Day 4, August 1
Water.
Agua. The theme of this divine day.
Greeting the morning with the calls of the mountain chickadees and a crisp,
cool splash of Lewis Creek’s pure H2O across my face, I could sit there all day
and just soak in these liquid sanctuaries. The way to explore Yosemite and its
waters is with a slow, deliberate saunter. Thoreau has a wonderful take on
walking and “sauntering.” Evidently, the word “saunter” comes from France in
the Middle Ages, “sante terre” - holy land. People claiming to be on their way
to the holy land would stop and ask for alms and food, and soon they came to be
known as the “sainte terrers” – the holy landers. I like that. Because here, in
this holy land, you must move slow and pay attention to the water and the
hidden adventures to be found around every turn.
There is no need to rush twenty
five miles per day through this sacred place, trying to tick off miles on some
supposed fixed route to “prove” that you can do it, or worse, to play some “man
conquers nature” game (similar in its ‘missing-the-point-entirely’ vibe, on the
trail one day, I heard a man call it “bagging” a mountain peak… isn’t that what
stupid dudes call their stupid sexual conquests?) Do those speed hikers even
notice these waters? Do they even rest to dip their faces in them and feel its
energy drip across tired brows and refresh tired souls? Do they even stop to
give thanks to these waters?
About
a mile or two down the valley we suddenly come across this magnificent little
cascade rushing down a steep, flat granite incline. It goes as high up as my eyes
can see into the Sierra horizon. I drop my pack and instinctively start to
scramble up alongside the falls. Up and up. Soon I’m 200 feet above the bottom.
My compadre joins me there and we decide
that this beautiful stream deserves our attention for at least an hour or two.
Up we climb, past magnificent hidden waters in the boulders; past the rapids
shooting down a narrow flume gaining maximum speed before it plunges into the
pool below; past polished moraine boulders glistening in the late morning sun.
Finally we arrive at the top, hundreds of feet above the valley floor. Stunning
views. The water turns into a gentle stream and leads us into the High Sierra
backcountry towards Florence Lake. I would wager that not too many humans have
ventured here. This is capital ‘W’ Wilderness. This is where you find your
spirit. One could wander on (or stop and just sit) for hours along any one of
these hundreds of high Sierra streams. After some time exploring, we slowly sante terre
back down alongside the cascading water. I could easily spend several
afternoons here lounging alongside these Florence Falls. This could become an
addiction. This wonderful stream will soon mix with Lewis Creek, which then
will mix with the mighty Merced, River of Mercy – the main artery of Yosemite.
Down
into the valley… epic views of Merced Lake, Mt. Clark, Mt. Starr King, even
Half Dome vaguely in the distance. Once below about 8,000 feet we begin to
notice how the trees diversify. Out of the realm of the Lodgepole Pines, we
enter groves of Red and White Fir, Mountain Hemlock, Western White Pine,
Quaking Aspen by the streams, and gnarled old grandpa Juniper clinging to the
rocks. Soon we enter the valley where all the waters converge. Having read the
words ‘Merced River’ so many times, it is exhilarating to finally come upon it
and see it face to face. Whatever goals I had for this Summer long since
surpassed, I enter yet another principal chamber of Muir’s grand temple.
Another quick pass through another of these Youth Hostely High Sierra Camps (I
might as well have been on one of those Lonely Planet backpacker
circuits), a much appreciated lemonade and chocolate bar fill up, and suddenly
enormous Merced Lake is by our side. Sheer, enormous granite walls cover its
southern shore. It appears as if you could slide down them and splash
harmlessly into its deep blue waters. Impressive.
With
daylight disappearing and only precarious water sources once we leave this
grand valley for our next day ascent, we decide to spend the night in Echo Valley
next to the Mighty Merced so we can fill up every Nalgene bottle we carry
before heading up to the final destination of our epic Ahwahnee saunter –
Cloud’s Rest, 9,900+ feet in the heavens. We have been eyeing that leg of the
journey with particular excitement since we planned this trip. That night,
perched upon a particularly smooth polished slab of the geological delight that
is Yosemite granite (fine work, Sr. Glacier, fine work), we rest weary legs and
watch the full moon again creep over the eastern horizon behind a distant ridge
of Pine and Fir trees. With binoculars you can actually see the moon moving.
Soon, again, the descending waters lull us to a calm, content sleep.
Agua. Thoughts for the day… when dependent upon water
sources such as one is in the backcountry, you very quickly learn to honor and
respect it. When life becomes as free flowing as these liberated rapids and
streams and falls, you have indeed discovered some sort of balance. Again, the
symbolism of these holy places on this good Earth is so much more profound and
real once you actually experience them and listen to them speak. An old
prophecy says that now is the time for us to let go of the shore and let the
water carry us. Trust it. Honor it. Incomprehensible, isn’t it, how the wicked
1% willfully pollute their own children’s fountain of life – fresh, clean
water? I view this suicidal water pollution as nothing less than a clear sign
of the obvious mental and spiritual insanity of large segments of our society
(let us call things what they are, no?) What would we be without these glorious
streams, giving everything and everyone life? Take a look around the planet and
what has happened in most nations to the once pure veins of Mother Earth and
you quickly see what our future will be right here if we do not confront and
defeat that wicked, lost 1%.
Salve Yemanja.
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