Chapter 22: Enter Yosemite
For Audio Version: http://tinyurl.com/enteryosemite
We stood for a moment, paused on the stone crossing of Lyell creek, looking out and down at the valley below us. We could see the creek’s winding, still waters flanked by blankets of green meadow. Right in front of us, the water disappeared over a waterfall and out of sight.
I went into the water - let my consciousness touch the bubbles and eddies around rocks - felt the cold slimy scales of a fish alive! Alive inside of my cold wetness and I experienced the exhilaration of going over the edge and the tumbling down the uncertain slide of the waterfall. Churning, white, spraying water into the air - breathing in the oxygen and turning now this way and that. Not needing to know anything beyond this curve, and this dip and plunge and this moment of rushing stillness. Like blood pumping through the veins, pumped by gravity, ever downward, ripping a wet path through the earth and sky past trees and boulders. Liquid brilliance reflecting the golden sunshine in thousands of ripples.
I stayed for hours, lifetimes in the center of Lyell Creek - rode the water all the way to the sea and when I felt its salty sting mix with my sweet water I became the entire ocean.
I looked out as the valley below me filled with golden light. Like watching a backlit beer poured into a frosty glass, its head frothing and foaming and overflowing.
In the valley we were submerged in light. It filtered through us through the evergreens as we descended to the valley floor. We absorbed the light into our bodies. With our eyes and skin, we were nurtured by the liquid gold coming down all around us.
Homeward bound on the JMT. Entering into the beloved Yosemite Valley that draws people with it’s awesome beauty from around the globe.
And it was special to arrive in the way that we did. Not on the black asphalt roads that had been freshly paved that year but through the pass, through Donahue pass on foot, after 200 miles and nearly 3 weeks of hiking.
Why would it make any difference how we arrived? I don’t know. Maybe it just took us that long to finally recognize the beauty around us or maybe it was seeing Yosemite as John Muir might have seen when he arrived in the storied and sacred gem of the Sierras, the home of Half Dome and Toulumne meadows.
I love meadows. They are so alive, their green banks coming right to the edge of the blue water. The slow flow of that deep water. I get the sense that I could just fall right into a meadow and disappear if I were to step off the path. Each tiny plant with its minuscule flowers the size of pinheads. The diverse grasses. It just looks so delicious that I am momentarily jealous of the deer who I see there taking big toothy bites of that blanket of green. And at night the meadow and the sky mirror one another in a beautiful dance - coming face to face as the earth absorbs the starlight from billions of light years away. Drinking it in, using it to regenerate, to restore, to grow, to produce that glowing green.
It was in Yosemite that we began to see South Bound JMT hikers. In them, we recognized our own beginnings, our own green-ness. Fathers and sons, couples, and solo hikers with fresh packs and clean clothes looked at us with admiration and looked to us for advice. What else could we say but ‘keep going?’ ‘Do the hike your own way - do it for yourself, take care of yourself and those you are with and leave it better than you found it.’ What else could we possibly do but smile, and show them the twinkles in our eyes so that they could see that the whole trail was living within us, had entered and changed us, had accepted us and allowed us to pass through.
In the eyes of those hikers, we were part of the JMT just as so many others had been part of ours. There are people out there. Out looking for something. Doing their hike. Perhaps the greatest unknown and a question that we hardly asked in the months leading up to the trail was ‘who? - who else will be on this grand adventure?’ The trail was populated. It was a community, an economy, a mix of courageous individuals and adventuresome groups. ‘who are these people?’ I remember them so clearly. Some in snapshots, some in feelings or moments or conversations - many of whom I wouldn’t recognize if I saw them now. And where are they now? PCT hikers might just be finishing the journey. It’s now August. Coming into the home stretch maybe - all with their trail names and their 2000-miler badges. And then there is the other ‘who?’ the ‘who am I?’ a question of the ages and perhaps the root of all the other ‘who’s.’
It would be a worthwhile exercise to go through everyone on the John Muir Trail who I remember and to write down my impressions of them and then to take a look at all of those ‘who’s’ and to see perhaps what is revealed about the final, ‘who am I?’ It’s all about the people.
Barista - who had a fishing stick and told us about the Spot and his grandfather.
Jpeg - Quiet, sitting on a gray rock, his friend having been airlifted to a hospital after a fall.
FM Hiker - Talked to everyone, hiked everywhere, like a radio on in the background.
The guy we thought was a ranger - Like Radagast from Lord of the rings
The actual ranger @ McClure meadows - Calm, Bearded. His 30th summer at that meadow.
The German guy - Thinking, strategizing, a PCT hiker from Germany.
The couple w/ BlueBird - Also on the JMT northbound. Sweet and caring for each other.
The couple@ the campsite the night it hailed - Southbound JMTers from the South.
Those two women - the first we met, PCT hikers going fast. Started in Mexico.
The almond eating guy - Slim, leaving camp at 6pm, walking and eating. PCT
The Japanese guy with his son - in Yosemite valley. Southbound JMT, just getting started. With a complex water filtering apparatus. Asking questions about fishing.
The one I didn’t give my poles to - A young guy we passed on the last day. He had no poles. I still wish I had given him mine.
The top of Half-Dome Crew - Rowdy. Nudity. Headstands on the diving board. Photographs.
Andrew the Park Ranger - In his 20s. Solo. Caring. Playful. Glad for conversation.
The two young Yosemite employees - Evan made friends. Yosemite is their home.
The lone fly fisher-woman - Fishing at Cathedral lakes in the evening light.
The nearby camper at Sallie Keys Lakes - We where neighbors and didn’t even notice.
That guy with the red beard who we saw twice - see Chapter 28
The woman doing the loop by Bubb’s creek - Gorgeous solo hiker on a weekend adventure. She asks for directions, we all want to help.
The man at the top of Forester Pass who Evan gave fuel to - He asked, we had extra.
Two men and their dog - reminded me of being at Venice Beach.
The couple who came up to Silver Pass - We recommended a particularly scenic overlook.
Silver Pass itself - A playful, silly, joking energy overtakes us all.