Sierra Musings: The Yosemite

It is the height of summer, and I often feel that at this time of year there is no place I would rather be than in the Sierra.

Summer in the meadows and forests of the Sierra Nevada mountains is one great rush of all that is poetic, romantic, magical and sublime in this world: the heady scent of resinous pine and mountain misery hanging thick in the warm mountain air; riotous colors of wildflowers bedecking green meadows surrounded by spires of tall conifers; thickets of lush and verdant dogwood, willow and alder bisected by clear, cold streams murmuring as they flow over smooth stones; the ethereal call of thrushes rising from the undergrowth as the chatter of chickadees and warblers drifts down from the canopy above; billowing thunderheads rising in the azure sky to crest snow-capped peaks.

Tunnel View, Yosemite National Park

Here in the Sierra, as John Muir once wrote,

"... The sun shines not on us but in us.  The rivers flow not past but through us, thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing.  The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love."

In the mountains (indeed, also in deserts and forests, swamps and meadows, on plains and beaches, wherever there is wild nature left to be found) all can experience the sensation of being at one with creation, at one with the Creator.

Iconic Half Dome from the viewpoint at Glacier Point

To do any justice at all to Muir's Sierra today, one must travel off of the beaten path.  Eric and I recently spent a day in Yosemite, foolishly venturing into the Valley only to be met by the expected summer crush of tourists.  It was madness.  But, venturing just a short distance up the mountains and away from the crowds, we found the solitude and serenity we sought.  Plenty of Muir's unspoiled, wild Yosemite still remains, tucked away from the crowds, and, I must believe, always will remain.

McGurk Meadow

Called America's Best Idea, the National Parks have been set aside to preserve the forests, the rivers, the wildlife, purely for the sake of conservation and posterity.  It was a radical idea at the time, to protect land for the intrinsic value that it holds, for the sake of its beauty rather than for the exploitation of its resources, and to make that land, that pristine wilderness accessible to all.  Not as a realm for the exclusive enjoyment of the rich or royal, National Parks are for everyone.

Of the Sierra Nevada, Muir wrote,

"Mountains holy as Sinai.  No mountains I know of are so alluring.  None so hospitable, kindly, tenderly inspiring.  It seems strange that everybody does not come at their call.  They are given, like the Gospel, without money and without price."

The mountains are given, and all of nature has been given, as Muir said, like the Gospel: free to all who choose to accept it.

View from Glacier Point, looking out at three peaks I have stood on: Half Dome, Clouds' Rest (behind Half Dome to
the left), and Mount Hoffmann (the tallest distant peak behind North Dome and Basket Dome on the left).

Today's Yosemite looks a little bit different than it did in Muir's day.  Tour buses rumble, impatient drivers jostle for parking spaces.  Concession stands sell snacks, souvenirs and more.  Heads are down, peering at phones; when heads are raised, it is only to look through their screens to snap a photo.  Millennials pose for selfies.  Where peace and tranquility should reign, music blares, children complain, parents argue, and teens race by on bicycles.  More millennials pose for more selflies.  (Aside: I, too, am a millennial...)

And yet, I remain an unquenchable optimist.  Even while packed like a sardine into a natural gas-powered shuttle bus, trying not to let my sweaty body touch anyone around me or get carsick from the swaying of the bus and the smell of countless enthusiastic tourists on a hot day, I remain optimistic.

A part of nature has been sacrificed at the alter of education and enlightenment, and I have to hope - no, I have to believe - it has not been in vain.  People will respect, protect and cherish only what they know.  And the only way to know these mountains, or any other parts of the natural world, is to experience them.

On top of Clouds' Rest

For so many who did not grow up as I did, carried deep into the mountains in a baby backpack long before I was able to walk there, taught the names of the trees and rivers and birds, and lulled to sleep by the wind in the pines and water flowing over stones, a visit to our national parks is the first introduction they have to the natural world.

For so many, this natural world was foreign, strange, and unknown - beautiful, perhaps, but distant - at times even wild and dangerous.  But after a visit to one of our National Parks, arguably the most accessible pieces of the natural world (apart from your own backyard) and certainly the most well-presented, marketed and pre-packaged pieces of nature available to the consumer, a stranger may begin to feel like he or she belongs.  

Tenaya Lake

Distant mountains become massive, ageless, tangible rocks, warmed by the sun, frozen beneath glaciers, flecked with many-hued minerals that dazzle and sparkle in the sunlight.  Forests become filled with trees, each with a name and personality, distinct in its shape, color, texture, scent.  Birds and other animals become living, breathing, dying, feeding, flying, running, dynamic creatures, each with a unique life history, hopefully more than cute, pettable poster children for the parks.

And when a person begins to feel that long-lost connection with the natural world restored, I believe he or she begins to care for it in a whole new way.  When you let yourself feel small standing beneath massive granite cliffs, insignificant in the grand scale of geologic time, even vulnerable in the face of the forces of nature, we begin to remember our place in the world, the debt we owe to Creation and Creator, the task we have been given to steward it well.

On top of Half Dome

Of course, not everyone will come away changed.  Some parents will be far too harried by their children; some teens far too engrossed in their own small lives; some are too busy, too tired, too set in their ways, too comfortable.  But some will come away with a new perspective, a new appreciation, maybe even a new passion.  Some children will awaken to this beautiful, magical world around us and resolve to care for it; some adults will open their eyes and see the world like children perhaps for the first time.  Some might donate time or money, read a new book, or recycle their soda cans and think twice about how seven billion people might be able to care for our planet well.

As John Muir once said,

"Only the unimaginative can fail to feel the enchantment of these mountains."

And because some of the four million people who visit Yosemite National Park every year will feel that enchantment and will be changed, I have to believe the sacrifice has been worth it.

McGurk Meadow, alive with wildflowers!

One more from Muir:

"Come to the woods, for here is rest.  There is no repose like that of the green, deep woods."

For a good read, I highly recommend John Muir's The Yosemite, available online courtesy of the Sierra Club.