A National Park, a lifetime destination, a thrill seeker’s paradise, the focus of so many documentaries you feel you’ve already been there a dozen times...but really you haven’t until you go. My first thought upon exiting “The Tunnel” and coming to the most delicious view in the world was, “This is where you go when you die if you are good enough in your life. This is truly the Heaven of God’s own hand.” It’s been the case so often for us that we visit places at almost the perfect time. We hit Yosemite at that perfect time. The snowfall over the winter was something like 160% of average. It was so desperately needed. The rivers, the waterfalls, the foliage, the air...everything was super-charged with life. The raw and unbridled power of the rivers and creeks was so impressive. You could almost watch the rocks and boulders being worn down by the heavy rush of runaway water. Being from Missouri and living amongst the rivers there, say, for instance, the Big Piney, the Meramec, the St Francis and on and on, you think you’ve experienced spring runoff. No, sorry, you have not. THIS, is the real deal. Of course, with all this water needing to get down the mountain and on its way to the Pacific, waterfalls were everywhere … bright, white, crystalline, splashing, exploding, bursting into mist, and filling the creeks and rivers with oxygen.
I’m finding words are failing me in trying to describe this place this time we were there. I’m sure everyone who comes here feels the same. Standing on a bridge opposite Yosemite Falls in the main Village, the force of wind from the waterfall was so fierce it blew Diane’s hat off her head and into the river, forever cascading from rock to rock. Maybe someone will pick it up if it gets snagged on a rock or limb somewhere. We couldn’t retrieve it, that’s for sure. We take picture after picture here. They are cool to look at. Of course, they stand out from the rest of the pictures we’ve taken. They are unique and colorful and even sometimes inspirational to look at. But they fail. They fail to capture what it is to BE HERE. Their perspective is two-dimensional. Ours, yours, anyone who comes here, is four or five dimensional...who knows, maybe more.
One day Diane and I decided we wanted to hike. There are many hiking paths here...plenty for sure. We wanted to get off on our own, maybe find a place or a path less taken. That could make all the difference as it’s said. So, we talked with a Ranger about it and sure as rain, we got directions to a less traveled trail. There is an old hotel near the entrance to the park, maybe 6 or 7 miles into the park. Just north of the hotel is a dirt road that traces its way back along a roaring creek, now a river, until it ends in the deep woods near a Seventh Day Adventist camp that appeared to me to be deserted. There the trail begins. Walking stick in hand we started off along the river’s edge for maybe a half mile where we found ourselves at a suspended walking bridge over the river. Talk about your killer hike, we were on it. After hanging out there for a bit and losing ourselves in the aura of the place, we hiked on, now on the north side of the river. Our heads became “surround-sound” amphitheaters. The river, the breeze in the trees, the birds...we were immersed in the music of the planet.
The path leads on, first following the river’s edge, then tracing away up towards the steep hills and rocky outcroppings of the surrounding mountains. All the while and with each step we were walking through a floral bouquet. Yellows, reds, mustards, cobalts, purples, every shade seemed to have equal opportunities here. We must have taken a hundred photos of the flowers.
We came to a car bridge that gave crossing to dirt and gravel roads, fording yet another roaring creek. A path cut off and up the mountain very steeply. It girded the crashing creek arching upwards over strewn boulders and under the awning of the trees. Sensory overload again. Soon we were on the precipice of a fantastic waterfall and cascade. Here we lingered, feeling no overwhelming desire to continue up the path. This was good enough. This was a place for us...just us with no else, as we have continually searched for our entire lives together. THIS, is the shared experience we thirst for, seemingly to live for. It is WHY we do what we do. It is why we set out 15 months ago after selling our beloved house and home. The deepness of my love for Diane comes full bloom when we are together in these timeless situations within nature. Surely there is a thing that is real called Love. Surely it lives within this world and within us.
On other visits to the park from our base camp we walked along the valley, staying close to the river and the creeks that course now down out of the mystic above. The river is full, yet with no boulders and a gradual fall in altitude in the valley, it is somehow peaceful and tranquil, thought provoking. Walking, we talk of past experiences we’ve shared. We take special care not to let each other miss a single unique sight or sound. On these paths we can take our pets. They’re like children here, fully animated and alert to the world around them. I really wish they could talk...maybe just for a day. I’d love to hear their thoughts out here, but not continually, for I fear they would never stop talking if given the chance.
At the infamous Half Dome we gaze up, first with the naked eye and then with our binoculars, to check for the death-wish climbers. Sure enough, as advertised, there they are, so high up that you are not entirely sure they are really there until you use a binoculars to fully see them. Today they are tethered to the cliff in a tent, red. To prep ourselves for this sight we watched the recent movie release about the climbers who dared to trace a brand new ascent, so dangerous and challenging as to be called impossible by the professionals of the trade. I spoke to some young men who had just finished a climb up some portion of the face and then returned for dinner. Skinny, wiry, wild and free, they told me they made it 600 feet or so. That was their personal best so far. One day they would maybe make it all the way. Not today, though.
The snow pack was so extravagant this past winter that the remnants along the upper reaches of Yosemite Park are still 20 feet deep as reported by the Ranger staff. As such is the case the two main roads that lead to some of the treasures at higher altitudes are closed now and are expected to remain so until perhaps September, when hopefully, another good snowfall begins. So, we missed what some Rangers tell us are the more sublime and less visited areas of the Park. No regrets...we’ll be back one day, though I don’t know how it can result in any better experience than we had this year, this time, this place. I’m continually reflecting on my life while here. I seem to do that a lot as we travel and witness the hand of God.
Have I accomplished what I wanted to do? Have I really accomplished anything?
Should I feel guilty about being so free?
Are we the grasshopper in the story of the grasshopper and the ant? Have we put away enough for winter?
Are we neglecting our kids and grand kids? Should l I be working in a soup kitchen somewhere helping homeless people and those less fortunate?
How have we become so fortunate?
In some ways I feel guilty, as if I’ve stolen something on this journey. Each and every day Diane and I share a prayer together. “God, take us whee you want us to go, and thank you for all Your blessings.” I think right now He wants us together fulfilling this destiny... together. We need this time, this journey together. I think it is a fulfillment of sorts or our joint destiny. Over decades of living together, this journey is bringing us closer than ever. We’re loving it. We’re living it. We need it. God has given it to us. No guilt today...gratitude.