Chapter 2:
Monumentalism Reaffirmed: The Yellowstone
As an agricultural country, I was not favorably
impressed with the great Yellowstone basin, but its brimstone resources
are ample for all the matchmakers in the world. . . . When, . . . by
means of the Northern Pacific Railroad, the falls of the Yellowstone and
the geyser basin are rendered easy of access, probably no portion of
America will be more popular as a watering-place or summer resort . . .
.
Walter Trumbull, 1871
We pass with rapid transition from one remarkable
vision to another, each unique of its kind and surpassing all others in
the known world. The intelligent American will one day point on the map
to this remarkable district with the conscious pride that it has not its
parallel on the face of the globe.
Ferdinand Vandiveer Hayden, 1872
In 1872 the national park idea, shaped beneath the
monumental grandeur of Yosemite Valley and the Sierra redwoods, was
realized in name as well as in fact with the establishment of
Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. In subsequent years, however, what
appeared to be differences between Yosemite and Yellowstone overshadowed
the origins of the national park idea during the 1860s. In marked
contrast to the Yosemite grant, Yellowstone Park was huge, more than
3,300 square miles in area. In addition, it was truly a national park,
since the federal government retained exclusive jurisdiction over the
area. Still, in no way was Yellowstone intended to break with the
visions of 1864. Its spaciousness resulted from concern for the safety
of yet undiscovered wonders, not because park advocates in 1872 were any
more aware of the advantages of protecting an integral ecosystem. Nor
was Yellowstone so large because it was meant to protect wilderness;
Americans were still ambivalent about wild country. [1] Like Yosemite Park, Yellowstone owed its
existence to more immediate concerns. Similar to the natural phenomena
of the High Sierra, Wyoming's fabled wonderland of geysers, waterfalls,
canyons, and other "curiosities" appealed to the nation as a cultural
repository. Although it was much larger than its predecessor, therefore,
and was first to be called a national park, Yellowstone merely
reaffirmed the ideals and anxieties of 1864.
Thus if more had been known about Yellowstone [2] at the same time, perhaps the two parks would
have been established simultaneously. Well into the 1860s, however, its
steep mountains, deep canyons, and remoteness discouraged most
explorers, let alone tourists whose cultural biases might have carried
the sentiment for protection from California to Wyoming. Precisely who
first explored the region still is not known. Sometime between 1806 and
1810 the mountain man John Colter may have traversed it, although his
exact routeif in fact he ever crossed the heart of what is now
Yellowstone National Park at allhas never been verified. Evidence
that James Bridger saw the territory is far more reliable; his stories,
at least, suggest that he had a substantial knowledge about the
Yellowstone by the 1830s. [3] There are other
accounts, but only a few; the trappers, after all, were not in the West
to arouse publicity about its natural wonders. The enjoyment and
description of the wilderness awaited adventurers of a far different
persuasion.
The discovery of gold in neighboring Montana
Territory during the 1860s foretold the opening of Yellowstone to
permanent disclosure. The period of revelation began as the gold-seekers
made inroads into the region via the Yellowstone River. And,
occasionally, some deposits were unearthed. Yet more often "strikes"
consisted of spectacular scenery and natural phenomena. In 1866 Jim
Bridger added excitement to these reports with new renditions of his
already fabled (though still widely disbelieved) adventures in the
so-called mythical Yellowstone. Still, such publicity stirred several
Montanans to entertain thoughts about an expedition of their own. During
the summer of 1869 one was organized. As the date of departure drew
near, however, most of the men dropped out, ostensibly because of
unforeseen business engagements, but more likely because they now feared
Indian reprisals. Their apprehension only grew on word from Fort Ellis
that no military escort could be provided that year. With the season
drawing to a close, only three of the men, Charles W. Cook, David E.
Folsom, and William Peterson, dared risk the consequences and go it
alone. On September 6 they left the settlements behind and headed south
for the Yellowstone wilderness. [4]
No less than their counterparts in Yosemite Valley
and beneath the Sierra redwoods, the adventurers returned with
descriptions whose cultural overtones proved decisive in molding
America's first impression of the region. When Cook, Folsom, and
Peterson [5] reemerged from Yellowstone early
in October, their list of discoveries included the Grand Canyon of the
Yellowstone River, Yellowstone Lake, and the thermal wonders of what has
come to be known as the Lower Geyser Basin. For a second time
exploration of the West had revealed a made-to-order wonderland where
the handiwork of nature grandly compensated for the Old World
associations and sense of the past so painfully absent in the United
States. As Charles W. Cook was comforted to note, a limestone formation
on the outskirts of the wilderness "bore a strong resemblance to an old
castle," whose "rampart and bulwark were slowly yielding to the ravages
of time." Still, "the stout old turret stood out in bold relief against
the sky, with every embrasure as perfect in outline as though but a day
ago it had been built by the hand of man." Indeed the explorers "could
almost imagine," he concluded, "that it was the stronghold of some baron
of feudal times, and that we were his retainers returning laden with the
spoils of a successful foray." [6]
Charles Cook's attempt to ascribe human intervention
to the formation was no less sincere than prior efforts by Samuel
Bowles, Horace Greeley, Clarence King, and their contemporaries in the
High Sierra. Nor were Cook, Folsom, and Peterson to be disappointed.
Continuing on to the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, they further
discovered that here, too, "it required no stretch of the imagination to
picture," deep within the recesses of the chasm, "fortresses, castles,
watch-towers, and other ancient structures, of every conceivable shape."
Similarly, near Yellowstone Lake the men later sighted other "objects of
interest and wonder," including "stone monuments," formed "by the slow
process of precipitation, through the countless lapse of ages." [7] Wherever appropriate, such descriptions
reaffirmed that the United States could salvage a past from the
timelessness of natural forces, which, if suitably directed, themselves
could be imagined to have resulted from human initiative.
The success of Charles W. Cook and his associates
helped inspire an even more elaborate expedition the following summer.
Meanwhile, back in Montana, Cook collaborated with David Folsom on a
special diary of their descriptions, which eventually appeared in the
July 1870 issue of Western Monthly Magazine. [8] By then the second expedition was making its
final plans and preparations. To be composed of nineteen men in all, its
leader would be Henry Dana Washburn. Following two terms as an Indiana
representative to the United States Congress, Washburn in 1869 was
appointed surveyor-general of Montana, where he soon joined in the
discussions that led to the expedition. Its other participants included
Nathaniel Pitt Langford, a native of New York State turned territorial
politician, and Cornelius Hedges, a young lawyer with a degree from Yale
University. Both men, as amateur correspondents, were authenticated by
Walter Trumbull, formerly a reporter for the New York Sun; his
father, Lyman, was the senior United States senator from Illinois.
Lieutenant Gustavus C. Doane, another native of New York State,
commanded the military escort of six men. [9]
Again these brief biographies are instructive of the cultural baggage
the men, as Eastern-bred professionals, carried with them into the
Yellowstone wilderness. Here, no less than in Yosemite Valley, the
combination of eastern perceptions and the wonders of the West fostered
the earliest glimmerings of the national park idea.
With the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition, [10] the popularization of Yellowstone's cultural
possibilities was assured. Indeed, the outpouring of publicity that
followed completion of the venture soon overshadowed the prior exploits
of Cook, Folsom, and Peterson. On August 22, 1870, Washburn and his
associates left Fort Ellis, Montana Territory, and, four days later,
approached what is now Yellowstone National Park. Their adventures over
the next month aroused the imaginations of people nationwide. Like their
predecessors, Washburn and his companions marveled at the Grand Canyon
of the Yellowstone River and its spectacular upper and lower falls, over
100 and 300 feet high respectively. "A grander scene than the lower
cataract of the Yellowstone was never witnessed by mortal eyes,"
Langford stated. "It is a sheer, compact, solid, perpendicular sheet,
faultless in all the elements of grandeur and picturesque beauties." [11] On September 1 the men resumed their march
south toward Yellowstone Lake, but delayed enroute to examine the Mud
Volcano. Following their sighting of the lake on the third, they
exhausted themselves for several days in a trek around its southern
shore through mile after mile of tumbled pines. The maze soon claimed a
member of the party, Truman C. Everts, who became hopelessly separated
from his companions. No one could be confident that he had survived; in
fact he made his way out of Yellowstone several weeks later, although
much weakened and emaciated. Still, if inadvertently, Evert's brush with
death invited considerable comment and soon contributed as much
publicity to the expedition as the popularization of Yellowstone's
wonders. [12]
With the abandonment of their search for Everts, the
explorers, understandably subdued, continued westward to the headwaters
of the Firehole River. Here their spirits lifted with the sighting of
the Upper Geyser Basin, which Cook and his party had missed the previous
year. To the Washburn Expedition went the honor of locating and naming
the basin's thermal attractions, including Old Faithful geyser, destined
to become the enduring symbol of the national park idea. Yet whatever
emotions the Upper Geyser Basin arouses among modern visitors, its first
publicists welcomed the opportunity to draw comparisons between its
wonders and the attractions of Europe. "To do justice to the subject
would require a volume," Lieutenant Doane assured Congress. "The geysers
of Iceland sink to insignificance beside them; they are above the reach
of comparison." Similarly, Nathaniel P. Langford proclaimed the geyser
the "new and, perhaps, most remarkable feature in our scenery and
physical history." Again the wonder was touted all the more because its
counterpart was not even present in Europe. "It is found in no other
countries but Iceland and Tibet," Langford stated. "Taken as an
aggregate, the officer added, "the Firehole Basin surpasses all other
great wonders of the continent." [13] It
followed that the scenery of the Old World, especially the Alps, had
found its equal in the Rocky Mountains as well as the Sierra Nevada. For
the geyser was America's aloneat least with respect to
Europeto the delight of every nationalist concerned.
Yellowstone, to be sure, was soon the talk of the
popular press. No sooner did the Washburn Expedition return to Montana
than several of its participants, including Washburn, Langford, and
Hedges, composed a series of descriptive articles for the Helena
Daily Herald. [14] Within days the accounts
also spread to the East. On October 14, for example, the New York
Times carried a lengthy editorial praising Washburn's skill in
reporting the discoveries. "Accounts of travel are often rather
uninteresting," the editorial began, "partly because of the lack of
interest in the places visited and partly through the defective way in
which they are described." But Yellowstone as portrayed by the
surveyor-general of Montana struck the reader "like the realization of a
child's fairy tale." Everywhere the expedition had encountered
formations "that constantly suggested some mighty effort at human
architecture." For instance, one stream coursed "between a procession of
sharp pinnacles, looking like some noble old castle, dismantled and
shivered with years, but still erect and defiant." [15] And "beautiful" hardly seemed "the word for
the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone. Here the height more than doubles
Niagara." The revelation of this magnificent wonder, the Times
concluded, in addition to "geysers of mud and steam that must exceed the
size and power of those of Iceland," clearly explained why Washburn's
writings were "so gilded with true romance." [16]
Such publicity soon provided additional opportunities
for the explorers to market their achievement. During the winter of
1870-71, for example, Nathaniel P. Langford contracted with the Northern
Pacific Railroad to deliver a series of lectures in Washington, D.C.,
New York, and Philadelphia. In Washington his audience included Dr.
Ferdinand Vandiveer Hayden, a professor of geology at the University of
Pennsylvania, and, of significance for Yellowstone's future, the
director of the United States Geological and Geographical Survey of the
Territories. Langford's speechadded to the growing list of reports
and articles by Cornelius Hedges, Lieutenant Doane, General Washburn,
[17] and othersconvinced Hayden to drop
his plans for operating in Dakota and Nebraska that summer. Instead he
would take the survey into Yellowstone. [18]
Congress appropriated $40,000, a sum that enabled the
men to accomplish far more than another description of Yellowstone's
natural phenomena. In marked contrast to the Cook and Washburn forays,
Hayden's team included entomologists, topographers, a zoologist,
mineralogist, meteorologist, and physician. [19] Thomas Moran, the artist, and William Henry
Jackson, a frontier photographer, were also invited to provide the
all-important visual record of the expedition's discoveries. [20] Moran, today regarded with Albert Bierstadt as
co-founder of the Rocky Mountain School of landscape painting,
complemented Jackson's surprisingly detailed pictures with a series of
sketches and watercolors. Of those translated onto canvas, the most
famous and impressive is The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. In
June 1872 Congress purchased the work for $10,000 and later hung it in
the Senate lobby. A full 7 by 12 feet, the painting firmly established
Thomas Moran as Bierstadt's rival. [21]
The Hayden Survey, which departed Fort Ellis on July
15, constituted the third major investigation of Yellowstone in as many
years. Yet a fourth expedition, a military reconnaissance commanded by
one Colonel John W. Barlow and Captain David P. Heap, accompanied the
Hayden party off and on during its travels, but, for obvious reasons,
never achieved the distinction of the latter. Hayden and his men were
among the first to see Mammoth Hot Springs, [22] a phenomenon of limestone terraces and
streaming fountains on the northern outskirts of the Yellowstone
wilderness. In prior seasons Cook, Washburn, and their associates had
missed the wonder because they chose a slightly different route. The
Hayden party spent two days exploring the area, then resumed its march
southward toward the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. Here the
great falls and richly colored cliffs inspired Thomas Moran's great
painting, which still is recognized as the most famous of his career.
Its style, after all, was in keeping with the grandiose imagery of the
West so popular during the period. In the middle of the picture, off in
the distance, the Lower Fall leaps into the canyon, half-shrouded in
mist. In the foreground and to the sides of the painting, the rocks,
walls, and trees of the chasm grow progressively bolder and more angular
in appearance, as if to suggest that the formations may in fact be
thought of as castles, fortresses, or ruins. Indeed in real life,
Ferdinand V. Hayden maintained, the pinnacles stood out like "Gothic
columns . . . with greater variety and more striking colors than ever
adorned a work of human art." [23] Only William
Henry Jackson's photographs restricted the expedition to recording the
scene without embellishment; still, nothing about the canyon's
appearance deterred its publicists from declaring the formations
superior to man-made art and architecture.
On the evening of July 28 the men arrived at
Yellowstone Lake. While some members of the party stayed behind to map
the shoreline, on the thirty-first Hayden and four others, including W.
H. Jackson, struck off for the Firehole River. Three days later they
sighted the Lower Geyser Basin; on August 6 and 7 they further
investigated the Upper Geyser Basin and its hourly sentinel, Old
Faithful. Soon afterward Hayden and his contingent returned to their
comrades at Yellowstone Lake. Following yet another week of separate
forays to the west and south, Hayden regrouped the men for the march
northward and home. Back in Montana, on August 27, the geologist
officially closed all operations in the field. [24]
Like the discovery of Yosemite Valley and the Sierra
redwoods, the revelation of Yellowstone to the world offered the United
States still another opportunity to acquire a semblance of antiquity
through landscape. The protection of Yellowstone as a further outgrowth
of America's cultural nationalism has simply been overshadowed by the
debate concerning when the national park idea evolved rather than
why it evolved. Those who place greater emphasis on terminology
rather than ideology, for example, contend that Yellowstone marks the
true origins of both the idea and the institution. Yellowstone, after
all, and not Yosemite, was first to be called a national park.
[25] This line of reasoning begins with the
diary of Nathaniel Pitt Langford, whose entry for September 20, 1870,
opened as follows: "Last night, and also this morning in camp, the
entire party had a rather unusual discussion. The proposition was made
by some member that we utilize the result of our exploration by taking
up quarter sections of land at the most prominent points of interest,"
specifically, those that "would eventually become a source of great
profit to the owners." Following this suggestion, however, and others of
a similar bent, Cornelius Hedges declared "that he did not approve of
any of these plansthat there ought to be no private ownership of
any portion of that region, but that the whole of it ought to be set
aside as a great National Park, and that each one of us ought to make an
effort to have this accomplished."
According to Langford, the proposal then "met with an
instantaneous and favorable response from allexcept oneof
the members of our party, and each hour since the matter was first
broached, our enthusiasm has increased." Indeed, Langford concluded, "I
lay awake half of last night thinking about it;and if my
wakefulness deprived my bedfellow (Hedges) of any sleep, he has only
himself and his disturbing National Park proposition to answer for it."
[26]
A monument on the site of the discussion, at the
junction of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers, testifies to the widespread
acceptance of Langford's account. But that the explorers used the term
national park at this time is more than open to question. Doubts
have been cast on Langford's diary itself, which he edited and revised
for publication in 1905, thirty-five years after the event. There is
also no mention of the term "national park" in any of the numerous
publications prepared by the members of the Washburn Expedition
following their exploits; the omission is very surprising in light of
the plan's supposed adoption by all but one of the explorers. Thus it
seems reasonable to conclude that while Langford did not intentionally
distort his recollections, they magnified over time in response to the
growing popularity of the national park idea. In all probability, what
the Washburn Expedition discussed the night of September 19, 1870, if in
fact the men had resolved to campaign for a park at this early date, was
something on the order of the Yosemite grant, which preserved the gorge
and Mariposa Redwood Grove in two distinct sections. Similar small
parcels might easily have been established to preserve only
Yellowstone's major points of interest, including the canyon, falls, and
geyser basins. In either case, only later, as the men clarified their
own thoughts and determined to really push for protection of the region,
did the term "national park" evolve. [27]
Even then it appeared nowhere in the enabling act
itself; the title public park was consistently used. [28] The omission lends credence to the argument
that Yellowstone was in fact modeled after the Yosemite grant and
retained by the federal government only because Wyoming, unlike
California, was a territory rather than a state. Nor should the
comparative insignificance of Yosemite in terms of size hide the
striking similarity between the intent of its advocates and those who
supported a Yellowstone park. While Yellowstone's explorers admitted
that the region as a whole was "picturesque," they, too, invariably
sought out those wonders whose uniqueness suggested the human
intervention found so wanting in the American scene. It followed that
wilderness preservation was the least of their aims. Nathaniel P.
Langford's visions for Yellowstone Lake, for example, might well have
been inspired by Lake Como or the French Riviera. "How can I sum up its
wonderful attraction!" he exclaimed. "It is dotted with islands of great
beauty, as yet unvisited by man, but which at no remote period will be
adorned with villas and the ornaments of civilized life." Even at the
moment, he confided to his diary, Yellowstone Lake "possesses
adaptabilities for the highest display of artificial culture, amid the
greatest wonders of Nature that the world affords. . ." Not many years
would elapse, he predicted, "before the march of civil improvements will
reclaim this delightful solitude, and garnish it with all the
attractions of cultivated taste and refinement." [29]
Eventually his dream would be realized, at least
partially, with construction of the grand hotels beside the lake, the
canyon, and the geyser basins. Granted, today Yellowstone is highly
valued because it also has wilderness. The park's first publicists,
however, did not embrace its wild country with the same enthusiasm, at
least not in 1870. Rather the charge of crudeness often leveled at the
United States aroused precisely the opposite reaction. As with Langford,
the Upper Falls of the Yellowstone River furnished Cornelius Hedges with
a vision more appropriate for the future. "I fancied I could see in the
dim distance of a few seasons an iron swing bridge," he declared in the
pages of the Helena Daily Herald, "with bright, happy eyes gazing
wondrously upon this beauty of nature in water colors." In the meantime
a "convenient ledge, with a surface accommodation for 20 persons,"
provided access for those who preferred to view the cataract in a more
genteel fashion. [30]
With that statement Hedges joined Langford in
revealing his innermost yearnings about the possibility of refining the
region. While the United States lived in the shadow of European art and
architecture, the absence of villas, iron bridges, and other ornaments
was as unsettling in Yellowstone as anywhere else. The appreciation of
nature for its own sake was not yet widely accepted. Indeed, as late as
1905 Langford might have stricken his conviction that Yellowstone should
be "civilized" from his diary; that he instead published the passage
intact bears out the depth of his original commitment to popularize the
region as a tourist resort rather than a wilderness preserve.
The decision was in keeping with the explorers' urge
to lend their exploits cultural as well as historical significance. As
vindicated provincials, they freely joined Langford in further
dismissing European culture with their newly discovered "spires of
protruding rocks," "pillars of basalt," and other forms of the "majestic
display of natural architecture." Nor did Langford seem in the least
embarrassed when he claimed to have located a geyser whose crater
resembled "a miniature model of the Coliseum." [31] As long as the United States lacked comparable
examples of the real thing, the New World masterpieces of the
Yellowstone would also help ease the period of transition.
As in the case of Yosemite Valley and the Sierra
redwoods therefore, to ignore the threatened confiscation of
Yellowstone's wonders by private interests would again be the equivalent
of admitting that the United States had no pride in its culture. No
sooner had the explorers confirmed the existence of the natural
phenomena than attempts to exploit them arose. Even as the Hayden Survey
entered Yellowstone in the summer of 1871, two claimants were cutting
poles in anticipation of fencing off the geyser basins along the
Firehole River. [32] Supposedly the Washburn
Expedition had discussed and rejected a similar scheme the previous
year; whether or not the surveyor-general and his companions further
considered the park idea at this time, however, did nothing to diminish
the influence of cultural anxiety as a spur for its advancement.
The events of the park campaign itself, as distinct
from the perceptions that inspired it, are still unclear. Langford's
diary aside, the financier Jay Cooke and officials of the Northern
Pacific Railroad may actually have suggested the park bill and motivated
the interested parties. The interpretation does have considerable
support. As early as January 1871 Nathaniel P. Langford lectured in the
East under sponsorship of the line. Similarly, that summer Cooke
extended financial aid to Thomas Moran so that the artist might
accompany the Hayden Survey into Yellowstone. Finally, on October 27,
1871, Professor Hayden himself received an official request from an
agent of the Northern Pacific project to lobby on behalf of the park
proposal. "Let Congress pass a bill reserving the Great Geyser Basin as
a public park forever," the letter suggested, "just as it has reserved
that far inferior wonder the Yosemite Valley and big trees. If you
approve this, would such a recommendation be appropriate in your
official report?" [33] Cooke and his associates
realized, of course, that if Yellowstone became a park, their railroad
would be the sole beneficiary of the tourist traffic.
With the introduction of the park bill in Congress,
however, officials of the Northern Pacific apparently stayed out of the
limelight. At least in public, the House and Senate placed their trust
in the writings of the explorers themselves. The arguments of Dr. Hayden
were especially influential. At the request of the House Committee on
the Public Lands, he prepared a detailed summary of Yellowstone's
qualifications for park status. When the geologist presented the
statement, the committee released it verbatim as its own report in favor
of the bill. [34] No document does more to
reveal the explorers' reliance on promoting the region as another
cultural oasis. After decrying the callousness of those laying claim to
Yellowstone's wonders, Hayden objected that they intended "to fence in
these rare wonders so as to charge visitors a fee, as is now done at
Niagara Falls, for the sight of that which ought to be as free as the
air or water." The failure of Congress to intervene decisively, he
concluded, would doom "decorations more beautiful than human art ever
conceived" to be, "in a single season," despoiled "beyond recovery." [35]
Hayden's outspoken reminder about the nation's
failure to prevent the disfigurement of Niagara Falls was highly
effective, especially in providing park backers a fitting analogy for
their case. Similarly, his exposure of the superiority of Yellowstone's
"decorations" over "human art" challenged Congress either to approve the
park or risk further national embarrassment. Although the formations of
the West invited obvious comparisons to castles, ruins, and other
storybook structures, nationalists were not so nebulous in their
analogies, but rather debunked specific examples of Old World art and
architecture. The geologist, by again specifying where the nation had
failed to match its rhetoric with a commitment to action, thus helped
revive the formula for protection found successful in 1864.
Congress further asked Professor Hayden to suggest
suitable boundaries for the park, although again, they were drawn large
to insure the preservation of Yellowstone's wonders, not its wilderness
per se. [36] Meanwhile, he, Langford, Walter
Trumbull, and others worked long and hard to effect a favorable vote.
For example, they placed 400 copies of Langford's article in the May and
June, 1871, issues of Scribner's Monthly on the desk of each
senator and representative prior to the debates in both houses.
Similarly, William H. Jackson's photographs and Thomas Moran's
watercolors and sketches were displayed prominently in the halls of the
Capitol. News that Moran was nearing completion of his great canvas of
the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River also evoked widespread
publicity. Finally, Hayden and his associates tried to meet personally
with as many members of the Congress as possible. In retrospect, it was
a very thorough campaign, one that paid off on March 1, 1872, when
President Ulysses S. Grant signed the Yellowstone Park Act into law. [37]
Precisely who authored the bill still is not known.
The leading candidate for the honor, however, would be Representative
Henry L. Dawes of Massachusetts. Not only did he support the Hayden
Survey with great enthusiasm, but also his list of acquaintances,
including Frederick Law Olmsted and Samuel Bowles, indicates that he
must have been favorably disposed to the idea of preservation from an
early date. [38] In either case, similar to
Yosemite and the Mariposa Redwood Grove, Yellowstone was "dedicated and
set apart as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and
enjoyment of the people." Like Yosemite, of course, it would be decades
before Yellowstone enjoyed any appreciable visitation; the Northern
Pacific Railroad itself was not completed, nor would it link up with the
park until 1883. An immediate justification for the reserve was its
symbolic importance. As soon as possible, the secretary of the interior
was to prepare regulations providing "for the preservation from injury
or spoliation, of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities, or
wonders within said park," which must be retained "in their natural
condition." [39] The striking similarity
between the intent of these stipulations, and those of the Yosemite Park
bill, lends credence to the claim that the national park idea was
first realized in 1864. To be sure, only because Yosemite was not called
a national park has its identical role as a wonderland set aside in the
national interest occasionally been discounted.
Comparisons between the area of the two parks
undoubtedly contributed to any confusion about their parallel intent. In
1864 Yosemite was a very small affair, barely forty square miles
surrounding the valley and redwoods. As a result, not only was
Yellowstone the first national park, but, by virtue of its size, it was
the first to anticipate the "ideal" national park as the idea came to
evolve. But again, whatever resemblance Yellowstone bore in 1872 to the
modern standard was purely unintentional. Had more been known about the
region, namely, that the best of its natural phenomena had in fact been
located, in all probability Yellowstone, like Yosemite, would have been
established as a fragmented series of parcels encompassing little more
than its major attractions.
Rarely would national parks of the future be as large
or inclusive. Indeed, this was to become the great paradox of the
national park idea. Granted, the United States sought out and protected
the "earth monuments" of the West as replacements for the landmarks of
human achievement still absent in the New World. Yet in few instances
did the credibility of preservation for cultural ends require more than
protection of a wonder by itself. In the meantime the nation had another
reputation to encourage and protect, one more in keeping with its
pioneer origins and expansionist ideals. Fortunately for preservation,
the time when the United States would have to decide between parks and
profits was not yet quite at hand.
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