When I think about Yosemite, I am simulataneously filled with both happiness and sadness. Yosemite is and has been a very, very special place to me, and has been my entire life. As a young kid, Yosemite represented freedom. It was the one place in the world my parents let me run free. I could ride my bike, hike, fish, explore, and just in general do whatever I damn well pleased. I knew where the campsite was, I knew when lunch and dinner was, and the rest of the day was mine.
I didn’t spend the entire day alone, but I did spend some quality time by myself. Fishing was usually a solo activity. My sisters and cousins fished, but didn’t care for it as much as I did. I remember days when I’d leave camp after breakfast in the morning, and I wouldn’t come back until dark. I’d spend the entire day walking up and down the numerous streams with my fishing creel and a can of worms trying to outwit the beautiful rainbow trout of Yosemite National Park. That feeling that I would get when I knew I had a trout on the line would send bolts of electricity running throughout my limbs. My heart would race and I could not help but smile. If the fish was big enough, or if the fight was good enough, I’d scream and yell and WHOOP!!!, and listen to my echo reverberate through the forest and off the steep granite walls of Yosemite Valley.
I’d ride my bike sometimes all day instead of fish. I’d go over to Camp Curry and buy a soft-serve ice cream cone, sit on the deck outside, and just marvel at the beauty and majesty of my surroundings. My family goes to Yosemite Valley every Spring, and that time of the year in the Valley is simply the best. All the waterfalls are in full force, thundering over the steep cliffsides and plunging to the valley floor below. Yosemite Valley has no less than seven waterfalls, and countless cascades and runoffs trickling or rushing down the cliffsides. They all emtpy into the mighty Merced River, which flows south out of the park. Camp Curry was a good spot to just sit and… be. Glacier Point was right behind you, and if you leaned back and lay down you can watch the clouds flow up and over this spot for hours. In the 60s my parents used to drive up to Yosemite Valley to watch the Firefalls. Back then, rangers and volunteers would spend the entire day cutting and splitting wood, and stoking the fires, which burned all day, in preparation for the Firefalls. Just when it became dark, they’d push all the coals over the edge of Glacier Point at once, and from the valley floor below it looked like a waterfall of bright orange fire. Unfortunately due pollution, they stopped the show before I was born. Every year some member of my family–mother, father, aunt, uncle, whatever–mentions the firefalls and how wonderful it was. So I’d sit in Camp Curry and try to imagine what it must have been like.
We used to swim a lot back, us kids. My father would load us into the old 1971 Ford F-150 and take us to numerous swimming spots along the Merced River. There are tons of bridges to jump off, replete with sandy beaches to lay in the sun or skip rocks from. Or he would take us to a gigantic granite rock in the southern part of the Valley. “The Rock” was my favorite, because it was so fun to jump from. Standing at the tippy top looking into the crystal clear water below you could see the huge trout swimming along the bottom. These old boys were far too smart for me, I never did manage to catch one. Other times my dad and his brother would drop me, my sisters, and my cousins off far upstream with only our life jackets or sometimes inflatable rafts. We would float down the river a good mile or so, where my dad was waiting to pick us up. Once inside the ol’ Ford he’d take us back upstream–we would do this all day.
As I got older, that is, into high school, I would bring friends along with me. Dahi came a few times, and we spent most of our days fishing, and most of the nights cruising the campgrounds for girls. Andy came with me one year, and we just fished. We got eaten alive by massive swarms of mosquitos. He never did come with me again…
When I joined the Navy I stopped going to Yosemite. I was always too busy with my military obligations, or with my life in Long Beach. It wasn’t until after I was discharged that i started going again. I had a few girlfriends in my early 20s, in the years after the Navy, but I never thought to bring any of them with me to Yosemite. They were either A. not the camping type or B. not worthy of sharing such a majestic place with me or my family. Then I met Cindy.
I don’t talk about Cindy much. I don’t write about her much either. Not that there’s nothing to say–far from it. Cindy was the longest relationship I ever had with a woman–four years. We experienced so much together. We also changed a lot–but not together. In the end we just grew apart. It was probably the most difficult breakup I’ve ever had. Not because of our deep spiritual connection, but because we had been together and done so much and experienced so much. It’s a tough thing to describe.
My relationship with Cindy was very rocky. She was a deeply troubled soul. Her upbringing and her life before me was not a happy story. She was very moody and prone to long bouts of depression. I spent my whole four years trying to help her, fix her, but to no avail. We argued a lot–in private. She was very pleasant to all outsiders, truly the life of the party. And the only time I ever saw Cindy happy, TRULY happy, was when we were in Yosemite. She loved it as much as I did. In Yosemite, we were both free.
I brought Cindy to Yosemite several times a year. I don’t think we ever missed the annual Bissell family Easter trip to the Valley. We did the trips to the high country during the summer, and sometimes we went alone. She loved the park as much as anyone could. She appreciated the grandeur of Yosemite on such a spiritual level, as I did. We would spend our days fishing and hiking and swimming, and our nights by the campfire with smiles plastered on our faces, and fell asleep content. Cindy would sometimes go hiking by herself, and I let her, knowing that she needed some alone time too. I completely understood.
One year Cindy and I hiked to the top of Yosemite Falls. The trail begins on the Valley floor and climbs several thousand feet to the top. Round trip it was 10 miles. Up there we sat near the edge, where the water plunges over, and ate our lunch. After many photos and moments of austere silence we hiked another mile to the lookout point, and were rewarded with a view of the Valley that is unmatched. When we finally got back to camp that evening we were so exhausted we went right to bed and fell asleep–it was no later than 7pm. The memories from that hike I’d hold dear for the rest of my life.
When Cindy and I broke up, and I had made the decision to move back to NorCal, I made one final trip to her place to say goodbye. “Don’t say goodbye,” she said. And through the tears she told me, “Maybe one day we’ll be back in Yosemite together.” I knew that I would never see her again.
It’s been over four years since. I still haven’t dated. I’ve had my share of hookups and one night stands, but I am simply not emotionally available. And since then my feelings towards Yosemite have changed. When I go, I am overwhelmed by a profound sense of sadness and loss. Indeed, it’s hard for me to go. I’ve missed more than a few trips with my family to Yosemite in the last four years simply because I could not bring myself to go. The memories of Cindy haunt me. I should be reminded of all the good times, my childhood memories, and family. But instead, all I can think about is her, and the wonderful times we shared in Yosemite together. When I have gone, I can’t help but look for her. I wonder if maybe she had packed up and moved up there, to live a life in blissful squalor, working for the park, like we had talked about doing so many times while we were dating. But I know she’s not there. I even wonder if she’s been back since we broke up? Or maybe, like me, she can’t bring herself to make the trip. Too many memories.
Monday we leave for Yosemite Valley. My sister Becky and her family are going, and all the usual players. I haven’t gone the last two years. I still don’t know if I’m going this time.