John Muir


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around the horizon. The islands, some of them with ruffs of mist about their bases, cast black ill-defined shadows over the glistening water, and the whole dome of the sky becomes pale, whitish gray. For three or four hours after sunrise there is no striking feature to be felt or seen. The sun may be looked in the face though seemingly unclouded, and the islands, though full in the light, and the mainland mountains are seen in the distance. Yet in all their beauty of form and wealth of woods they seem to be yet asleep, rather dull and uncommunicative. As the day advances towards high noon then the light of the sun shining down in full power lights the water levels to silver. Brightly play the ripples about the bushy edges of the warm shores, inzoning every island with a white glowing girdle. The bland air beats now and makes itself felt as a life-giving ocean energy by the all-pervading, sifting, drenching, luminous mist of pearl sunshine. Now we may think of the life all about us. It comes to mind of itself; the marvelous abundance of fishes feeding beneath us, the myriads of trees and bushes drinking the moist light and heat, the glaciers – the ice-mills of God – on the mountains making meal for ever. Through the long afternoon, the whole creative way down to sunset, the day grows { Sketch: Liberty Cap opposite Wrangel Sound; Heavier ice current in front – right side }

Date Original



Original journal dimensions: 8.5 x 13.5 cm.

Resource Identifier



Holt-Atherton Special Collections, University of the Pacific Library

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John Muir, journals, drawings, writings, travel, journaling, naturalist