manageable. (One other downside of footed hose is that it is very difficult to easily check your feet.) I could probably keep going on them, but it certainly would not be sustainable.

For the runup to this, I had the bad idea of trying to “save” my shoe leather by using modern minimalist ones – I know now that if I were to take long distance marching seriously, I should invest in being able to replace shoe soles (either by myself or professionally), to be able to condition my feet to the specifics of my shoe and hose. However, medieval people with their premodern lifestyle likely had much tougher feet than me, a modern desk-bound civil servant, and we are not even comparing to professional soldiers or other physically demanding professions. So, I admit that there’s a level of fidelity that I will never be able to replicate. This has me thinking about what compromises are acceptable to me, to account for the fact that I don’t have (and never will have) the feet of someone who walks everywhere every day. For example, I could switch to stirrups on my hose, and use modern socks, which could mitigate some of the problems I faced.

Sean adjusting Will’s shirt. The march showed us the immense value in being able to kit up independently.

Generally our gear held up just fine. Will and Sean didn’t change our loadouts at all. My only critical gear failure – I switched from historical underwear to modern underwear because of chafing in my nether regions. However, Michael had a few gear failures as he was testing newer or self-made items. We quickly realized the importance of being able to gear up independently, and we are all now prioritizing efficient, self-sufficient kits with both hands free for this type of event. We were able to repair and maintain our gear on the march during down time. I believe we all repaired or patched hose in our downtime – I patched a hole in my toe, and added extra wool to the insole of my shoes. Will repaired the stitching of his turnshoe and it held up fine.

Next Time

I’m planning to do it again in 2026. We’ll aim for a slightly reduced pace over four days, and the goal is for it to feel like a sustainable pace, an enough-time-to-play-cards-after-dinner pace. If it is too easy, we can always add on a forced march or a night march.

Potomac March: Thirty Miles in Three Days