The Mountains of California gathers what John Muir learned during about ten years of travel and study in the Sierra Nevada. It is part natural history, part field report, and part celebration. Muir moves through the range chapter by chapter, but the chapters are bound together by one conviction: that the whole landscape is a single, intelligible work whose parts explain one another.
The opening chapters set the physical stage and lay out his central scientific claim. Muir describes the Coast Range, the great Central Valley, and the Sierra rising beyond it in belts of color and light, a range he would rather call the Range of Light than the Snowy Range. He then turns to glaciers and snow, arguing that living remnant glaciers still exist in the high peaks and that the larger valleys and basins were shaped by far greater ice-floods in the past.
From the heights he follows the water downward. Passes, glacier lakes, and glacier meadows are presented as stages in one long process: ice gouges out rock basins, the basins fill with clear lakes, the lakes slowly silt up and turn to flowery meadows, and the meadows feed the streams. Reading these chapters together, the reader sees a slow cycle of making and unmaking that runs through deep time.
The middle of the book turns to the forests and their inhabitants. Muir lingers over the great pines, firs, and Sequoias, then over the lively Douglas Squirrel, the wind-storm that he rides out high in a swaying spruce, the river floods, and the summer thunder-storms. Two of the warmest chapters belong to small wild things: the water-ouzel that sings and dives among the waterfalls, and the wild sheep of the high crags. Throughout, his eye is exact and his affection plain.
The closing chapters come down into the foot-hills and the old bee-pastures of the lowlands, where Muir recalls a California once carpeted with honey-bloom from the Sierra to the sea. Here his joy turns to warning: plows and grazing flocks have ruined much of that wild abundance. The book ends, like much of Muir's later work, by pressing the reader to see the mountains as a whole living order, and to value and guard the wildness that remains.