John Muir's (1838–1914) landscapes do not remain solely the property of his eye. Forty pages into The Yosemite, landscape description has begun to prove tedious, and Muir decides to divert his readers with story. The subtitle “An Unexpected Adventure” alerts us that doing is about to supersede looking. Wishing one night “to look at the moon through the meshes of some of the denser portions” of Yosemite Falls, Muir ventures “to creep farther behind it while it was gently wind-swayed, without taking sufficient thought about its swaying back to its natural position after the wind-pressure should be removed.” Muir begins his foray from Fern Ledge, a granite shelf extending behind the fall some four hundred feet above its base. He achieves his goal, and the wind shifts.

Trapped in the shaft of California's highest waterfall, Muir begins to weigh the chances of escape. “Would the column be swayed a few inches away from the wall, or would it come yet closer? The fall was in flood and not so lightly would its ponderous mass be swayed.”