Books with Maps (Books 4-6 of 55)

It was so windy this morning, one could have saved gas and coasted to work with the right sized sail mounted to the roof of the car and the gears shifted to neutral.

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I love books with maps. There is something appealing about being able stop at any point in a story or historical account, flip to the appropriate map, and find a referenced location or landmark.

The first map-clad book I ever read was Lloyd Alexander's The Black Cauldron, the second book in The Chronicles of Prydain.

My favorite maps are the ones found in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. I've always wondered if Tolkien had a giant print of Middle Earth hanging on his wall for easy reference when he wrote.

I'm rambling about maps because three of the books I recently read contained them. All three were non-fiction, which means somebody (not necessarily the author) went through a lot of trouble to make them.

Fictional maps are so much easier to make. Surveying the landscape of one's imagination involves less time, money, and danger than surveying landscape in the real world. Can you imagine how difficult Mordor would have been to survey if it had been real? ("Excuse me, Samwise, I missed that last reading. Could you run back to the top of Mount Doom with the rod so I can take another reading? And mind the equipment around the orcs!")

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The first book I read was A Summer of Travel in the High Sierra by Joseph N. LeConte. In the summer of 1890, a twenty-year-old LeConte and three university friends went on a 652-mile hike, which started in Fresno, crossed through Kings Canyon (by way of Mt. Whitney), Owens Valley, and Yosemite, and finished in Lone Pine. His account of their expedition is inspiring.

I should mention the edition I borrowed from the library is rather rare. In 1972, the publisher only printed 1,000 copies. I read number 662. The book includes an introduction by Shirley Sargent and a neat preface by Ansel Adams. If also includes old maps of Sequoia National Park and the Kings River Canyon (called the King's River Yosemite in the book).

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The second book was Richard Preston's The Wild Trees: A Story of Passion and Daring. It's about men and women (well, mostly men) who have fallen in love with climbing trees, primarily old-growth redwoods. In the book, Preston reveals a whole new world high above the ground where a unique and diverse ecosystem exists. It was intriguing to learn about the bonsai forests, made up of small fir, spruce, buckthorn, and other trees, that grow near the crowns.

At times, it seemed as though the climbers were more than just passionate about trees. They seemed downright obsessed. One couple went so far as to get married in between two redwood titans. Amazingly, they were able to find a minister with the requisite climbing skills. (Knowing me, I would have accidentally dropped the ring.)

The book included maps of Northern California that highlighted a number of parks and preserves. They also showed the general, but not precise, location of some of the world's tallest trees, including Stratosphere Giant and Hyperion, the world's tallest tree (379.1 feet).

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The third (and last) book was Tim Cahill's Lost in My Own Backyard, an amusing book focused on Yellowstone National Park. Cahill highlights some of his favorite day hikes and landmarks in the park. He also gives a brief description of three backpacking trips. Every location mentioned is shown on the scaled map that adorns the inside covers. It's a short, but informative read. I can't wait to visit Yellowstone.

If for no other reason than the silly title, I now want to read Cahill's A Wolverine is Eating My Leg.

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For those keeping score at home, I've now read seven books this year. I expect that pace to drop dramatically as we enter February, especially since the next few books are utterly map-less.