John Muir: My Life with Nature, by Joseph Cornell

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John Muir: My Life with Nature
Chapter IV: Favorite Animals

I took a job supervising a shepherd to earn money to help my sisters go to school. This job gave me lots of free time to wander in the mountains. It was my companion Carlo, a Saint Bernard dog, who introduced me to my first Sierra bear. A hunter had trained Carlo, and he knew the scents of all the animals. One day when we were exploring, Carlo ran ahead of me. Down went his tail and knowing nose, smelling something. “Ha, what’s this? A bear, I guess,” he seemed to say. Carlo turned and looked at me, his intelligent eyes saying, “Yes, it’s a bear—come and I will show you.” When Carlo knew the bear was very near, he began to walk behind me. I sneaked up to a large tree and slowly looked around it. There, a stone’s throw away, stood a 500-pound bear, sniffing the air.

I had been told that black bears would run away from "bad brother man" unless they were wounded or protecting their young. I wanted to see how it ran, so I made a sudden rush toward it, shouting and waving my hat. But the bear didn’t run—instead, it stood its ground, ready to fight! Now I wanted to run, but I was afraid the bear might run after me. Just then I remembered another bit of outdoor wisdom: that the power of the human gaze is stronger than that of any animal. So I stared hard at the angry bear, But evidently the bear hadn’t learned this wisdom either, because it glared right back. The interview lasted an awfully long time. Finally, neither fearing nor trusting me, it turned and ambled off, looking back now and then to make sure I wasn’t following.

To my embarrassment, I realized that the bear had behaved far better than I had. One should never run up to and crowd any wild animal, especially bears! Ever since then, I have tried to give my shaggy-haired neighbors a respectful notice of my approach, and they usually have kept well out of my way. God bless the Yosemite bears! How grandly they blend with their native mountains. No other animal seems as well looked-after by the Sierra wilderness. To him, almost anything is food except granite.

Another of my Sierra favorites is the ouzel, or "water dipper." This joyous, lovable little bird is dressed in a waterproof suit of bluish gray. He usually lives in and around rushing water, and as long as the water sings, so must he. No canyon is too cold for this little fellow, no place too lonely, provided it be rich with falling water. However dark, snowy, blowing, or cloudy the weather, he sings all the same—never with a note of sadness. Once during a severe storm, I saw most of the Yosemite Valley birds cowering out of reach of the snow, their every gesture reflecting storm-weariness and not one cheerful note coming from their bills. Meanwhile, the ouzel displayed his irrepressible gladness; a true mountaineer is he! Go see him and love him, and through him, as through a window, look into Nature’s warm heart.

Sierra travelers often complain about seeing few animals. “Trees,” they say, “are fine, but where are the animals and birds? We haven’t heard a song all day.” And it’s no wonder! They go in such large groups, make a great noise and dress in such outlandish colors—no wonder animals avoid them. Even the frightened pines would run away if they could. But nature-lovers, silent and open-eyed, looking and listening with love, find that animals come to them gladly.

One Sierra morning as I was eating breakfast in a small meadow surrounded by brush, I noticed a deer gazing at me. I kept still, and the deer came forward a step, then paused, snorted and quickly fled. But in a few minutes she returned, bringing along two friends. Staying for just a moment, they took off, too. But their curiosity brought them back once more—now with a fourth companion. This time, the deer were satisfied that I meant them no harm, and they settled down in the meadow and ate breakfast with me, just like tame, gentle sheep around a shepherd.

Another time, a whole troop of mountain quail visited me. They are our most handsome and largest quail. Small and stocky, they have a beautiful head plume, which they wear jauntily backwards like a feather in a boy's cap. These ground-dwelling birds are most secretive, and usually run from any threat, flying only if necessary. They wander the lonely mountains in family flocks of six to twenty, living high in the Sierras. Only in winter do they come down to the brushy foothills, but like every true mountaineer, they are quick to follow spring back up into the higher mountains.

I was sitting at the foot of a tree, sketching, when I heard a flock up the valley behind me. Their voices grew increasingly louder, and I knew that they were feeding toward me. I kept very still, hoping to see them, and soon one came within three or four feet, not noticing me any more than if I were a stump or a tree. Along came another, and another, and I was thrilled to get so near a view of these handsome fellows so that I could observe their manners, and hear their low, peaceful notes.

One of them finally saw me. He gazed for a moment in silent wonder, then uttered a strange cry, which was followed immediately by hurried muttered notes that sounded like speech. The others saw me as soon as the alarm was sounded, and they joined in the wonder talk, gazing and chattering, astonished but not frightened. Then all together they ran back with the news to the rest of the flock. “What is it, what is it? Oh, you never saw the like,” they seemed to be saying.” “Where? Where?” “Down there by that tree.” They approached cautiously, coming past the tree and stretching their necks, looking up in turn as if knowing from the story told them just where I sat. For fifteen or twenty minutes they kept coming and going, venturing within a few feet of me and discussing the wonder in charming chatter. Their curiosity at last satisfied, they began to scatter and feed again, returning in the direction they had come. Sorry to see them go, I followed them as quietly as I could, crawling beneath the bushes and keeping them in sight for an hour or two, learning their habits and finding out what seeds and berries they liked best.
HOW TO ORDER:
All Sharing Nature Products are now available through secure online ordering.
You can also order by calling our toll free number: 866-693-4263

In the United Kingdom you can order our books from Deep Books, ltd.
Contact: David Birkett, david@deep-books.co.uk

Joseph Cornell's books are currently available in the following foreign languages: Chinese, Danish, French, German, Greek, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, Russian, Slovene, Spanish, and Thai.

Excerpts From John Muir: My Life with Nature

Table of Contents

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter IX

Explore More

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			Home Flow Learning ™ Nature Activities Programs Calendar of Events Sharing Nature Worldwide Country Coordinators Joseph Cornell Books and Resources Connections and More Information
	John Muir: My Life with Nature Chapter IV: Favorite Animals
	I took a job supervising a shepherd to earn money to help my sisters go to school. This job gave me lots of free time to wander in the mountains. It was my companion Carlo, a Saint Bernard dog, who introduced me to my first Sierra bear. A hunter had trained Carlo, and he knew the scents of all the animals. One day when we were exploring, Carlo ran ahead of me. Down went his tail and knowing nose, smelling something. “Ha, what’s this? A bear, I guess,” he seemed to say. Carlo turned and looked at me, his intelligent eyes saying, “Yes, it’s a bear—come and I will show you.” When Carlo knew the bear was very near, he began to walk behind me. I sneaked up to a large tree and slowly looked around it. There, a stone’s throw away, stood a 500-pound bear, sniffing the air. I had been told that black bears would run away from "bad brother man" unless they were wounded or protecting their young. I wanted to see how it ran, so I made a sudden rush toward it, shouting and waving my hat. But the bear didn’t run—instead, it stood its ground, ready to fight! Now I wanted to run, but I was afraid the bear might run after me. Just then I remembered another bit of outdoor wisdom: that the power of the human gaze is stronger than that of any animal. So I stared hard at the angry bear, But evidently the bear hadn’t learned this wisdom either, because it glared right back. The interview lasted an awfully long time. Finally, neither fearing nor trusting me, it turned and ambled off, looking back now and then to make sure I wasn’t following. To my embarrassment, I realized that the bear had behaved far better than I had. One should never run up to and crowd any wild animal, especially bears! Ever since then, I have tried to give my shaggy-haired neighbors a respectful notice of my approach, and they usually have kept well out of my way. God bless the Yosemite bears! How grandly they blend with their native mountains. No other animal seems as well looked-after by the Sierra wilderness. To him, almost anything is food except granite. Another of my Sierra favorites is the ouzel, or "water dipper." This joyous, lovable little bird is dressed in a waterproof suit of bluish gray. He usually lives in and around rushing water, and as long as the water sings, so must he. No canyon is too cold for this little fellow, no place too lonely, provided it be rich with falling water. However dark, snowy, blowing, or cloudy the weather, he sings all the same—never with a note of sadness. Once during a severe storm, I saw most of the Yosemite Valley birds cowering out of reach of the snow, their every gesture reflecting storm-weariness and not one cheerful note coming from their bills. Meanwhile, the ouzel displayed his irrepressible gladness; a true mountaineer is he! Go see him and love him, and through him, as through a window, look into Nature’s warm heart. Sierra travelers often complain about seeing few animals. “Trees,” they say, “are fine, but where are the animals and birds? We haven’t heard a song all day.” And it’s no wonder! They go in such large groups, make a great noise and dress in such outlandish colors—no wonder animals avoid them. Even the frightened pines would run away if they could. But nature-lovers, silent and open-eyed, looking and listening with love, find that animals come to them gladly. One Sierra morning as I was eating breakfast in a small meadow surrounded by brush, I noticed a deer gazing at me. I kept still, and the deer came forward a step, then paused, snorted and quickly fled. But in a few minutes she returned, bringing along two friends. Staying for just a moment, they took off, too. But their curiosity brought them back once more—now with a fourth companion. This time, the deer were satisfied that I meant them no harm, and they settled down in the meadow and ate breakfast with me, just like tame, gentle sheep around a shepherd. Another time, a whole troop of mountain quail visited me. They are our most handsome and largest quail. Small and stocky, they have a beautiful head plume, which they wear jauntily backwards like a feather in a boy's cap. These ground-dwelling birds are most secretive, and usually run from any threat, flying only if necessary. They wander the lonely mountains in family flocks of six to twenty, living high in the Sierras. Only in winter do they come down to the brushy foothills, but like every true mountaineer, they are quick to follow spring back up into the higher mountains. I was sitting at the foot of a tree, sketching, when I heard a flock up the valley behind me. Their voices grew increasingly louder, and I knew that they were feeding toward me. I kept very still, hoping to see them, and soon one came within three or four feet, not noticing me any more than if I were a stump or a tree. Along came another, and another, and I was thrilled to get so near a view of these handsome fellows so that I could observe their manners, and hear their low, peaceful notes. One of them finally saw me. He gazed for a moment in silent wonder, then uttered a strange cry, which was followed immediately by hurried muttered notes that sounded like speech. The others saw me as soon as the alarm was sounded, and they joined in the wonder talk, gazing and chattering, astonished but not frightened. Then all together they ran back with the news to the rest of the flock. “What is it, what is it? Oh, you never saw the like,” they seemed to be saying.” “Where? Where?” “Down there by that tree.” They approached cautiously, coming past the tree and stretching their necks, looking up in turn as if knowing from the story told them just where I sat. For fifteen or twenty minutes they kept coming and going, venturing within a few feet of me and discussing the wonder in charming chatter. Their curiosity at last satisfied, they began to scatter and feed again, returning in the direction they had come. Sorry to see them go, I followed them as quietly as I could, crawling beneath the bushes and keeping them in sight for an hour or two, learning their habits and finding out what seeds and berries they liked best. HOW TO ORDER: All Sharing Nature Products are now available through secure online ordering. You can also order by calling our toll free number: 866-693-4263 In the United Kingdom you can order our books from Deep Books, ltd. Contact: David Birkett, david@deep-books.co.uk Joseph Cornell's books are currently available in the following foreign languages: Chinese, Danish, French, German, Greek, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, Russian, Slovene, Spanish, and Thai.

	Excerpts From John Muir: My Life with Nature Table of Contents Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter IX Explore More

	\| Flow Learning™ \| Nature Activities \| Programs \| Calendar of Events \| \| Sharing Nature Worldwide \| Country Coordinators \| Joseph Cornell \| \| Books and Resources \| Connections and More Information \| Mailing List Sharing Nature Foundation 14618 Tyler Foote Rd. Nevada City, CA 95959 530-478-7650 e-mail: info@sharingnature.com