Merced River – Quinby & Co.

I spent the evening down on the valley floor by the Merced River and Tenaya Creek, past the lingering tourists snapping pictures in the last remaining hours of daylight.

I can’t say what I was looking for–maybe something extraordinary, since extraordinary was all that I had seen so far, and I had little indication that anything about that would change.

The sun faded from view, leaving the sky cast in a pink-purple glow. The air had cooled quickly, and I heard the sounds of the river somewhere through the trees.

I approached a small tunnel where footprints led through to the other end. It was actually more like a pile of rocks, and it formed what looked like a cave at first glance. Maybe it was my imagination running away with me, or some childlike adventurous impulse breaking free that I made no effort to resist.

Yosemite Valley - Mirror Lake Trail - National Parks - Yosemite National Park - Yosemite - Jude Moonlight - Tenaya Creek - Quinby & Co. — On the Mirror Lake Trail heading toward Tenaya Creek; Yosemite National Park, CA

I crawled through it like some lost boy in his bedroom fort, made from chairs and bedsheets. Only this was the genuine article, made from boulders and chunks of earth that had probably fallen many years ago.

I reached the other end and heard the sounds of the river growing louder. I could see it flowing in between the trees. I glanced up and noticed two birds flying playfully overhead. I followed them to the water, flowing gently northeast. I sat there on the bank, quietly upon the rocks and I listened. The ‘river’ was actually Tenaya Creek, which had broken off from the Merced River at Curry Village.

I sat there for a while and wrote about the creek whispering secrets, dispatches from the rest of the world with news on where we were all going from here. The river seemed to know it all. The river, swift and wise, the great shaper of mountainsides and treacherous canyons–shaping even the grandest and most mammoth caves in America.

Yosemite Valley - National Parks - Yosemite National Park - Yosemite - Jude Moonlight - Tenaya Creek - Quinby & Co. — Tenaya Creek; Yosemite National Park, CA

The last rays of daylight had gone down as I left the valley and made my way out the west entrance of the park toward El Portal. I camped for the night at an RV park, perched on a cliff overlooking the Merced River.

This site was a cool alternative to camping in the park where campsites had been booked for months in advance. I slept in something that wasn’t quite a tent, but not quite a cabin either. It was a wide canvas tent the size of a small bedroom, equipped with a bed and nightstand and even a ceiling fan. I guess it could qualify as ‘glamping,’ though I hadn’t heard that word at the time. It didn’t have an AC or heating system, but I didn’t need one. In those first days of August, the air outside was perfect.

I enjoyed all the sounds of nature I would have enjoyed in a conventional tent, as well as most of the comforts of a cabin. And I fell asleep to the sound of the river rushing below and the many creatures of the night, unknown and unseen.

I slept like a rock.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Yosemite these last few months, living in quarantine and longing for the outdoors again, for wide open spaces.

In a lot of ways, my love for the National Parks began here, at least in the sense that I was suddenly aware of it, where I fully realized my devotion to the Parks and recognized them as a valuable and critical American Institution.

While my connection to these places mostly began at Sequoia and Kings Canyon–which I’d visited in the days leading up to Yosemite–when I reached Glacier Point that afternoon and stood at the overlook, and I took in that sweeping panorama of the valley, of Half Dome, the Merced River, El Capitan, Yosemite Falls, and Vernal and Nevada Falls; at that moment my love for the parks was ultimately affirmed. I’d never seen anything so spectacular in my life.

Ren Michael - Half Dome - Yosemite National Park - Yosemite Valley — Ren Michael at Glacier Point over looking Yosemite Valley; Yosemite National Park, CA

What’s uniquely striking is the silence, maybe because a sight like Yosemite Valley might lead one to imagine an accompanying sound of equal magnificence, some choir of angelic voices or maybe the low, grumbling of the earth churning from the infernal depths between here and the planet’s core. Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, maybe? Something, anything befitting a sight so wondrous.

And yet the only sound was silence save for the whispering echo of a waterfall. As I looked out, I saw a blackbird soaring through the air, and I remember how for a few seconds at least, it seemed to be the loudest note anywhere around me, a reminder of how silence can allow for other smaller details to sing.

I remember Half Dome most of all, standing there like some benevolent king overlooking the valley and seeing far past the horizon.

I have a tendency to think this way, to look at a natural landscape or a particular landmark and project an emotion onto it, or more specifically an archetype. It’s a creative impulse that might raise a few eyebrows here and there, but it’s an impulse I don’t resist.

Glacier Point Overlook - Yosemite National Park - Nevada Falls - Vernal Falls - Yosemite - Quinby & Co. — Glacier Point Overlook with Nevada and Vernal Falls visible in the distance just to the left of the tree in the foreground; Yosemite National Park, CA

I saw Half-Dome as an emissary having kept its vigil for eons, since the earth’s beginnings. Might it be in tune with something more all-encompassing than we could fully understand in a single lifetime? Or better yet, was it merely one of many reminders across the globe that we too have access to the deeper currents and vibrations guiding all of life on earth? All we have to do is get out of our own way.

It’s incredible to think to myself, even as I write this morning, how a mass of rock can inspire that sort of contemplation. That it can steady me through times of great sorrow and uncertainty, if I just remember it. I don’t even need to be there and look at it. Just knowing that it’s there anchors me. What a gift that is.

Nevertheless, I’m thankful I got to see it that day, and I am most definitely looking forward to getting back and experiencing Yosemite once again, discovering new corners of the park I haven’t seen before.

That afternoon, I thought about all the generations of people who had come here before me and marveled at the same sight. Had they experienced the same thoughts and feelings as I did? I was sure there were many. I felt tied to all those people, and proud to carry on what I suspected was a long human tradition.

As I finally turned around and began my descent down into the valley, I kept that sight with me, one that has been with me ever since, smiling to myself and maybe just half-aware of the fact that my life would never be the same again.

Tag: Merced River

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