“How does 08 sound?” my father asks.
My mother and I both look at each other, balking at idea. She suggests 5 and I say I’d be open to 4. We agree to 5, democracy survives yet another test.
Now, did we actually leave at 5? Well if you know my mom you know the answer. We were still out the door before dawn so I can’t complain too much.
Anna shows off her knitting
Now, if you anything about my family you know we did not leave at 5. Before dawn, yes, but not 5.
We take the old Pony Express route south which is a gorgeous drive in its own right, winding through the rolling hills far below the majestic peaks of the Sierra Nevada, past old oak trees, through mining towns where horses and people had now been replaced by cars working their way through the center of their town. Were it not for the cars and the pavement upon which they travel, one could easily forget the year or even century.
Climbing into the Sierra is one of my favorite things. Seemingly without notice the foothills and oaks give way to grand mountains and pines. There had been much hay made of whether or not the road into Yosemite would actually be open. Signs along the way ambiguous and gave conflicting information. I remain confident that on a bluebird day the road would be open, barring the road being physically damaged.
As we climb higher snow becomes omnipresent, blanketing everything around us. Freshly plowed, snowbanks with clean edges line the road. It’s that magical kind of fresh snow that glimmers as you pass it, thousands of small mirrors reflecting back the light of the sun.
Tunnel View feels much like Disneyland: unruly children run about, the parking lot is difficult to navigate, there’s a designated viewing area where one must jockey for position. Yet even so, it is difficult to not be inspired, to feel a connection with the artists painting the same view in the 1800s, the native Americans who lived here long before the Mexicans or the Americans who would later make their way here, to imagine that it would have been a day like today when Muir went riding an avalanche just to see what it felt like. It’s truly a place of grandeur and exploration even though for many that exploration is wholly confined to pavement.
In fact, it is this aspect that may be Yosemite’s greatest asset today—it is accessible. Millions of Americans every year visit as it is the most heavily trafficked National Park. Thus it provides many an avenue into appreciating the spectacular American landscape and it also minimizes impact to the rest of the park, other national forests, and wilderness areas by concentrating it in an already developed area.
During the federal government’s shutdown this past year, Joshua Tree lost millions of dollars and saw hundreds of years worth of damage. Though anomalous, it should be understood as a cautionary tale for what mismanagement and irresponsible usage of resources can look like.
On the drive home we take a different route out of the park. Watching the granite walls dodge behind other hills and out of my view is melancholy but stopping at what must certainly must be America’s most picturesque gas station (if there is better please let me know so I may visit) provides a moment for reflection. As I wait in line to pay for our coffees I thought about how lucky we were to take an impromptu trip here, how incredible these kinds of places are, and how important it is to protect them.