Wonders of the Colorado Desert, book cover engraving, 1907. Larger.
Living in the desert has its charms for many Californians, but few have appreciated the majesty of its beauty as much as an expatriate Englishman and one-time Methodist minister.
George Wharton James came to Nevada as a Methodist minister. He eventually left the church after a scandal, becoming first a public lecturer then an author. His spiritual training is evident in his loving descriptions of his special interest, the Colorado Desert, even when describing such irritating phenomena as desert sandstorms.
During the sandstorms the mountains that shut in the northwestern end of the desert undergo marvelous transformations. The atmosphere becomes charged with fine sand and dust particles upon which the sun reflects and plays as the clouds that intervene between it and the dust allow. Late in the afternoon this dust becomes luminous with half-transparent color-light that glows and shines and makes the whole mountainside appear as a veritable mountain of transfiguration; as if the "glory of the Lord" shone upon it. One feels in looking at it that he is on holy ground and must not only take his shoes from his feet but uncover his head in awesome reverence.
Published in 1906, George Wharton James' The Wonders of the Colorado Desert was a masterpiece of luscious, over-the-top prose, a classic of California writing on the desert.
"Resting after the day's work," from The Wonders of the Colorado Desert, illustration by Carl Eytel, 1907. Larger.
Any journey through the harsh desert country of southern California's interior can be dangerous. That's why it's a good idea to take with you a "spiritual guide."
Englishman George Wharton James was an experienced desert rat, but even he deferred to the judgment of a companion whose trail-craft was often better than his.
Centuries before the camel was brought to our American shores the burro had proven his worth, had demonstrated his strength, endurance, and reliability. Sweet-tempered and patient, too much of a philosopher to ever hurry or worry, he becomes a mental and spiritual guide, voiceless yet practical, unobtrusive but insistent, to every intelligent man who is long in his company on the desert. I think much of the burro and his intelligence. I gladly claim kinship with him, though that means I write myself down as an ass. The burro knows many things better than most white men, even the intelligent ones—desert intelligent I mean—such as I am a little. Twice burros have saved my life by finding water when my intelligence could not discover it, and often their trail-craft has proven far safer to follow than mine.
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