Yosemite Valley

There are only a few places on this beautiful planet that are inextricably linked with a single person, to the point where you cannot even think of one without thinking of the other. They are  energetically entwined and bound with the fine, silky threads of deep respect and utter devotion. Mount Everest and Sir Edmund Hillary, The Lake District and William Wordsworth, Gombe and Dame Jane Goodall, Walden Pond and Henry David Thoreau. For Yosemite, it is the naturalist, John Muir. No one has described the vast beauty of Yosemite, championed for its protection and impressed upon the world the necessity of such a place to reveal the connection between man and nature, like John Muir. 

If you have been to Yosemite, you know that words just cannot do it justice. It is nature's cathedral. It is a place that has to be felt and experienced. A place to bow down in reverence.

So of course, I have to begin with some descriptive words written by John Muir himself to describe this spectacular National Park.

“The famous Yosemite Valley … includes the head waters of the Tuolumne and Merced rivers, two of the most songful streams in the world; innumerable lakes and waterfalls and smooth silky lawns; the noblest forests, the loftiest granite domes, the deepest ice-sculptured canons, the brightest crystalline pavements, and snowy mountains soaring into the sky twelve and thirteen thousand feet.”

The drive at dawn to the park from our campsite just outside Groveland was twisty and turny with panoramic vistas, sharp drops and skeleton forests burned to the bones, trees like living zombies standing tall, black at the roots and ghostly gray at the tippy tops. In the early morning mist it was a little apocalyptic.

Through the tunnels, then down in to the valley,  we stopped and started to take in the sights of Bridal Veil Falls, the Merced River, the looming gray sentinel that is the fearsome granite El Capitan, the sharp edges of the Three Brothers and then Half Dome, like a huge ship with its stone sail at full mast, sailing down the valley in the distance.

We parked and set off for a short hike to Yosemite Falls. Henry and I had come prepared, wearing our swimsuits, ready for a dip in the icy waters. Because we had arrived so early we were amongst the first to be at the Falls and we had a good hour to ourselves at the pool where the Falls gather in a deep overflowing granite basin before their final tumble down to the valley floor, feeding the lush meadows with fresh water. Our time at Yosemite Falls is already etched in my memory. Henry's huge grin and utter joy of being right there in the moment, in the glorious sunshine, with the spray of the waterfall hitting his face, scrambling over the rocks and taking a dip in the icy pool, was exhilarating. I will remember our time there forever.

Finally, at lunchtime our grumbling tummies dragged us away and back to the truck where we had our picnic lunch near the Visitor Center and of course we got our National Park cancellation stamps.

In the afternoon we hiked out to Half Dome, past the Ahwahnee Hotel, along the Merced River. We tried to spot the intrepid hikers heading up the rounded granite rock to the top on the 18 mile round trip via the Mist Trail, a feat completed by my brother-in-law Simon many moons ago. The long day hike now requires a National Park permit. What an incredible view of the valley there must be from the top! I did watch several YouTube videos of the demanding hike, so I could get a glimpse of the panoramic view. 

Seriously, words cannot express the magnificence of this colossal National Park. I tried with all my might to view it through the eyes of John Muir. I not only wanted to see its timeless beauty but feel that deep soul connection with nature in my core. 

I believe I did.

These photos were taken over several days in the Park.