Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.
We headed to Yosemite this weekend for our first time. We were awe struck by the landscape and spent most of the time hiking in the wilderness. The first day we hiked the 4 mile trail (though it should be called the 9 mile trail!) a grueling ascent to the top of Glacier Point. We were disappointed to find once we arrived at the top, a parking lot full of tour buses unloading hundreds of tourists. However, the views were stellar and we ate lunch perched on a giant granite boulder overlooking Half Dome. Next time we go, the plan is to head into the back country and try to avoid the hordes.
Since we moved to California, this is the longest amount of time Ben and I have lived away from the mountains. We grew up in the high desert town of Santa Fe and spent some time in Colorado. Our hearts rejoiced at the first sight of the Sierras and we reveled in the sweet, butterscotch aroma of the mountain air.