Before reading THE MOJAVE, I thought that desert a relatively small area northeast of Los Angeles extending to Needles and the Colorado River. I was surprised to learn that it also stretches into western Arizona and as far north as the southern tip of Utah, and encompasses southern Nevada and such places as Death Valley, Las Vegas, and Hoover Dam. Indeed, David Darlington's book provides a wealth of information about this big "empty" place. After an opening chapter on that definitive symbol of this desert, the Joshua Tree, Darlington explores such diverse places and topics as a seventy-mile stretch of old Route 66, the space shuttle landing area at Edwards Air Force Base, the desert as a convenient hiding place for dead bodies and illegal drug labs, and a history of area mining from the first pick-and-shovel prospectors to today's international conglomerates. As a self-proclaimed conscientious objector, the author describes, but isn't thrilled about, the military's use of the region, from Patton's Desert Training Center during WWII, to modern day's Fort Irwin National Training Center (for Army infantry maneuvers) and the Nevada Test Site (for nuclear weapons). And, on a less apocalyptic note, he describes cattle ranching and the life of the desert tortoise, and reveals Giant Rock as a mecca for UFO and ET True Believers.

Most of what THE MOJAVE imparts to the reader is truly fascinating and informative, so I was initially tempted to give it at least a 4-star rating. However, the final chapter is a tediously long - 91 of the volume's 314 pages - narrative history of the conflicts arising from desert land (ab)use, such as urban over-expansion (in Las Vegas) and the recreational use of off-road vehicles, epitomized by the on-again, off-again and much fought over Barstow to Vegas ORV race. Darlington's hot button seems to be the fate of the endangered desert tortoise, about which he apparently cares a lot (though tries not to be obvious about it). But it was way much more than I needed to know, especially when the author bored me to tears with the escapades of the Phantom Duck, the nemesis of the Fed's Bureau of Land Management. And, because the author apparently disapproves of the manner in which the Mojave is being utilized by the military, Big Mining, and greedy land developers, the tone of the book is unnecessarily humorless. Gee, Dave, I wish you could've lightened up more - the Earth continues to spin.

His prose does not call attention to itself, but he deftly weaves scientific information with human behavior in a portrait of the desert at a certain time in its relationship with humankind.

My only quibble is that it could've been longer-- Route 66, the definitive Mojave highway, is barely mentioned and the impact of the railroad-- the *real* reason the Mojave is inhabited-- is never even mentioned. But these are minor complaints. Each subject is worthy of a book in its own right, so adding would've made it a rather massive read.

Darlington bravely lets the people involved in the desert speak for themselves, in all their moral ambiguity and colorfulness. No one in the debate over desert land management becomes either a saint or Satanic (with one exception, and he's gored by his own words, not Darlington's).

A must-read for anyone who has ever loved the desert.

Campbell's strength is writing about the science, the wildlife, the extremes of weather and of living in a difficult place. His weakness is his utter lack of self-analysis. He berates the tourists who come to this place (does he think he owns the Antarctic area himself?), and laments the loss of microscopic and macroscopic life that is lost when the loutish tourist dares step on the fragile landscape, yet he is blissfully unaware of the far greater damage he does to the ecosystem when he powers up the hills to work on the weatherstation, and when he pulls up marine creatures and watches them burst, dying, under his microscope.

I guess anything is fair game when done under the guise of 'science', but woe be to the ordinary person who dares to learn about one of the farthest reaches of the planet.

Henry David Thoreau :: _Walden_ :: _The Maine Woods_
John Muir :: _My First Summer in the Sierra_ :: _Travels in Alaska_

The analogy is almost perfect. Each of these writer-naturalists is most often identified geographically with the setting of his best-known work (i.e., Walden Pond or the Sierra Mountains). Each was intrigued by a vastly different habitat located north of his usual stomping ground -- and was so enticed by that wilderness region that he made multiple visits and took copious notes on everything he saw. For Thoreau, it was the forests and mountains of Maine, while Muir delighted in the glaciers of Alaska. Both made their trips by water with native guides but also with at least one old friend along for companionship. They later produced travelogue essays and / or lectures about their journeys, both describing miles and miles of terrain and the very few residents they encountered along the way. Both _The Maine Woods_ and _Travels in Alaska_ chronicle the discoveries made during three separate trips: Thoreau's adventures occurred in 1846, 1853, and 1857; and Muir's happened in 1879, 1880 and 1890. Both men died of a lung disease (tuberculosis, pneumonia) before making final edits on the third portion, the last journey, of each book. Both of the resulting books were put together by surviving relatives and were published posthumously. Eerie, isn't it?

That being said, my advice to the reader of Thoreau is the same as written in my review of Muir's _Travels in Alaska_: Don't read this one first if you haven't read anything else by him. Read _Walden_ and some of the shorter travel pieces before moving on to _The Maine Woods_. Here Thoreau is at once fascinated by the thickness of the forests and appalled by the devastation caused by the lumber industry. You'll follow him up Mount Katahdin and canoe along with him on lakes and down rivers. You'll learn about the kind of true camping that could be done only in the wilds of sparsely-inhabited country. You'll see lots of trees and plants and animals and hear some of Thoreau's opinions about nature and mankind. And you'll be pleased to know that everyone returns home safely in the end.

Thoreau was asked on his deathbed if he had made his peace with God. His retort was, "I did not know we had ever quarrelled." Even though he told a friend that he would die without regret, these kinds of last-minute questions must have forced him to take quiet mental stock of the events of his life in search of something that didn't quite fit with his philosophy. It is said that his final words were "moose" and "Indian." I believe that, with those utterances, he had finally realized his sole regret in life: that he had witnessed the killing of several Maine moose -- the last one, by his Indian guide -- and had done nothing to stop the slaughter. Whenever the hunters were thus engaged, Thoreau retreated to his botanizing and documenting the plant life in the area. He deliberately put blinders on at a time when he could have prevented the animals' deaths. And perhaps his own rationalizing behavior was not made clear to him until the end. For as he says here in the "Chesuncook" chapter, "Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine-trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it." That statement could be a personal chastisement, a reminder to himself. If that's the only wrong performed during your lifetime, Henry, then you did pretty well.

The photos in HAWKS IN FLIGHT show the birds as seen from the side flying close to the ground and as well as overhead. The book also includes drawings showing birds that resemble each other juxtaposed side by side as they would never appear in nature. Some of the photos are not very clear and the drawings are darker than I like, but no less a birder than Roger Tory Petersen recommended this book which nicely complements his own books.

Although the title includes the reference to hawks, the chapters cover Buteos, Accipiters, Falcons, Kites, Harriers, Eagles, Ospreys, and Vultures. The chapter on Accipiters covers the Cooper's Hawk, the hawk I see by the roadside in Washington DC. We also see Falcons chasing our song birds. A whole lot of back-stabbing goes on in this town.

For those just starting out in hawk watching, and for general use by even the most serious hawk watchers, I strongly recommend another work by Dunne et al., Hawk Watch: A Guide for Beginners, which is a large-format condensed version of Hawks in Flight. this book does focus exclusively on eastern species, however. Having both books is ideal.

In addition, I still think Peterson's paintings are the best in presenting the birds in a manner closest to how they look in the field. Sibley's paintings are a bit stark compared to the real thing. On a recent trip to Madera Canyon, I noted this when looking, in particular, at a Lazuli Bunting, and a Rufous-Winged Sparrow.

Sibley's new guide is very good, but I still keep "Roger" in the fanny pack, and Sibley back in the car as reference.

Good birding.