This is the first time I have read John Muir, and this is a short book, or a long essay on Yellowstone National Park. Though the book is a short one, 64 pages, there is much in here that makes it an object of interest to any Yellowstone denizen, such as myself. Written in 1901, much has changed in the park and much is still the same, and it is these differences which really makes this a worthwhile read.
This short book is thematically divided into three parts, even if the editors kept it as one long whole. The first part is written as a prosaic idyll in the style of Theokritos, or one of the more picturesque of Virgil's Eclogues. He wastes no time with his material, and begins his description starting with his second sentence, "[Yellowstone] is a big, wholesome wilderness on the broad summit of the Rocky Mountains, favored with abundance of rain and snow, -a place of fountains where the greatest of the American rivers take their rise" (3). Now imagine reading sentences of similar tone for a further 20 pages, and that is the first part of the book. Occasionally he will include a bit of tension by invoking enemies of his eden, "In pleasing contrast to the noisy, ever changing management, or mismanagement, of blundering, plundering, money-making vote-sellers who receive their places from boss politicians as purchased goods, the soldiers do their duty so quietly that the traveler is scarce aware of their presence" (9). Themes like this appear randomly in the book, and it seems that Muir was sensitive to any threat to what he felt should be wilderness. At times he laments the destruction in adjacent areas (9) and sometimes the ignorant tourist.
The second part of the book focuses more on the geologic and thermal features the park has to offer. This is more of a catalogue that describes wonders and beauty with a limited language that can only approximate the beauty. There is one part of this section that I did find of peculiar interest, and that was questions that tourists asked in 1901. "Where is the umbrella? What is the name of that blue flower over there? Are you sure the little bag is aboard? Is that hollow yonder a crater? How is your throat this morning? How high did you say the geysers spout? How does the elevation affect your head?" (30). These are a nice collection of questions, some of which I've heard and others, not so much. I mainly hear, where is a good place to see animals? What time does the sunrise? Do you have air conditioning, wifi, complimentary coffee, and where can I park?
At one point there is a digression on rattlesnakes and 'civilized' man's fear and hatred of them. Muir makes a plaintive and pitiful plea to do no harm to these creatures. He cites a common question often directed at the most noisome of pests, "What are rattlesnakes good for?" (37). His rejoinder is, "As if nothing that does not obviously make for the benefit of man had any right to exist" (37). His case is lacking in any scientific points, but strictly moral. Had the question been asked today to a knowledgeable person the answer would involve the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem and the rattlesnakes small part to play. I am unsure of the snakes role on the ecosystem, but removing it could have unforeseen results.
The third part of the book is more of a written tour guide as well as offering some historical anecdotes of the area. This book, though never explicitly stated, is a voice for the wilderness trying desperately to make a case for preservation and enjoyment. The reserve of this land for the people is an argument that has to be continually made, and Muir is doing his best to appeal to the pastoral side of his readers by invoking a place of simple soulful beauty.
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