



Produced by Dan Anderson and Andrew Sly. Thanks to the
John Muir Exhibit for making this eBook available.
http://www.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/










The Yosemite

by John Muir



Affectionately dedicated to my friend,
Robert Underwood Johnson,
faithful lover and defender of our glorious forests
and originator of the Yosemite National Park.


Acknowledgment

On the early history of Yosemite the writer is indebted to Prof. J. D.
Whitney for quotations from his volume entitled "Yosemite Guide-Book,"
and to Dr. Bunnell for extracts from his interesting volume entitled
"Discovery of the Yosemite."


Contents

   1. The Approach to the Valley
   2. Winter Storms and Spring Floods
   3. Snow-Storms
   4. Snow Banners
   5. The Trees of the Valley
   6. The Forest Trees in General
   7. The Big Trees
   8. The Flowers
   9. The Birds
  10. The South Dome
  11. The Ancient Yosemite Glaciers: How the Valley Was Formed
  12. How Best to Spend One's Yosemite Time
  13. Early History of the Valley
  14. Lamon
  15. Galen Clark
  16. Hetch Hetchy Valley
  Appendix A. Legislation About the Yosemite
  Appendix B. Table of Distances
  Appendix C. Maximum Rates for Transportation




Chapter 1

The Approach to the Valley


When I set out on the long excursion that finally led to California I
wandered afoot and alone, from Indiana to the Gulf of Mexico, with a
plant-press on my back, holding a generally southward course, like the
birds when they are going from summer to winter. From the west coast
of Florida I crossed the gulf to Cuba, enjoyed the rich tropical flora
there for a few months, intending to go thence to the north end of South
America, make my way through the woods to the headwaters of the Amazon,
and float down that grand river to the ocean. But I was unable to find a
ship bound for South America--fortunately perhaps, for I had incredibly
little money for so long a trip and had not yet fully recovered from
a fever caught in the Florida swamps. Therefore I decided to visit
California for a year or two to see its wonderful flora and the famous
Yosemite Valley. All the world was before me and every day was a
holiday, so it did not seem important to which one of the world's
wildernesses I first should wander.

Arriving by the Panama steamer, I stopped one day in San Francisco and
then inquired for the nearest way out of town. "But where do you want to
go?" asked the man to whom I had applied for this important information.
"To any place that is wild," I said. This reply startled him. He seemed
to fear I might be crazy and therefore the sooner I was out of town the
better, so he directed me to the Oakland ferry.

So on the first of April, 1868, I set out afoot for Yosemite. It was the
bloom-time of the year over the lowlands and coast ranges the landscapes
of the Santa Clara Valley were fairly drenched with sunshine, all the
air was quivering with the songs of the meadow-larks, and the hills were
so covered with flowers that they seemed to be painted. Slow indeed was
my progress through these glorious gardens, the first of the California
flora I had seen. Cattle and cultivation were making few scars as yet,
and I wandered enchanted in long wavering curves, knowing by my pocket
map that Yosemite Valley lay to the east and that I should surely find
it.


The Sierra From The West


Looking eastward from the summit of the Pacheco Pass one shining
morning, a landscape was displayed that after all my wanderings still
appears as the most beautiful I have ever beheld. At my feet lay the
Great Central Valley of California, level and flowery, like a lake of
pure sunshine, forty or fifty miles wide, five hundred miles long, one
rich furred garden of yellow Compositoe. And from the eastern boundary
of this vast golden flower-bed rose the mighty Sierra, miles in height,
and so gloriously  and so radiant, it seemed not clothed with
light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city.
Along the top and extending a good way down, was a rich pearl-gray belt
of snow; below it a belt of blue and dark purple, marking the extension
of the forests; and stretching along the base of the range a broad belt
of rose-purple; all these colors, from the blue sky to the yellow
valley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of light
ineffably fine. Then it seemed to me that the Sierra should be called,
not the Nevada or Snowy Range, but the Range of Light. And after ten
years of wandering and wondering in the heart of it, rejoicing in its
glorious floods of light, the white beams of the morning streaming
through the passes, the noonday radiance on the crystal rocks, the
flush of the alpenglow, and the irised spray of countless waterfalls,
it still seems above all others the Range of Light.

In general views no mark of man is visible upon it, nor any thing to
suggest the wonderful depth and grandeur of its sculpture. None of its
