A curious op-ed in the New York Times on Yosemite. Curious because it points in one direction for a long time before suddenly screeching to a stop and pointing in another. Leveraging off of the controversy over Confederate monuments and the renaming of some park facilities necessary during a court battle, Daniel Duane recounts the sad history of Native Americans in California in general and in the valley in particular. Readers can anticipate the point: we should abandon the Euro-Americanisms in the park and revert to names the Ahwahneechee used. And indeed he reaches this point only to ask the descendants and relatives of these people what should be done. Their recommendation: get federal recognition for the tribe and cut back on visitation. “Renaming, [Bill Leonard, a descendent of Tenaya] said, ‘is not going to make us feel any better or more important — the reality is, most of us could care less what they call things.'” You get the feeling Duane was asked by some reader or editor to ask these people about their views (much as interviews with descendants of slaves and Confederate generals have appeared) and was given an answer kind of at odds with the thrust of the piece, which he dutifully tacked on.
Anyways, the summary of injustices is fair (Duane fortunately relies on a couple of pretty appropriate references) and something more Americans should be aware of. But he kind of lets the Park Service off the hook, hiding their role behind more generic labels of “park officials” and the “federal government.” Pre-1906 management of the valley by the state allowed the Ahwahneechee to stay in the valley, and while demands for inappropriate “Indian” shows and their menial position in Yosemite Park contrasts with what should have been their place as owners and proprietors of the valley, they were at least considered to be legitimate residents of the place. Federal management systematically marginalized and removed Native Americans; that management was, after 1916, the Park Service. There is something disturbing to most Americans to realize that one of the most highly thought-of groups of public servants did in fact behave in such a manner. And it is distressing to many who call the national parks “America’s Greatest Idea” to recognize that it was prefaced on the exclusion of the peoples who had been there first.
Duane also takes a hesitant slap at John Muir, and here GG asks a bit of forgiveness for delving a bit deeper. Read More…
GG has finished reading Mark Kanazawa’a Golden Rules: The Origins of California Water Law in the Gold Rush. It is not light reading (reader should beware that this is part of the University of Chicago’s “Markets and Government in Economic History” series). In a sense, this book seeks to explain through economic theory how water law (and, to a lesser degree, mining law) evolved as the Gold Rush progressed. In some places this provides real insight, and in others it felt like forcing a straitjacket onto history, but the evidence presented is quite interesting.
Basically there are three main datasets mined here: descriptions of mining activity in the Alta Californian, mining camp rules, and California legal cases. As an economic historian, Kanazawa is clearly hoping for some quantitative data to sink his teeth into, and so the intent is to see trends over the whole of the goldfields. As such, he is hoping that the record in the Alta Californian and in the available mining camp codes are not biased by the newspaper’s editorial slant or the fragmented record of the early mining camps.
With these in hand and the writer’s interest in economic history, the text generally explores a number of particular cases that suggest general trends, substantiates these with an overview summary analysis of the evidence, and then interprets this in terms of economic theory. For the general reader, the economic arguments can seem to wander into unfamiliar terminology rather too quickly, but the remainder of the book is very accessible. Given that the water rights that emerged from California have come to dominate the West, this is an important work if you want to understand resource law in the West.
Update 8/25/17: The theory of occasional dumps to Amazon rankings was wrong; instead, individual book sales at these levels of rankings make a real difference (see near bottom); this was more or less confirmed by the “XX left in stock!” admonition as jumps coincided with a drop in XX by 1 (or on one day, drop by 2).
Sorry, this was just too amusing to pass up. GG noted awhile back that his book was listed for preorder at Amazon. Kind of a signpost that this was really going to happen. But the startling thing was that they listed the book’s sales rank, within books as a whole and geology books and history books. This seemed amazing seeing as no books had been sold yet. Curious, GG kept track of this and the picture that emerged was a bit surprising:
The book seemed to slowly decline in popularity until July 3rd, when it leapt up before declining again until, once more, on July 31st. This doesn’t seem to be the case with published books. The first time, GG wondered if one brave soul had preordered the book. But the second time, exactly 4 weeks later? Hmmm…. So GG is guessing that every 4 weeks, Amazon’s system dumps any accumulated preorders into the ranking system, producing an artificial spike. If so, presumably the curve will continue to decay again until August 28th, when it will spike again–but then what happens on Sept. 5th when the book is published?
Yes, GG can be easily amused….
More update 8/5. Read More…
A comment at a meeting GG was at got him to thinking about the popular view of scientists. The comment was that scientists in the 19th century were heroes for Americans because they helped open up the West, while in the 20th century they were more thorns in the sides of growth. Of course, this is so oversimplified it collapses quickly: John Wesley Powell, a hero for his explorations of the Colorado River, was viewed with great disdain when he closed claims for public lands. And post-WWII America fell in love with science in many ways. But still, when are scientists lauded and when are they scorned? An interesting pair of cases in the late 1860s and 1870s may shed light on this.
In both cases a scientist running a geological survey became aware of claims of major mineral finds within the area of his survey. In both cases, the scientist claimed that these finds were incorrect. In both cases, the finds were not economic. Yet in one case, the scientist in question, Clarence King, was lauded, became first director of the USGS, and was viewed as one of the best and brightest America had to offer. The other, Josiah Whitney, lost his survey and spent years grousing about the outcome. Why the difference?
Earth scientists today write papers. Historians write books (well, they write papers, too, but it seems like that is kind of the installment plan for a book). Having completed a book, GG finds it a little frustrating in an odd way.
Professional papers are, in a way, a conversation. You get enough stuff together to say “Hey, this looks interesting.” Somebody else might then have some other observations and say “No, look, the story is different.” And you are paying attention because that first paper was just the beginning of a research project. So your next paper might have your new observations and an attempt to come to grips with those other observations that came up in the interim. And so on.
A book, on the other hand, is kind of the last word. Unless you are writing a popular first-year textbook, publishers are not terribly interested in revised editions of books. And authors aren’t all that thrilled with the prospect of revisiting the whole of a book. In a way, this means that the kinds of conversation and continual revisiting of issues on a topic doesn’t happen. So there really should be a mindset in writing a book that, well, it is going to be sitting out there a long time without correction.
And so in writing about ongoing research, GG left the door open about what might come down the pike, knowing full well the give-and-take of geoscience research.
But it kind of hurts when you, as a book author, realize there was an oversight. And there is nothing to do about it but wince. For GG, it was the discovery recently of a book, Golden Rules by Mark Kanazawa, that made him wince. It was published in 2015, plenty of time for its lessons on the creation of prior appropriation water law to be incorporated in GG’s manuscript chapter on hydraulic mining. And a quick skim (GG is reading now) suggests there were many lessons.
Does it really change the basic picture in The Mountains that Remade America? Probably not, particularly as the chapter in question focused more on the environmental damage of hydraulic mining. But gosh,it would have been better with this in it.
The sad realization is that this is probably the first of many oversights to be recognized. Who knew being finished writing a book could invoke regret? [Well, other than book authors].
When you look back to find when the Old West died, GG would like to nominate 1906 as that magic year.
In 1906, the last of the classic gold rushes of the West reached its peak. Goldfield, having been found just a couple years earlier, became the most populous city in Nevada on the basis of its considerable bonanza gold deposits. It and its companion silver boom town of Tonopah represented the last gasp of big finds by miners wandering the west. As these towns faded out, the state of Nevada would try to find a new economic base. First they encouraged travel for getting a divorce, and then they removed the restrictions on gambling. That transition from a mainly extractive economy to a mainly tourism based economy began as Goldfield started to empty out. The memory of the mining heritage would live on: nearly every Nevada town seems to have a casino named the Nugget (and most others have some mining theme, like “Bonanza” or “Silver strike”), but it would increasingly be tourists and not mineral veins that would be mined.
Another tourism related event–one most folks overlook these days–occurred in 1906. The first park set aside by the nation was Yosemite Valley; in 1864 it was transferred to the state of California to be protected in perpetuity. In 1890, advocates for protecting the surrounding high country had given up on the state, feeling it had mismanaging the park, and worked to get a federally managed national park created. Thus Yosemite National Park (the federal version) was created as the third national park behind Yellowstone and Sequoia. The state, however, continued to manage the valley. Continued agitation by park advocates finally led the state to relinquish control of the valley in 1906, in essence declaring an end to any possible equivalence of state and federal control of parklands. The transfer to the federal government would also end the state’s practice of allowing Native Americans to continue to live in the valley; though it would take the Park Service decades, they finally removed the last descendant of the Ahwahneechee from the valley. For most of the following century, Native Americans would be denied a modern presence in federal parks; instead they were relegated to colorful descriptions of their ancestors’ historic occupation of the land.
And then in 1906 the San Andreas Fault, only recently named at that point, failed in the catastrophic San Francisco Earthquake. Between the quake and the fire, much of the city’s Gold Rush heritage was lost–not only buildings but photographs, written records and other memorabilia of a city that grew from a small trading post to an international metropolis on the back of the riches that passed out of the Sierra. As the city rebuilt, it would not be in the mold of the old Gold Rush town but would be the new financial and trade capital of the West Coast, one stylistically different from the city that had just been demolished.
So 1906 saw the loss of much memory of the Gold Rush, both in records in San Francisco and in activity as Goldfield began its decline. The era of modern tourism, with federally managed playgrounds and locally permitted houses of various sins, was grafted onto declining mining camps and previously state-managed land.
A coda helps to illustrate the transition. The 1906 quake triggered avalanches in the Sierra Nevada, including in the remote Mineral King valley high in the southern Sierra, where many of the buildings of a small resort were smashed. The resort’s owner was seeking a patent on land being claimed as a mill site for associated mineral claims, a request opposed by the Sierra Forest’s supervisor, who pointed out that no mining was actually occurring. Despite the destruction of much of the resort, Arthur Crowley pushed together remains of two buildings to continue operations as he continued his quest for a paten. A court held that Crowley’s claim was valid, and the patent was granted. Mining law had opened up a tourism future; the driver of the West in the 19th century was giving way to that of the 20th century.
One of the questions from the staff at UC Press about GG’s upcoming book was, could this be used in a class? GG’s first response was, well no, it wasn’t written that way. But thinking on it, maybe there is a role there. This is more a reference post to consider the possibility…