Yosemite Valley - God's Cathedral

Neither words nor photos can adequately describe the majesty of Yosemite. Of all we have traveled and seen all over the world, Yosemite is a place like no other. It is spectacular. It is magic.

Kyle told us not to miss it. He told us that, when we emerged from the tunnel, into the Valley, our hearts would swell and leap into our throats. Exactly. As the trees fall away into the valley and El Capitan appears, standing guard over everything, with Half Dome waiting patiently in the distance and Bridal Veil Falls pouring out its welcome. . . there are just no words. . .

We didn't have reservations, as is typical of our current alarm clock and calendar free existence. We knew we had to get to the campground as early as possible, but there was Bridal Veil Falls, leaping off of the cliffs to receive us. We parked and walked through the pine trees toward the base of the falls. Before reaching even the first viewpoint, we were enveloped in the spray and mist of the thundering falls, doubled in size from the winter's rapid snowmelt. We got as close as we could and took our blessing from the pure, freezing, mountain waters.

We slowly made our way to the campgrounds, having no choice but to stop at every pullout to look out across the valley from every possible angle. We had to consciously pull our eyes back down to the road, to stay on track to take care of our sleeping arrangements. We figured it was early in the season and they should be able to fit us. The park ranger at the campground laughed, "We've been booked since last year, honey!" With our typical optimism, we drove back towards where we had read a sign that said, 'Campground Reservations'. The park ranger there searched through her database for about fifteen minutes, but was able to book us for one night at the North Pines campground we had just left, and the next night at the Upper Pines campground, right next door. Sweet!

We parked in the middle of the pine trees, next to the river, and hopped aboard the free, clean energy shuttle. Hopped off at Yosemite Falls. Nicole wanted to take the trail to Upper Yosemite (difficulty: easy), but Mary Lou demurred and said she would gladly do the Lower Yosemite trail (difficulty: easy). As we walked, the sound of the rushing water was comforting, a sign that there was fresh drinking water for weary travelers. And the smell, oh, the smell! We were breathing in so deep we were almost hyperventilating. The ever green smell of pine, or was it cedar? It brought nostalgia for our favorite Adirondack balsam forests and pillows, but was also so different. It was intoxicating.

The sun, our clock, was inching toward the tops of the granite cliffs, so we took the outermost walking trail to reach the Ahwahnee Lodge. Remarkably more impressive than the lodge at Grand Canyon, we walked under the exposed redwood beams through the dining room, the smoking rooms, the mural rooms and the patios. The dining patio, with views of the granite cliffs and sparkling waterfalls was full of freshly showered and suited diners, so we walked our wet hiking boots inside to a small table between the bar and the full length windows. As we were waiting for our Bombay Dry martinis to arrive, we watched a scrappy squirrel creep through the open patio doors and scurry back and forth under the dining tables. "I wish we hadn't finished all the complimentary mixed nuts," Mary Lou said. Nicole handed her the placard on the table that stated feeding any wildlife could be punishable with a fine up to $5,000.

As Mary Lou wandered around to take more photos of the lodge, Nicole made friends with some contemporaries at an outside table. Before it got too dark, Nicole walked Mary Lou back to the campground and headed back through the forest to the lodge. Steve and Mike were from Grand Rapids, and they talked about Yosemite and hiking and didn't someone hear that in April and May, on full moon nights, the moonlight would light up Bridalveil Falls in the most magical way. Mike's iPhone was the only one that had reception, and they waited four minutes for the phases of the moon chart to load. It was a full moon that exact night. It was too serendipitous to pass up, and they decided to chill around the campfire until the moon was visible. The campfire was delightful, the conversation was hilarious, the bears were kept at bay by bear proof food cupboards, but. . . the moon never appeared. Checking the next day, the park ranger said it was actually a new moon night. Technical glitch, or slight of hand?

After mountain stream dripped coffee the next morning, Mary Lou and Nicole headed off into the forest again. Nicole wanted to go to Nevada and Vernal Falls (difficulty: difficult), but Mary Lou demurred and they headed instead for Mirror Lake (difficulty: easy). Mary Lou has always had a thing for still, reflective water. With the spring melts flooding many parts of the path, logs and loosely thrown stones were used for bridges. It was two miles to the lake, and then another two miles around it. Mount Watkins was reflected in the still water and we stumbled across a plateau of granite rocks, stacked in precarious towers. Ritual offerings and masterpieces of balance.

Back in the valley, we wandered around the museum and the Ansel Adams gallery. We looked at giant sequoia slices, taller than us, with rings dating back to 323 A.D. We followed an intensified scent of that heavenly forest smell we'd been getting high on, and found a tree labeled, 'Incense Cedar'. We pressed our noses to the tree bark and filled our pockets full of needles. We pulled apart the puzzle piece bark of Ponderosa Pines. We watched the mountain rivers rush by underneath stone bridges.

We spent a lot of time looking up. From the valley floor, your eyes are easily seduced upwards by the reaching pines, over the towering granite cliffs and into the blue ever after. God's Cathedral.

‎"I must return to the mountains—to Yosemite. I am told that the winter storms there will not be easily borne, but I am bewitched, enchanted, and tomorrow I must start for the great temple to listen to the winter songs and sermons preached and sung only there."
- John Muir, 1869.


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