Yosemite

Yosemite National Park, CA

I made a slight misjudgment. My 20-minute trip to Yosemite actually turns out to be four hours, and I’m annoyed and flustered. Already I had made one mistake in judging distance and time on the map, and again I’m losing most of my day to unnecessary driving. But sometimes the decisions we make take us in an unexpected direction, and the journey is as compelling as the destination.

Let me back up to the day before.

Tuesday, March 21^st

My original plan was to go to Kings Canyon and Sequoia NPs because on the map they look like they are not but an hour or so from where I was in Death Valley. Because of the mountains, however, that turns out to be a seven-ish hour drive or so when I plug it into the GPS. No worries, Yosemite is not too far, so that’s where I set my sails. Getting campsites at National Parks is nigh impossible last minute, but I check on a fluke, and there is a cancellation, one site open for one night only on Wednesday – tomorrow night. Perfect! I’ll camp on BLM tonight, close to Yosemite, and have two wonderful days to play in the park.

As the elevation climbs, vegetation pops up everywhere, changing constantly. Soon cedars and pines are lining the roadway and I know I’ve reached mountainous elevations. After being in the desert yesterday, today’s drive is a complete turnabout. In two days, Ella and I had gone from sea level at the Nevada desert nature preserve, to 7000 feet in Mount Charleston, back again to sea level in Death Valley, and up again to 7000 feet here in the Sierras. The peaks are covered in snow.

I find a spot near Mono Lake, a large, beautiful lake made by a crater near the mountains. It’s perfect – very desert-y with mesquite and sage brush covering the dusty ground. The mountains on one side are covered in dry, russet ridges and the mountains on the other are slate gray, snowy, and tree lined. What an incredible view. Best of all, I was the only one there! There were no other vehicles, no other hikers, and no other campers. Ella and I had it all to ourselves. Heavenly!

Not only do we have stunning views of the mountains, but we also have a view of beautiful, blue Mono Lake. A single, white, lenticular cloud has settled over the lake and hasn’t moved for hours. Tonight, it’s going down to freezing, but the views are worth it. I feel super lucky to be the only ones here – no voices or traffic to distract us from the natural beauty. The sunset over the snow-capped mountains is sublime.

We walked a good bit before supper, and it was refreshing and lovely. Dusty green-gray shrubs and grasses complemented the colorful, pastel hues of the sky. The evening clouds, whose underbellies are lit up with fiery golds and pinks reflecting the sun, are dark blue in the shadows at the top. The world is perfect in this moment.

Wednesday, March 22^nd

After breakfast the next day, we again walked and enjoyed the tranquility of this peaceful place. I hated to leave, but I was looking forward to hiking and camping in Yosemite. Excited about the day ahead, I set the GPS for the park, only ten miles away. As I turned onto the road that traverses the mountain pass into the park, there is a sign that says Road Closed. It is still snowed in, and the next closest entrance to Yosemite is a good four hours out of my way. North again.

Ok. I’m ok with this right? After all, it’s not like I’m on a schedule or have anything else to do but explore. I’ll just enjoy the sights on the way. And I know where I’m going to spend the night which is a major luxury. Usually, I look for a place to bed down for the night on the fly since I don’t like being constrained by reservations. I like to take it as it comes, so to speak. And that includes closed mountain passes and long detours. Still, I am having a hard time curbing my underlying agitation – so much wasted time on the road!

The route takes us toward Lake Tahoe and the surrounding areas. The roads get twistier and narrower with steep drop-offs and gorgeous valley views. Snow is stacked five feet high on the sides of the roads, often piled up on the cut above us with signs that warn against avalanche. Snowy slopes from the hillsides above add emphasis to the signs. The temperature is almost 50F, so the snow is melting quickly. In a few weeks it will be gone altogether. The snowmelt is creating little waterfalls on the cuts along the passes. Ella and I get out every time there is an overlook to enjoy the views, green and verdant with pine trees. Distant, blue lakes are ensconced in shadowy mountain valleys. We head east into Nevada, north into Tahoe, then drop south and west to get to Yosemite.

Truly there are worse places to be redirected than to Northeastern California. My agitation at the detour dissipates completely.

Soon, though, I feel a slight annoyance at my Yosemite reservation creeping in. Now, I feel constrained to hurry through all this beauty rather than being able to stay and enjoy it, relish it. I remind myself this part of my journey is not scheduled for another month, and undoubtedly all the snow will have melted by then, changing my experience completely. The only reason I am seeing this at all is because of the misstep I made on the way.

My annoyance fades once again as I begin to appreciate that this situation has led to an extraordinary outcome. I had made my best plan with the information I had. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. On the way, the journey changed, evolved, and I ended up experiencing it a better way. The journey has become as exciting as the destination!

In my real life I’m a planner. I have an educational plan, a financial plan, a vocational plan, a 5-year plan, a 10-year plan, a retirement plan, you name it. I have them written down in OneNote with benchmarks and accomplish-by dates. I refer to it and update it often, assessing my progress, making sure I’m staying on track. This trip is the opposite of all that. While I have a goal – to see all the National Parks – how it happens is totally up for grabs. I am open to all the possibilities. Not planning started out as a stretch for me and has become my modus operandi. It was only two days ago that I was finding my way in the desert expanse of Death Valley. Although this is different, it is similar in its spontaneity and improvisation. I am becoming content in this moment, relishing my existence in the natural beauty around me.

The drive into Yosemite is a big, twisty climb through the mountains, and there are many burned out places with stripped, blackened trees. It is sad to see the wildfire devastation but also strangely encouraging. This area has probably seen tens of thousands, maybe millions, of wildfires in its epic lifetime. It always regenerates. Not only that, but the charring adds nutrients and quells blight. Remarkable!

Inside the park, the views are spectacular and never ending. The Merced River snakes through the park’s steep, stone cliff-faces creating valleys and meadows full of giant pines and Sequoias. El Capitan, a 3000-foot mountain of vertical granite, is a focal point of the park, but there are many famous, mountainous rock formations jutting out of the hillsides. The sky is a brilliant blue and cloudless. Waterfalls in high, craggy crevices fill the river below with wildly rushing snowmelt.

Some of the roads to the high country are still closed for winter, notably the Tioga Pass, the very pass I was hoping to enter the park by, and Glacier Point, but there is no lack of breathtaking views. Ella was only allowed on paved trails, so we didn’t explore as much as we wanted, but what we did see did not disappoint.

Our campground, North Pines, is in a valley near a lovely river trail that Ella and I explore thoroughly. Natural formations made of twisting trees, jutting boulders, rocky rapids, and forest decay are a never-ending fascination.

At the water’s edge, Ella boldly steps in and lies down, letting the water rush around her, cooling her belly and paws. The smells of the dank forest and fresh water are intoxicating to both of us. Tree roots twisting in and out of the cobblestones play at the edge of the river as lichen-covered rock-caves and moss-covered trees and boulders line our path.  A thick layer of pine straw softens the rocky trail.  

We pass massive tree trunks with gnarls and knots shaped in perfect circles and standing, rotting snags that give life to all manner of bugs, worms, and fungus. Boulders leaning against each other or against trees form archways. Ella pulls me, straining against her leash like she’s ready to bolt – I’m holding her back from her primal instincts to explore, keeping her from the distant, sun-shaded valleys.

Back at the campground, a group of six girls, all twenty-somethings, set up camp next to us in tents. They were a lot of fun, cooking, telling stories, and staying up late playing card games and laughing. Ella made friends with them immediately and they rewarded her with scraps, pets, and so much love.

The campground was crowded and noisy, full of life. We were required to put all food, toiletries, and trash in a provided bear box. The grounds were full, and every manner of camper was here – RVs, car campers, ground tents, hammockers, you name it. There was a lot of positive energy.

The next morning, the girls left for a hike after a hearty breakfast but did not put their trash bag in the bear box as instructed. Big, shiny, black crows absolutely descended on last night’s taco remnants and this morning’s egg and bacon traces, strewing used napkins and trash all over their campsite. It wasn’t just a few crows – it was at least a dozen, and they were relentless, almost threatening, like out of a bad movie.

Ella did her valiant best to chase the crows away, but they are tricky and determined little buggers. The campground’s volunteer-hosts were not pleased. They cleaned up the mess, talking to each other in disapproving tones, and left the girls a ticket. Ella and I left before the girls returned, but I made a mental note to always follow the campground rules – they’re in place for a reason.

On our drive out, snow is still visible in the crevices of the mountains, and there are whole hillsides and valleys covered in trees, some verdant and green, some scorched and black – a stark foreshadowing of the next leg of our journey.