We don't care if we are held back, if the compensation is to be amused. Bryce is tolerant of the indignities he suffers at our hands. We find a campsite not far east of Tioga Lake, add spices to some Dinty Moore stew, then stand out among alpine tufts in starlight. I still feel how much power radiated from that man, as he stirred from his sleeping bag the next dew-covered morning, ready to climb in the valley. The route offers a look outward, a sweep of high country, or down at the river and the long, wide meadows, a vista that reaches in many directions.
Sight is broader, more expansive, more in focus that through any camera lens.
You see with unbelievable depth of field, then in close at the bright, perfect stone, as you locate a knob or you notice the runout and feel a little rush of adrenaline. Years of your life pass by you as fast as that thrill. Our plan is to do the short drive back and forth between Tuolumne and the Valley, to play in both locations for a total of about a week. I wanted to come back to Yosemite one more time, make a little review, have a few final reflections, return to favorite climbs, once more run myself out up a wicked, vertical handcrack, and feel that type of fear, that sense of survival, which is unleashed sometimes almost in the form of a supernatural power. I wanted to drive through the 200 foot tall sequoia, stare into clear, dark, green pools of the Merced, study the greens of lichen, see old friends, bump into a few of them casually as I did always.