The drive to the Yosemite entrance gate, 166 miles from home, was quick and easy. Spugly purred the whole way, chalking up 26 mpg and running solid. So far, so good.
My hopes of scoring a campsite on the valley floor, though, were not realized. All the sites were booked, there were no cancellations, and every campground on the way to Tioga Pass was closed for the season. No big deal, keep going, it was a great day for a cruise.
I was treated to a grey fox sighting just before reaching the marker that read "Elevation: 8,000 feet." His or her bushy-bushy long fox tail was the last thing I saw when she or he slinked into the deep green forest.
I never get tired of the long views from Olmstead Point - the endless trees, the glacier-carved valleys, the muscular, soaring, exfoliated granite domes - I wish I could park up there sometime and camp just off the road when the Moon is big and bright. I don't think I would do much sleeping. Enchantment.
There was one open campground at Ellery Lake shortly after I passed the park boundary, but at 9,000+ feet, I chose not to shiver all night next to the water. Instead, I continued east down to Mono Lake and turned south along the Eastern Sierra on Hwy 395.
By this time, the Sun was fading a little bit, but no matter what time of day, that stretch of mountains between Mono Lake and Tom's Place is absolutely thrilling.
I may or may not have snuck up into some National Forest timber near here to pitch my roomy, classic Half Dome truck camping tent and to scarf up some yummy-tasty Mountain House freeze dried lasagna. Stealth-scarfing in the woodsy woods woodsy can be delicious for sure. I may or may not also be waiting here on guard to see if that furry grey fox might follow me to my sneaky little camp, hoping for a bite. No lasagna for you, slinky grey fox. Go catch a vole!
Peace, Love, and Bundle Up,
Jim
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