the john muir exhibit - life - of the mountains
John Muir
by Alexander McAdie
A scientific friend* recently sent me some measurements of the
displacement of earth particles at Ottawa caused by a mountain
slide in the Pamir. Seismographs in the Dominion Observatory (and
elsewhere) had faithfully recorded the train of earth waves
started by the trembling range ten thousand miles away.
Moreover it was possible to determine the mass, momentum and
energy involved in this fall of a mountain. John Muir
would have been interested in these measurements made at a
distance, but undoubtedly would have been far more interested in
a description of the fall itself, and would have cheerfully
started at a moment's notice for Afghanistan or the uttermost
part of the earth is assured that another gigantic slide were
imminent. Entirely regardless of comfort or personal security he
would have watched the mountain fall, exulting in the rare
privilege of thus viewing at close range the making and unmaking
of the "eternal" hills. We would have had a description, both
accurate and eloquent, for he would have written into it not only
what the eye beheld, but much that other men must have failed to
note, because they failed to feel. His nature was keenly
sensitive to the significance of motion in inanimate things. One
recalls his story of the earthquake in the Yosemite. "A noble
earthquake," he cried, as he ran from his tent in the
early morning to get a better view of what was happening in
the Valley. This was the famous Inyo earthquake of March 26, 1872,
about 2:30 a.m., with aftershocks until 6:30 a.m., and
probably the greatest seismic disturbance that has occurred in
the United States for two centuries. It was quite severe in the
whole Sierra zone, and of course to those who were in the
Yosemite at the time was a most terrifying experience. Mr. Muir
often described the scene to the writer and fellow members of the
Sierra Club. It is plain that after the first two or
three seconds of doubt and trepidation, Muir realized what was
happening and enthusiastically welcomed such an opportunity for
close observation of the swaying trees, and the piling up of the
talus by the torrent of rocks from the cliffs, forming a luminous
bow as they fell. His intense interest and forgetfulness of self
were not assumed, but the natural expression of a spirit all
eager to observe and interpret, if he could, the shaking earth
and allied phenomena. He was probably the one man in the Valley
who kept his head while these unnerving events were in progress.
He had many stirring adventures while climbing and roaming. One
in particular was in later years somewhat joculary referred to as
"a personally conducted ride on an avalanche," although at the
time it was anything but a jocular matter. Here again Muir showed
remarkable presence of mind. And how he exulted in the mountain
storms! Nothing of their majesty and might escaped his notice. He
knew them well, from the towering cumulo-nimbus, whose slow
upbuilding foretold the coming thunder, to the wild rush and
wrestling of the blast with the forest monarchs. Sprung from a
long line of Highland forebears, he scanned with critical eye the
gray low-flying scud and the fast falling flakes that blotted out
the landscape and bewildered men. To Muir these were
never-to-be-forgotten and ever-to-be-enjoyed manifestations of
Nature's might and her thousand ways of casting forth her
strength.
Or turning from scenes of elemental strife to those of elemental
calm, we can picture him keeping lonely vigil on the summit of
Whitney. Wandering as night falls, near the crest of the range,
the solitary figure looms large against the sky-line. Out of the
world, yet in it; no human hand within touching distance, no
human habitation within a day's march; serene and self-poised,
like one of the prophets of old he strays from men. And as the
sun passes below the farther peaks, and darkness broods o'er the
vast stretch of earth, he holds communion with the friendly
stars, nor knows nor feels his loneliness.
Of all the mountains he had visited, and he had climbed many
in all parts of the world, his heart ever turned to and yearned
most for the Sierra, or, as he called them, the Mountains of
Light. They were his constant inspiration, and all their varying
moods he knew and loved. Loitering through the meadows or scaling
the heights, Muir was here at home and at his best. Not
infrequently he was called upon to act as guide, interpreter and
host to those who came from afar. For all such he mixed with the
independence of a mountaineer a true Highland hospitality. It
was delightful to hear him tell of Emerson's visit, all too
brief, or the later, longer outing of an intrepid former
president, who insisted on having Muir for his escort and Muir
only. Both saw to it that the trivialities of city life were left
behind and forgotten. There was no room for artificialities in
the friendly mountains. Rather the long day's tramp, the
inspiring views, the refreshment of the mountain stream, the
growing appetite, the simple meal, the quiet mind, the pine-bough
bed and restful sleep beside the camp-fire, that, flickering,
threw into bolder relief the sentinel Sequoia.
Muir was the keenest of observers and no mean scientist; but it
was his power of expression and gift of interpretation that made
him known among men. He was able to convey to others a full
measure of his own enthusiasm, and kindle in them an unquenchable
longing for out-of-door life, and golden, glorious days and
nights in Nature's own playground, the mountains. This was
Muir's mission and at it he wrought diligently. His influence was
not confined to one city or one State. It is indeed a question if
this was not greater in distant lands than in the State and
section where he dwelt and which he loved so well.
When a mountain falls and jars the planet's crust, the earth
waves spread in all directions with ever widening circles but
ever diminishing energy. When a great man passes from the sunlit
way, human interest is stirred in many lands, but there is no
lessening of appreciation and sympathy with increasing distance.
Thus it is with Muir. He stood as a great advocate for the
preservation of the wild and the beautiful; he gave the best
that was in him to the service of men; he strove earnestly to
turn their thoughts from the daily routine, with its unrest and
turmoil, to the peace and beauty of the hills.
His eloquent sentences will remain as long as our mother
tongue endures; his pleadings will not lose their force, and
his influence can but spread and strengthen as he years pass.
_________________________________________________
* Dr. Otto Klotz, thc Dominion Astronomer.
Source: Sierra Club Bulletin, Vol. 10, No. 1 (1916 January)
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