Yosemite: Epilogue

(Continued from Yosemite: Heading Home)

Featured Photo: “Ussie with Yosemite National Park Sign”  Yosemite National Park, California—2023

The trip my sister and I took to Yosemite National Park in October 2023 is now over. The retelling of our trip, through many, many blog posts has also ended. During our four days there, I took more than 1,200 photographs, of which, I have shared about one-third through my stories (including several pictures pulled from the internet to fill gaps in my photographic record of the trip). And yet, I feel I’m not quite finished with my Yosemite yarn.

I now present an Epilogue (in four parts) to complete my narrative. What more can I have to say, you ask? In this final episode, I will tie up some loose ends and share a few last thoughts. I want to relate some of the lessons learned and relay some leftover stories. Drawing from movie-making terms, I feel a need to ensure continuity and recover a few scenes that were left on the cutting room floor.

One final note, just for the record: neither my sister nor I really like today’s Featured Photo: an “ussie” showing both of us in front of the Yosemite sign. It appears we are grimacing as we look into the bright sun slowly fading into the west. Which is exactly what happened. But it was an image of the two of us together, happy after our long day exploring the many wonders along Tioga Road, including Olmsted Point, Tenaya Lake, and Tuolumne Meadows. And with that, I will begin my conclusion.

Part 1: Lessons Learned

I wish I had been more informed about Yosemite prior to our trip—the natural forces that shaped it and the remarkable individuals who impacted it. That knowledge would have provided an enhanced appreciation of what we saw while there. Of course, I did learn some practical information before setting out, such as: it can be hot even in October; water levels in the rivers and falls are lower and less dramatic in Autumn, and crowds can be overwhelming at any time.

But to have known more about the glaciers and rocks and trees and wildlife! To have read the stories of John Muir, Edward Taylor Parsons, the Olmsteds, and the several US Presidents who played a role in our National Parks. How amazing that would have been. Still, I very much enjoyed the research about Yosemite National Park that I did after the trip, as I was writing these blog posts. The biography of Muir (loaned to me by my sister) was probably the most detailed and informative source. But even my Google searches turned up useful and sometimes surprising information.

I want to share two stories about John Muir that I could not easily fit into my trip narrative. The first is a fascinating article published in the Smithsonian Magazine, titled “John Muir’s Yosemite”, written by Tony Perrottet in 2008, in which he describes his quest to find the spot where Muir’s first shelter once stood, just yards from the Yosemite Falls Trail in Yosemite Valley. Although no structure remains, we know from Muir’s diaries and letters that he built the one-room cabin from pine and cedar, and that he diverted nearby Yosemite Creek to run beneath its floor, because he loved the sound of water. In the article, Perrottet recounts Muir’s life—as a young man, and especially the impact he had on Yosemite—in succinct, well-written prose that is both engaging and enlightening. Rather than summarizing the article, which would mangle Perrottet’s beautiful writing, I encourage you instead to click the link above and read the full story yourself. I believe you will thank me.

The second story is associated with an old photograph, which I came across while reading Donald Worster’s excellent biography of John Muir.

As with the Smithsonian Magazine article, instead of paraphrasing Worster’s words, I will simply quote the opening to Chapter 13 from his biography, as he describes the image far more eloquently than I could hope to convey.

“Glacier Point looms like a strong gray shield over the secluded but vulnerable Yosemite Valley. A famous photograph taken there in May 1903 shows Muir standing shoulder to shoulder with President Theodore Roosevelt. They seem confident of their position, though poised on the edge of a 3,200-foot cliff, their backs to a great abyss. Muir is dressed in baggy denim trousers, a shapeless coat with a flowery sprig in his lapel, a necktie and collar, and a creased hat on his head. He looks under-nourished but erect—a man at the peak of his career as a writer and conservationist. Roosevelt wears military jodhpurs with puttees, a heavy sweater showing beneath his open field jacket, a jaunty bandana around his neck, and a Stetson on his square head. He is broad chested and self-assured—relishing his immense popularity as occupant of the White House. They have just agreed that ownership of the much-abused valley below should revert to the federal government and become part of Yosemite Park. Politically, they have forged a formidable alliance on behalf of nature.”

The photo marks a pivotal moment in the establishment of Yosemite National Park as we know it today. Worster writes, “no previous American president had been so well informed and so avid a wildlife lover as Roosevelt.” Indeed, the president and Muir were kindred spirits who accomplished much for the conservation of nature and natural resources. But Worster goes on to describe the true state of affairs at that time—both for the conservation movement and in politics—and writes of the cracks that began to appear in the two men’s relationship, culminating in the role Roosevelt played in the Hetch Hetchy controversy. If you would like to read more about John Muir’s remarkable life, and the figures—both great and small—that impacted his life and work, I can highly recommend Worster’s biography as an excellent resource.

By the way, the image above is my own photograph showing a side view of Overhanging Rock—where Muir and Roosevelt stood back in 1903—with Yosemite Valley far below, taken when my sister and I visited Glacier Point during our trip. I can only say, “Do not attempt the same photo-op that they did, if you are fearful of heights!”

And I’ll close with perhaps the most important lesson I learned—something I believe confirms John Muir’s characterization of Yosemite as a “Cathedral” or “Temple”. It is a simple truth I experienced as I walked through our neighborhood park, after the trip was over: Yosemite is spiritual; it can change you. If you are attentive and open to its influence, if you are observant and reverent, you can take the awe and wonder you feel while in Yosemite home with you—a parting gift to be experienced again and again, once you have resumed your everyday, normal life.

Part 2: Bears

One of the other practical details that I did know going into our trip was that Yosemite had bears and we should be cautious if we saw one.

This point was driven home on the first morning as we approached the Arch Rock Entrance to the park, when we saw a sign…

…that we would see several times along the roads as we traveled. “Okay”, I thought to myself. “Be careful. Slow down. Don’t kill the bears.” My sister asked, “What kind of bears do you think they have in Yosemite? Black? Brown? Grizzlies?” I replied, “No, obviously they have Red bears!” Which gave us both a good laugh. So, did we see any bears during the trip? Well, yes and no. There were the plush, stuffed bears in the gift shops…

…and the one emblazoned on the front of our souvenir T-shirts.

Other than that, no bears, except for once when we were driving along—I don’t remember which day it was—and my sister shouted, “I just saw a bear!” “Really?” I asked excitedly. “Where?” She pointed in the direction, and I saw absolutely nothing resembling a bear. I asked her, skeptically, “A bear?” She said, “Well, actually it was a tree.” “A tree?” I asked. “Well, it was really a stump. A stump that looked like a bear reaching up to place a cone made of aluminum foil on his head, so he could search for aliens, like in the M. Night Shyamalan movie Signs, with Mel Gibson.” Hmm. I asked what color the stump was, and she said it was white. “So, you mean it was a Polar bear?” She answered, “Yes.” I shook my head. I never saw the bear or the stump that looked like a bear. I was still convinced there were only Red bears in Yosemite, and they were being killed by speeding cars. Oh, and we really did see squirrels with “white collars around their necks, like priests,” as my sister described them.

And we saw birds: a couple of ravens and that Steller’s Jay with the beautiful, bright-blue feathers at the Ahwahnee Hotel. Just no bears. But I liked the sign. I decided to pose by one.

Part 3: Music

For those who were paying close attention—especially if you have the memory of an elephant—you may recall I wrote in the very first post of this series that the trip to Yosemite with my sister “would combine several of my loves: family, friends, travel, music, food, beer, baseball, hiking, photography, and nature”. Looking through all the subsequent posts, you will find I covered each of these topics, to some extent, except one: music. In a way, that was intentional. I realized early on that writing about music would have been another digression, making the series even longer. (How is that even possible?!?) But now I want to close the loop—briefly—on my reference to music.

During three of the four flights that carried me to and from Yosemite—Philadelphia to Phoenix to Fresno, and the return trip from Dallas to Philly—I spent several delightful hours listening to some of my favorite classical music by the Romantic composer Sergei Rachmaninov. (Sitting beside my sister on the return flight from Fresno to Dallas, rather than listen to music, we had enjoyed reminiscing about our time in Yosemite.)

With my entire music library downloaded onto my iPhone and tucked safely in my pants pocket, and with my AirPods stuffed snugly into my ears, I had specifically enjoyed Rachmaninov’s beautiful Piano Concertos.

Of the four Concertos, his Second is—in my opinion—the most perfect blending of piano and orchestra in the entire classical music repertoire. Unfortunately, the gorgeous melody from the second movement of the Concerto was hijacked by the pop singer Eric Carmen for his 1975 hit song, “All By Myself” (The insult and injury were perpetuated when the song was later redone by Celine Dion). To this day, whenever I listen to Rachmaninov’s Second Concerto, I hear the whining refrain from Eric Carmen’s song. If you haven’t listened to the Eric Carmen song, don’t! But if you haven’t listened to Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2, you definitely should. I would add that Eric Carmen lifted another beautiful melody from Rachmaninov—the third movement Adagio from the Second Symphony—for his song “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again”. As I advised before, you should avoid the Eric Carmen song, but definitely listen to Rachmaninov’s Symphony.

I continued my musical journey even after my return from Yosemite. During my walk through our neighborhood park on the day I got home, I played one of my favorite versions of Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Ahh, the Paganini Variations…what an amazing example of a simple theme transformed into a wide range of related melodies. My favorite, of course, is the hauntingly beautiful Variation 18, which featured prominently in the 1980 movie Somewhere in Time, adapted from the book by Richard Matheson.

The movie starred the handsome Christopher Reeve (aka Superman, based on his prior performance in the 1978 movie) and the beautiful Jane Seymour (aka Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, from the 1990’s TV series) as the ill-fated lovers. In addition to the Rachmaninov Variation, the soundtrack also includes some beautiful original music composed by John Barry. And as you can see, I have gotten lost down another rabbit-hole.

So let me stop there for now; I plan to have more posts in the future that detail the beginning of my love for music and explain the vital role it has played in my life.

Part 4: Baseball

After detailing the natural wonders my sister and I saw during our delightful trip to Yosemite, it may seem a bit inappropriate that I’d like to wrap-up this series of posts by returning to the start: baseball. But of course, the important, unanswered questions remain: How did the Phillies do in the post-season? Did they win the National League Championship? Did they go on to the World Series? The answer is, unfortunately, the Phillies did not do as well as I—and perhaps the entire city of Philadelphia—had hoped.

After taking a commanding two-game lead into Arizona, the Phillies dropped Games 3 and 4 to tie the series. We won Game 5, and they won Game 6, forcing a deciding Game 7. I was nervous as the score swung back and forth in the final game: Arizona took the early lead; the Phillies tied it in the 2nd inning; we went ahead in the 4th; Arizona tied it again in the 5th then pulled ahead in the same inning; they added an insurance run in the 7th inning to make it 4 to 2. Then I watched—along with 45,000 Phillies fans in Citizens Bank Park, and countless other fans tuned in to the TV broadcast—with our hope fading as the Diamondback pitchers shut down the Phillies batters to record the final outs of the game.

Arizona won the Series four games to three. It would be the D-Backs—instead of the Phillies—who would face the Texas Rangers in the 2023 World Series. I didn’t watch any of the games; I had no real interest in either team and was crestfallen and heartbroken. Still, I was happy the Rangers beat Arizona in the World Series; it was the Rangers’ first title in their 52-year history. Their fans were thrilled.

But before the World Series got started—in fact, it was the morning after the Phillies and Diamondbacks series was over—I got another text from my college friend and baseball buddy:

It was difficult for me to reply, but when I did, I used my own abbreviations—my own made-up text slang. TDTT. (Too Disappointed To Text.) MMWWIWB. (Makes Me Wonder Why I Watch Baseball.) I knew it was only a game, but my team—Philadelphia’s team—had let me and the city down. They had dashed our hopes.

Which reminded me of the Season 1 finale of Ted Lasso, the hit sports comedy-drama series from Apple TV. In the episode, Ted and Beard—the unlikely American football (football) coaches brought in to lead an English football (soccer) team—are discussing the next day’s match (game) between Manchester City and Ted’s team, the home-town AFC Richmond Greyhounds. A trio of fans approach the coaches to tell them they had done well with the team, but these fans had already conceded defeat to the mighty Man City. Ted asked why they didn’t have hope. Mae, the faithful fan and wise barkeep, remarks, “It’s the hope that kills you.” Later, in a rousing speech to his team before the match (game), Ted countered, “It’s the lack of hope that kills you.” Duly inspired, the team heads to the pitch (field) where they play a good, hard-fought match (game). And I’ll leave it there so as not to play spoiler. But I ask, is it the hope—or the lack of hope—that kills you?

I considered for a moment, then checked the calendar: only 110 more days until the Phillies pitchers and catchers would report for 2024 Spring Training at BayCare Ballpark in Clearwater, Florida. Perhaps hope really does spring eternal! Eternal. I knew the natural beauty we had seen in Yosemite—El Capitan and Half-Dome, the Giant Sequoias, the waterfalls and all the rest—that’s what is truly eternal. But we’re talking baseball now.

After the disappointing end of the Phillies 2023 season, there were some positive signs in preparation for the next season. They re-signed one of their pitching aces to a contract that will keep him in Philadelphia until 2030, because—as he said in a press conference—“We just want to win it for this city and win it for this organization.”

And as of this writing, despite a slow start to the 2024 season, the Phillies have been playing great baseball, posting the best record of all the Major League teams. Maybe this will be the year they go all the way! Of course, it’s too early to tell. It’s a long season with 162 regular season games. Anything can happen. But maybe my friend was right. Maybe we really are baseball fans always.