What do you think?
Rate this book
The Mountains of California
When John Muir traveled to California in 1868, he found the pristine mountain ranges that would inspire his life’s work. The Mountains of California is the culmination of the ten years Muir spent in the Sierra Nevadas, studying every crag, crook, and valley with great care and contemplation.
Bill McKibben writes in his Introduction that Muir "invents, by sheer force of his love, an entirely new vocabulary and grammar of the wild . . . a language of ecstasy and exuberance."
The Mountains of California is as vibrant and vital today as when it was written over a century ago.
This Modern Library Paperback Classic includes the photographs and line drawings from the original 1898 edition.
Bill McKibben writes in his Introduction that Muir "invents, by sheer force of his love, an entirely new vocabulary and grammar of the wild . . . a language of ecstasy and exuberance."
The Mountains of California is as vibrant and vital today as when it was written over a century ago.
This Modern Library Paperback Classic includes the photographs and line drawings from the original 1898 edition.
284 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1894
242 people are currently reading
3701 people want to read
About the author
John Muir
596 books1,423 followersJohn Muir (1838 – 1914) was a Scottish-American naturalist, author, and early advocate of preservation of wilderness in the United States. His letters, essays, and books telling of his adventures in nature, especially in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, have been read by millions. His activism helped to preserve the Yosemite Valley, Sequoia National Park and other wilderness areas. The Sierra Club, which he founded, is now one of the most important conservation organizations in the United States. One of the best-known hiking trails in the U.S., the 211-mile (340 km) John Muir Trail, was named in his honor. Other such places include Muir Woods National Monument, Muir Beach, John Muir College, Mount Muir, Camp Muir and Muir Glacier.
In his later life, Muir devoted most of his time to the preservation of the Western forests. He petitioned the U.S. Congress for the National Park bill that was passed in 1890, establishing Yosemite and Sequoia National Parks. The spiritual quality and enthusiasm toward nature expressed in his writings inspired readers, including presidents and congressmen, to take action to help preserve large nature areas. He is today referred to as the "Father of the National Parks" and the National Park Service has produced a short documentary about his life.
Muir's biographer, Steven J. Holmes, believes that Muir has become "one of the patron saints of twentieth-century American environmental activity," both political and recreational. As a result, his writings are commonly discussed in books and journals, and he is often quoted by nature photographers such as Ansel Adams. "Muir has profoundly shaped the very categories through which Americans understand and envision their relationships with the natural world," writes Holmes. Muir was noted for being an ecological thinker, political spokesman, and religious prophet, whose writings became a personal guide into nature for countless individuals, making his name "almost ubiquitous" in the modern environmental consciousness. According to author William Anderson, Muir exemplified "the archetype of our oneness with the earth".
Muir was extremely fond of Henry David Thoreau and was probably influenced more by him than even Ralph Waldo Emerson. Muir often referred to himself as a "disciple" of Thoreau. He was also heavily influenced by fellow naturalist John Burroughs.
During his lifetime John Muir published over 300 articles and 12 books. He co-founded the Sierra Club, which helped establish a number of national parks after he died and today has over 1.3 million members. Author Gretel Ehrlich states that as a "dreamer and activist, his eloquent words changed the way Americans saw their mountains, forests, seashores, and deserts." He not only led the efforts to protect forest areas and have some designated as national parks, but his writings gave readers a conception of the relationship between "human culture and wild nature as one of humility and respect for all life," writes author Thurman Wilkins.
His philosophy exalted wild nature over human culture and civilization. Turner describes him as "a man who in his singular way rediscovered America. . . . an American pioneer, an American hero." Wilkins adds that a primary aim of Muir’s nature philosophy was to challenge mankind’s "enormous conceit," and in so doing, he moved beyond the Transcendentalism of Emerson and Thoreau to a "biocentric perspective on the world."
In the months after his death, many who knew Muir closely wrote about his influences.
In his later life, Muir devoted most of his time to the preservation of the Western forests. He petitioned the U.S. Congress for the National Park bill that was passed in 1890, establishing Yosemite and Sequoia National Parks. The spiritual quality and enthusiasm toward nature expressed in his writings inspired readers, including presidents and congressmen, to take action to help preserve large nature areas. He is today referred to as the "Father of the National Parks" and the National Park Service has produced a short documentary about his life.
Muir's biographer, Steven J. Holmes, believes that Muir has become "one of the patron saints of twentieth-century American environmental activity," both political and recreational. As a result, his writings are commonly discussed in books and journals, and he is often quoted by nature photographers such as Ansel Adams. "Muir has profoundly shaped the very categories through which Americans understand and envision their relationships with the natural world," writes Holmes. Muir was noted for being an ecological thinker, political spokesman, and religious prophet, whose writings became a personal guide into nature for countless individuals, making his name "almost ubiquitous" in the modern environmental consciousness. According to author William Anderson, Muir exemplified "the archetype of our oneness with the earth".
Muir was extremely fond of Henry David Thoreau and was probably influenced more by him than even Ralph Waldo Emerson. Muir often referred to himself as a "disciple" of Thoreau. He was also heavily influenced by fellow naturalist John Burroughs.
During his lifetime John Muir published over 300 articles and 12 books. He co-founded the Sierra Club, which helped establish a number of national parks after he died and today has over 1.3 million members. Author Gretel Ehrlich states that as a "dreamer and activist, his eloquent words changed the way Americans saw their mountains, forests, seashores, and deserts." He not only led the efforts to protect forest areas and have some designated as national parks, but his writings gave readers a conception of the relationship between "human culture and wild nature as one of humility and respect for all life," writes author Thurman Wilkins.
His philosophy exalted wild nature over human culture and civilization. Turner describes him as "a man who in his singular way rediscovered America. . . . an American pioneer, an American hero." Wilkins adds that a primary aim of Muir’s nature philosophy was to challenge mankind’s "enormous conceit," and in so doing, he moved beyond the Transcendentalism of Emerson and Thoreau to a "biocentric perspective on the world."
In the months after his death, many who knew Muir closely wrote about his influences.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 100 reviews
March 20, 2024
Few places in this world are more dangerous than home.
It is difficult to spend any time in northern California without coming across the name of John Muir. He is the patron saint of the state’s wild beauty. The John Muir Trail, passing through Yosemite Valley and the Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks, and Muir Woods, home of the majestic redwoods, are just two of the most prominent monuments to his life’s work.
I picked up a copy of this book on a recent trip to the west coast, while visiting the Donner Museum—near Donner Lake, up in the Sierra Nevada—which commemorates not only the unfortunate party of lost pilgrims, but some of the other epochal events of the region, such as the goldrush, the building of the North Pacific Railroad, and construction of the major highways. Not many years after the Donner Party lost themselves in the Snowy Range, this infrastructure tied the previously isolated region to the rest of the country.
Perhaps it would have seemed grimly ironic to the Donner survivors that, a generation later, people would be fighting to keep this dangerous place pristine, resisting the encroachment of civilization. Yet in hindsight we can only regard this effort as prescient. That there is any nature left at all is largely thanks to Muir and his ilk, who not only directly intervened to preserve wilderness, but through his writings helped to evoke a groundswell of appreciation for natural beauty.
This book is a piece of propaganda on behalf of wilderness. Though Muir was highly knowledgeable in botany, geology, and in the study of glaciers, the information he presents is strictly secondary to his fundamental purpose: to evoke the beauty of the place. Few people in history, if any, had such a sensitivity to nature. Squirrels sent him into ecstasies, bird calls lifted him into mystic regions of delight, and mountain scenery brought him close to death with pleasure. Indeed, one quickly gets the impression that he could be equally happy in the rainforests of South America, the deserts of Arabia, or the bogs of Scotland. This, ironically, makes the book rather monotonous. Since the bees and birds, the flowers and ferns, the pine trees, fir trees, cedars, sequoias, and all the rest are equally majestic, noble, exquisite, etc.—in every season and all times of day—the descriptions become difficult to attend to. The emotional tone is endlessly euphoric.
Muir’s writing comes most alive when he switches from descriptions of nature to first-person accounts of his explorations. For he was not a note-taking Darwin or a rhapsodizing Wordsworth with a walking stick, but a serious adrenaline junkie. He describes, for example, climbing to the top of a 100-foot tall tree during a heavy storm, and clinging to the end while it got whipped about in the wind, and assures us that “never before did I enjoy so noble an exhileration of motion.” He goes on to describe the experience:
The slender tops fairly flapped and swished in the passionate torrent, bending and swirling backward and forward, round and round, tracing indescribable combinations of vertical and horizontal curves, while I clung with muscles firm braced, like a bobolink on a reed… I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past. … from the chafing of resiny branches against each other, and the incessant attrition myriads of needles, the gale was spiced to a very tonic degree.
Passages like this are entirely typical. Never is there even a hint of discomfort or fear. Everything he does is unselfconsciously joyful. Muir gives us a (perhaps unwitting) self-portrait in his description of the Water Ouzel: “he never calls forth a single touch of pity; not because he is strong to endure, but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary.” The rest of the descriptions applies equally well: “For both in winter and in summer he sings, sweetly, cheerily, independent alike of sunshine and of love, requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells. While water sings, so must he, in heat or cold, calm or storm, ever attuning his voice in sure accord; low in the drought of summer and the drought of winter, but never silent.”
So must Muir sing his cheerful tune, whether hanging from cliffs, being buffeted in snowstorms, or crawling through thick brush on all fours. It is hard not to envy a man so seemingly impervious to all negative feeling, sensation, or thought. One suspects that Muir is not giving us the whole picture; but he could not have lived such a life if it did not fulfill him. And, as Bill McKibben states in the introduction, in many ways Muir falls comfortably within an American cultural tradition, running from the exhuberance to Whitman, the nature-worship of Thoreau, and the transcendental enthusiasm of Emerson, on through Muir to the drug-fueled ravings of the Beats and beyond. Muir is a shining exemplar of the outdoorsy woodsman, actuated by individual grit and positive thinking, that is so dear to the national myth. And, in truth, he did a lot of good.
All this being said in his praise, I still must give this book a middling rating. Muir is a prime example of a writer who excels on the level of sentences—writing lyrical, poetic descriptions of all he sees—but who falls short on the level of the whole book. The enthusiastic tone and passionate descriptions drift off into homogenous yelps of beauty. And, while evocative and impressionistic, Muir fails to give a fleshed-out, coherent picture of the mountain wilderness. Still, in his best moments Muir is unforgettable; and I confess that he did inspire in me some faint longings to go out hiking myself—though I would prefer a well-marked trail.
July 30, 2017
Introduction, by Edward Hoagland
Suggestions for Further Reading
A Note on the Text
List of Illustrations
--The Mountains of California
Suggestions for Further Reading
A Note on the Text
List of Illustrations
--The Mountains of California
February 17, 2016
I had to be patient while reading this. Muir's descriptions go on and on. But they are enthusiastic, and beautifully done. If you are careful, and steady, Muir's passion will become contagious and you will find yourself in a slower and more observant state, ready to soak in all that the outdoors has to offer.
A memorial to Muir states; "And when he had seen, and written down what he saw, men, charmed by the tale of his deep vision, went back armed with his eyes, even to the familiar, and found there new revelations of beauty."
Me too.
A memorial to Muir states; "And when he had seen, and written down what he saw, men, charmed by the tale of his deep vision, went back armed with his eyes, even to the familiar, and found there new revelations of beauty."
Me too.
July 1, 2021
I’d read a later edition of this collection of John Muir’s nature essays once before, while visiting the Sierras for some skiing and snowshoeing. This text is the original 1894 edition, although Goodreads states incorrectly that it’s reprinted from the 1911 edition. The 1911 edition was expanded to include more illustrations and at least two other memorable essays—of Stickeen, Muir’s small canine glacier-exploring companion and the lodgepole pine, which grows so fast that cones are buried by its own bark. The original 1894 edition seems incomplete by comparison.
Muir describes nature with great exuberance, ornamenting and animating nature in a way that perhaps reflects the Victorian era in which he wrote. This book will satisfy the nature lover who observes the outdoors closely and analytically and feels joy in the wilderness. It’s of particular interest to those who have spent time in the Sierras. Illustrations from Muir’s sketchbooks compliment his writings.
John Muir was a mountaineer of hardiness that is almost unimaginable today. He scaled peaks and bivouacked throughout the seasons with only a bit of bread in his pockets, and none of what we think of as essential mountain gear. In addition, he was blind in one eye. He is surprised, in one story, that his companions have given him up for dead when he returns from a peak climb two days late. Not only was he on the mountain for longer than he planned, but he left his coat at its base so that he could climb unencumbered!
In his explorations, Muir witnessed not only the unspoiled natural beauty of the mountains, but also the beginning of the destruction of California’s native plants by domestic herds of sheep and cattle, and aftermath of the havoc wreaked in the foothills during the Gold Rush. It is interesting to those of us who bemoan the takeover of orchards and other agricultural land by housing developers to note that the agriculture also replaced something that had become less valuable: native plants.
Some essays describe geological features such as mountains, lakes, and meadows. Another identifies Sierra trees. Perhaps the most popular essay is about the water ouzel, a bird who lives near streams, flies underwater to feed, and sings in every season. One essay is a thoughtful comparison of wild and domestic sheep. The last essay is an assessment of the various regions of California for honey production, using only native flora. Muir suggests replacing the destructive practice of herding animals (“hooved locusts” as he calls them) with an industry based upon preservation and utilization of California’s environment. If only Muir’s advice were followed, Californians would still see green hills in summer as well as winter.
This is a must-read for Californian mountaineers and environmentalists.
Muir describes nature with great exuberance, ornamenting and animating nature in a way that perhaps reflects the Victorian era in which he wrote. This book will satisfy the nature lover who observes the outdoors closely and analytically and feels joy in the wilderness. It’s of particular interest to those who have spent time in the Sierras. Illustrations from Muir’s sketchbooks compliment his writings.
John Muir was a mountaineer of hardiness that is almost unimaginable today. He scaled peaks and bivouacked throughout the seasons with only a bit of bread in his pockets, and none of what we think of as essential mountain gear. In addition, he was blind in one eye. He is surprised, in one story, that his companions have given him up for dead when he returns from a peak climb two days late. Not only was he on the mountain for longer than he planned, but he left his coat at its base so that he could climb unencumbered!
In his explorations, Muir witnessed not only the unspoiled natural beauty of the mountains, but also the beginning of the destruction of California’s native plants by domestic herds of sheep and cattle, and aftermath of the havoc wreaked in the foothills during the Gold Rush. It is interesting to those of us who bemoan the takeover of orchards and other agricultural land by housing developers to note that the agriculture also replaced something that had become less valuable: native plants.
Some essays describe geological features such as mountains, lakes, and meadows. Another identifies Sierra trees. Perhaps the most popular essay is about the water ouzel, a bird who lives near streams, flies underwater to feed, and sings in every season. One essay is a thoughtful comparison of wild and domestic sheep. The last essay is an assessment of the various regions of California for honey production, using only native flora. Muir suggests replacing the destructive practice of herding animals (“hooved locusts” as he calls them) with an industry based upon preservation and utilization of California’s environment. If only Muir’s advice were followed, Californians would still see green hills in summer as well as winter.
This is a must-read for Californian mountaineers and environmentalists.
August 12, 2012
The world of the mountains is a glorious, rough-hewn, life-infusing one; far removed from the simple, boring plains and the concrete-covered city. The joy and beauty of this world is one I have not seen expressed in words before now. Certainly, many authors do a grand job of telling the tales of high adventure, of risk, of danger in the mountains. But none that I've read have come close to extolling the grandeur in such vivid imagery as John Muir.
This book is exhaustively thorough but never boring; years of careful exploration and observation by Muir led to a detailed reckoning of the Sierra mountains glacier by glacier, pass by pass, rock by rock. He reviews the overall geographical layout of the mountains and then delves into the geological features, the tree species, the birds, and the animal life on the mountains. Along the way, he describes the nature of this nature using picturesque language that brings the range to life. He communicates a love for the mountains that rings familiar in my heart and it is clear that he spent many, many seasons exploring the moraines and valleys and cols. Many anecdotes bring life to the text.
Of particular interest was his careful analysis of the glaciers and the effects of climate change on them; also his detailed assessment of the Sequoia population and his conclusion that they were not naturally going extinct, but that without forest conservation, they would be killed off by mankind.
Overall, this book earns a five-star "love" rating from me and will remain a treasured tome of outdoor lore. It also has me earnestly pondering when I might be able to visit Yosemite and explore these temples of Nature myself.
This book is exhaustively thorough but never boring; years of careful exploration and observation by Muir led to a detailed reckoning of the Sierra mountains glacier by glacier, pass by pass, rock by rock. He reviews the overall geographical layout of the mountains and then delves into the geological features, the tree species, the birds, and the animal life on the mountains. Along the way, he describes the nature of this nature using picturesque language that brings the range to life. He communicates a love for the mountains that rings familiar in my heart and it is clear that he spent many, many seasons exploring the moraines and valleys and cols. Many anecdotes bring life to the text.
Of particular interest was his careful analysis of the glaciers and the effects of climate change on them; also his detailed assessment of the Sequoia population and his conclusion that they were not naturally going extinct, but that without forest conservation, they would be killed off by mankind.
Overall, this book earns a five-star "love" rating from me and will remain a treasured tome of outdoor lore. It also has me earnestly pondering when I might be able to visit Yosemite and explore these temples of Nature myself.
July 18, 2019
Many editions of this book exist. This is the one I read.
When John Muir passed into the Great Void in 1914 the US had set the tone for the the Second Industrial Revolution. A time that furthered the ideal of endless natural resources and other forms of Environmental exploitation. Leading of course to rampant consumerism that continues to deplete those same endless natural resources today.
Muir was a visionary, though thanks to a college lab accident saw with mostly poor vision. His personal experiences among the Natural Beauty of practically everything provide the reader with a literary feast of expressive prose. Like the Transcendentalists before him, Muir saw the value in the Outdoors and ever quotable seemed unable to wait until he could throw a , "...loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in the backpack and hop over the back fence." If the true American Spirit exists in the Heart of the Wilderness, then Muir, as the Founder and First President of the Sierra Club, is it's greatest lobbyist.
The Mountains of California describes his travels in the Sierra Nevada. Having walked on these trails myself, partially on the John Muir Trail, it is easy to see why Theodore Roosevelt, himself a sometime Naturalist, put a three day camping trip with John Muir among the highest must do's on his 1903 trip West. That particular trip spawned many land protections, influenced the 1906 creation of the Antiquities Act, and the overdue reorganization of the National Park Service.
TMOC is not just a love poem to this wild California country, but a true observational travelogue that transports the reader to its towering trees and deep valleys. Like TR I too have spent nights in the shadows of these mountains, inspired to be there by John Muir, to see what he saw, with even clearer vision. Highly recommended.
When John Muir passed into the Great Void in 1914 the US had set the tone for the the Second Industrial Revolution. A time that furthered the ideal of endless natural resources and other forms of Environmental exploitation. Leading of course to rampant consumerism that continues to deplete those same endless natural resources today.
Muir was a visionary, though thanks to a college lab accident saw with mostly poor vision. His personal experiences among the Natural Beauty of practically everything provide the reader with a literary feast of expressive prose. Like the Transcendentalists before him, Muir saw the value in the Outdoors and ever quotable seemed unable to wait until he could throw a , "...loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese in the backpack and hop over the back fence." If the true American Spirit exists in the Heart of the Wilderness, then Muir, as the Founder and First President of the Sierra Club, is it's greatest lobbyist.
The Mountains of California describes his travels in the Sierra Nevada. Having walked on these trails myself, partially on the John Muir Trail, it is easy to see why Theodore Roosevelt, himself a sometime Naturalist, put a three day camping trip with John Muir among the highest must do's on his 1903 trip West. That particular trip spawned many land protections, influenced the 1906 creation of the Antiquities Act, and the overdue reorganization of the National Park Service.
TMOC is not just a love poem to this wild California country, but a true observational travelogue that transports the reader to its towering trees and deep valleys. Like TR I too have spent nights in the shadows of these mountains, inspired to be there by John Muir, to see what he saw, with even clearer vision. Highly recommended.
September 11, 2021
Some beautiful descriptions of the Sierra mountains, with very carefully made observations. But it can be a difficult read, because of how much the landscape has been devastated by climate change, in such a short time.
> In general the south sides are convex and irregular, while the north sides are concave both in their vertical and horizontal sections; the wind in ascending these curves converges toward the summits, carrying the snow in concentrating currents with it, shooting it almost straight up into the air above the peaks, from which it is then carried away in a horizontal direction. This difference in form between the north and south sides of the peaks was almost wholly produced by the difference in the kind and quantity of the glaciation to which they have been subjected, the north sides having been hollowed by residual shadow-glaciers of a form that never existed on the sun-beaten sides.
> After gaining a point about halfway to the top, I was suddenly brought to a dead stop, with arms outspread, clinging close to the face of the rock, unable to move hand or foot either up or down. My doom appeared fixed. I must fall. There would be a moment of bewilderment, and then a lifeless rumble down the one general precipice to the glacier below. When this final danger flashed upon me, I became nerve-shaken for the first time since setting foot on the mountains, and my mind seemed to fill with a stifling smoke. But this terrible eclipse lasted only a moment, when life blazed forth again with preternatural clearness. I seemed suddenly to become possessed of a new sense. The other self, bygone experiences, Instinct, or Guardian Angel,—call it what you will,—came forward and assumed control. Then my trembling muscles became firm again, every rift and flaw in the rock was seen as through a microscope, and my limbs moved with a positiveness and precision with which I seemed to have nothing at all to do. Had I been borne aloft upon wings, my deliverance could not have been more complete. … Above this memorable spot, the face of the mountain is still more savagely hacked and torn. It is a maze of yawning chasms and gullies, in the angles of which rise beetling crags and piles of detached boulders that seem to have been gotten ready to be launched below. But the strange influx of strength I had received seemed inexhaustible. I found a way without effort, and soon stood upon the topmost crag in the blessed light. How truly glorious the landscape circled around this noble summit!—giant mountains, valleys innumerable, glaciers and meadows, rivers and lakes, with the wide blue sky bent tenderly over them all. But in my first hour of freedom from that terrible shadow, the sunlight in which I was laving seemed all in all.
> one need never be at a loss in determining, within a few hundred feet, the elevation above sea-level by the trees alone; for, notwithstanding some of the species range upward for several thousand feet, and all pass one another more or less, yet even those possessing the greatest vertical range are available in this connection, in as much as they take on new forms corresponding with the variations in altitude.
> The sugar, from which the common name is derived, is to my taste the best of sweets—better than maple sugar. It exudes from the heart-wood, where wounds have been made, either by forest fires, or the ax, in the shape of irregular, crisp, candy-like kernels, which are crowded together in masses of considerable size, like clusters of resin-beads. When fresh, it is perfectly white and delicious, but, because most of the wounds on which it is found have been made by fire, the exuding sap is stained on the charred surface, and the hardened sugar becomes brown. Indians are fond of it, but on account of its laxative properties only small quantities may be eaten. Bears, so fond of sweet things in general, seem never to taste it; at least I have failed to find any trace of their teeth in this connection.
> It appears, therefore, that notwithstanding our forest king might live on gloriously in Nature’s keeping, it is rapidly vanishing before the fire and steel of man; and unless protective measures be speedily invented and applied, in a few decades, at the farthest, all that will be left of Sequoia gigantea will be a few hacked and scarred monuments.
> The Yosemite birds are easily found during the winter because all of them excepting the Ouzel are restricted to the sunny north side of the valley, the south side being constantly eclipsed by the great frosty shadow of the wall. And because the Indian Canon groves, from their peculiar exposure, are the warmest, the birds congregate there, more especially in severe weather.
> When feeding in such places he wades up-stream, and often while his head is under water the swift current is deflected upward along the glossy curves of his neck and shoulders, in the form of a clear, crystalline shell, which fairly incloses him like a bell-glass, the shell being broken and reformed as he lifts and dips his head; while ever and anon he sidles out to where the too powerful current carries him off his feet; then he dexterously rises on the wing and goes gleaning again in shallower places.
> On the tops of nearly every one of the Nevada mountains that I have visited, I found small, nest-like inclosures built of stones, in which, as I afterward learned, one or more Indians would lie in wait while their companions scoured the ridges below, knowing that the alarmed sheep would surely run to the summit, and when they could be made to approach with the wind they were shot at short range. … On some particular spot, favorably situated with reference to the well-known trails of the sheep, they built a high-walled corral, with long guiding wings diverging from the gateway; and into this inclosure they sometimes succeeded in driving the noble game. Great numbers of Indians were of course required, more, indeed, than they could usually muster, counting in squaws, children, and all; they were compelled, therefore, to build rows of dummy hunters out of stones, along the ridge-tops which they wished to prevent the sheep from crossing. And, without discrediting the sagacity of the game, these dummies were found effective; for, with a few live Indians moving about excitedly among them, they could hardly be distinguished at a little distance from men, by any one not in the secret. The whole ridge-top then seemed to be alive with hunters.
> Hither come the San Gabriel lads and lassies, to gather ferns and dabble away their hot holidays in the cool water, glad to escape from their commonplace palm-gardens and orange-groves. The delicate maidenhair grows on fissured rocks within reach of the spray, while broad-leaved maples and sycamores cast soft, mellow shade over a rich profusion of bee-flowers, growing among boulders in front of the pool—the fall, the flowers, the bees, the ferny rocks, and leafy shade forming a charming little poem of wildness, the last of a series extending down the flowery slopes of Mount San Antonio through the rugged, foam-beaten bosses of the main Eaton Canon.
> In general the south sides are convex and irregular, while the north sides are concave both in their vertical and horizontal sections; the wind in ascending these curves converges toward the summits, carrying the snow in concentrating currents with it, shooting it almost straight up into the air above the peaks, from which it is then carried away in a horizontal direction. This difference in form between the north and south sides of the peaks was almost wholly produced by the difference in the kind and quantity of the glaciation to which they have been subjected, the north sides having been hollowed by residual shadow-glaciers of a form that never existed on the sun-beaten sides.
> After gaining a point about halfway to the top, I was suddenly brought to a dead stop, with arms outspread, clinging close to the face of the rock, unable to move hand or foot either up or down. My doom appeared fixed. I must fall. There would be a moment of bewilderment, and then a lifeless rumble down the one general precipice to the glacier below. When this final danger flashed upon me, I became nerve-shaken for the first time since setting foot on the mountains, and my mind seemed to fill with a stifling smoke. But this terrible eclipse lasted only a moment, when life blazed forth again with preternatural clearness. I seemed suddenly to become possessed of a new sense. The other self, bygone experiences, Instinct, or Guardian Angel,—call it what you will,—came forward and assumed control. Then my trembling muscles became firm again, every rift and flaw in the rock was seen as through a microscope, and my limbs moved with a positiveness and precision with which I seemed to have nothing at all to do. Had I been borne aloft upon wings, my deliverance could not have been more complete. … Above this memorable spot, the face of the mountain is still more savagely hacked and torn. It is a maze of yawning chasms and gullies, in the angles of which rise beetling crags and piles of detached boulders that seem to have been gotten ready to be launched below. But the strange influx of strength I had received seemed inexhaustible. I found a way without effort, and soon stood upon the topmost crag in the blessed light. How truly glorious the landscape circled around this noble summit!—giant mountains, valleys innumerable, glaciers and meadows, rivers and lakes, with the wide blue sky bent tenderly over them all. But in my first hour of freedom from that terrible shadow, the sunlight in which I was laving seemed all in all.
> one need never be at a loss in determining, within a few hundred feet, the elevation above sea-level by the trees alone; for, notwithstanding some of the species range upward for several thousand feet, and all pass one another more or less, yet even those possessing the greatest vertical range are available in this connection, in as much as they take on new forms corresponding with the variations in altitude.
> The sugar, from which the common name is derived, is to my taste the best of sweets—better than maple sugar. It exudes from the heart-wood, where wounds have been made, either by forest fires, or the ax, in the shape of irregular, crisp, candy-like kernels, which are crowded together in masses of considerable size, like clusters of resin-beads. When fresh, it is perfectly white and delicious, but, because most of the wounds on which it is found have been made by fire, the exuding sap is stained on the charred surface, and the hardened sugar becomes brown. Indians are fond of it, but on account of its laxative properties only small quantities may be eaten. Bears, so fond of sweet things in general, seem never to taste it; at least I have failed to find any trace of their teeth in this connection.
> It appears, therefore, that notwithstanding our forest king might live on gloriously in Nature’s keeping, it is rapidly vanishing before the fire and steel of man; and unless protective measures be speedily invented and applied, in a few decades, at the farthest, all that will be left of Sequoia gigantea will be a few hacked and scarred monuments.
> The Yosemite birds are easily found during the winter because all of them excepting the Ouzel are restricted to the sunny north side of the valley, the south side being constantly eclipsed by the great frosty shadow of the wall. And because the Indian Canon groves, from their peculiar exposure, are the warmest, the birds congregate there, more especially in severe weather.
> When feeding in such places he wades up-stream, and often while his head is under water the swift current is deflected upward along the glossy curves of his neck and shoulders, in the form of a clear, crystalline shell, which fairly incloses him like a bell-glass, the shell being broken and reformed as he lifts and dips his head; while ever and anon he sidles out to where the too powerful current carries him off his feet; then he dexterously rises on the wing and goes gleaning again in shallower places.
> On the tops of nearly every one of the Nevada mountains that I have visited, I found small, nest-like inclosures built of stones, in which, as I afterward learned, one or more Indians would lie in wait while their companions scoured the ridges below, knowing that the alarmed sheep would surely run to the summit, and when they could be made to approach with the wind they were shot at short range. … On some particular spot, favorably situated with reference to the well-known trails of the sheep, they built a high-walled corral, with long guiding wings diverging from the gateway; and into this inclosure they sometimes succeeded in driving the noble game. Great numbers of Indians were of course required, more, indeed, than they could usually muster, counting in squaws, children, and all; they were compelled, therefore, to build rows of dummy hunters out of stones, along the ridge-tops which they wished to prevent the sheep from crossing. And, without discrediting the sagacity of the game, these dummies were found effective; for, with a few live Indians moving about excitedly among them, they could hardly be distinguished at a little distance from men, by any one not in the secret. The whole ridge-top then seemed to be alive with hunters.
> Hither come the San Gabriel lads and lassies, to gather ferns and dabble away their hot holidays in the cool water, glad to escape from their commonplace palm-gardens and orange-groves. The delicate maidenhair grows on fissured rocks within reach of the spray, while broad-leaved maples and sycamores cast soft, mellow shade over a rich profusion of bee-flowers, growing among boulders in front of the pool—the fall, the flowers, the bees, the ferny rocks, and leafy shade forming a charming little poem of wildness, the last of a series extending down the flowery slopes of Mount San Antonio through the rugged, foam-beaten bosses of the main Eaton Canon.
August 22, 2008
I just ended a seven year affair with this book. No yelling, and I got to keep all my stuff. It was a gift from a friend in 2001, the year of Yosemite, my own life-altering event. The chapter on the various pine trees hung me up-I'm a leafy kind of guy. Rustling decidui are so much more satisfying than quivering needles.
Seven years later, I finish it, heartbroken. And bored. Sometimes shivering with suppressed laughter (I like to think the other people on the bus are weird, but wouldn't have them thinking the same of me). Wanting to reach out and touch naked granite. Wanting to throw the goddamn book out the window, or into a fire. It was love, concentrated.
John Muir; what a gigolo. I don't think I've ever been so turned on reading about glacier formed lakes. This book threw me back in to the meadows; the giddiness and the smell of old ketchup (not included in the book). The easy-on-the-eyes granite domes. Great friends, fine times. Bear poop.
The meadows are the pulsing light that I hover around on this coast, slapping my proboscis against the screen door. Muir really loved it though (bastard), and told its story. I was just there for a bit.
As it made me suffer through all those horrible love lost heartaches...well, the star rating system just breaks down at this point.
Seven years later, I finish it, heartbroken. And bored. Sometimes shivering with suppressed laughter (I like to think the other people on the bus are weird, but wouldn't have them thinking the same of me). Wanting to reach out and touch naked granite. Wanting to throw the goddamn book out the window, or into a fire. It was love, concentrated.
John Muir; what a gigolo. I don't think I've ever been so turned on reading about glacier formed lakes. This book threw me back in to the meadows; the giddiness and the smell of old ketchup (not included in the book). The easy-on-the-eyes granite domes. Great friends, fine times. Bear poop.
The meadows are the pulsing light that I hover around on this coast, slapping my proboscis against the screen door. Muir really loved it though (bastard), and told its story. I was just there for a bit.
As it made me suffer through all those horrible love lost heartaches...well, the star rating system just breaks down at this point.
March 20, 2012
The Mountains of California by John Muir was published in 1894 and was undoubtedly written as a travel log for people that wouldn’t or couldn’t visit the area. John Muir saves no adjectives in painting a wordy picture of the west coast of the United States. No one would ever confuse this author with Mark Twain or Bill Bryson as I found his narrative completely void of humor; leaving the story as a whole, dry and static. Its lack of page turning pleasure doesn’t mean that it has no merits at all, in contrary it has many interesting facts and the message it gives leaves the reader with questions that are asked even today more than one hundred and ten years later. He wrote that the glaciers were constantly melting and lessening with the passing of each year. He says that the temperatures on earth are slowly increasing which gives me some doubts about the global warming issues and theories of the twenty-first century. This isn’t a book for everyone as I found it a challenge to complete but my tenacity won this battle and I kept the pages turning. Few written works can defeat me once I’ve decided to read it. I suppose this stems from my firm belief that anyone that puts pen to paper and write a book, must have something to say.
January 9, 2011
Not currently on the NY Times bestseller list, but I enjoyed it. I love the mountains and, like Muir, have a penchant for the Sierras. Its not a Dan Brown page turner but Muir writes with some smartly unique turns of phrase that keep you going. And he's talking about the Sierras! and that's enough for me.
August 1, 2016
John Muir's first book on the Serria Mountains of California. In it he the flora, fauna, and geographic features of the region and the dangers to them. This is an excellent nature read. I got my copy at Sequoia National Park and used it as a guide to some of the majestic features.
October 14, 2018
This is not a "book" about "the mountains". Its textual imagery goes past anything as pedestrian as being a guidebook or historical description. That didn't stand out at first, but about half way through this one it was apparent that a book can be like a song, carrying an emotional impact greater than its lyrics or melody. It has a surface appearance (the words) and in those weaves a larger feeling as well--memories of the place, memories of how you came to experience this one. So here.
Muir's century old writing style and language is both a challenge and also a gift. His observational skill is remarkable as is the detail that emerges from the long and winding sentences and the range of the words he uses. A lost literary art, that. His fearlessness in exploring what is to this day a wild area (and with only "a bit of bread" and a blanket most of the time it seems) is at odds with our often over prepared ventures into the wilds and the world with "the right gear". It seems he experienced far more there than a better equipped modern traveller lost in the stuff and preparations probably could. He certainly seems far less worried about what might happen and far more interested in what he could find. And not at all concerned about being "off the grid"--taking a short walk of several weeks to him was nothing.
Being well familiar with many of the areas, trees, animals and geology he describes in detail was both good and sad; to see them through his eyes and also to have seen what has happened to them is sometimes gratifying (because of what is still there) and sometimes also maddening (for what is not). One mystical canyon and river in particular exists not at all, being under hundreds of feet of water behind a dam...
In the same way, reading this particular book, a 1917 version (so just a few years after he wrote it) also highlighted how much has changed--both in those mountains and in how the book came to me at all. The thoughtfulness of the gift, the quality of the binding, the weight of the paper and the feel of it all made the words much more poignant compared to the book finished just before picking this one up; it feels on the one hand timeless and solid but on the other so ultimately just transient.
This good book in this old edition is like a picture or smell or song that takes you back in time and emotion. Not all books can or should any more than all music can or should, but when they do its powerful and well worth the time spent-both past and present.
Muir's century old writing style and language is both a challenge and also a gift. His observational skill is remarkable as is the detail that emerges from the long and winding sentences and the range of the words he uses. A lost literary art, that. His fearlessness in exploring what is to this day a wild area (and with only "a bit of bread" and a blanket most of the time it seems) is at odds with our often over prepared ventures into the wilds and the world with "the right gear". It seems he experienced far more there than a better equipped modern traveller lost in the stuff and preparations probably could. He certainly seems far less worried about what might happen and far more interested in what he could find. And not at all concerned about being "off the grid"--taking a short walk of several weeks to him was nothing.
Being well familiar with many of the areas, trees, animals and geology he describes in detail was both good and sad; to see them through his eyes and also to have seen what has happened to them is sometimes gratifying (because of what is still there) and sometimes also maddening (for what is not). One mystical canyon and river in particular exists not at all, being under hundreds of feet of water behind a dam...
In the same way, reading this particular book, a 1917 version (so just a few years after he wrote it) also highlighted how much has changed--both in those mountains and in how the book came to me at all. The thoughtfulness of the gift, the quality of the binding, the weight of the paper and the feel of it all made the words much more poignant compared to the book finished just before picking this one up; it feels on the one hand timeless and solid but on the other so ultimately just transient.
This good book in this old edition is like a picture or smell or song that takes you back in time and emotion. Not all books can or should any more than all music can or should, but when they do its powerful and well worth the time spent-both past and present.
March 3, 2019
You must read this work for what it is. It is a descriptive text, not a narrative, though there are a few developing stories sprinkled throughout, such as Muir’s daring encounter upon Mt. Ritter. This is actually the first of Muir’s work’s I’ve ever read. I now know why he has endured throughout the centuries. Nowhere else have I seen someone so vividly record one’s reactions to the natural world so as to place us directly into the writer’s shoes. If this were a mere scientific survey of the Californian wilderness, then subsequent like surveys would have long replaced it. So why does Muir endure? His vivid use of similae and metaphor: (speaking to the summertime thunder-clouds) “No mountain or mountain-range, however divinely clothes with light, has a more enduring charm than those fleeting mountains of the sky - floating fountains bearing water for ever well, the angels of the streams and lakes; brooding in the deep azure, or sweeping softly along the ground over ridge and dome, over meadow, over forest, over garden and grove; lingering with cooling shadows, refreshing every flower, and soothing rugged rock brows with a gentleness of touch and gesture wholly Devine.”
September 7, 2025
We are lucky to have Muir's loving account of the Sierras before they become even more diminished into our present day. There exists such a joy in his description of the various trees, flower filled meadows, and my beloved Ouzel.
Read
August 18, 2024Compared to a fiction book, this is really boring...
Considering it's a nature book, I'd guess it's one of the best in the genre.
John Muir's love of nature was so evident in his luminous prose - makes me want to go walk around alone in a forest for a few days.
"For going to the mountains is like going home."
Considering it's a nature book, I'd guess it's one of the best in the genre.
John Muir's love of nature was so evident in his luminous prose - makes me want to go walk around alone in a forest for a few days.
"For going to the mountains is like going home."
September 3, 2018
I recommend pairing this book with backpacking in the sierras
September 5, 2019
Muir's Mountaineering
The word 'mountaineering' is falling out of fashion as it becomes smothered by other terms that appear to capture mountain risk more dramatically like 'climbing' and 'Alpinism'. The media are addicted to the risk of mountain activity so I don't think quaint old 'mountaineering' does it for them. But John Muir puts us straight on this and has no doubt about the term. For Muir, those who travel in the mountains are mountaineers, including animals. Simple, straightforward and etymologically sound I think. But Muir goes further than this. It becomes clear as you read The Mountains of California that the term 'mountaineer' is not really just about travelling. For Muir (and me) it is also about the dispositions we take on our travels into the mountains. By the way, can animals have dispositions? Yes I think they can and Muir does too, if we take the word to mean 'character' or 'temperament'. Muir always invests animal life with character; there's a whole wonderful chapter in this book about the Douglas Squirrel and its character - they definitely have dispositions and this leads to an important point. For Muir, the mountain world at large has dispositions and this is how he brings it into being so effectively. Waterfalls 'chant solemnly' (29), glacier lakes are 'rejoicing' (57) and the mountain oaks are 'mountaineers...growing bravely and attaining noble dimensions' (107). While these descriptions might echo some of the standard writing of the Romantics, Muir does much more than this. He is a brilliantly well-informed wilderness naturalist, an adventurer, a geologist and a revolutionary ecologist; with this combination of talents, his writing in this, his first book, is uplifting and spiritually refreshing. But let's return to the term mountaineering for a minute. In The Mountains of California Muir purposefully conflates a naturalist's vigorous understanding of wildness, a spiritual awe and a protective regard for the special world of mountains - that is what mountaineering means to him and it is an excellent manifesto for us to consider as an antidote (if you need one and I do) to the higher, harder, faster, colder, quicker approach to mountaineering the media have fallen for.
On a few occasions Muir exhorts lowlanders to come and see the mountains for themselves (page 39 for example) though it is clear he is not inviting those who bring 'business' with them. On page 57, Muir refers to the shepherding of cattle into the Shadow Lake area and ends this section with the comment: 'the money changers were in the temple'. Sounds like a description of the scramble for Everest clients and cash. This further echoes Muir's thoughts on mountaineering and the purposes of the natural world and emphasises again that people who bring a open spirit of respectful engagement for adventures in Wild landscapes are welcome. Others are not; and good for him. This was not just an 'opinion' for Muir; it was part of his body. This book reveals Muir's revolutionary zeal for the natural world around him and in this way can be interestingly understood by a phenomenological approach; in other words, addressing the meanings of things through experience. Muir sets out to write about trees or bees but usually ends up describing an adventure he has had. He is often drawn back to action to experience fully through his senses the significance of natural world objects and events; also to experience himself and others in the 'life-world' of mountains. This intensity of engagement to action would have played a great part in persuading Theodore Roosevelt to support the federal protection of Yosemite Valley and the Mariposa Grove. That makes Muir's three-night camping trip with Roosevelt in 1903 probably the most important few nights under the stars in conservation history - what a President - imagine Trump doing that.
So, to return to mountaineering; the term takes on a spiritual dimension for Muir. For him, mountaineering forms a series of spiritual principles underpinned by Christianity; this came from Muir's upbringing. In his obituary to his father, he comments:
...throughout almost his whole life as soldier, merchant and farmer, as well as evangelist he was an enthusiastic believer and upholder of the gospel and it is this vivid burning belief that forms the groundwork of his character'. He goes on to comment about his father's 'search of a better creed' and 'active zeal among its members.
This spiritual zeal was in John Muir too and for him mountain adventure became an act of prayer to the natural world. What really interests me too is that this book can extend beyond one religious orthodoxy. Raymond Barnett for example in Earth Wisdom: John Muir, Accidental Taoist (CreateSpace, 2016) considers Muir's 'earth wisdom' - a path to becoming whole by connecting with the natural world. Barnett explores some of the values and beliefs of Taoism in relation to Muir's spirituality. Taoism endorses the close observation of nature and in particular, the diverse forces within the natural world. Muir does this often, particularly when writing about glaciers. Take for example this passage in chapter 4:
Massive flat top spurs alternate with the gorges plunging abruptly from the shoulders of the snowy peaks and planting their feet in the warm desert. These were everywhere marked and adorned with characteristic sculptures of the ancient glaciers that swept over this entire region like one vast ice wind and the polished surfaces produced by the ponderous flood are still so perfectly preserved that in many places the sunlight reflected from them is about as trying to the eyes as sheets of snow. God's glacial-mills grind slowly but they have been kept in motion long enough in California to grind sufficient soil for a glorious abundance of life, though most of the grist has been carried to the lowlands leaving these high regions comparatively lean and bare...
Here Muir displays his geological understanding but always in the context of a powerful spiritual force and with a commitment to poetic sensibilities both in writing and engagement. By the way, Chapter 4: 'A near View of the High Sierra', is from start to finish a tour de force of poetic naturalist adventure writing always underpinned by the greater significance of who we are and where we are going. Randomly, when reading this book I'm reminded of the biomimetic architecture of the Sagrada Familia.
As others have done in the past, I can find fault with Muir's attitude toward 'Indians'. On page 46 he encounters what he describes as 'strange creatures' who seemed to have 'no right place in this landscape'. Again Raymond Barnett is a useful source regarding Muir. He explains that in 1869 Muir was young, and 'ignorant of the history of California and the tragic drama still playing out between its Native Americans and his fellow Anglo-Americans'. (http://www.raymondbarnett.com/blog/po...). Barnett's blog is worth reading on this issue.
Muir's writing in The Mountains of California is sometimes a little overblown and perhaps too obviously biblical in places but what I find constantly engaging is the poetry of spirit he brings. He consistently makes us consider the uplifting beauty of the landscape through detail and adventure within that world. He is no cold scientist though he could be if he wanted to. He is instead a wonderful naturalist who always wants his reader to appreciate what mountain environments can offer us. He uses the word ‘sublime’ frequently in this book. The word has developed in meaning over the years but The Mountains of California emphasises the sublime as celebrating the important of the natural world as greater than us - an important reminder for any mountaineer.
The word 'mountaineering' is falling out of fashion as it becomes smothered by other terms that appear to capture mountain risk more dramatically like 'climbing' and 'Alpinism'. The media are addicted to the risk of mountain activity so I don't think quaint old 'mountaineering' does it for them. But John Muir puts us straight on this and has no doubt about the term. For Muir, those who travel in the mountains are mountaineers, including animals. Simple, straightforward and etymologically sound I think. But Muir goes further than this. It becomes clear as you read The Mountains of California that the term 'mountaineer' is not really just about travelling. For Muir (and me) it is also about the dispositions we take on our travels into the mountains. By the way, can animals have dispositions? Yes I think they can and Muir does too, if we take the word to mean 'character' or 'temperament'. Muir always invests animal life with character; there's a whole wonderful chapter in this book about the Douglas Squirrel and its character - they definitely have dispositions and this leads to an important point. For Muir, the mountain world at large has dispositions and this is how he brings it into being so effectively. Waterfalls 'chant solemnly' (29), glacier lakes are 'rejoicing' (57) and the mountain oaks are 'mountaineers...growing bravely and attaining noble dimensions' (107). While these descriptions might echo some of the standard writing of the Romantics, Muir does much more than this. He is a brilliantly well-informed wilderness naturalist, an adventurer, a geologist and a revolutionary ecologist; with this combination of talents, his writing in this, his first book, is uplifting and spiritually refreshing. But let's return to the term mountaineering for a minute. In The Mountains of California Muir purposefully conflates a naturalist's vigorous understanding of wildness, a spiritual awe and a protective regard for the special world of mountains - that is what mountaineering means to him and it is an excellent manifesto for us to consider as an antidote (if you need one and I do) to the higher, harder, faster, colder, quicker approach to mountaineering the media have fallen for.
On a few occasions Muir exhorts lowlanders to come and see the mountains for themselves (page 39 for example) though it is clear he is not inviting those who bring 'business' with them. On page 57, Muir refers to the shepherding of cattle into the Shadow Lake area and ends this section with the comment: 'the money changers were in the temple'. Sounds like a description of the scramble for Everest clients and cash. This further echoes Muir's thoughts on mountaineering and the purposes of the natural world and emphasises again that people who bring a open spirit of respectful engagement for adventures in Wild landscapes are welcome. Others are not; and good for him. This was not just an 'opinion' for Muir; it was part of his body. This book reveals Muir's revolutionary zeal for the natural world around him and in this way can be interestingly understood by a phenomenological approach; in other words, addressing the meanings of things through experience. Muir sets out to write about trees or bees but usually ends up describing an adventure he has had. He is often drawn back to action to experience fully through his senses the significance of natural world objects and events; also to experience himself and others in the 'life-world' of mountains. This intensity of engagement to action would have played a great part in persuading Theodore Roosevelt to support the federal protection of Yosemite Valley and the Mariposa Grove. That makes Muir's three-night camping trip with Roosevelt in 1903 probably the most important few nights under the stars in conservation history - what a President - imagine Trump doing that.
So, to return to mountaineering; the term takes on a spiritual dimension for Muir. For him, mountaineering forms a series of spiritual principles underpinned by Christianity; this came from Muir's upbringing. In his obituary to his father, he comments:
...throughout almost his whole life as soldier, merchant and farmer, as well as evangelist he was an enthusiastic believer and upholder of the gospel and it is this vivid burning belief that forms the groundwork of his character'. He goes on to comment about his father's 'search of a better creed' and 'active zeal among its members.
This spiritual zeal was in John Muir too and for him mountain adventure became an act of prayer to the natural world. What really interests me too is that this book can extend beyond one religious orthodoxy. Raymond Barnett for example in Earth Wisdom: John Muir, Accidental Taoist (CreateSpace, 2016) considers Muir's 'earth wisdom' - a path to becoming whole by connecting with the natural world. Barnett explores some of the values and beliefs of Taoism in relation to Muir's spirituality. Taoism endorses the close observation of nature and in particular, the diverse forces within the natural world. Muir does this often, particularly when writing about glaciers. Take for example this passage in chapter 4:
Massive flat top spurs alternate with the gorges plunging abruptly from the shoulders of the snowy peaks and planting their feet in the warm desert. These were everywhere marked and adorned with characteristic sculptures of the ancient glaciers that swept over this entire region like one vast ice wind and the polished surfaces produced by the ponderous flood are still so perfectly preserved that in many places the sunlight reflected from them is about as trying to the eyes as sheets of snow. God's glacial-mills grind slowly but they have been kept in motion long enough in California to grind sufficient soil for a glorious abundance of life, though most of the grist has been carried to the lowlands leaving these high regions comparatively lean and bare...
Here Muir displays his geological understanding but always in the context of a powerful spiritual force and with a commitment to poetic sensibilities both in writing and engagement. By the way, Chapter 4: 'A near View of the High Sierra', is from start to finish a tour de force of poetic naturalist adventure writing always underpinned by the greater significance of who we are and where we are going. Randomly, when reading this book I'm reminded of the biomimetic architecture of the Sagrada Familia.
As others have done in the past, I can find fault with Muir's attitude toward 'Indians'. On page 46 he encounters what he describes as 'strange creatures' who seemed to have 'no right place in this landscape'. Again Raymond Barnett is a useful source regarding Muir. He explains that in 1869 Muir was young, and 'ignorant of the history of California and the tragic drama still playing out between its Native Americans and his fellow Anglo-Americans'. (http://www.raymondbarnett.com/blog/po...). Barnett's blog is worth reading on this issue.
Muir's writing in The Mountains of California is sometimes a little overblown and perhaps too obviously biblical in places but what I find constantly engaging is the poetry of spirit he brings. He consistently makes us consider the uplifting beauty of the landscape through detail and adventure within that world. He is no cold scientist though he could be if he wanted to. He is instead a wonderful naturalist who always wants his reader to appreciate what mountain environments can offer us. He uses the word ‘sublime’ frequently in this book. The word has developed in meaning over the years but The Mountains of California emphasises the sublime as celebrating the important of the natural world as greater than us - an important reminder for any mountaineer.
July 3, 2020
This is NOT a book critique or review. The book is interesting to me, but it seems a bit too much. Does seem often rather a superfluous coverage of this topic. And Muir is bound to write in poetic flavor, which does not enhance its authenticity.
Here is a lengthy passage well along in the book concerning (his favorite and mine) the WATER OUZEL, SO ANY READER OF THIS POST CAN GET A GOOD SENSE OF HOW MUIR DEALS WITH THE MANY TOPICS INCLUDED IN THIS BOOK.
The waterfalls of the Sierra are frequented by only one bird,—the Ouzel or Water Thrush (Cinclus Mexicanus, SW.). He is a singularly joyous and lovable little fellow, about the size of a robin, clad in a plain waterproof suit of bluish gray, with a tinge of chocolate on the head and shoulders. In form he is about as smoothly plump and compact as a pebble that has been whirled in a pot-hole, the flowing contour of his body being interrupted only by his strong feet and bill, the crisp wing-tips, and the up-slanted wren-like tail. Among all the countless waterfalls I have met in the course of ten years’ exploration in the Sierra, whether among the icy peaks, or warm foot-hills, or in the profound yosemitic cañons of the middle region, not one was found without its Ouzel. No cañon is too cold for this little bird, none too lonely, provided it be rich in falling water. Find a fall, or cascade, or rushing rapid, anywhere upon a clear stream, and there you will surely find its complementary Ouzel, flitting about in the spray, diving in foaming eddies, whirling like a leaf among beaten foam-bells; ever vigorous and enthusiastic, yet self-contained, and neither seeking nor shunning your company.
If disturbed while dipping about in the margin shallows, he either sets off with a rapid whir to some other feeding-ground up or down the stream, or alights on some half-submerged rock or snag out in the current, and immediately begins to nod and courtesy like a wren, turning his head from side to side with many other odd dainty movements that never fail to fix the attention of the observer.
He is the mountain streams’ own darling, the humming-bird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam as a bee loves flowers, as a lark loves sunshine and meadows. Among all the mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings,—none so unfailingly. For both in winter and summer he sings, sweetly, cheerily, independent alike of sunshine and of love, requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells. While water sings, so must he, in heat or cold, calm or storm, ever attuning his voice in sure accord; low in the drought of summer and the drought of winter, but never silent.
During the golden days of Indian summer, after most of the snow has been melted, and the mountain streams have become feeble,—a succession of silent pools, linked together by shallow, transparent currents and strips of silvery lacework,—then the song of the Ouzel is at its lowest ebb. But as soon as the winter clouds have bloomed, and the mountain treasuries are once more replenished with snow, the voices of the streams and ouzels increase in strength and richness until the flood season of early summer. Then the torrents chant their noblest anthems, and then is the flood-time of our songster’s melody. As for weather, dark days and sun days are the same to him. The voices of most song-birds, however joyous, suffer a long winter eclipse; but the Ouzel sings on through all the seasons and every kind of storm. Indeed no storm can be more violent than those of the waterfalls in the midst of which he delights to dwell. However dark and boisterous the weather, snowing, blowing, or cloudy, all the same he sings, and with never a note of sadness. No need of spring sunshine to thaw his song, for it never freezes. Never shall you hear anything wintry from his warm breast; no pinched cheeping, no wavering notes between sorrow and joy; his mellow, fluty voice is ever tuned to downright gladness, as free from dejection as cock-crowing.
It is pitiful to see wee frost-pinched sparrows on cold mornings in the mountain groves shaking the snow from their feathers, and hopping about as if anxious to be cheery, then hastening back to their hidings out of the wind, puffing out their breast-feathers over their toes, and subsiding among the leaves, cold and breakfastless, while the snow continues to fall, and there is no sign of clearing. But the Ouzel never calls forth a single touch of pity; not because he is strong to endure, but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary.
One wild winter morning, when Yosemite Valley was swept its length from west to east by a cordial snow-storm, I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy. A sort of gray, gloaming-like darkness filled the valley, the huge walls were out of sight, all ordinary sounds were smothered, and even the loudest booming of the falls was at times buried beneath the roar of the heavy-laden blast. The loose snow was already over five feet deep on the meadows, making extended walks impossible without the aid of snow-shoes. I found no great difficulty, however, in making my way to a certain ripple on the river where one of my ouzels lived. He was at home, busily gleaning his breakfast among the pebbles of a shallow portion of the margin, apparently unaware of anything extraordinary in the weather. Presently he flew out to a stone against which the icy current was beating, and turning his back to the wind, sang as delightfully as a lark in springtime.
Here is a lengthy passage well along in the book concerning (his favorite and mine) the WATER OUZEL, SO ANY READER OF THIS POST CAN GET A GOOD SENSE OF HOW MUIR DEALS WITH THE MANY TOPICS INCLUDED IN THIS BOOK.
The waterfalls of the Sierra are frequented by only one bird,—the Ouzel or Water Thrush (Cinclus Mexicanus, SW.). He is a singularly joyous and lovable little fellow, about the size of a robin, clad in a plain waterproof suit of bluish gray, with a tinge of chocolate on the head and shoulders. In form he is about as smoothly plump and compact as a pebble that has been whirled in a pot-hole, the flowing contour of his body being interrupted only by his strong feet and bill, the crisp wing-tips, and the up-slanted wren-like tail. Among all the countless waterfalls I have met in the course of ten years’ exploration in the Sierra, whether among the icy peaks, or warm foot-hills, or in the profound yosemitic cañons of the middle region, not one was found without its Ouzel. No cañon is too cold for this little bird, none too lonely, provided it be rich in falling water. Find a fall, or cascade, or rushing rapid, anywhere upon a clear stream, and there you will surely find its complementary Ouzel, flitting about in the spray, diving in foaming eddies, whirling like a leaf among beaten foam-bells; ever vigorous and enthusiastic, yet self-contained, and neither seeking nor shunning your company.
If disturbed while dipping about in the margin shallows, he either sets off with a rapid whir to some other feeding-ground up or down the stream, or alights on some half-submerged rock or snag out in the current, and immediately begins to nod and courtesy like a wren, turning his head from side to side with many other odd dainty movements that never fail to fix the attention of the observer.
He is the mountain streams’ own darling, the humming-bird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam as a bee loves flowers, as a lark loves sunshine and meadows. Among all the mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings,—none so unfailingly. For both in winter and summer he sings, sweetly, cheerily, independent alike of sunshine and of love, requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells. While water sings, so must he, in heat or cold, calm or storm, ever attuning his voice in sure accord; low in the drought of summer and the drought of winter, but never silent.
During the golden days of Indian summer, after most of the snow has been melted, and the mountain streams have become feeble,—a succession of silent pools, linked together by shallow, transparent currents and strips of silvery lacework,—then the song of the Ouzel is at its lowest ebb. But as soon as the winter clouds have bloomed, and the mountain treasuries are once more replenished with snow, the voices of the streams and ouzels increase in strength and richness until the flood season of early summer. Then the torrents chant their noblest anthems, and then is the flood-time of our songster’s melody. As for weather, dark days and sun days are the same to him. The voices of most song-birds, however joyous, suffer a long winter eclipse; but the Ouzel sings on through all the seasons and every kind of storm. Indeed no storm can be more violent than those of the waterfalls in the midst of which he delights to dwell. However dark and boisterous the weather, snowing, blowing, or cloudy, all the same he sings, and with never a note of sadness. No need of spring sunshine to thaw his song, for it never freezes. Never shall you hear anything wintry from his warm breast; no pinched cheeping, no wavering notes between sorrow and joy; his mellow, fluty voice is ever tuned to downright gladness, as free from dejection as cock-crowing.
It is pitiful to see wee frost-pinched sparrows on cold mornings in the mountain groves shaking the snow from their feathers, and hopping about as if anxious to be cheery, then hastening back to their hidings out of the wind, puffing out their breast-feathers over their toes, and subsiding among the leaves, cold and breakfastless, while the snow continues to fall, and there is no sign of clearing. But the Ouzel never calls forth a single touch of pity; not because he is strong to endure, but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary.
One wild winter morning, when Yosemite Valley was swept its length from west to east by a cordial snow-storm, I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy. A sort of gray, gloaming-like darkness filled the valley, the huge walls were out of sight, all ordinary sounds were smothered, and even the loudest booming of the falls was at times buried beneath the roar of the heavy-laden blast. The loose snow was already over five feet deep on the meadows, making extended walks impossible without the aid of snow-shoes. I found no great difficulty, however, in making my way to a certain ripple on the river where one of my ouzels lived. He was at home, busily gleaning his breakfast among the pebbles of a shallow portion of the margin, apparently unaware of anything extraordinary in the weather. Presently he flew out to a stone against which the icy current was beating, and turning his back to the wind, sang as delightfully as a lark in springtime.
January 3, 2012
This was a hard slog. While amazing in pretty much every other way, Muir was not a great writer. I stuck with it -- and plan to read more of his books -- because he saw our greatest natural wonders when they were still untouched. Loved his curiosity and appreciation for the smallest details.
On the glacier lakes in the Sierra range: "they are well stocked with happy frogs. How did the frogs get into them in the first place?"
On the glacier lakes in the Sierra range: "they are well stocked with happy frogs. How did the frogs get into them in the first place?"
March 16, 2008
I've tried so many times to read this. I just can't get into it. The writing is so dry and colorless. I would hope the Sierras would bring more from a writer.
February 10, 2017
This could have been more boring, I'm just not sure how. Possibly, I just wasn't in the mood for this type of book, so I may try it again some other time.
April 19, 2021
*Not my favorite book, but Muir clearly has immense love for his subject and I so enjoyed many of his descriptions:
"...the crop of snow-flowers is diminishing" (20).
"The first winter-clouds had already bloomed…" (53).
"The darkest scriptures of the mountains are illumined with bright passages of love that never fail to make themselves felt when one is alone" (57-58).
"… with plenty of wind-played needles to sing one to sleep" (58).
*Describing the Douglas squirrel: "...a fiery, sputtering little bolt of life..." (229) and, "One never tires of this bright chip of nature..." (230).
*Muir decides to spend a wind storm in a tree top: "I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past. The fragrance of the woods was less marked than that produced during one rain, when so many balsamic buds and leaves are steeped like tea; but, from the chafing of resiny branches against each other, and the incessant attrition of myriads of needles, the gale was spiced to a very tonic degree. And besides the fragrance from these local sources there were traces of scents brought from afar. For this wind came first from the sea, rubbing against its fresh, briny waves, then distilled through the redwoods, threading rich ferny gulches, and spreading itself in broad undulating currents over many a flower-enameled ridge of the coast mountains, then across the golden plains, at the purple foot-hills, and into these piny woods with the varied incense gathered by the way" (254).
"...fragrance-fountains of the storm" (268).
"...those fleeting mountains of the sky--floating fountains bearing water for every well..." (272).
*On the water-ouzel: "He is the mountain streams' own darling, the humming-bird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam…" (278).
"… I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy" (279). *What a beautiful way to view going for a walk.
"In the mean time, the pure waste going on – the wanton destruction of the innocence--is a sad sight to see, and the sun may well be pitied in being compelled to look on" (350).
"...the fall, the flowers, the bees, the ferny rocks, and leafy shade forming a charming little poem of wildness…" (376-377).
"...the crop of snow-flowers is diminishing" (20).
"The first winter-clouds had already bloomed…" (53).
"The darkest scriptures of the mountains are illumined with bright passages of love that never fail to make themselves felt when one is alone" (57-58).
"… with plenty of wind-played needles to sing one to sleep" (58).
*Describing the Douglas squirrel: "...a fiery, sputtering little bolt of life..." (229) and, "One never tires of this bright chip of nature..." (230).
*Muir decides to spend a wind storm in a tree top: "I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past. The fragrance of the woods was less marked than that produced during one rain, when so many balsamic buds and leaves are steeped like tea; but, from the chafing of resiny branches against each other, and the incessant attrition of myriads of needles, the gale was spiced to a very tonic degree. And besides the fragrance from these local sources there were traces of scents brought from afar. For this wind came first from the sea, rubbing against its fresh, briny waves, then distilled through the redwoods, threading rich ferny gulches, and spreading itself in broad undulating currents over many a flower-enameled ridge of the coast mountains, then across the golden plains, at the purple foot-hills, and into these piny woods with the varied incense gathered by the way" (254).
"...fragrance-fountains of the storm" (268).
"...those fleeting mountains of the sky--floating fountains bearing water for every well..." (272).
*On the water-ouzel: "He is the mountain streams' own darling, the humming-bird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam…" (278).
"… I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy" (279). *What a beautiful way to view going for a walk.
"In the mean time, the pure waste going on – the wanton destruction of the innocence--is a sad sight to see, and the sun may well be pitied in being compelled to look on" (350).
"...the fall, the flowers, the bees, the ferny rocks, and leafy shade forming a charming little poem of wildness…" (376-377).
June 28, 2019
The work of John Muir is not a book that just talks about the mountains. His penetrating view, his insatiable thirst for exploration, his literary prose combined with scientific discourse, make Yosemite Valley come to life in front of the reader's eye. His topographical and geological knowledge is indeed admirable. His pen is intersecting all that surrounds him with the precision of an anatomical surgeon: the granite volumes, the gorges, the passages through the mountains, the trees, the lakes, the glaciers, the weather changes, the waterfalls, the birds, the wild animals. Everything is described with cinematic clarity and vitality that stems from Muir's writing skills, but also from the irresistible attraction that he feels about nature. With the spirit of an authentic Bodhisattva who left for the “long journey” and returns to confide the mysteries of an unknown yet world, Muir makes us participants of this mystical experience.
Muir observes and hears everything. He captures them in their entirety: “But the winds go to every tree, fingering every leaf and branch and furrowed bole; not one is forgotten”. His descriptions include some of the most famous mountains – Mount Rainier, Mount Whitney, Mount Ritter – that in the future inspired many climbers and mountaineers. The Mountains of California is "universal". It is a masterpiece for everyone with genuine love towards nature. What Muir's work teaches us is that true “wealth” lies out there. All we have to do is go and discover it: “For going to the mountains is like going home. We always find the strangest objects in these fountain wilds are in some degree familiar and we look at them with a vague sense of having seen them before”.
Muir observes and hears everything. He captures them in their entirety: “But the winds go to every tree, fingering every leaf and branch and furrowed bole; not one is forgotten”. His descriptions include some of the most famous mountains – Mount Rainier, Mount Whitney, Mount Ritter – that in the future inspired many climbers and mountaineers. The Mountains of California is "universal". It is a masterpiece for everyone with genuine love towards nature. What Muir's work teaches us is that true “wealth” lies out there. All we have to do is go and discover it: “For going to the mountains is like going home. We always find the strangest objects in these fountain wilds are in some degree familiar and we look at them with a vague sense of having seen them before”.
October 6, 2020
John Muir was born a first generation immigrant to a family who moved him from the Scottish hills to Wisconsin's green, flat pastures. By his late teens he was established as a burgeoning industrialist but a twist of fate lead him to literally seek a different path and he began to pursue the natural world as opposed to the industrial one that had demanded his life's time up until that point.
Muir was raised in a stout religious family and had the teachings of the scripture literally beat into his head from a very young age. In the canyons of meadows of America he discovered new cathedrals and developed a religion of his own akin to that of God's design. He reveled in the simplicity of mountain blossoms just as he marveled at the peaks and valleys that defined the Cascade Range's granite fortresses and plunging chasms.
The word of scripture became the language that Muir communicated the natural world to the reader, he used his amazing faculties and experience with language to enlighten all who were willing to the world outside their doors.
The Mountains of California is one of Muir's earliest and finest writings. He does not overlook the simplest elements of both nature or geology in his praise for the mountains he came to know as "the Range of Light". Any lover of nature would do themselves a favor in reading this book, whether it takes a week or a year, the experience is well worth the effort.
Muir was raised in a stout religious family and had the teachings of the scripture literally beat into his head from a very young age. In the canyons of meadows of America he discovered new cathedrals and developed a religion of his own akin to that of God's design. He reveled in the simplicity of mountain blossoms just as he marveled at the peaks and valleys that defined the Cascade Range's granite fortresses and plunging chasms.
The word of scripture became the language that Muir communicated the natural world to the reader, he used his amazing faculties and experience with language to enlighten all who were willing to the world outside their doors.
The Mountains of California is one of Muir's earliest and finest writings. He does not overlook the simplest elements of both nature or geology in his praise for the mountains he came to know as "the Range of Light". Any lover of nature would do themselves a favor in reading this book, whether it takes a week or a year, the experience is well worth the effort.
December 9, 2021
I feel guilty for not loving this book. I love John Muir. I love California's mountains. And I do love that Muir's passion for nature runs like the Merced through this book. His writing is captivating early on, but mid-way through the book I felt I'd much rather look at a book of Yosemite photography than read Muir's voluminous descriptions of glaciers, lakes, rivers, birds, storms, flowers, and meadows.
Muir writes about the aspects of the Sierra Nevadas the way Melville writes about whales in Moby Dick. That is, it's exhaustive and borderline exhausting. He's so full of passion for his subject a casual reader simply can't keep up. If I were reading his book in Yosemite Valley my enthusiasm might be fueled simply by being in context. But even then, I don't know if I could get as into pinecones and bees as Muir does.
This book was published in 1882. And I imagine many Americans at the time enjoyed reading and imagining Muir's world. The more verbose the description the more color it gives the theater of the mind. Maybe it's the impatience of a fast-paced world where a Google image search of every chapter heading is more immediately satisfying than his descriptions. Still, it doesn't take away from what Muir did for America, or the amazing life he lived.
READ IT IF: You're camping in Yosemite or hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail.
Muir writes about the aspects of the Sierra Nevadas the way Melville writes about whales in Moby Dick. That is, it's exhaustive and borderline exhausting. He's so full of passion for his subject a casual reader simply can't keep up. If I were reading his book in Yosemite Valley my enthusiasm might be fueled simply by being in context. But even then, I don't know if I could get as into pinecones and bees as Muir does.
This book was published in 1882. And I imagine many Americans at the time enjoyed reading and imagining Muir's world. The more verbose the description the more color it gives the theater of the mind. Maybe it's the impatience of a fast-paced world where a Google image search of every chapter heading is more immediately satisfying than his descriptions. Still, it doesn't take away from what Muir did for America, or the amazing life he lived.
READ IT IF: You're camping in Yosemite or hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail.
October 22, 2022
I hadn't ever read more than a quote of Muir's here and there, and considering I studied him in school and now consider myself a nature writer, I "should" myself into reading this after inheriting a copy. I am glad I read it, and especially glad I began with the introduction by Edward Hoagland, the latter of which I would give 5 stars in helping me alter my expectations with pronouncements like "Henry Thoreau lived to write, but Muir lived to hike." That this book is primarily descriptive rather than literary would otherwise have seemed a fault, a failing of depth of reflection and lack of purpose found in a lot of what passes as nature writing. However, taken simply as naturalist descriptions of wild landscapes—writing about nature rather than what I'd consider true nature writing—this is a spectacular work. Though it was somewhat tedious to read straight through, I would probably do well to return to it now and then to remember how creative, how intricate, and how evocative naturalist-informed descriptions can be at their best. The chapters on the Douglas Squirrel and Water Ouzel (American Dipper)—extensive profiles so beautifully and effectively getting to the heart of each animal—are worth the whole book.
January 22, 2019
John Muir was a 19th Century explorer, writer, and one of the first modern naturalists. His work in the Sierra Nevada’s would inspire thousands to migrate west to experience what he wrote. Muir also founded the Sierra Club, a preservationist club that now was over two million members. To say he helped the naturalist movement would be an understatement.
The Mountains of California is written with such eloquent language, it reflects a Victorian Era style. Through his words, Muir is able to paint an astonishingly detailed picture of the scenes he’s experienced. It was interesting for me to read about some of the places I’ve personally scene. The details he described recreated the picture I had once scene, which was unlike anything I’ve ever read.
One issue that could arise depending on the issue is the extreme detail. Muir has a tendency to ramble on about one scene for a little while. I enjoyed this characteristic of the book, but a reader that is not as interested may find this a turn off.
The Mountains of California is an amazing read for Californians and those who enjoy nature. If you have time to sit down and be patient, you will appreciate the passion and beauty of John Muir’s writing.
The Mountains of California is written with such eloquent language, it reflects a Victorian Era style. Through his words, Muir is able to paint an astonishingly detailed picture of the scenes he’s experienced. It was interesting for me to read about some of the places I’ve personally scene. The details he described recreated the picture I had once scene, which was unlike anything I’ve ever read.
One issue that could arise depending on the issue is the extreme detail. Muir has a tendency to ramble on about one scene for a little while. I enjoyed this characteristic of the book, but a reader that is not as interested may find this a turn off.
The Mountains of California is an amazing read for Californians and those who enjoy nature. If you have time to sit down and be patient, you will appreciate the passion and beauty of John Muir’s writing.
October 18, 2019
Definitely the patron saint of California’s wild places (as I saw another reviewer put it), John Muir’s rapture of natural beauty is at first inspiring but then a little tiring after an entire chapter lauding the virtues of pine trees. His writing is lush and unique but is blackened by his treatment of Native Americans— yes I know you must view the work within the context of the time period but remember: Muir’s descendants are alive and well today (this is only a few generations ago) but the Pomo, Miwok, and Paiut he mentions living off their land are now dwindled and displaced. Throughout the book Muir refers to the first people as stupid, ugly, animal like, and I quote “Somehow they seemed to have no right place in the landscape” (p.69). Dude you’re a guest in their home! But white colonial entitlement aside, this is a lavish ode to the mountains of California and the treasures they possess.
August 14, 2022
I did really enjoy Chapter 4, "A Near View of the High Sierra," in which Muir tells the story of climbing Mount Ritter, and we get more of his actual experience than captured through much of the rest of this. Otherwise, I'm not sure why one would read this volume outside of an interest in the historical context; more accurate and current descriptions are available in many other forms (the whole first chapter includes Muir talking about Shasta as part of the same range as the High Sierra, which it's not), and with less excessive description.
I'm generally of the opinion that we need to reevaluate Muir's place in our canon of outdoor heroes, and a lot of that has to do with some of the passages in this particular text. Recent essay on this point at: https://unsettling.substack.com/p/mov...
I'm generally of the opinion that we need to reevaluate Muir's place in our canon of outdoor heroes, and a lot of that has to do with some of the passages in this particular text. Recent essay on this point at: https://unsettling.substack.com/p/mov...
August 7, 2025
A beautiful, peaceful, and utterly relaxing journey into the heart of the Sierra Nevada. John Muir's prose is as majestic as the landscapes he describes, painting vivid pictures of towering peaks, lush meadows, and ancient forests. This is more than just a nature book; it's a love letter to the wilderness, a gentle invitation to slow down and appreciate the quiet grandeur of the natural world.
I listened to the LibriVox audiobook, and the narration was perfectly suited to the material—calm, clear, and full of reverence for Muir's words. It made for the perfect companion on a long walk, a quiet afternoon, or even just as a way to unwind before bed. If you're looking for a dose of nature, a moment of peace, or just a beautiful escape, "Mountains of California" is an absolute must-read (or listen!). It's a reminder of the immense beauty and tranquility that exists just beyond our doorstep.
I listened to the LibriVox audiobook, and the narration was perfectly suited to the material—calm, clear, and full of reverence for Muir's words. It made for the perfect companion on a long walk, a quiet afternoon, or even just as a way to unwind before bed. If you're looking for a dose of nature, a moment of peace, or just a beautiful escape, "Mountains of California" is an absolute must-read (or listen!). It's a reminder of the immense beauty and tranquility that exists just beyond our doorstep.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 100 reviews