In his chronicles of solitary expeditions in England and Wales, as in A Walk Through Europe (1972), Hillaby nurtures the fact and fancy that such exploits are apt to jog forth. Shifts of landscape without and mood shifts within result in some stylish rummaging around in a miscellany of arresting detail--bits of local history, reminiscences with old timers, snatches of natural observation, a touchstone or two from literature. The early walks here took place before Hillaby's deep personal tragedy, the death of his wife. Briefly he tells the story of their best of times and her last days. The next walk recorded was in the northern Appalachians where the trail signs were not clear enough to prevent error, and Hillaby was lost among interminable pines: ""The forest is a nightmare of half-shadows and the trail that returns to itself."" It is a journey full of hesitations, occasional fear and loneliness, laced with reports on what Powys called ""the succession of simple things."" Once again Hillaby entertains the reader with what he's seen and moves one with what he's felt and understood.