Merced River, Yosemite Valley: Backpackers' Bridge

A bike ride to start the day. A bit cold in the valley, need a sweatshirt and a wool hat; hard to believe how we sweltered yesterday. I'm checking on the rising river, and the water levels in the campgrounds. Many are flooded, as predicted with the snow melting so fast in the high country. The footbridge we used on Tuesday can't be accessed from this side, so I decide on an alternate route and come around the other way, passing two small herds of browsing deer. I see the bridge itself is still above the current, but there is thick juicy mud everywhere, and waterlogged scatterings of pine needles and debris; the man who attempts to cross has to roll up his pants and slog through the water where there used to be a path. Off I go on higher ground, only to find another obstacle--road construction prohibits going along the meadow and puts me onto a dirt path that suddenly spits me right into the job site. Oops and I sneak across the stone bridge past the heavy equipment, only to be detoured again by a logging truck loading up with downed trees in the campground. There is a terrible die-off from bark beetle infestation, and dead or dying pines are being culled. I've come full circle on my ride, what an eventful morning, and it's just 830! With all the disturbances, this is still Yosemite Valley, one of the most beautiful and healing places that I know.

After breakfast we walk up the Merced River toward Happy Isles--I keep blathering about the water levels, but this is amazing. The river is wide and rushing and cold. Trees are getting wet up to their thighs, branches and logs and debris float everywhere. Always the sound of water moving moving, making a path to the sea.

From the steep trail toward Vernal Falls we see water pouring down from Glacier Point. There are so many new unnamed falls--we see at least a half dozen without even trying. No one seems to know if they have names; they certainly haven't been seen in years. Illilouette, which is often just a trickle, is booming down into the canyon. Far below our trail, the Merced rushes over giant granite boulders, carrying trees and logs and roots. It's a show that's just begun, still safe to watch if you're sensible, and astonishing after our years of drought.