Half Dome irresistible on winter evening

0 Comments | Deseret News (Salt Lake City), Mar 27, 2005 | by Robyn Dochterman Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune

Completely spent, I sprawled on the couch by the fire, and savored the minor miracle of chips and salsa. Such simple food had never tasted so wonderful. At sunset, I hobbled outside.

In front of me, sunset painted Half Dome in vivid streaks of sand and amber, copper and chestnut. Even when the deep-edged direct light was gone, a blushing halo of alpenglow lingered all around me.

After dinner, I thumbed through a book about John Muir, whose love of the area helped protect it. Instead of calling this range the Sierras, he thought it should be called "The Range of Light." Photographer Ansel Adams, who recorded the famous "Moon And Half Dome" in 1960, probably would have agreed.

By 10, I was falling asleep. Everyone else had chosen beds tucked in cozy corners at the back of the room. I picked a top bunk, right by a huge window, from which I had a perfect view of Half Dome, even in the dark. I unrolled my sleeping bag in its lambent light.

After breakfast, I snow-shoed on stiff muscles to Glacier Point.

Before me, Yosemite Valley spread out like an architect's model. There was El Capitan, which greeted me when I entered the valley for the first time, just a few days ago. There was Yosemite Falls, which seemed to roar just for me, when I'd walked to its base in the moonless mist, night before last.

And there were the foggy meadows that almost coaxed me to stay safe and comfortable, instead of climbing high enough for light to dance around me, and far enough for a behemoth rock to cradle me.

Yesterday already seemed like a long time ago.