Sledding Days
Driving to Mammoth for the first time in a long time in the dark meant the only vistas I had for a good four hours was utter darkness. I waited as the miles flew by for signs of stars or any celestial light to illuminates the peaks of grandeur we were heading towards. Stars began to dot the sky but were not bright enough to spotlight a mountain. So, we arrived at the cabin and unloaded in a garage before falling quickly asleep, the views to be stalled until morning.
When I awoke and looked out the balcony, the freshly falling snow blanketed everything in white. The trees were dusted and the sky had a grey faded look as it snowflakes drifted. After pancakes and coffee, I laced up my snow boots and pulled on my beanie to go explore. I frolicked and laughed at the powder. Life lately has been filled with sand and no snow. Trees graced both sides of my pathway and I turned a corner to see the mountains in snowy morning glory.
One of the best parts of venturing out with no plan or clear direction is the surprises to be discovered. A wonderful view is even more wonderful when it is one I haven't seen in a million pictures or expect to find. We ended up at the top of a hill, sitting on rocks, staring at the topography. I hadn't really sat and stared at the glorious way the earth can crest and fall since living in Colorado. It reminded me of my many mornings in Rocky Mountain National Park gazing at Twin Sisters, sometimes covered in snow, or bathed in bright sun, and occasionally caressed by clouds. I need the mountains in my life more frequently.
I am cheap and didn't want to pay for a lift ticket so instead, I spent a good chunk of the weekend sledding. Initially, we scouted ta golf course with the perfect slope. I anticipated it being short-lived as we pretended to not see signs suggesting staying off the fairway and was unsurprised when the grounds guy rolled up to ask us to finish up and head out. He became a prized resource, as he suggested "4 million acres of wilderness" where we could sled without interference. We packed up and headed for Scenic Loop.
The name itself should predicate the perfection we were about to stumble on. Turning right, we began up the road, with vast spaces of trees on either side of us. Hills were tucked around each bend in the road and we pulled over. Hours were filled with running up hills, building jumps, speeding toward and sometimes into trees and branches, and getting dumped off thin pieces of plastic.
I learned very quickly when backpacking in Yosemite nature serves as the perfect playground. It is unfortunate I do not get to engage with the wilderness more often, but all the joy is still there. Obviously, I adhere violently to LNT and being careful to not disturb or alter the landscape in any way, as I have watched too many people undervalue the gift and force of nature. Even in the bigness and powerfulness of nature, of the falling snow, of the frozen ground, and the trees stretching mighty, spaces of peace are plentiful.
One of the days, I climbed up a hillside and sat atop a fallen tree and surveyed the land below. I breathed heavy from the uphill sprint and scrambling up piles of wood and dangled my feet over the edge of the horizontal laying thick trunk. In the monotonous topography of everyday life, it's easy to get in the fast flowing stream and just ride it out. It's easy to ignore the daring things we know we should do. In the wise words of Bob Goff, "Living a different kind of life takes some guts and grit and a new way of seeing things." This different life makes unknown wilderness a wild adventure. Hard elevation gains become beautiful views. And the deepest desires of our hearts are suddenly in our grasp as we darefully race down a mountain full speed toward the things we know we must do.
