Dear Jake & Amelia,
Yosemite is striking. We drove over Tioga Pass to enter the Park. We drove past vast sheets of smooth, cracked pale gray granite, past fragile green Tuolumne Meadows, past calm Tenaya Lake. We camped in the high country at Porcupine Flats, tucked away among tall tall straight evergreens. We stored anything and everything with even a hint of odor in the bear box. The black bears living here break into cars and campers.

We were stunned by the crowds. We visited Yosemite Village, then headed for the Mariposa Grove to see the giant sequoias. We stopped to admire a beautiful and serene view back  into the Valley. As the glacier carved mountains receded, each fold became paler and more blue, icy and cold. If viewed quietly, the landscape would inspire introspection, a quiet sigh. The scene was anything but quiet. We shared the vista with hordes of people, chatting, pointing, taking pictures in front of the scene as if it were merely a painted backdrop. 

We continued on a narrow, winding road. Fast moving cars came around blind corners, usually straddling the dividing line. Everyone was in a hurry. When we finally entered the Grove at the south end of Yosemite, trees towered above us.  The sequoias' tannin red bark stood out, glowed among the gray brown trunks of tall thin fir and pines. The Grizzly Giant, the oldest sequoia in the Park, is 2,700 years old. It is massive.

We drove the long road back to the quiet of the campground. Yosemite is a vast park, full of beauty, wonder and people. We promised ourselves that we would return on the shoulder of the season. As we started our drive out of the park, a brown black bear ran across the road in front of us, moving fast, headed for breakfast at a campground. 

Nancy & Peter

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