Sometime between going to sleep last night and waking up this morning, a board meeting was convened in my poor old brain's once powerful, now atrophied and all but forgotten frontal lobe. A unanimous decision was made on my behalf, in the twin interests of my own health and safety. Given the 60% likelihood of more thunderstorms today in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River and the unclear status of the Boot Fire about fifty miles northeast as the crow flies (that dad burn crow sure gets around), my planned 3 or 4 day backpacking trip up along the river was cancelled.
"Yeah," I said to my self, "that's probably a good call." I was thinking of last May when I ignored all the telltale signs saying not to do that bike trip and bingo, those two broken ribs.
So I rolled up all my wet gear, stowed it in the back of Spugly and bade farewell to that cursed bog of a campsite. If I wasn't such a Leave No Trace aficionado, I would have carved "Do Not Camp Here Ever" on sign post #23. Instead, I just putted over to the Backpacker's Parking Lot by the closed-for-the-season White Wolf Lodge, where I spied three large boulders gleaming in the morning sun. Perfect. That's where I spread the tiny tent components and groundcloth to dry while I scarfed up some God-grown vittles. Mmmm - oats, chia seeds, walnuts, dried milk,and apricots - breakfast of frontal lobe board champions.
I had no plan. That lame ass board of directors failed to provide me advice on what to do once the hike was axed. What? They forgot? So I was left with my normal em oh of drifting along innocently appreciating the beauty of the moment until something attractive or sensible occurs to me. I packed and got on the road, two things at which, alas, I excel.
I saw these scenes as I drove east on Tioga Pass Road toward Tuolumne Meadows. I have seen them tens of times before, but I still like them all.
I thought about all my teachers and the trips I took with them around California and Arizona and Utah, learning how to explain things to people and how to sketch processes and features. This set of diagrams is typical of what I eventually used in my classroom - I don't know who drew them - I saw this display in a visitor center and I snapped a picture of it. I hope you can read it in this little format. It is really quite elegant.
As I neared Tuolumne Meadows, I passed Tenaya Lake and stopped to walk around a little while on this sandy beach. I couldn't help myself. I always stop at this same sandy beach.
From these pictures, You can't tell that there were people crawling all over everywhere else. Yosemite, even this less fabled part of Yosemite, like all the rest of California, is being loved to death. The shine is starting to come off the apple and no one is even noticing. Ansel Adams must be rolling in his grave, if he is still there. I mean, if you can roll, you can dig, right? The beautiful, busy trails of the back country have a quota system and rightly so. Now I think the park as a whole needs one, too.
Right then and there, I decided to leave. Let the youngsters have it now. I have crawled all over the place for many years and it is time for me to give it up. As the song goes, if you love somebody (or in this case if you love some place), set them free.
Peace, Love, and Adios,
Jim
TBC
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