Arriving at Yosemite

This afternoon was entirely travel from Point Lobos into the Sierra Nevada to Yosemite. We began climbing almost immediately on leaving the coast, the play of sunlight and the shadows cast by the clouds onto the gentle brown hills truly indescribable. Without a map I felt pretty lost – how I do like knowing what the route is to be, but I made myself sit back and simply take in what I was seeing from the coach.

Our driver did point out the eucalyptus grove Jimmy Stewart drove through in the movie Vertigo. Pretty interesting that it’s still there, although a divided four lane highway now goes though it. The enormity of what is produced in the central valley boggles the mind. Fields of lettuce, artichokes, vine tomatoes, corn, cotton, grapes, milo, alfalfa; orchards of almonds, olive, piscashio; and, toward the eastern-most portion of the valley, cattle. And, that is just what I could identify. A small billboard dots the valley: “We farm, you eat.”

While the fields under production are green (or whatever color the crop is), where the irrigation isn’t is dry, machinery in the field kicking up great clouds of dust. And, the wind is relentless. The black oak thrives as does pine, a number of varieties which I read about before this trip began, their names and distinguishing characteristics I don’t remember. Actually, the sugar pine with its unusually long cones I could identify.

By the time we approached the south entrance to the park I was beginning to feel rather odd, having to concentrate intensely in order to fight off a mounting feeling of disorientation. It wasn’t motion sickness. Very different from that very familiar feeling. Fortunately, I was able to doze a bit and, otherwise, played mental games to keep from feeling too overwhelmed. Once we arrived at the Yosemite Lodge, I learned that what was happening to me is not uncommon at all, a condition caused by dramatic altitude change. Pretty yucky at the time, I must say. Feeling OK now.

Given a serious landslide some three years ago, our entry into Yosemite had to be from the south, making the trip considerably longer. The destroyed road, Route 140 approaching El Portal, has been repaired for regular traffic, but since the land is still unstable, coach traffic is not allowed. Because of the hour (about 6:30) and the position of the sun, our study leader asked the driver (whose name is Bruce, by the way) to stop at what is called Tunnel View. The tunnel is nearly a mile long and the traveler emerges from that narrow, dark space into the first view of the valley.


That all this has been spared cliff-hanging residences, Cracker Barrels, Red Roof Inns, Wal-Marts, and putt-putt golf and water slides is too wonderful for words.