Going-to-the-Sun

In Short

This book serves as both a travelogue and a creative manifesto, documenting a six-week trek through the Rocky Mountains undertaken by the author and his friend, the explorer Stephen Graham. Rather than a standard prose narrative, the work is composed as a series of drawings—"United States Hieroglyphics"—accompanied by incidental poetry. It captures the rugged majesty of the American West, the camaraderie of the trail, and a playful, imaginative dialogue between the physical landscape and the author’s own internal mythology of fairies, historical figures, and celestial creatures.

The Story

The narrative begins with a brisk, humorous account of an expedition through Glacier Park, Montana, extending into Alberta, Canada. The author describes the physical reality of the climb: ten-hour nights of freezing temperatures, the sheer, vertical nature of the mountains, and the constant, breathless effort required to keep pace with his companion, Stephen Graham. He admits that much of their fireside conversation was fueled by his own attempts to recite Bryce’s American Commonwealth from memory, a mental exercise that became an "invisible ingredient" in their camp tea.

As the trek progresses, the reality of the mountains gives way to the author’s imaginative transformation of them. He finds in "Going-to-the-Sun Mountain" a sacred, American equivalent to Fujiyama. The prose shifts into a visual and poetic exploration where the landscape is populated by mythical entities. He describes encounters with a "Mystic Rooster" of the sunrise, a curious bird acting as a guide, and the spectral appearance of Johnny Appleseed planting trees in the mountain crevices. The physical exhaustion of the climb—the shaking knees and the difficult terrain—is mitigated by these visions, which he treats as literal truths of the high-altitude wilderness.

The second half of the book moves into a deeper, more experimental phase. The author reflects on the "Hieroglyphics" he has invented, viewing them as a way to map the American soul. He creates a metaphorical "kite string" made of cobweb that allows him to survey the entire United States, assigning symbols to every state—from the corn of Illinois to the log cradle of Kentucky. He then engages in a strange, philosophical debate with a mountain-cat, who claims to have insights into a "perfect" version of Boston, contrasting the actual, flawed world with an idealized, mythic version of the American city.

The book concludes by moving beyond the immediate mountain setting into cosmic and historical musings. The author explores the "rockets" of the Fourth of July reaching Saturn, meditates on the ghosts of Egyptian queens, and observes the follies of politics and vanity. The journey ends not with a return to civilization, but with a lingering sense of the sacredness of the natural world. He leaves the reader with the image of the Mariposa lily leaning against a stream, suggesting that the "Age of Gold" is not a historical period to be mourned, but an eternal possibility found in the quiet, natural grace of the wilderness.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author introduces the premise of his arduous, six-week mountain trek with Stephen Graham. He sets the tone by balancing the physical reality of "perpendicular" mountains against his own intellectual baggage, specifically the reciting of heavy political texts to survive the cold.

The mountain vision The focus shifts to the summit of Going-to-the-Sun Mountain, where the narrative transitions from memory into myth. The author introduces a series of whimsical, fairy-tale figures, including a circus-running fairy and a crimson, flower-like rooster that dominates the sunrise.

The mapping of the union The author reflects on his "thought-boat," a mental device that allows him to fly a kite made of cobwebs over the American landscape. He assigns vivid, symbolic identities to each state, turning the entire country into an "outdoor temple" for the singer and the rover.

The debate with the mountain-cat In a lengthy, imaginative sequence, the author encounters a mountain-cat that holds a distorted, idealized, and somewhat violent view of Boston. This serves as a satirical critique of the cultural "Hub," contrasting the cat's dream of a noble, wild, and ancient Boston with the author’s own skeptical observations.

The cosmic and the ancient The final section expands the scale to include rockets reaching Saturn and reflections on the burning gardens of Babylon. The book closes on a meditative note, reconciling the grandeur of the mountains with the delicate, ephemeral beauty of flowers and the enduring power of nature.

The People

The Author is the central, restless consciousness, a poet seeking to harmonize his love for American history with his desire for wild, untamed experiences. He is self-deprecating about his physical limitations on the trail but deeply confident in his role as a "scribe" of his own unique, invented hieroglyphic language.

Stephen Graham is the author’s lifelong friend and the "explorer-poet" who drives the physical pace of the expedition. He is described as a man of patience, enduring the author’s endless recitations of political theory and his eccentric obsession with Egyptology. He represents the grounded, adventurous spirit of the trip.

The Mountain-Cat serves as a surreal, antagonistic interlocutor. He is a "prophet-beast" who claims to have a deeper, more mystical understanding of the world than the author. Through his dialogue, he acts as a foil, challenging the author’s perceptions of human history and culture, particularly his views on Boston and the nature of civilization.

Johnny Appleseed appears as a recurring, spectral figure. He is not merely a historical character here, but a living, breathing force of nature who turns the mountain peaks into orchards. He represents the author’s hope for a world built on simple, prayerful, and fertile foundations.

In Its Own Voice

"Any unicorn is worth his oats, and so we fed him bacon, and we made an extra cup of tea, which he drank."

The author describes a moment of surreal domesticity while camping high in the mountains, treating the mythical unicorn as a literal, hungry presence in their camp.

"I read the aspens like a book, and every leaf was signed, and I climbed above the aspen-grove to read what I could find."

The author reflects on his attempts to interpret the natural world as a written language, a theme that informs his invention of hieroglyphics.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the search for an American "Arcadia"—a way of living that reconciles modern civilization with the raw, spiritual power of the wilderness. The author argues that the boundaries between countries and states are artificial constructs that can be made friendly and open, much like the Canadian-American line he and Graham crossed. Underneath this is a deep question about how a poet should view history: he rejects the "silly prose" of modern life in favor of a personal mythology where the past—whether Egyptian, pioneer, or poetic—is constantly alive and interacting with the present. It is an argument for the transformative power of the imagination when faced with the overwhelming scale of the natural world.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the confluence of nature writing and experimental poetry will find this a singular experience. It feels less like a traditional book and more like a fever dream of the American West. The prose is warm and conversational, though it is frequently interrupted by the author’s dense, idiosyncratic verse and his insistence on the visual nature of his "hieroglyphics."

Modern readers should be prepared for the author's period-specific attitudes; his references to Egyptian studies and his debates with the "mountain-cat" reflect the intellectual fashions of the early 20th century. The book does not offer a linear plot, and its rhythm is intentionally erratic, mirroring the "restless" nature of the hike itself. It remains a fascinating artifact for those interested in the history of American poetry and the way the landscape of the Rockies was interpreted by the artists of that era. What stays with you is the author's ability to turn a simple, exhausting climb into a temple of memory and myth, and his persistent, joyful belief that the world is a place where a unicorn might reasonably share a cup of tea.