This past weekend I caught a flight out to LAX to finally make my way to Yosemite. I had tried to go this time last year, but a massive forest fire diverted me to Banff and Jasper. Between work travel and weddings, there weren't a whole lot of weekends left for me to go this year before it got too cold so I booked a ticket somewhat impulsively last month and flew out on Friday. I had originally intended to go alone, but ended up picking up a few old friends in LA to join me.
We made the five hour drive from LA Friday after stopping at a Chik-fil-a for a quick lunch. After copious car karaoke and reminiscing, we suddenly found ourselves in the Yosemite Valley. Towering plumes of granite sloping skyward on either side. With just an hour to sunset from the time we entered, we sped toward Glacier Point to catch the last light of the day opposite Half Dome. Switchbacking up the slopes we caught glimpses of dramatic vistas that only whet our appetites for the whole valley. And Glacier Point did not disappoint. Half Dome towered over rolling waves of bare rock where pines grew only when their slopes were shallow enough for them to take root. The fading light retreated swiftly eastward toward the horizon like a door shutting on an unlit room. Low hanging clouds meandered through the valley listlessly. It made me feel smaller than I have in a while.