A Yosemite Diary, 1998 by Susan Seiling December, 1998 I was three years old when my grandmother gave me my favorite sheets. They were standard cotton sheets with an exceptional design: children sledding on giant snowdrifts; ice skaters making figure eights on ponds; snow covered trees and houses. The world in those sheets came straight from a fairy tale. I spent many nights, staring at the pillowcase, imagining those snow drifts were in my backyard. In southwest Michigan, snow came often, but not in large quantities. A few times each winter we'd wake up to four or five inches--just deep enough that only a few blades of grass poked through the white blanket. But after half an hour of play, the snow would quickly compact into slush. We were left with wet knees, drippy snowballs and muddy sleds. Each time I decided it didn't compare to that winter wonderland on my sheets. Now that I'm an adult, I've watched the snow pile thick in places like New York and Minnesota--but only on the Weather Channel. I hadn't experienced snow--like the snow in my sheets--until a trip to Yosemite. It was December of 1994, and the beginning of a very harsh Sierra Nevada winter. My husband and I spent a day flying across the country, then navigating the icy roads up to Yosemite Valley. We arrived close to midnight, and the snowflakes fell, thick and fluffy. That night we stayed at our friends' home, where the front windows looked out at Half Dome. Sometime during the night, howling coyotes interrupted my sleep. I opened my eyes and looked out the front window. The clouds had cleared, leaving at least a foot of snow, gleaming blue in the moonlight. The granite walls looked as though they had been dusted by powdered sugar. And the coyotes I had heard pranced across the meadow, yapping amongst the mist. Usually in Yosemite, the snow melts as soon as the sun hits the valley in the morning. But the next day was cold enough to freeze it in place. My husband and I drove around the valley, photographing, sledding, making snow angels, and finally sipping hot cocoa in Curry Village. During that trip, we went ice skating and cross country skiing, and it wasn't until the final day that the snow began to look less fresh, and more like slush. That's when I remembered the sheets, and realized the fairy tale world I imagined as a little girl, existed in Yosemite. Discovering Yosemite Winter Nights November 1998, by Susan Seiling I lived in Yosemite Valley for three years, keeping track of the seasons with my daily walks. During the winter, I worked during most of the daylight hours. Instead of giving up my walks, I decided to discover Yosemite at night. Each evening, I'd find a willing accomplice, and we'd wrap ourselves into warm winter clothes and set out on the bike path. My route stretched 3.5 miles from Yosemite Village to Yosemite Chapel to Yosemite Lodge, and then back to the village. It took me through meadows, over the Merced River, beneath oaks, and in the winter time, introduced me to the evening sky. Those nights, I learned to value the light of the moon. Under the full moon, I could walk without a flashlight. Cracks and crevices in the granite cliffs defined themselves as their shadows deepened. The flat rock faces took on a metallic sheen, and snow on the peaks glowed royal blue. With the new moon, I'd strap on my headlamp, and walk past tourists looking like a Cyclops as I navigated my way along the path. But when I turned the headlamp off, I discovered the brightness of the stars. Each moonless night, the stars shone bright enough that they actually looked tangible. Growing up near an urban area, I remember it was difficult to distinguish planes from stars, and even more difficult to spot satellites. In Yosemite, the sky is dark enough to become three-dimensional. I could not only see the stars, but could also view their colors. The coyotes seem more plentiful in winter, too. It's common to hear their yips and yowls throughout the valley at night. The most memorable serenade I heard occurred while I was walking through Leidig meadow at night. I had just crossed Swinging Bridge when I heard a group of coyotes howl in unison to my left. I stopped when I heard a second pack answer them from across the river, on my right. I stood, listening to the coyotes exchange songs for a good three minutes. It was one of those moments that make you realize that, even with 4.3 million tourists filtering through the valley each year, the wildness of Yosemite still prevails. Autumn Notes Late October, 1998, by Susan Seiling In Yosemite, the trees don't change subtly. They push the pigment though their leaves, attempting to make autumn color as much of a reason to visit Yosemite as the spring waterfalls. Yesterday, my husband picked up a yellow maple leaf that had grown larger than his hand, larger than my face, and in fact, larger than my computer screen. This year, the leaves in Yosemite are displaying the most vibrant gold I remember since moving here four summers ago. Maybe what makes the Yosemite leaves seem so colorful is the way they contrast sharply with the evergreens. In the dark pockets of the valley where pines dominate, the brightness of the oaks, maples and undergrowth always makes me realize, suddenly, autumn has peaked. Yesterday, we took awhile to explore pockets of forest along Southside Drive before wandering out to Mirror Lake. On the path, autumn leaves and pine needles flattened against the pavement. It looked almost like someone had shellacked them there, as a tribute to autumn. But there were others, still falling from the trees. And it smelled like autumn: that sweet scent of decaying leaves. Each year, I forget I miss the smell of sap until it begins running again in the spring. The same is true of autumn leaves. That sweet scent reminds me of pumpkins, Halloween, and trying to bury my sister in piles of leaves on our Midwestern lawn. It was the middle of the afternoon when we were walking, but I had to wear a polartec jacket the entire time. The wind worked its way through the fabric, making me wish I wore more than a t-shirt beneath. By the end, I was thoroughly chilled, and I craved a hot drink from the Ahwahnee, but settled for Hot Apple Cider from Degnan's. The paper cup felt warm and comforting as I wandered beneath the oaks in Yosemite Village. Autumn is a time for slowing down the pace of life. As night falls earlier each night, and temperatures drop, a quiet restfulness settles in. I saw that quietness in the tourists yesterday. Fewer people visit the park in autumn. And this time of year tends to bring out visitors who realize the value of wilderness, quiet spaces and wildlife. We're just a week away from November, when the park becomes downright desolate during the weekdays. I suggest taking a day off from work to enjoy the slice of autumn Yosemite so eloquently boasts. Water Sounds May 1998, by Kristina Rylands Last fall I wrote a poem that started off "By October/I've forgotten what rain sounds like..." And last November, my Diary entry listed some fine things to do in Yosemite in the rain. From my desk here, I can see yet another storm rolling in. I'm told it will last the entire week. It's the middle of May and the rain just keeps coming. Frankly, I'm sick of it. By May, I KNOW full well what rain sounds like and can't imagine the quiet of dryness. But in Yosemite, it's a different story. The sound of water is the sound of spring. No matter where you are in the Valley, you can hear water tumbling over cliff walls--from Yosemite Falls, from Bridalveil, from Sentinel Fall, from Lehamite Fall, from the Royal Arches Cascades, from Staircase Fall under Glacier Point. And although I'm sick to death of rain, these water sounds are soothing. The other day I caught myself lingering along the rapids of Tenaya Creek, just below Mirror Lake. And during my drive into the Valley, I always note the level of the Merced River at "Table Rock"--a flat boulder in the middle of the river between the Pohono Bridge and the Diversion Dam at the highway 140/120 junction. On this day, just a tiny nub of rock inched above the gentle lap-lap of water. When it's covered, we know the spring run-off is in full force. Another place to listen to water is from within a meadow. From the walking path, I love to listen to a small tributary as it empties into Cook's Meadow, largely thick, green, and grassy. The trickle disappears into foliage, into the ground below, serving as an enormous sponge. Yes, these are the days I dream about when fall burns deep into November. Many folks come to photograph the beauty of Yosemite's water courses in spring and summer. But it's the rush, tumble, splash, crash, trickle, dibble-dop of Yosemite's water sounds that stay with me all year. Yosemite Spring Almanac by Kristina Rylands Spring is a time of intense activity in Yosemite Valley. While the high country is still deep in the throes of winter, the Valley begins to stir, awakened with the sound of thundering waterfalls. What follows is an almanac of sorts, noting just a few of spring's wondrous milestones. Use it as a reference. Print it out. Pass it along to friends on their way to Yosemite. If you have items to add, feel free to send them to me (rylands@yosemite.net). But whatever you do, don't let spring in the Valley pass you by! Early April April 5...Daylight Savings Time begins. Set clocks ahead one hour. Now there's more daylight to spend exploring the Valley! Red-winged blackbirds establish territories in Cook's Meadow. Listen for their glissade-like song! Treefrog eggs hatch in ponds in meadows. Tadpoles are visible. April 11...Full moon. Lunar rainbow may be visible at base of Lower Yosemite Fall. Mid April Earliest wildflowers bloom in Valley: rock cress, slender phlox, miner's lettuce, baby-blue eyes, mountain violet, gooseberry and redmaid. Reptiles begin spring activity. Gilbert skinks, western fence lizards and garter snakes can be spotted in sunny locations. Black bears end their winter sleep and leave their dens. Sows are accompanied by two or three cubs. Proper food storage is required year-round, but is especially critical at this time of year. Butterflies-mourning cloaks, tortoise-shells, and skippers-flit about meadow foliage. April 21...John Muir's birthday (1838-1914) April 22...Earth Day Late April Conditions may be favorable for sequoia seed germination if seeds fall on bare mineral soil. Nice time to hike around the Merced Grove or take the trail down to the Tuolumne Grove. For fewer fellow travelers, take the trail into the Merced Grove. Male mosquitoes hatch into adults (males don't bite). Early May May 11...Full moon. Lunar rainbow may be visible at base of Lower Yosemite Fall. Dogwood trees and western azalea bushes bloom in moist areas. The drive into the Valley along Southside Drive should be spectacular! Monarch butterflies return, some after a 1,000-mile migration from Mexico. Female mosquitoes hatch. (Females bite!). Striped coral root, a delicate saprophytic member of the orchid family, flowers in the forest. I've seen these along the Old Big Oak Flat Road heading down toward the Tuolumne Grove. You can also find them in August along the moist forested trail between Sentinel Dome and Taft Point. Mid May Showy red snow plants push their way up through the decaying humus of the forest floor. This is an unusual looking plant and may take you by surprise. But please don't touch--leave them for others to enjoy. Peregrine Falcon eggs hatch if eggshells are thick enough to withstand incubation period. Because of DDT concentrations in the birds, eggshell thinning commonly occurs. Fertile stalks of horsetails sprout. They are visible in the fen near Happy Isles and at Valley View. Brilliantly-colored Western Tanagers arrive in park. Adult damselflies hatch and begin to eat mosquitoes. Large swarms of lady bird beetles ("lady bugs") emerge from hibernation. Late May Moist meadows are extremely fragile. Please stay on established trails and elevated boardwalks. Yosemite waterfalls reach their thundering peak. One of my personal favorites is Horsetail Fall along the east buttress of El Capitan. This is a remarkable place to see the alpenglow of sunset. Don't forget to bring a camera! Early June June 10...Full moon. Lunar rainbow may be visible at base of Lower Yosemite Fall. Showier wildflowers bloom: Sierra onion, lupine, Mariposa lily, penstemon, alum root, and lady slipper orchid. Golden Eagles may be sighted soaring above Yosemite Valley cliffs. Bracken fern is tall and abundant along meadow edges and throughout forests. The stalks were a favorite material of Yosemite Indians for basket manufacture. You can see some of these amazingly intricate baskets at the Yosemite Museum in the Valley. Mid June Black bears begin to mate.   Winter Itinerary December/January 1998, by Kristina Rylands I would say that - without a doubt - the question I am most asked about Yosemite is "What is the best time of year to visit the park?" It's hard to say. The spring run-off is amazing. Summer's wildflower show in the high country is unparalleled. And the colors of fall are unlike anything this side of New England. And winter...? Winter in Yosemite is magic. I adore the park in winter, and I make no secret of it when asked the question above. There is nothing like the hush that comes with a blanketing of fresh snow. The Valley becomes almost perfectly still with silence. The sun on snowy cliff walls is blinding. (Crowds? People? What people?) And yes, I love snow-life: cross-country skiing to Dewey Point, downhill skiing with family at Badger Pass, snowshoeing into the Tuolumne Grove. The park in snow-cover opens itself up to you in ways that-if you're familiar with most nooks and crannies-you become a new-comer all over again! But on my birthday in December, my husband surprised me with a memorable afternoon and evening in Yosemite. Not just a "gift," but the perfect winter itinerary. It began with a ski up the Glacier Point Road on a crystal-clear day, just after a weekend snowstorm. We headed up beyond Summit Meadow and on toward McGurk Meadow, places I've been to a thousand times in summer and fall. But somehow in snow, the "Road" is no longer a road, but a wide snowy trail leading you into the heart of wilderness. We talked about going out to Glacier Point, but with me 8 months pregnant, that trip would have to wait for another time! We rested under a white fir and listened to the snow plop-plop off of the branches. Then leisurely made our way back to Badger where we changed clothes, went to an exquisite dinner at the Ahwahnee (the ahi encrusted with pistachios-UNBELIEVABLE), and took a drive around the Valley before heading home. Now, this evening just happened to be the night of a full moon. And if you have never been to Yosemite in winter on the night of a full moon, you had better consult your calendar immediately. We drove to Stoneman Meadow near Curry Village, parked the car along the relatively deserted road, and waited as the moon crept over Half Dome. Long before the moon made it's brilliant appearance, you could see an enormous arc, atmospheric crystals, half of a ring rising. Then came the light show: Half Dome itself became an eclipse; Glacier Point, Sentinel Rock, and the entire neck of the Valley illumined in the white snow-glow; Yosemite Falls bathed in a sort of dimmed daylight; El Capitan carved out in every detail. It truly makes me dizzy, in fact, even a little crazy. This type of winter night beauty. We still have a few snowy full-moon evenings left. If I were you, I'd pack my bags!