YOSEMITE: WHERE I DISCOVERED I WAS VERY SMALL
There are places that make you feel small.
And then there is Yosemite.
We entered Yosemite Valley expecting beautiful scenery.
What we got was a lesson in perspective.
Granite walls rose around us, almost casually, as if someone had decided that ordinary mountains weren’t quite enough.
And they weren’t just tall.
They were ridiculously tall.
We stood there looking up.
For quite a while.
My internal measuring system simply gave up.
At the foot of these giants, the Merced River flowed quietly, reflecting the cliffs as though nothing unusual was happening.
Then there was Half Dome.
Another reminder that nature clearly has a much better imagination than I do.
Millions of years had created all this.
And there I was, taking photographs.
Naturally.
Standing there, I realised that Yosemite doesn’t really need to impress you.
It simply stands there.
And that is enough.
Of course, we humans have our own way of responding to such grandeur.
We find a nice spot, stand in front of it and ask someone to take our picture.
Because apparently even humility needs photographic evidence.
Then came another reminder that Yosemite has wildlife too.
“Have you seen a bear?”
There was even a hotline.
I hadn’t.
And I wasn’t particularly keen to change that.
As we left, I looked back at the cliffs.
The river kept flowing.
The mountains kept standing.
And somewhere between the two, I felt wonderfully insignificant.
Perhaps that is what I will remember most about Yosemite.
Not how big it was.
But how small it made me feel.
And strangely, I liked that feeling.
There are, of course, people who look at these same cliffs and think:
“I can climb that.”
I decided that was a story for another day.
