In the summer of 1869, Sierra Club founder John Muir (1838-1914) was looking for a way to make a living while traveling in the Sierra Mountains of California. What he found was a job with a team of sheepherders, moving a flock from the California Central Valley to the headwaters of the Merced and Tuolumne Rivers. On this trip into the high Sierra, Muir kept a detailed journal, which he later assembled into the classic book My First Summer in the Sierras, published in 1889.

The book is a telling of Muir's adventures upon the trail. It alternates between elements poetic, scientific, and philosophical, interspersed with occasional anecdotes about his companions. Because it was originally a journal, nearly every paragraph begins with a date, followed by a quick reference to the weather. The subject matter always turns interesting, though, as Muir describes his various encounters, and expresses his personal views - his great love of the mountains. "God himself seems to be always doing his best here, working like a man in a glow of enthusiasm," he muses, in one of his enumerable spiritual reflections.

John Muir's unique use of language, and his ability to express the beauty of his surroundings, is part of the appeal of My First Summer in the Sierras. When the journey's final destination first becomes visible in the distance, he writes:

Through a meadow opening in the pine woods I see snowy peaks about the headwaters of the Merced above Yosemite. How near they seem and how clear their outlines on the blue air, or rather in the blue air; for they seem to be saturated with it. How consuming strong the invitation they extend! Shall I be allowed to go to them? Night and day I'll pray that I may, but it seems too good to be true. Some one worthy will go, able for the Godful work, yet as far as I, can I must drift about these love-monument mountains, glad to be a servant of servants in so holy a wilderness.

Yet this apparent "dreamer" is a scientist by nature, meticulously providing Latin names for the plants he describes in great detail throughout the text. Muir writes, "the curious twining lily (Stropholirion Californicum)..."; "the bush poppy (Dendromecon rigidum)..."; and "Saxifraga peltata." The last of which he never refers to by another name, only as "purple flowers." Descriptions about the animals he observes along his trip abound as well, especially of their social and eating habits. But even in his most scientific moments, Muir's love of the wildlife shows in his choice of phrase and word, such as "Another conifer was met to-day..." or another passage where he refers to ants in their "towns."

The author expresses a love of even the less pleasurable things to be found, frequently adding to the philosophical tone of the work. Regarding Poison Oak, (Rhus diversiloba), he writes: "Like most other things not apparently useful to man, it has few friends, and the blind question, 'Why was it made?' goes on and on with never a guess that first of all it might have been made for itself."

As much as Muir respects and enjoys nature itself, from his stories about his companions it is obvious he found them less than captivating. On July forth, for example, Muir is describing certain events related to the shepherding venture, in which lack of provisions is a concern:

The shepherd is somewhat demoralized, and seems to care but little what becomes of his flock. He says that since the boss has failed to feed him he is not rightly bound to feed the sheep, and swears that no decent ... man can climb these steep mountains on mutton alone. "It's not fittin' grub for a white man really white. .... Good grub, good sheep. That's what I say." Such was Billy's Fourth of July oration."

Later that evening, he continues writing:

The shepherd's bed is often only the bare ground and a pair of blankets, .... In choosing the spot, he shows less care than the dogs, for they usually deliberate before making up their minds in so important an affair, going from place to place, scraping away loose sticks and pebbles, and trying for comfort by making many changes, while the shepherd casts himself down anywhere, seemingly the least skilled of all rest seekers.

In My First Summer in the Sierras John Muir entertains the reader by so eloquently expressing his vision of the beauty of nature, and by giving us a glimpse of the kind of spiritual transformation that time in the mountains can bring upon one who is inclined to take such a journey as his. There is no doubt that he viewed the Sierras as a kind of church - in fact he was quite specific about this when he wrote:

We saw another party of Yosemite tourists to-day. Somehow most of these travelers seem to care but little for the glorious objects about them, though enough to spend time and money and endure long rides to see the famous valley. And when they are fairly within the mighty walls of the temple and hear the psalms of the falls, they will forget themselves, and become devout. Blessed, indeed, should be every pilgrim in these holy mountains!