42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

A sound of crashing water fills my ears. In the distance, it is nothing more than noise, with the occasional crack of thunder. Louder, closer.
Climb along the first trail uphill, the path getting more slippery as we come close. People chatter excitedly as they ham in front of falls.
I didn’t expect to get wet, but I could feel it far down the path. A few sprinkles at first. More, until it’s like a misty rain. I get wet. The ground is wet. My damp hair straggles in my face. I try to cover my lens, give up. Maybe I’ll catch some good photos anyway.
I’m exhilarated as I breathe heavier from the climb. I don’t think I’ve seen such beautiful falls, nothing more than a glorified trickle before.

Bridal veil

Heather and I went on a day trip to Yosemite National Park Sunday with a coworker and her daughter. The drive to the park was beautiful, as Lisa explains that within a couple of months, the hilly green and wildflowered pastures will be brown from the heat. The road winds up, and the view of the trees growing on mountains is breathtaking.
The best is yet in store.

Lisa says we’ll stop after the tunnel, where we’ll get our first spectacular view of the park, as opposed to the narrow winding road we’ve seen so far.

We take a walk to a river or creek bed, taking a narrow, cut path in a meadow. We break for lunch, and by now it is cloudy, cold. We feel sprinkles, but surely we’re not close enough to falls.
It’s rain, and we complain that the forecast was mostly sunny, and it didn’t mention rain. I feel like I’ve lost my Michigan immunity to cold; I want my pullover now. And Lisa suffers in shorts and a shirt.

We go to the Ahwahnee Hotel on the valley floor. We take in the luxurious surroundings, and a huge fireplace that has recently been warm. I put my hands up to it, wishing there were flames to bake the slight chill out of my body. Later, we see a worker rebuilding the fire. We meander around some more, and enviously eye some of the hotel guests. I know the expense for me would be far too much. We wander into the gift shop, a further sign of opulence. We try not to act too shocked or hiss too loudly, it’s pretty but it’s $200! As we leave, I pick up a beautiful colored glass vase with an iris blown inside. I know I can’t afford it, but look anyway. $300. I hurriedly put it down, then wipe my hands on Heather. I can’t afford to even touch that vase, I say.

After, we go to the Lower Yosemite falls, reasoning that the higher ones may be too high for pushing a stroller. And we are getting a little tired.

For a while, the sound of the falls is nothing except distant static, perhaps the sound of rushing water.
Then the sound suddenly gets louder. It fills your ears. And there they are.

You aren’t alone though. Even in March, this place is filled with other tourists. All taking pictures or stupidly climbing across slippery, slimed rocks to get closer to the falls. We are content to stand here in relative safety, getting sprayed with mist again. We can’t resist the temptation to take our pictures in front of the falls either.
I want to sit here a while, just listen to the static fill my ears, fill me with peace as I stare blankly at the falls. But we must move on. It’s a little colder now, wet, and we are all tired.