Serenity in Yosemite

I often think that, when it comes to writing, procrastination is really just figuring out what to say. So, having sold myself on that, I'm putting off what I should be working on and instead spending time here. What the hell.

Taking advantage of a loose leash late last week, I packed some cold-weather clothing and headed the car south and east to the Yosemite Valley. My friend Tom introduced the place to me not many years ago, and I've been returning as regularly as possible. And because I'm getting fatter and older and lazier, I opted to rent one of the tent cabins at Curry Village, a shelter from potential storms that meant I wouldn't have to set up my own tent and sleep on the ground.

Arriving at Curry Village around noon after a long but enjoyable drive that included the discovery of a small coffee shop in the small town of Mariposa, which I found not because I was looking but because I saw 2 men walking up from a side street, a paper coffee cup in their hands. I parked the car and walked down that same side street, found the shop, and walked away with something called an Oregon Chai. Maybe it's similar to Starbucks chai latte. Tasted good enough that I would also stop on the way home 2 days later. I talked to the owner about how long he'd been there (6 years), about the science of advertising his business (his wife says he has "sign anxiety"), and the number of people he employs (5). Amazing how much a person can learn in a 2-minute conversation.

Anyway. Arriving at the desk 5 hours before the official check-in time, I was given keys to a tent because "we just happen to have one available." I had to wonder just how many unheated tent cabins would actually be occupied that night (though it would turn out to be quite a few, including the one beside me, one in which an man older and fatter than I slept well and snored loudly). The desk-clerk asked if I was there "for the conference," and I assured him that I was not. After stowing my pack of clothing I simply started walking--I'd say "hiking," but I'd be more accurate saying "strolling." All of the walkways and common tourists areas were filled with visitors, and most of them had white nametags hanging from their necks.

I love cities, their commotion and energy, but I also very much enjoy being anywhere else. The air was cold and fresh, and that first night was cold enough that 6 wool blankets laid over me weren't enough to keep me warm. But, warmth would've cost me $65 more a night, and I thought it was a fair tradeoff. The next day got a late start but managed a hike (certainly not a stroll) to the top of Vernal Falls where several months ago 3 young people walked around a guardrail, slipped into the water, and tumbled over the falls: a 25-foot float that led to a 300-foot fall that ended in a sudden stop in the rock-filled pool of water below. I looked at the waterfall and tried to imagine their terror at realizing what was going to happen. If we're lucky we die without such terror, though perhaps if we take our time dying that terror is longer.

Eating an apple and drinking some water at the top of the falls, I watched some clouds move in and realized how cold I had become: the sweat on my layers of long underwear wasn't drying, so I started hiking down just to regain some body heat. (Every see the movie Body Heat? It's kind of old, a little racy; I wrote a college paper on the opening scene, which I must've watched 20 times.) When I got to the road, I found the bus stop, intending to ride to the Valley's small deli where I could pick up a sandwich. After a few minutes I was joined by a man who was toting a fair amount of good camera equipment. I had camera-envy. "You hike to the Falls?" he asked. "I did," I told him. "You here for the conference?" "No," I said, and I let it hang there for a moment. "Which conference is that?" He looked at me. "The Al-Anon conference," he told me. "Nope," I said. I couldn't tell if he was sad. Maybe he had camera-envy, too. "I didn't mean to imply anything," he said, and I assured him that no offense was taken and no apology was necessary. "It's called 'Serenity in Yosemite'," he said, and we talked about the Valley's beauty.

We both eventually got on the shuttle bus, and though I was still quite chilled, I got off at the deli as he continued on. When I got my sandwich, I came outside to find another shuttle that would take me to Curry Village. The man was still on the bus, and we exchanged greetings. It's sometimes nice to see a friendly face.

Back at my tent, I ate the sandwich and shivered. When the sandwich was gone I walked to the showers and let hot water warm me up. After reading in my tent for awhile, I started walking again, making my way to a bar near Yosemite Lodge where I was charged $10.50 for a simple gin and tonic. The bar wasn't crowded--at least, I didn't see anyone wearing nametags. Toward dark and wandering around Curry Village, I found that 2 buildings were full of people watching some type of video: Al-Anons watching that night's keynote presentation. I found a dark corner outside one building where I could hear the speaker through the window. She was a comely blonde woman who interspersed "shit" and "fucking" quite well into a somewhat humorous personal story about her own journey into the group. Finally, when my feet were called, I sauntered back to my tent, read some more, and finally went to sleep with my blankets over me and the tent-neighbor snoring happily.

That second night was warmer than the first, or I was more tired and more acclimated to the cold. The next day I awoke to a light rain. I packed my things and loaded my car. I walked to the cafeteria for some hot oatmeal, and as I sat among many Al-Anons again, snow started to fall--big, wet snowflakes. I drove through snow until leaving the Valley, then drove through rain, then drove beneath sunshine for the rest of the way home. There I settled into the sofa and turned my attention to my students' papers and questions, trying hard to not lose what I'd gained over the previous couple of days.