from Mountains of Light
Rising from my sleeping bag,
I crawl out of the tent to take a dawn hike around the frosted meadows for an
hour or so. The sun peeks over Glacier Point and lights up the bare granite rock
of North Dome and the meadow below with a warm yellow glow.
In Cook’s Meadow, acorn
woodpeckers hop up the trunks of dead trees, picking out acorns they stored
there in the fall. By Sentinel Bridge, three young bucks are hanging out
looking for trouble; their snorts come out in white puffs.
It’s probably in the mid-30s
on the valley floor, at 4000 feet in elevation. On the trails that go along the
rim of the valley, at 8000 feet, it’s likely to be ten degrees colder.
A crow in a nearby tree makes
a gurgle noise. It's a funny sound, and each time the crow caws, its tail goes
down. By Swinging Bridge, a square chunk of light gray granite that was washed
downstream by the surge of the spring flood, now sits on the edge of a
reflecting pool of emerald green.
Ice edges the meandering
Merced River in white lace. Its tranquil water reflects the blue of the early
morning sky. An ouzel flies up and dances in the rapids flowing over a two-foot-stretch
of pebbles.
Taking a physical inventory,
I find that my only warm place is in the small of my back. It’s seriously cold
because the moist air near the river is penetrating my coat. I adjust my clothing
and try to get warm but without success, and head to the cafeteria for a hot
breakfast. Then it's back outside to see more of the valley in this early
light. Later I duck into Degnan's for hot coffee. At noon I heat up soup over
my campfire.
When the sun reaches Camp 4
at noon, it’s warm enough to take off one layer of clothing. After hours of
shivering, my body finally relaxes.
I head off on a longer hike
to see what other surprises are waiting.
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