THE ROOSEVELT & MUIR "BEAR TREE INCIDENT"

The true,* little known story of the John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt Yosemite camping trip of 1903
By Michael E. Hartmann

The black & white photo is an actual historical photo of President Theodore Roosevelt and naturalist John Muir during their 1903 Yosemite meeting. The color photo of the fallen tree in the body of the story was taken by me in the Stanislaus National Forest at the Donnell Vista.

In May of 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt set out from Washington to visit Yosemite Valley in California. He was scheduled to visit briefly with naturalist John Muir to discuss the possible legal preservation of Yosemite and other wild and natural places in the United States. Upon arrival in Yosemite, the President took an immediate liking to Muir and slipped away from his bodyguards and the press to spend a few nights in the wild with Muir.

The men found they had much in common, particularly their love of all things outdoors. The excursion into the Yosemite wilderness proceeded as expected as the two admired the rugged beauty of the valley and exchanged stories of adventure. The primary topic of discussion was their mutual desire to prevent such areas from falling into the hands of loggers and industrialists, and falling prey to general human overuse. But Roosevelt, a hunter, humbly admitted his desire to kill a “trophy bear” on the outing, as it was the one animal he’d not yet taken in pursuit of his hobby. Additionally, he described to Muir how his friends had harassed him over his inability to shoot a bear during a publicized hunt the previous year.

Although at first fascinated by Muir’s knowledge of all things natural, coupled with his amiable demeanor, Roosevelt soon became irritated by Muir’s incessant discussion of Sierra Nevada songbird copulation, his strange penchant for constantly chewing acorns, and his audible, unpleasant flatulence. The President also thought Muir’s eating habits were disagreeable, as he had personally observed Muir consuming tree bark, bird feathers, and even dirt. The low-key Muir, conversely, soon became annoyed by Roosevelt’s bravado, his unending talk of his need to shoot a bear, and his repeated, ridiculous warnings of potential Indian attack. After a few hours, Mr. Muir felt he had to speak his mind. “I do not feel compelled to carry a firearm in the wilderness ... my wits are all I require. Additionally, the natives in the valley are peaceful, Mr. President,” said the naturalist. “I will be inclined to have faith in your affirmation when I walk out of this valley with my scalp still firmly attached to my head,” responded the President.

The first sign of trouble came on the morning of the second day. Muir had read in Harper’s Weekly that President Roosevelt enjoyed a ritual breakfast of griddle cakes and coffee every morning at 5:00 a.m. sharp. He wanted to surprise the President with such a treat in the wild, as it would be unexpected and make the trip more enjoyable. As Muir busied himself with preparing the cakes to perfection, he inadvertently left the coffee pot boiling. Roosevelt had been intently watching the camp flanks for aggressive intrusion by Sasquatch and other wild beasts, cradling his Sharps rifle. Unaware the pot was boiling, Roosevelt picked up the pot and badly scalded his hand. “Your son-of-a-bitch coffee pot has injured my [expletive] bear-shootin’ hand!” the President shouted. Muir then calmly suggested that to desecrate the temple of Yosemite with the “language of sailors” in such a manner was inappropriate. “I don’t know what you boys do over there in France,” the President responded, “but here in the West, we speak as men do.” The comment seemed to perplex the docile Muir, who was not from France. The President then added, “What kind of a horse’s ass doesn’t holler out a warning that the coffee pot is hotter than the bowels of Hell? We strung up four bastards for that same offense back in the Dakotas!” Roosevelt later wrote in his memoirs that he heard Muir call him a “bully” under his breath, but refrained from further comment as he himself may have been out of line by insinuating that Muir was a Frenchman.

Later that day Roosevelt once again became agitated when he thought he heard Muir intentionally whistling the French national anthem through his nose on a strenuous uphill hike. Imagined or not, Mr. Muir then informed the President that the country of France had made more advancements in nature preservation than the U.S. had yet achieved. Visibly perturbed, Roosevelt then insisted on moving north out of Yosemite in search of his “bear rug” for the Oval Office, well aware of Muir’s desire to show him the grandeur of Hetch Hetchy Valley to the west. By this time Muir was forced to carry most of the President’s supplies, including his two 18-pound buffalo rifles and a large, heavy rucksack. “The attack on me by your bushwhacking coffee pot precludes me from carrying my necessities,” he had informed Muir. Later, as the sun set behind a ridge, Roosevelt stopped to take in the view. As he spat to expel a large amount of tobacco juice, a strong breeze carried the juices squarely into Muir’s face at that exact moment. “I ... did not find that agreeable,” said the stunned Muir. The President chuckled, slapped Muir on the back and said, “Sorry, Swede. Let’s move out.”

As the two moved on to find a suitable camp for the evening, Mr. Muir felt compelled to inform Roosevelt that he was born in Scotland, not Sweden. “Sweden ... Scotland ... what’s the difference? We’re burnin’ daylight,” quipped Roosevelt. As night fell, Muir, perhaps intentionally, passed gas in close proximity to Roosevelt’s face as the President was seated on a log. In an attempt to flee the olfactory assault he knew would soon follow, Roosevelt split his pants along the seat as he leaned forward to escape. He responded by adjusting the glasses on his face with the barrel of his revolver, simultaneously giving Muir an intense glare. A quiet apprehensiveness enveloped the camp.

The men awoke to the new day invigorated, and both with hopes of putting the prior events behind them and forging ahead with friendship and purpose. After the men set out, the naturalist spotted one of his favorite animals on a small elevated plateau. A diminutive rodent which was rarely spotted outside of the Yosemite area was directly ahead, and Mr. Muir thought it would be a treat if Roosevelt could catch a glimpse. Encouraging Roosevelt to get a closer look, he pointed out what he perceived to be the best observation post so as to not frighten the animal away. After directing the President to the desired spot, Muir then suggested the President move a little closer. Upon taking another step, Roosevelt pitched forward, his boot apparently catching an exposed tree root as he moved. Roosevelt, unable or unwilling to brace his fall with his burned right hand, fell flat on his face against a granite outcrop. In a strange twist of fate, the President’s boot came off his right foot as he fell forward, flew over his head and tumbled over a cliff. The President let loose with a tirade of obscenities the likes of which had never been heard in the Sierra Nevada. As the rare rodent scurried away, Roosevelt grabbed the acorn pouch fastened to Muir’s jacket, tore it off, and hurled it over the cliff. Muir protested and informed Roosevelt that it had taken him a full day to gather those acorns at lower elevations for this particular outing. “Does it really matter, now that I’ve been hobbled from head to toe by your treachery?” asked the angry Roosevelt. Muir later told a friend of the awkward moment, “I feared the President might lash out with violence in an unknown way ... numerous injuries had befallen the poor man through misfortune and accident. He was embarrassed that he’d now injured his face and he was seething with anger. He was a sight to behold with torn britches, bloodied face, crippled hand and only one boot to walk on. I wondered why he chose to continue and not turn back and find an infirmary.” The men pressed on, Roosevelt bloodied and minus one boot.

Later that afternoon, Muir protested after 10 hours of hauling all of the Presidents supplies, observing that Roosevelt himself was burdened only with a small hiking stick. Muir suspected the President had been drinking, questioning his frequent access to the rucksack on Muir’s back to retrieve his “medicine.” Roosevelt, whose life had been rife with more than his share of hardships, was instantly annoyed at what he perceived to be weakness. “If you can ascend the face of mighty Mt. Whitney, as you’ve claimed, you can certainly assist the President in carrying his necessities,” Roosevelt spouted. The sarcastic remark hit Muir below the belt, as he was particularly proud of his ascent of Mt. Whitney. Additionally, to his horror, he discovered the large bag he’d been carrying for the President for two days was filled only with bourbon and rifle ammunition. Not a single scrap of food or other camping necessity was to be seen. The affable Muir had almost reached the limit of his patience. 

To add insult to injury, a hungry Roosevelt remarked that a juicy, medium rare bear steak sounded satisfying, after he had rejected the “tree-loving pine needle and acorn tomfoolery” that Muir had offered him. Roosevelt’s talk of killing a large bear picked up dramatically and seemed to be his only focus. When Muir attempted to remind him of the legislative related purpose of their outing, the President loudly berated Congress and referred to the current lawmakers as “halfwit buffoons and blowhards, not acorn worshipers and bear-lovers like some people I know.”

The two settled in for the final night on May 17, 1903 at what is now called the Donnell Vista in the Stanislaus National Forest. In a move out of character for him, Muir began to loudly complain that his bursitis and lumbago were flaring up from carrying the guns and ridiculous bourbon stock, and made it obvious that it was Roosevelt's fault. The President responded by referring to Muir as a “bird-loving fart bandit and a coffee pot desperado,” and rudely suggested he should “fornicate with a tree” if the current conditions were not suitable. Muir in turn responded by rolling his eyes skyward and audibly passing gas. A frustrated Roosevelt then shouted, “Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war!” as he bent over and intentionally farted into the face of the seated Muir.  Yet the deliberate assault on the hapless victim had an unintended consequences - the President unwittingly soiled the rear of his trousers in a profuse manner.

Things came to a head later in the night when Roosevelt’s drinking increased dramatically as he mocked the fatigued Muir, doubting his claims of mountain climbing. “You say you’ve ascended the face of the tallest mountain in the continental United States? Ben Franklin didn’t complain half as much on his death bed. In fact, down at San Juan Hill,” the President proclaimed, “we didn’t gripe about our boo-boos or make love to squirrels ... we shot Spaniards, killed bears, and ate whiskey for breakfast!” After an awkward silence during which Muir nervously prepared a meal, Roosevelt looked squarely over his glasses at Muir and laconically stated, “I once killed a man for stealing a pancake.” Disturbed by the President’s unsettling behavior, Muir decided to make his own camp away from the President.

Shortly before midnight, a drunken Roosevelt began shouting, almost unintelligibly, and throwing empty bourbon bottles at boulders. Muir later wrote that there were only two subjects he could decipher during the President’s angry barrage: Roosevelt’s festering malcontent with the Spanish after the confrontation in Cuba and his desire to see the Monroe Doctrine applied to his personal Oval Office toilet (which, apparently, had been repeatedly invaded and defiled by unknown persons). Muir, who observed in the moonlight that Roosevelt had apparently now soiled the front of his trousers, heard Roosevelt shout, “I’ll gets my damn bear if it’s the last thing I do!” as gunfire erupted. Muir watched with fascination as Roosevelt poured shot after shot from his buffalo rifles into a nearby pine tree. Within a short while, the massive tree was felled by the President’s bullets (see photo above). His work apparently finished, Roosevelt fell asleep ... but not before relieving his bladder into Muir’s campfire and delivering a final fart Muir later described as “the coup de grâce." Muir later said, “The poor soul cried himself to sleep.”

The next morning the men left their camp for the trip back to civilization, minus Roosevelt’s trophy bear. The President, hung over and filled with regret, was apparently struck with an epiphany during the night. He apologized to Muir for his boorish and embarrassing behavior, particularly in calling Muir a “tree-[expletive] weakling with decidedly European hygiene.” Muir, sensing the President’s honesty, graciously accepted the apology. The naturalist in turn apologized to the President for his only remark of the regrettable evening: that Roosevelt was a bull-headed thug of a monstrosity and a shameless, four-eyed murderous bandit better suited to the insane asylum than the White House.

On the journey back, the President outlined his plan, in superb detail, on how he would use all the power of his office to protect and preserve not only Yosemite, but numerous other wild and natural places in the United States. Truly regretting the killing of a majestic pine tree, which he claimed to have mistaken for a grizzly, Roosevelt made it his signature act to plant a seedling pine tree wherever he went in the future. True to his word, Roosevelt became a leading conservationist and forever after hung a portrait of Muir in his study.

* This story may not be true.