Wild Whispers: A Spiritual Journey In Yosemite Valley

November arrived, and it was time for the maiden camping voyage to Yosemite National Park, where I would spend two nights camping alone. I filled the entire back of my Subaru Outback with gear and worked for two days straight, preparing to leave. My mind whirled with all the possible things that could go wrong. What if it’s freezing? What if there is a bear? Do I have any idea what I’m doing?

I would have felt better prepared if I had been told I needed to leave for Liberia in three days—international travel, I know; camping, I do not. The gremlins inside my head started to spew doubt. You don’t know what you are doing. You are an imposter. You will fail. Maybe I should cancel, I thought.

I slowed my breath and filled the space in my head with more positive thoughts. I am capable. I can do this. This is going to be fun. I finished packing up my camping gear, which had overflowed into the backseat. My dog, Jack, stayed with his grandparents until I was confident I could keep myself alive. I hit play on my audiobook, then followed the directions up Interstate 5 north to Yosemite.

I weaved through Los Angeles traffic and climbed the windy Tejon Pass. The rock striations of the mountains angled sharply toward the sky, a reminder of seismic activity in the area. I rode my brakes down the steep mountainside before dropping into the Central Valley.

The flat farmland wasn’t much to look at, but the fertile Valley could feed the world. The snowcapped Sierras peeked through on my right, indicating I was getting close. I climbed up through the forest and finally reached the park entrance.

It was still another hour to the famed Valley from there. A one-lane winding mountain road kept my attention away from the forest of blackened tree trunks destroyed by a previous fire. I wondered if Yosemite would survive climate change.

Finally, I hit the Wawona tunnel, the longest highway tunnel in California that would lead to the entrance of the hidden Valley. The dot of light grew larger until I exited. I gasped at what I saw. The imposing grey cliff face of El Capitan and the iconic Half Dome sandwiched this ancient glacier-carved Valley. The waterfalls somehow still flowed despite it being the dry season and poured into the Merced River that rambled through the valley floor. The leaves on the trees flickered like fire embers, while the evergreen pines stood steadfast against the seasons. I felt like I had entered Shangri-La.

I drove to my campsite and began unloading my equipment. I was happy that it at least looked like I knew what I was doing. Until I got to the shower tent. I went for the Cadillac of shower tents, which needed to be put together, and the damn thing took me a good hour to put together.

Once it was up, I realized it was huge. Why was it so big? You could have a party inside it. I just needed something to change, use the bucket toilet and rinse off. I wasn’t sure about this purchase. Maybe I didn’t need the Cadillac of shower tents. When it was finally done, I set out to start a fire and warm up dinner.

Starting a campfire was the one thing I wasn’t worried about. I’ve always been a bit of a pyromaniac and have started many campfires. But this time, I forgot kindling. Dammit! The pine needles were plenty on the ground but were too damp to ignite. So there went my park guide as I set it on fire. But it wasn’t enough. I searched my car for more paper and must have burnt every bit I had before I got that fire going.

I warmed up the potato soup I brought on my newly purchased Jetboil stove, and found myself surprisingly tired at 9 pm. The rest of the campground must have felt the same because it went quiet. My fears of loud parties were quelled. It was as if the Wicked Witch of the West cast a spell of poppies to make us sleep. The Valley was quiet.

The following day, I crawled out of my Subaru to cool, crisp mountain air and the smell of pine trees. I boiled some water for breakfast and sat in my camp chair with a warm cup of coffee, listening to the birds chirp. I had no desire to look at my phone. As it warmed, I stuffed my backpack full of snacks, dressed in layers and walked out of the campground with no real destination.

I heard the falls roar before I saw them and wandered in that direction. I cleared a shady patch of forest that opened to grasslands, where the falls revealed themselves. I stopped to take a picture of Yosemite Falls pouring into the treetops and then turned to take a selfie. I was stunned by the towering peak of Half Dome behind me. I must have stood there for ten minutes spinning around as I couldn’t get over the beauty.

As I walked closer, the lower falls revealed themselves. I stumbled upon a shady bench with a clear view of the upper and lower falls. A small nearby plaque intrigued me, and I walked over to read it.

Climb the Mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy while cares drop off like autumn leaves. John Muir

Built here a sugar pine cabin in 1869 and made it his home for two years.

John Muir was a very smart man, I thought to myself. He was right. In the Sierras, all my worries and cares seemed to disappear.

I continued wandering through the Valley and came across the Black Oak trees. They seemed to be dressed up for Halloween, with their leaves ablaze, contrasting the black bark of the trunks.

Later that day, I hiked back to my campsite, relaxed and tired. I warmed up dinner and ate heartily. I sat down in my chair, and my head went immediately back. I looked at the silhouette of the pine trees against the stars.

“There you are,” I said to the stars, “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, but you’ve been there all along.”

“Do you see me now?” The Universe whispered.

I did. This is the cathedral I had searched for. No manufactured church offered such divinity as the Valley. I am part of this world spinning in the enormous Universe. I am so small but a part of something so significant. My problems seemed minuscule compared to the stars, as I wondered what was up there.

The fire warmed my shins and face. I sat for hours, shifting my gaze from the dancing flames to the stars. At 8 pm, I realized I was ready for bed. The air mattress shifted under my weight, and I slithered into my silky sleeping bag. The Subaru beeped as I locked the car, and the mirrors folded in as if it was going to sleep, too, with me tucked in its belly. My windows were down and covered with slip-on screens, so I could hear the Merced River bubbling in the dark. Right before I fell asleep, I smiled and thought I’m happy I bought a Subaru.

The following day I woke up refreshed but sad to leave this slice of heaven. Yosemite had lived up to its reputation. I wrestled with the shower tent, now muddy from the wet ground, and vowed to return it. I shoved everything else in the car to sort it out when I got home.

Then I entered the tunnel and was transported back to the real world. I felt as if I had been on a meditation retreat. I couldn’t wait to go camping again and knew exactly what would be next. Big Sur, here I come!