A friend and I descended westward from a high mountain pass in the Yosemite wilderness after hiking nine miles from Merced Lake. We stopped at the John Muir Trail (JMT) junction to catch our breath before turning south toward Sunrise High Sierra Camp located about eight-tenths of a mile away.
The sparse forest opens up along this portion of the JMT and transitions into a broad sub-alpine meadow. My topographical map calls it “Long Meadow.” It did not take me long to figure out why “Long Meadow” is called ‘long’! It starts far north of the JMT junction where we rested. Then it stretches about a mile south where it passes the Sunrise High Sierra Camp, our destination for the evening.
Although the length and width of the meadow make it worthy of being listed among Yosemite’s iconic meadows, its current state suggested it had seen better days. As far as the eye could see the meadow grasses had faded to a dull yellow, even moving toward ‘brown’ on the color scale.
A dry creek bed snaked down the middle amidst its withering flora. Although we hiked in late August, it still surprised me to see the creek and the rest of the meadow so dry considering the high elevation (about 9,000 feet). The below-average snowpack from the 2019-20 winter made its impact.
Under wetter winters, the meadow remains marshier at this time of year and more welcoming to animal and birdlife. No doubt the late summer fatigue and lack of water contributed to Long Meadow’s less-than-enthusiastic display of hospitality. Scarcely any sounds of birdlife could be heard, making the thump of our hiking shoes hitting the hard-packed trail the prominent noise as we crossed the western boundary of the meadow’s reach.
All in all, the late summer conditions produced an “underperforming” meadow, an uncharacteristic scene in Yosemite’s grand mountain wilderness compared to more spring-like views. Yes, the towering granite peaks of the Cathedral Range in the distance still impressed, but Long Meadow did not measure up to expectations.
Discounting any Yosemite landscape can be a mistake, however. And so, I remind myself that Long Meadow’s size alone makes it noteworthy, enhancing its potential to uniquely satisfy any visitor. Plus, Yosemite demonstrates over and over again that its hospitality and gift-sharing occur unexpectedly in its own way and in its own time.
To be the recipient of such hospitality and gift-giving requires a certain level of receptivity on the part of the visitor. Diminishing any aspect of the Park’s potential for a magical experience only limits the chance for the observer to enjoy whatever the Park chooses to offer in its own time. So, my friend and I continued hiking along, staying positive for the opportunity to be in Long Meadow.
We completed the remaining eight-tenths of a mile to the Sunrise High Sierra Backpacker’s camp. We reviewed the available campsites and settled upon an isolated location about 80 feet above Long Meadow’s flat floor. A smooth granite slab that had a slight tilt toward the meadow overlooked the yellowing grasses below us. This mezzanine-like spot felt as if we had garnered a first-row seat in an open-air amphitheater with a great expanse of sky above us and the broad meadow directly below and in front of us.
As we sat gazing at the eastern sky outlined by numerous mountain peaks of the Cathedral Range, it did not take us long to realize why Sunrise High Sierra Camp came to be called “Sunrise”! We looked forward to the sun displaying itself first thing in the morning over those granite landmarks.
As night fell, the air became denser, as if an invisible fog had settled upon us. We paid scant attention to it while enjoying stargazing before heading off to sleep.
When the cold air and filtered light of the morning awakened me, I mentally reviewed the hiking plans for the day. While looking up at my tent’s yellow ceiling, I noticed small dots on the outside of the roof. I reached up to touch one thinking it was either sap or water. It was hard, like a lemon candy button on a piece of paper. I touched another . . . it too was hard and cold.
I quickly came to see that these candy buttons were frozen drops of water on the outer tent covering. Although average temperatures in August near Tuolumne Meadows drops to 35 degrees, I never thought it would dip below 32 here! (0 Celsius). I now had the motivation and a heightened receptivity to rise quickly, to exit my sleeping bag and tent, and to see what awaited me.
Once outside, I confirmed the frozen water droplets. Then I walked to our front-row granite seats.
Long Meadow must have heard my musings about its under-performance because it dispelled them immediately as I looked out upon it. During the night, the meadow had collected the moisture that descended at nightfall and transformed it into frosty white icicles on blade upon blade upon blade of meadow grass. Each frosty blade joined with all the others to exhibit a strikingly beautiful blanket of white upon Long Meadow’s great expanse.
Neither did it take me long to conclude that I had judged Long Meadow too quickly. It never lost its “wow-factor” but rather I had lost my receptivity for its potential to perform in its own way and in its own time.
I humbly seated myself to enjoy the miraculous change of color on the earth that filled my vision below me. As an encore, the sun lifted itself above the Cathedral Range and its rays fell upon Long Meadow. Like a grand finale of fireworks exploding below us, we watched the icy grass sparkle with light.
In its own way and in its own time, Long Meadow now shone with a brilliance that magically exceeded my expectations.
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