Yosemite

The agony and the ecstasy of keeping a posthumous promise to visit the most beautiful valley on earth.

Kara had been to Yosemite years ago when she was married. It was summertime and she recalled to me the wonderful impression that the smell of warm pine needles left upon her, and spoke glowingly about the experience often. But her husband at the time had little interest in leaving their room at the lodge. Which understandably frustrated her as she felt torn between exploring the valley and spending time with him.

A few years into our relationship and knowing that I had never been, she asked if we could go together. A redemptive visit for her and the realization of an almost life-long goal for me. I told her that we would absolutely go and it settled near the top of our list of would-be excursions. But regretfully, we ran out of time before we were able to make it happen. A couple of months ago I was offered a solo winter press visit to Yosemite and immediately accepted. I opted to go the road trip route, adding stops along the way both there and back. And in an effort to keep my word to her as best as I presently could, I brought her remains along with me.

The night before I was due to arrive in Yosemite, I stayed in a hotel about a three-hour drive away from the park. I had been following the weather closely and there was a slight chance for some midday snow. But there was no way I was going to gamble on a slight chance turning into a blizzard while I was driving through the mountain pass to get there. Besides, I wanted as much time there as possible. So I left early and arrived at the park around 8:30 in the morning.

Between the pre-dawn lack of light and the haunting thoughts of Kara that regularly dance in and out of my cruise control ponderings, it was a dark drive. As a result, my pump was already primed with emotion before I even got there. I had yet to see the sun that day, but as I rounded the final bend before entering the park I witnessed megawatt sunbeams piercing through the incoming clouds - just clearing the most imposing palisades of granite I’d ever witnessed in person. Then, diffused through boughs of Ponderosa pines and giant sequoias, transformed into dapples of morning light that passed effortlessly through the windshield before landing home upon my face in the warmest and most gentle way imaginable. It was as if I had just passed through the gates of heaven. And for all intents and purposes, that’s exactly what happened.

I erupted into tears, as I knew I would at some point - but wasn’t expecting it with such fierce immediacy. I screamed in desperation at that permissive windshield for mercy in the form of a much more gradual reveal. Though my wording at the time may have been more colorful. It was a moment that filled my heart to its capacity and shattered it into a thousand pieces at the same time. Never before had every cell in my body along with every love-lorn cavity of my soul been screaming so loudly and with such divergent voices. To feel within my core Mother Nature’s limitless capacity for salvation while simultaneously drowning in the reality of Kara's absence was so intense that it bordered on paralyzing. Things didn’t get any less inspiring or insufferable from there.

The lightest of flurries began falling as I entered the valley, and I started exploring it in earnest. The opportunity to take in the aroma of sunkissed pine may not have presented itself in January, but I was dead set against relegating her to the room at the lodge. My first stop was the legendary Tunnel Viewpoint, one of the best-known photo ops in the park. 

Side note: Crows were perhaps Kara’s favorite bird (shocker). And since her passing, they have come to represent her to many of her close friends and family members. Myself included.

As I began snapping shots of a vast valley and a foreboding sky, a crow swept down and perched itself next to me, squawking loudly while making direct eye contact. The impact from the initial blast of entering the park was hardly waning, and now this shit!? The crows would be a ubiquitous presence for the rest of my time spent in the park. And while I recognize that their insistence on making my acquaintance had more to do with years of overly friendly, hand-feeding humans than with anything otherworldly, it didn’t make those moments any easier for me.

I continued along the valley floor, with every ¼ mile or so revealing yet another postcard I had seen a hundred times before. Only now it was in person with the full scale that only human eyes can properly contextualize. Those same eyes became a battleground for the dueling needs to sob and compose photos. With each taking turns occupying the high ground in my head with only the occasional cease-fire.

Needing a moment to attempt composure, I pulled over into a random turnout and began walking aimlessly into snow-covered woods. I soon arrived at a peaceful bend along the Merced River that afforded views of the valley as well as El Capitan rising to meet the sky just across the water. On the banks, I noticed a young Ponderosa pine whose roots and been partially exposed by river erosion. And while it was not part of my initial plan, it suddenly felt compellingly perfect to scatter a portion of her ashes in amongst the roots of that tree. So that perhaps someday, in some small way, she might aid in the growth of future fragrant needles. It was every last bit as impactful as you might imagine. And the whole episode was undoubtedly a mistake from a getting-myself-together standpoint. But it felt like what needed to be.

As I got back to the car the snow began falling heavier. I decided to park at the lodge where I would be staying and explore the trails that extend throughout the valley on foot. The snow continued to fall, and what was supposed to be a chance of flurries did indeed become a steady, 6-hour-long snowfall. I hiked in it for as long and as far as I could until the encroaching darkness drew my day to a close. As I write this two days later, I honestly don’t remember that evening. Not the result of some alcohol-induced blackout, either. I can’t say why with certainty, but my suspicions center around breaching my sensory and emotional capacities, and subsequent shutdown.

The next day would be infinitely easier, though in no way easy. The grey gave way to bluebird and I would spend the entire day exploring with her again before leaving the next morning. In exiting the valley I experienced an overwhelming sense of melancholy relief. As sad to be leaving as I was happy that it was all over. What else was I expecting, though? I was experiencing the glories of Yosemite paired with the stinging privation of her physical presence. In the future, I’m sure that the keeping of posthumous promises will be far less dramatic. Sweet fancy Moses, they better be.