In these interconnected essays Bass shows how the Yaak forms a vital link to other near and far wild areas, one absolutely necessary for the survival of the migratory animals he has tracked over the years. Then he introduces us to the land-rapists. Pushed out of the Pacific Northwest, multi-national lumber conglomerates have recently become hellbent on clear-cutting the old growth in this unique but tourist-unfriendly valley, a place not deemed worthy of governmental protection. Bass describes how the United States Forest Service uses tax dollars to build roads into pristine forests so that logging companies can denude whole hillsides, then send the logs out of state, and frequently out of the country. Local communities are given a short-term economic boost, but then are saddled with long-term ecological disaster.

While this book is a cry for help, it is also a meditation, one often worthy of Thoreau. Bass, having moved to the wilderness to pursue a solitary life of art, wonders what happens when the last wild areas are destroyed, whether one can live and create without the "grace and magic" that exist only in wild ecosystems. He worries that when a society destroys all that is mysterious, it dooms itself. "We need wilderness to protect us from ourselves," Bass warns in this passionate love letter to one of our last pristine lands, a paradise deserving of a country's respect and protection. -- Salon

Nestled where Idaho, Montana, and Alberta, Canada, meet, the Yaak Valley—the name means "arrow" in Kootenai—is a treasure vault of old-growth pine, spruce, and Douglas fir. It is also a prime target for the logging industry, which now seeks to open the Yaak to clearcut logging. Bass (The Lost Grizzlies, 1995, etc.) is scandalized by this possibility, especially inasmuch as the US Forest Service subsidizes such logging "to the tune of one or two billion dollars per decade" and "timber companies working on public lands in the West continue to post record quarterly profits for their stockholders"—precisely because of the government's largess. This well-written, impatient, often polemical book urges that the Yaak, and other wild places, be set aside from economic development, and Bass's program is modest: "I want," he writes, "the last few roadless areas in this still-wild valley to remain that way." He also celebrates the power of wilderness to inspire the meditative, simple life: "I practice going slow," he says, "at a pace that can be sustained. I practice looking around at things." He also introduces us to neighbors who have found a special solace in the deep woods. Bass argues that most Montanans and Idahoans oppose any further destruction of their backyard wilderness and demonstrates how important old-growth forest is to the health of the entire ecosystem.

Much of this will be familiar territory to readers who know Bass's work, for he has written about the Yaak before in books like Winter (1991) and The Ninemile Wolves (1992). Even so, this is a valuable document in the continuing battle over wilderness preservation.

"A passionate, informative recounting of one man's attempt to save a very special piece of the natural world" Dallas Morning News