John Muir: The Eight Wilderness-Discovery Books Series

The Story of my Boyhood and Youth is the affecting memoir of the now internationally renowned John Muir, a Scottish-American boy subject to a most unusual upbringing, his transition into adulthood, and the path that led him to petition for the concept of protected national parks. Born in East Lothian, Scotland in 1838, Muir was raised by a fanatically strict, religious father with his numerous brothers and sisters and loving mother. From an early age, a shy Muir showed fascination with the natural world, and at aged eleven, his father announced the family were to move to an American wilderness in Wisconsin – Muir had a new playground. His adolescence is spent labouring on the family's grassroots farm. Working seventeen-hour days, an exhausted yet inquisitive Muir desperately snatches moments to himself, yearning to explore the environment around him, secretly studying books on topics other than religion, and rising at 1 a.m. to pursue his hobby of inventing intricate time and energy-saving devices – much to his father's disapproval and everyone else's admiration. At age twenty-two, Muir takes it upon himself to apply to university, and does so without financial or moral support from his father. He makes his way to the University of Wisconsin-Madison to study chemistry and botany, and though never graduating with a degree, he is satisfied that he had learned all he wanted to there, before completing the rest of his nature education in 'the university of the wilderness'. The Story of my Boyhood and Youth includes a new foreword by Terry Gifford, and offers insight into the development of Muir's spiritual connection with the natural world, and suggests an explanation for his passion for freedom in the wilderness, a stark contrast to the forced rigidity of his early years.

'Many a beautiful plant cultivated to deformity, and arranged in strict geometrical beds, the whole pretty affair a laborious failure side by side with divine beauty.' A Thousand-Mile Walk to the Gulf is the second book in John Muir's Wilderness-Discovery series. It is within this work that we are really given strong clues toward Muir's future trailblazing movement for environmental conservation, in such comments as 'The universe would be incomplete without man; but it would also be incomplete without the smallest transmicroscopic creature that dwells beyond our conceitful eyes and knowledge.' Muir's walk from Indiana to Florida was conceived in order to explore and study further the flora and fauna across states. He undertakes this alone, a dangerous choice perhaps so soon after the civil war, as many characters along the way forewarn. Indeed, Muir is threatened by a robber, and we see a new side to the quiet, lowly gentleman we know as he springs into self-defence mode with lightning initiative and remarkable courage. This is not the only facet of Muir's personality that is uncovered throughout this journey. He makes reference to feeling 'dreadfully lonesome and poor', which is intriguing as his circumstances are self-sought: 'Stayed with lots of different people but preferred sleeping outside alone where possible'. He spends a substantial period of time struck down with malaria, which does not come as a surprise; he was covering many miles on an unsustainably meagre diet with thirst often quenched with swamp water or not at all. Join Muir in Kentucky forests, Cumberland mountains, Florida swamps and all the elegantly described trees, plants, creatures and rocks in-between. A Thousand-Mile Walk to the Gulf teaches us as much about Muir himself as it does the ecosystems in the wilderness across those 1,000 miles.

'How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains! To behold this alone is worth the pains of any excursion a thousand times over.' John Muir is known internationally for his dedication to protecting the environment and for founding The Sierra Club in 1892. His first book, as Muir authority Terry Gifford writes in the foreword, 'became the bible of the fledgling Sierra Club, which is now a major national environmental activists' organisation with branches in every corner of America'. The Mountains of California not only details Muir's visits to the magnificent mountains along the Sierra Nevada Range, which he affectionately calls 'The Range of Light', but also the stunning glaciers, forests and landscapes that he encounters: 'Climbing higher, I saw for the first time the gradual dwarfing of the pines in compliance with climate … patches of the dwarf vaccinium with its round flowers sprinkled in the grass like purple hail; while in every direction the landscape stretched sublimely away in fresh wildness: a manuscript written by the hand of nature alone.' Throughout the book, Muir's philosophy of nature's ability to soothe and amaze is evident. He heart-warmingly discusses at length how his encounters with animals, such as the Douglas squirrel, cheered him so. This is a truly beautiful read; Muir's writing, embedded with emotion, wit, and at times, humour, will never fail to speak to his reader. The enthusiasm contained within these pages is infectious, and as well as making a powerful read, Muir will inspire you, too, to 'come and see' the innumerable delights that nature can offer: 'The best words only hint at [California's] charms. Come to the mountains and see.'

'Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away ... God has cared for these trees ... but he cannot save them from fools – only Uncle Sam can do that.' First published in 1901, Our National Parks is possibly the bestselling book of Muir's wilderness-discovery titles and was certainly the most influential published in his lifetime, with a strong focus on the preservation of forest reserves. With a strong political tone and shrewd, subtle manoeuvring, Muir uses Our National Parks to persuade his readership of the necessity of nature and national parks for human recreation and more importantly for health and wellbeing, as well as the – in his mind – obvious need for preservation of wild ecosystems. Cannily he counterbalances this with the acknowledgement of the need for timber and irrigation systems, in order that his message is taken seriously; Muir's passion is portrayed so vividly and flamboyantly that without his learned political and scientific reinforcement, he could be misconstrued as purely a radical and eccentric nonconformist. However, the two combined result in an engaging and convincing argument that these landscapes are our 'natural home', and 'fountains of life'. As Muir expert Terry Gifford observes in the foreword, 'Muir's tone can shift in this book from seductive persuasion, to charming details of creatures, flora and landscapes, to scientific information, to trail guide, to religious uplift, to a final political speech of startling ferocity.' John Muir's strategic yet genuine and beautiful conservationist essays were a first at the time of publication, and are still highly applicable to our attitudes and lifestyles today in the twenty-first century.

'All these colours, from the blue sky to the yellow valley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of light ineffably fine.' Having spent significant time obsessively exploring and learning about the Sierra, John Muir's passion for and belief in preserving the wilderness steadily grew. He believed that excessive grazing and logging would result in its eventual destruction, and so campaigned to designate the area as a protected national park. In 1890, the US Congress passed the National Park Bill, and the Yosemite and Sequoia national parks were established. At the time of writing, Muir's views on conservation of the wilderness were totally radical; today, environmental activists are too often brushed aside in favour of something faster, easier, and cheaper. Muir not only educates us in the particulars of the botanicals of this spectacular landscape, but also inadvertently traps us in his web of enthusiasm for the beauty and significance of Mother Nature. The Yosemite gives us the tools to construct a detailed mental map of the Sierra, and leaves us with the resolution to be more compassionate and environmentally mindful. First published in 1912, and with a new introduction from Muir authority Terry Gifford, the message in The Yosemite is perhaps more pertinent now than it ever was. There is a lot to thank Muir for, not least opening our eyes to the earth beneath our feet.

'To the lover of pure wildness Alaska is one of the most wonderful countries in the world.' First published in 1915, Travels in Alaska is the last book that Muir wrote, detailing the adventures and experiences that were arguably most dear to him. Alaska's picturesque forests, grand mountains, and unique glacier range impacted Muir from the moment he first visited: 'Never before this had I been embosomed in scenery so hopelessly beyond description… we must surely have reached the very paradise of the poets, the abode of the blessed.' As Muir expert Terry Gifford observes in the foreword, 'From the first trip, Muir set out to learn as much about the people as the glaciers'; and this willingness to surround himself in all aspects of the atmosphere is evident throughout, with beautifully detailed descriptions of everything from the tribes that he meets, to the canyons, rivers and animals he encounters. Muir's unwavering adventurous spirit shines through in Travels in Alaska; no challenge is too great and even when faced with the unimaginable – being caught near death between two icebergs while canoeing, or saving an inexperienced mountaineer from slipping and falling – he does not lose his faithful 'get up and go' attitude. Travels in Alaska details three of Muir's trips to Alaska: 1879, 1880 and 1890. Each one a refreshing account of the joys of exploring and the rewards of the outdoors: 'Never before had rocks and ice and trees seemed so beautiful and wonderful, even the cold, biting rainstorm that was blowing seemed full of loving kindness, wonderful compensation for all that we had endured, and we sailed down the bay through the grey, driving rain rejoicing.' Embedded with stunning metaphors, a dedicated love of Mother Nature and a desire to protect and preserve wildness, this book is an insight not only into Alaska, but Muir himself. The enthusiasm contained within these pages is infectious, and as well as making a powerful read, Muir will inspire you, too, to go out and experience the paradise that is natural wildness.

'When a man plants a tree, he plants himself. Every root is an anchor, over which he rests with grateful interest, and becomes sufficiently calm to feel the joy of living.' Steep Trails encompasses a delightful mix of John Muir's essays and adventure narratives, spanning a period of twenty-nine years. The selections included in this book are varied: ranging from geological studies to stories of the people and towns he encounters throughout his exploits. As Muir expert Terry Gifford observes in the foreword, 'Most of Steep Trails' chapters are dispatches from Muir as travelling correspondent with a mixture of insights into local cultures, criticism of pollution and enthusiasm for everything wild.' Muir's refreshing philosophy of being 'at one' with nature shines through every account he details, as does his agenda for environmental activism – to treat wildness lovingly, rather than selfishly for material greed. Covering mostly the western regions of the states, California, Washington, Nevada, The Grand Canyon, Oregon and Utah; Steep Trails showcases Muir's passion continuously as he climbs mountains, bathes in lakes, and sketches his findings. Muir's classic extended metaphors and knowledgeable tone are present throughout, making for both an enjoyable and educational read. The enthusiasm contained within these pages is infectious, and as well as simply describing the beauty he sees, Muir will inspire you too, to 'go and see for yourselves' the rewards of studying the endless gift of nature: 'Surely faithful and loving skill can go no farther in putting the multitudinous decorated forms on paper. But the colours, the living, rejoicing colours, chanting morning and evening in chorus to heaven! Whose brush or pencil, however lovingly inspired, can give us these? And if paint is of no effect, what hope lies in pen-work? Only this: some may be incited by it to go and see for themselves.'