The last day: Yosemite National Park

I was pretty sad to see the trip come to an end. I had such a great time and took so many photographs! But I’d been looking forward to Yosemite, and driving Tioga pass, pretty much since day one.

When Michael and I passed through Yosemite in May of 2017, California was on the tail end of a record-setting winter… for snow. So. Much. Snow. In fact, in 2017 Tioga Pass did not open until July.

Now it was October and the pass was still snow-free (kind of a bad sign, really) and wide open. Although it was getting pretty chilly there in Lee Vining – the morning of the drive over into the park, it was 29 degrees at 7am. Brrrr!

Well, 29 was a little chilly for making breakfast, so I threw on all my layers and headed over to the Whoa Nellie Deli. I made sure to chug a bunch of water first, then ordered eggs, bacon, and potatoes,and a big cup off coffee. Everything was actually quite good and took my time eating. Then I sat back in my booth and just enjoyed the coffee. At 9am I set out for Yosemite.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day. All the clouds from the day before had cleared off, leaving fabulously blue skies.

It’s hard to describe how being back in the mountains made me feel. The simplest way to put it: it felt like home.

There were plenty of times I pulled off the road just because I saw a bunch of other cars had already done the same. It’s like that in every National Park, I’ve found, although for different reasons. In Yellowstone, if you see a bunch of people pulled over, they’re looking at wildlife. Michael and I once got stuck in a Yellowstone traffic jam because people had stopped to look at an elk. A doe elk.

In Yosemite it was more for a view of some kind.  And one of the places I stopped because other people were already doing the same was called Siesta Lake.

It was early enough that the lake’s surface was still nice and glassy.

I actually found it a bit hard to move on from this little lake.

But eventually I did. It’s like my tank was getting filled. Like I was getting my mountain fix. God, I love Yosemite.

I was supposed to have a decision to make where Highway 120 meets Highway 41. At that point I could have gone over to Hetch-Hetchy dam or to Yosemite Valley.

Honestly, the original plan was Hetch-Hetchy. I’ve never been and it sounded pretty cool. But there was construction at that intersection and when I tried to turn right onto 41, the flagger yelled at me so I had to go left, along with everybody else.

Yosemite Valley it was!

I couldn’t complain. The crazy thing about Yosemite, for me, is how familiar everything is. Let me try to explain. When I was younger, I went a big solo trip across America, although it mostly took place on the east coast. Along the way I met a guy named Joe and he lived in New York. When I got to NYC I gave him a call and he gave me a tour. He’d moved to NY from Madison, Wisconsin, at 18 and New York was his favorite place. This made him a really great tour guide. One of the things that he said to me was, “New York will seem so familiar to you because so many movies and TV shows are filmed here.”

And I guess it was true. I mean, it didn’t seem all that familiar to me, but he did point out lots of landmarks and what movies they’d been in, and I recognized what he was saying.

Anyway. Now I’ve been to Yosemite twice, and each time I suddenly understood what Joe had been saying. Everything about this place looked familiar.

That’s because I’ve been seeing all of Yosemite’s landmarks (El Capitan, Half Dome, Tuolumne Meadows, to name a few) in climbing and backpacking magazines for years.

Sitting on the tailgate of Taco Negro in the parking lot across from Base Camp 4, I felt right at home.  It didn’t hurt that I definitely fit right in with the other trucks and minivans. It was the tricked out Sportsmobiles and Sprinter Vans that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

As I made myself a nice tailgate lunch of chicken and vegetable soup, I got several compliments on my table. The dirtbag climbers were pretty impressed, it seemed.

After lunch I enjoyed the last of my chocolate and strawberries. A guy in a red Tacoma with a mountain bike on top passed by. He gave me a smile, a nod, and a wave. And suddenly I saw it.

This is my tribe. The climbers, the hikers and backpackers. The nomads. The dirtbags.

I’ve spent the past year trying almost desperately to find my tribe in San Luis Obispo. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so out of place… I haven’t made a lot of friends. It’s been rough. And here, just sitting in the parking lot, I felt like I belonged. I never wanted to leave.

If there had been any places to camp in the park I know I would have spent more time there. But Yosemite calls to many people, it seems because all the campgrounds were full.  And besides, I had a home and a wonderful husband to get back to.

On my way out of Yosemite I snagged an open parking spot along the Merced River and managed to get one last iconic shot.

I’ll miss you, Yosemite. And I’ll be back.