Cold weather has delayed the onset of spring color, but it is coming.  Over the years, I have enjoyed spending time with knowledgeable people who have taught me about plant families and the morphology of flowers.  But whether you enjoy studying them or just looking at them, the big prize will always be that special field awash with color – a scene where you can’t believe your own eyes.

Despite many spring road trips, I have seen such a sight only a handful of times.  This was one of them:

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Two weeks after 9/11, I boarded a plane bound for Kathmandu and a trek to the Everest region of Nepal.  My sister, Christine, had been there before, and had developed a relationship with an outfitter there with whom we would stay while in Kathmandu.  In their exchange of pre-trip emails, Shankar suggested that we come a month earlier to avoid the influx of trekkers that come in October.  While the Solo Khumbu region might be quieter then, there was the risk that clouds from the waning summer monsoons might obscure our view of the mountain.  When Christine asked me about going early, I said that, while I love solitude in the mountains, I would sit in a sold out Yankee Stadium for a clear view of Everest.

Fast forward to several days into our trek.  On the last steep climb up to Namche Bazaar, there is one spot with a narrow view of the very summit of Everest peeking over the Lhotse/Nuptse ridge.  I looked up in amazement and pointed it out to a descending trekker who had spent the past two weeks in the region.  “That’s the first time I have seen the mountain,” he told me.  Thank God we waited.
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After the first couple of days of our trek, the weather was perfect and we were treated to great views of Mt. Everest from a number of locations.  But from the outset, we knew the best view, conditions permitting, would be from the summit of Gokyo Ri.  Finally, one icy morning in the village of Gokyo (15,500 ft.), we left at sunrise for the 2,000-foot climb to Gokyo Ri and our hoped-for view.  I was pleased at my strength on the steep climb to this elevation, and even more pleased at the reward awaiting us there.  Calm air a warm temperatures greeted us atop Gokyo Ri.  The view of Everest was clear and magnificent.  An occasional small wispy cloud would appear, then dissolve, as if to add a bit of magic to the view.

I wonder what they did today in Vermont?  Or Chicago?  Or Buffalo?  According to the news, it’s been chilly lately.

I went for a walk on the beach today.  A large part of old Fort Ord near Monterey is now a new state park.  Miles of beach, sand dunes, and cliffs with hardly a soul, except for this guy.

It was a stunning day:  temperatures in the mid-70’s, clear skies, and a gentle breeze.  The surf was as big as I have ever seen it in California, perhaps as high as 15 feet.  The offshore breeze hollowed out each wave into a massive glassy tube and tore a rainbow-lit mist from the lip of each one.  The sanderlings scampered up and down the beach following the last foamy gasp of the surf.  Brown pelicans drifted along the face of the huge waves angling away just before the final curl and plunge.
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Sitting on a sandy knob above the beach, it did not take much effort to imagine that I had just “discovered” this beach and was the first person ever to see it.  It stretched for miles with nothing to indicate that anyone else was nearby.

I wonder what they did today in Rapid City?

The town I grew up in has changed.  The stores have been replaced by trendy shops.  In place of simple restaurants, there are now fine dining establishments, and the town’s new residents are folks who know the difference.  They know which ones have the best food.  They appreciate the finer things.

But they don’t know the short cut to Mike’s house.  They didn’t play mud football on rainy days at Boyle Park or search for golf balls in the ditches at the muni course.  They didn’t help Gene, a little league coach and mailman, sort packages at Scout Hall when the post office needed the extra space over the holidays.  They didn’t build forts on the hills above our house.

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This scene is on a ridge not far from home.  I’m not sure the new folks know it’s there.  My dad’s ashes are spread nearby.  It seems like a nice spot to spend eternity – at least I hope it is.

Cathedral Peak is an iconic summit visible from nearly anywhere in the vicinity of Tuolumne Meadows.  What’s more, this elegant spire can be easily climbed in an afternoon by any fit mountaineer willing to do a little rock scrambling.

The first ascent of 10,911-foot Cathedral Peak was by John Muir in 1869 by what is called the Mountaineers Route.  Inspired by his climb to the summit, he wrote, “How often I have gazed at it from the tops of hills and ridges, and through the openings in the forests on many short excursions, devoutly wondering, admiring, longing!  This I may say is the first time I have been in church in California…”

Indeed.
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I say the route is easily climbed and that is true, except for the summit block.  To scale the last 15 feet, you must swing out onto a rock shelf on the sheer side of the peak – one step to the bottom.  From there, you must make a Class 4 move to the top of the small knob at the very summit.  Kinda spooky for a non-technical climber.  You decide when you get there.

If you skip the last 15 feet, who cares?  The view from the summit is lovely.  Muir is right.  It seems from here that one can touch the face of God.

Yosemite Valley must surely be the Jesus Christ of wild places.  It gave its life so that other natural places might have a chance at eternal salvation.  In the valley, traffic jams and scarce parking are common problems.  Shuttle buses are available to keep traffic and air pollution to a minimum.  Have a pizza and a soda, do some shopping…it’s all there.

The silver lining to this sacrifice is that if you walk 100 yards from the road anywhere else, you find virtual solitude.  I have found this to be true time and again even along Yosemite’s designated roadside stops.  One day earlier this week, I visited the park and learned this lesson once again.

The calendar says autumn, but a spate of recent rains gave the Merced River and the various valley falls the look of spring.  Bridalveil Falls and Yosemite Falls were performing in full high-country runoff splendor.  Even the wispy sinew of Ribbon Fall twisted delicately in the wind tucked in its nook next to El Capitan.
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On the road to Glacier Point, I parked at the Taft Point/Sentinel Dome parking lot.  After a 15-minute level walk, I reached the broad granite expanse at the top of Taft Point.  A few more steps past huckleberry oak, mazanita, and the occasional Jeffrey pine, Taft Point dropped away – one step to the valley 3,500 feet below.  On the left, Cathedral Spires and El Capitan.  Straight ahead, the Three Brothers.  On the right, Yosemite Falls.  All were visible from a single viewpoint, in full relief, and all were below where I stood.

In an hour there, I saw perhaps 15 people.