John Muir (1838-1914) was the iconic American naturalist, scientist, environmental philosopher and advocate. A Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf is one of his earliest writing efforts. Penned during a long journey on foot and only lightly edited, it is less polished than most of his other efforts, just a small literary step beyond notes taken from a journal. But no matter. Muir is endlessly fascinating thanks to his physical stamina in the outdoors, his encyclopedic knowledge of plant and animal life, and his tangible zest and adoration for the natural world.
In 1867, after recovering from a serious eye injury that kept him restricted to a dark room for months, Muir rededicates himself to the study of nature and sets off from Louisville, Kentucky to Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. He vows to follow the wildest way through the most virgin forest he can find and still covers as much as 25 miles per day in dense woods.
Though Muir frequently stops at homes and farms, and on rare occasions small towns, for rest and food, he is not alarmed by his frequent unsheltered nights in the forest on an empty stomach either. When he does eat, the fare is simple: bread during the day, coffee, cornbread, and perhaps bacon from a generous farmer at night.
We are reminded of the difference in our eras when Muir repeatedly knocks on a stranger’s door late in the day, explaining that he’s on a journey to study plants, and asking for lodging. Yet staying out of sight when possible is advisable during this reconstruction period when confederate guerillas and desperate former slaves roam the byways. Muir has several close calls with those who intend to rob him but is saved by his own wiles and protestations of poverty to would-be bandits.
Muir’s knowledge of plant life is astounding. His long descriptions of encounters with known and unknown species, must qualify him as a leading botanist of his day. He constantly expresses an appreciation of nature on its own terms, not for its use to humans, that was very rare for his time and rare enough even in our own. He is frequently reverent though not explicitly religious, with his many references to God’s creation. He perceives a beauty and evidence of the creator in nature that others rarely see.
In the Cumberland Mountains, Muir encounters his first mountain range and his first mountain stream. It’s a delight to hear his descriptions of terrain that will become a lifelong fascination. From there he moves through the mountains of North Georgia, my old stomping grounds, including Mount Yonah, where Muir enjoys conversation and cider with a local, and I learned to rock climb.
Muir is afoot during a charged time in American history. Politics are not his main interest, but the sidelong glances we get from him into reconstruction are intriguing and disturbing. It is clear that white southerners still hold the reins of power at this time. According to Muir, they all want to talk about and defend slavery. And yet he is struck by their kindness to him, a passing (white) stranger. Muir himself makes a few references to former slaves that don’t age well. But he displays no malice and is generally open-hearted in his encounters with all colors on his journey.
In Savannah, running low on funds and food, Muir makes his home for several nights in the Bonaventure graveyard, building a small, hidden hut. His descriptions of the oaks, birds, and other flora and fauna there are ethereal. He also takes time for a meditation on the “friendly union of life and death so apparent in nature” versus human fears of death. Ironically he is safer from lawless elements in the graveyard then he would be anywhere else on the outskirts of the city.
As Muir moves through Florida, we are reminded of his considerable strength and outdoor survival skills. He sleeps in a log one night, covered in dew, neglecting a fire for fear of robbers. Later, on a side journey to see a prime palm grove, he finds himself bushwacking through swamp choked with black water and briers in the dark, navigating by compass to find his way back.
On Cedar Key at the Gulf he takes work at a sawmill but is soon stricken with a severe fever, probably malaria or typhoid or both. He is nursed back to health over three months by the owner, to whom he later says he owes his life.
During his recovery, Muir spends many days lying under trees on the Key, musing about God. He believes that nature is not just for man’s purpose, but is made for the happiness of each creature. Even alligators are “God’s children” and part of his plan. When it comes to killing wild animals for sport, Muir sympathizes with the bears.
The book ends a little unevenly with Muir’s voyages after his walk, to Cuba, then back to New York, then on to California where he lands in San Francisco, visits Yosemite for the first time, and finally settles in Twenty Hill Hollow. Here again he explicates the local flora and fauna with encyclopedic dedication, then ends with a tribute to the Sierra Nevada Mountains and oneness with nature—a suitable foreshadowing of his life’s work.
As one of the earliest memoirs of a long journey on foot, from one of America’s foremost outdoorsman and environmentalists, A Thousand Mile Walk to the Gulf is worth a read by all lovers of trail memoir. The short book is easily digested and what it lacks in editorial polish is easily made up for by its fascinating snapshot of a long-ago world, both natural and human.
Trail Memoir 