Amazon Kindleでは、 Disappearing Destinations (Vintage Departures Original) をはじめとする200万冊以上の本をご利用いただけます。 詳細はこちら
¥ 1,989
  • 参考価格: ¥ 2,044
  • OFF: ¥ 55 (3%)
通常配送無料 詳細
通常3~5週間以内に発送します。 在庫状況について
この商品は、 が販売、発送します。
Disappearing Destinations... がカートに入りました
裏表紙を表示 表紙を表示
サンプルを聴く 再生中... 一時停止   Audible オーディオエディションのサンプルをお聴きいただいています。

Disappearing Destinations: 37 Places in Peril and What Can Be Done to Help Save Them (Vintage Departures Original) (英語) ペーパーバック – 2008/4/8

すべての 2 フォーマットおよびエディションを表示する 他のフォーマットおよびエディションを非表示にする
Amazon 価格 新品 中古品
¥ 1,989
¥ 1,514 ¥ 2,046

Amazon Student会員なら、この商品は10%Amazonポイント還元(Amazonマーケットプレイスでのご注文は対象外)。





United States  


Summer was clinging to southern West Virginia halfway through September. It was still warm, but the really stagnant days had passed. There was a breeze, and the hardwood trees along the Coal River's banks had already begun their autumn show. Bill Currey and his buddies were moving their five kayaks slowly downriver on an eight-mile stretch in the Kanawha Valley. Beneath a baby-blue sky they bobbed and weaved through some light white water, occasionally pulling over to fish in some of the deep pools that form behind bedrock boulders. Currey, now with a snowy beard, has been plying the Coal River and its tributaries since his boyhood days in St. Albans, thirteen miles from the capital, Charleston. As president of the Coal River Group, a nonprofit focused on cleaning up and promoting the river, he is so thrilled to unveil his river that he's willing to divulge some of its secrets. But not too many. "That's a great fishing float. On an eight-mile trip we were catching, on any given day, about a fish per mile," he says. They reeled in a smallmouth bass, a walleye, and some Kentucky spotted bass. ("When you catch one, they get up on their tails and dance," says Currey.) "I can't be saying any more about fishing there or my buddies'll shoot me."  

The Coal is made up of three branches-the Big, Little, and Lower Coal rivers-each stretching more than thirty miles. The Big and Little legs have their headwaters up over three thousand feet in the sandstone ridges of the Coal River, Cherry Pond, Guyandotte, and Kayford mountains. The Coal River in all drains about eight hundred square miles of West Virginia's rugged, rolling mountains. When the tributaries from those peaks come together, the river is at first rough and narrow but then opens up into smooth water that would welcome any beginning paddler. All one hundred miles of the river are included on the Walhonde Water Trail. The Walhonde was recently designated as the only river trail entirely within the state boundaries of West Virginia. It's the result of four years of faith and backbreaking labor by the Coal River Group. There are nineteen marked put-in sites along the river, and no matter which section you pick, you're in for a taste of legendary Appalachia. "On the upper ends it's more like a creek where the trees practically envelop it. It's so shady and the water is clear," Currey says. The traffic on the river is so light, and some of the communities so isolated, that river-runners themselves will often become the attraction. "People don't walk outside their back door and see bright-colored kayaks going by every day," says Currey. "So when we do go by some of the more isolated areas, kids will come out and wave from their yards and ask, 'Where'd you get them pretty boats at?' That area is so virgin in so many ways. It kind of blows you away."  

Appalachia is still marked by such communities, spread out along the Coal River and beyond, where the word "stranger" has no meaning and where English and Scotch-Irish ballads plucked out on a dulcimer, banjo, or fiddle are still heard. Atop heavily misted peaks, purple monkshood and trumpet creeper bloom lavishly. Huckleberries, edible violets, peppermint, and sassafras wait to be sampled, and in antithetically named "hollows," fox and opossum roam and sourwood honey flows. West Virginia has historically been a land of locals, not of tourists, but that's beginning to change. Tourism is offering some much-needed economic diversity to the state where coal was once king. While mining no longer employs many of its residents, it's still environmentally devastating-particularly in the southwestern part of the state-and politically powerful. Locals like Currey believe that if given the chance, responsible tourism could be the area's "great green hope" and offer the reprieve from mining that the state desperately needs.  

West Virginia is garnering the attention of a growing number of people from the alfresco set, most of whom are fleeing densely populated urban centers on the eastern seaboard. But the Coal River is a long way, geographically and culturally, from the feathers in the cap of the state's Division of Tourism, like Harpers Ferry, the New and Gauley rivers, and Monongahela National Forest. Despite its boomtown tourism potential, the western part of the state is relatively untouched by visitors. Southern West Virginia's naturally extreme topography, which has kept so much of it isolated for centuries, seems a natural draw for outdoor-recreation types. In that way, they'd fit right in with the locals. "We're outdoor people. We've grown up getting out on the river and into the woods," says Currey. Without the influence of outsiders, locals in the state's more remote areas have remained more of the mind and pace of the original West Virginians, who stood up against and seceded from Virginia because they didn't agree with its politics. "Mountaineers are always free" became their motto.  

Maria Gunnoe is one of the descendants of Appalachia's original mountaineers, the Native Americans who thrived in the area and were joined later by liberated slaves and English, Irish, and Scottish immigrants. Maria's land is that of her granddaddy, and his daddy before him, whose wife was a Cherokee who fled the Trail of Tears and hid in these deep, bountiful recesses. Gunnoe lives in Bob White, not far from the serenity of the Coal River, where lush mountains seem to fold one over the other infinitely and where residents are custom-made for life in Appalachia. Among these isolated hills, their adaptability and self-sufficiency have made lives and land inseparable.  

"My family spent four generations tending to this land to pass it on. We were God-fearing stewards of this land," Gunnoe says, surveying her forty acres, once lush with orchards. "I could walk through my yard at any given point and pull an apple off a tree, or a peach or a pear, and hazelnuts, walnuts, chestnuts-just an abundance of food that was there for the taking." But in the past few years that's all changed, due to a force that even her predecessors with all their tribulations couldn't have conceived of: mountaintop mining.  

This newest method of coal extraction, called mountaintop removal/valley fill, is stripping Appalachia of its solace and natural richness. Residents of Bob White feel that like their namesake bird, the softly whirring bobwhite quail, they're being flushed from their habitat of steep mountain hollows. Gunnoe says that mountaintop mining is wresting away their safety, quiet, and subsistence. And it's yanking the heartstrings of those whose affection for and dependence on this land is no less vital than the blood in their veins. For them, mountaintop removal threatens to still the pulse of their Appalachia.  

"Appalachia" refers to the dense, fertile belt that begins in Pennsylvania and stretches from the West Virginia border south along the spine of the southern Appalachian Mountains through Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Georgia. These once-quiet rolling peaks, which begin where the glaciers of the last ice age halted, are carved from 350-million-year-old shale and limestone.  

The staggering richness of the Appalachian Highlands ecosystem is renowned among the scientists, explorers, writers, and artists who have roamed there for centuries. In 1671, the frontiersman Robert Fallam said: "It was a pleasing tho dreadful sight, to see mountains and hills as if piled one upon the other." Botanist William Bartram, who traversed this wonderland in 1775, called the southern Appalachians a "sublime forest."  

More recently, this area has been heralded as the most biologically diverse temperate region anywhere on earth. Around each curve here the vegetation alone astounds, from boreal, cove, pin oak, and hardwood forests-blooming dogwood, tulip poplar, and redbud are among the area's beauty queens-to heath and grassy balds. Some two thousand species of Appalachian flora have been identified, two hundred of which are said to be native to and entirely confined to this complex ecohub. Its multihued tangles of unkempt rhododendron, mountain laurel, and azalea are near mythical, its ginseng and morel mushrooms coveted worldwide.  

This virtual island of biodiversity is a geological oddity. Life was chased southward by an advancing ice sheet ten thousand years ago, and where the glaciers stopped, the fifty-million-year-old mixed mesophytic forest remained-a vestige of the great forests that once dominated the northern hemisphere. These mountaintop forests packed with Fraser fir and fragrant balsam, like a vast green carpet tossed onto the earth and left lumpy and imperfect, give way to headwater streams and tributaries that strike out across the landscape like a thousand bolts of lightning. Those waters sustain life deep in the hollows, where the canopy is so thick that sunlight is seldom seen and where ferns and mosses flourish.  

But what ice and rock failed to disrupt back then is now being scoured by coal collecting with a crude technique whose operations have become commonplace over the past decade. Mountaintop removal now accounts for nearly 95 percent of West Virginia surface mining and between 25 and 30 percent of all coal mining in the region.  

To the dismay of locals, the Coalburg coal seam in southern West Virginia is where conditions are just right for mountaintop removal. Vast contiguous coalbeds deposited between 250 and 300 million years ago, with billions of tons of high-quality, low-sulfur spoils, lie just beneath the mountaintops. Downhill are steep valley creases where the trees and rocks blasted with dynamite from the apex are indelicately heaved. Where mountaintop removal thwacks and booms, green turns to gray, round to flat, and majestic to messy as bulldoze...


Heather Hansen has worked on staff at Boston magazine, the Sunday Independent (Johannesburg, South Africa) and the Provincetown Banner, where she wrote extensively on people and the environment. She won the Harper's magazine award for Distinguished Magazine Writing in 1999, and has contributed to two books by Gail Sheehy: Middletown, America and Hillary's Choice. Heather has political science and English degrees from Mount Holyoke College and a masters in journalism from UC Berkeley. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.

Kimberly Lisagor is a freelance journalist who has written about travel and the environment for Outside, Mother Jones, Men's Journal, National
Geographic Adventure, USA Weekend, The New York Times, Los Angeles Times and others. She is the author of Outside's Wilderness Lodge Vacations
(W.W. Norton & Co., 2004), which won the Lowell Thomas Award for best guidebook and an Award of Excellence from the North American Travel Journalists Association. She lives in San Luis Obispo, California.


この本のなか見!検索より (詳細はこちら
おもて表紙 | 著作権 | 目次 | 抜粋

カスタマーレビュー にはまだカスタマーレビューはありません
星1つ で最も参考になったカスタマーレビュー (beta) 3 件のカスタマーレビュー
5 人中、5人の方が、「このレビューが参考になった」と投票しています。
A Pragmatic Call for Responsible Tourism 2008/9/6
投稿者 Henry M. Trotter - (
形式: ペーパーバック
Disappearing Destinations is a timely book about the impact of our actions on the places that we love. Through profiles of 37 iconic travel destinations--like the Florida Everglades, the island of Oahu, Yellowstone National Park, the Amazon Basin, Machu Picchu, the Canary Islands, the Congo Basin, and the Yangtze River--Lisagor and Hansen show us that they are in peril. But they can also be preserved for future generations with some smart, pragmatic efforts.

Each profile starts with a seductive description of the place, reminding us how much pleasure we associate with it. But just as you're about to book your ticket--to Napa, Lapland, Venice, Patagonia, or Alaska--the writers hint that these wonderful places are under threat. They quote experts who explain the impact that humans are causing (often incidentally) to the place through industry, development, pollution, tourism, etc. In some cases, like the mountain-top mining in the Appalachians, the scene is almost apocalyptic. But in every case, it is deeply troubling. (And you won't find it mentioned in the tourist brochures!)

Then locals testify to their own loss of heritage through the degradation of the place. Their input shows that these issues not only impact "we" travelers, but also the local population that has a historical, cultural, and spiritual relationship to the area. It's poignant stuff. And after a few pages of each profile, you start to feel a real connection to the place. You feel pained for it and the community.

But just before you're about to give up traveling altogether, Lisagor & Hansen provide local counter-examples showing that these problems are not irreversible. They detail efforts being made by environmental agents, community activists, and responsible tourism outfits to preserve and enrich these locales. Much of their actions are having a positive impact, sometimes even reversing the threat of decline. Furthermore, the writers show how travelers can continue to enjoy these places too, but in a responsible manner.

The message of the book is that we are unintentionally destroying many of the places that we love through short-sighted tourism practices, aggressive industrial expansion, and rampant over-development. The authors elegantly combine travel-writing, activism, and analysis that engages one's mind and emotions on a totally different level. A much higher level.

Most importantly, Disappearing Destinations actually makes you want to travel: to kayak the Coal River, to hike Kilimanjaro, to explore Timbuktu, to float on the Dead Sea, and to trek through Nepal. But it makes you want to do so responsibly, in a way that contributes to those places (environmentally) as much as is taken away (emotionally and spiritually).
3 人中、3人の方が、「このレビューが参考になった」と投票しています。
Places to See Before They Die 2008/9/8
投稿者 doomsdayer520 - (
形式: ペーパーバック
This book serves as both an introductory travelogue to locations of interest for eco-tourists, and as a warning about what we're doing to our planet. Lisagor and Hansen introduce 37 threatened areas around the world, with some usual suspects like ANWR, the Amazon basin, and the Great Barrier Reef; but also some surprises like Lapland, southern West Virginia, and the Danube delta in Romania and Ukraine. Most of these pristine locations are threatened by either climate change or unregulated development; or rampant tourism in a few cases like Machu Picchu or Mount Everest.

The adventurous or caring reader will surely feel the urge to visit these incredible destinations before they're gone. But the structure of this book leaves a little something to be desired. The 37 locations of interest are covered in fairly brief chapters that resemble feature articles, and the structure is nearly always the same - describe the beauty of the location, discuss the threats faced by the ecosystem, provide coverage for local activists and organizers, and wrap things up with a closing paragraph on what the reader is missing. (The latter is often accomplished with forced and awkward prose like "a rainbow from a passing shower lingers" or "the range curves along the landscape and into the future.")

While the locations covered here definitely deserve the attention, the book feels a little arbitrary and perfunctory, like a collection of magazine articles with an identical structure applied to selected settings. And after learning about how each location is facing the same threats, there is potential for a higher theme that doesn't quite arrive for the reader. (For instance, we know climate change is a threat, but a bigger-picture treatment of this disaster might be more insightful for globally-focused environmentalists than repetitive prose about three dozen local problems.) Granted, as a travelogue the book is still intriguing and rewarding, and the appendix brings deserved attention to many brave and noteworthy conservation organizations. [~doomsdayer520~]
A Call to Leave the Planet Better Than We Found It 2009/12/16
投稿者 S. Fowler - (
形式: ペーパーバック
It is rare to find a travel book that can bring to life the allure of the world's greatest destinations while instilling in you the urgency to protect them. But here it is, chapter after chapter of thorough and deeply authoritative travel reporting executed as beautifully descriptive prose. It would be one thing for the authors to have given us a sense of the importance of the places with the abundance of facts they have gathered. But their own reverence for these places comes through in every detail, from the sprawling panoramas that feel so real that it's like you're there to the endearing way they describe the "critters" that inhabit every landscape.

Great travel writing makes you feel like you've visited a place without having left your seat. The best travel writing makes you want to jump out of your seat and go there. Disappearing Destinations adds another layer: you read each chapter and encounter each new place with a sense of wonder at its incredible natural gifts, you hope that what you are reading never transitions into historical artifact, and you are given the action plans to ensure that it doesn't. Disappearing Destinations is a must-read for anyone who's interested our natural paradises and wants to know what they can do before they're lost forever.
これらのレビューは参考になりましたか? ご意見はクチコミでお聞かせください。