nearly 95 percent Wilderness; for the purposes of this book, wilderness areas are simply places that are more than 2 miles (3.2 km) from a road. I’ve considered anything else to fall under, as appropriate, valleys or high country. My hope is that the photographs and stories engage your mind, spark your curiosity, and encourage your own exploration and questions, whether in Yosemite or in a wild place closer to home. Nothing would make me happier than if, for example, while you were out with friends or family, a bald eagle were to swoop down and grab a fish and you were to describe the eagle’s amazing spicules!
Appreciating and understanding the natural world—from how birds of prey hunt to how ecosystems function—can lead to becoming a better steward of our lands (private and public). Volunteering time or contributing financially to organizations doing great work on behalf of wild places are also ways to make a difference. The best way to start is to go outside and discover for yourself nature’s infinite opportunities for intrigue. Until then, join me on this visual journey through Yosemite.
To those interested in the technical details …
Photographers are often asked about their equipment, though I think this is the least important question. Photography is all about composition, light, apertures, and shutter speeds, and high-quality images can be made with a variety of cameras. I use Canon gear, and the photographs included in this book were captured with an assortment of bodies (5D Mark II, 7D, EOS 1N) and lenses (17-40mm f/3.5, 28-70mm f/2.8,70-200mm f/4,100mm f/2.8, 400mm f/5.6).
To minimize post-processing, my general approach is to photograph compelling scenes in appealing light with the best possible field techniques. I’d rather take the time to capture a quality image in the field than to fix or create a photo digitally after the fact. That being said, all raw files require some degree of processing to most accurately portray the scene; typically, this includes adjustments to contrast, sharpness, and color. The lighting in a couple of scenes was beyond the contrast range of the camera, and these images needed more extensive processing.
SNOWY OAK
YOSEMITE FALLS
The rain stops, the clouds lift, and I run from shooting close-ups in the forest to one of the few locations on the Valley floor from which it’s possible to see both Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls. I have long wanted to capture an intimate image of these falls that also conveyed their size and grandeur. For fifteen minutes, I watch the clouds dance around the cliffs; then the sun pops through and the clouds briefly outline the upper fall. A colorful treeline of oaks just beginning to leaf out completes the scene.
For a fleeting time in late spring, the Valley echoes with the roar of Yosemite Falls’ cascading water; at full flow, an estimated 2,400 gallons (9,085 l) per second plunge 2,425 feet (739 m) to the base of the granite cliffs. They usually reach peak power in May; by August, the torrent—fed only by snowmelt—has been reduced to, at most, a trickle. The south-facing, hard-rock watershed has no lakes or wetlands to store water; when the spring flow is done, the waterfalls go quiet until the seasonal cycle brings them to life again.
CLEARING SPRING STORM
EL CAPITAN
Rising 3,300 feet (1,006 m), one of the largest exposed granite formations in the world, El Capitan dwarfs the surrounding landscape and is the Valley’s commanding presence. Its sheer face was shaped by the long-gone glaciers that slid slowly past and eroded the rock bit by bit, burnishing it smooth. Extremely hard and minimally fractured, El Capitan lures rock climbers from around the globe, eager to test their physical and mental strength against its smooth, unforgiving surfaces and overhangs.
EL CAPITAN AND THE MERCED RIVER IN WINTER
EL CAPITAN AND BLACK OAKS
Lying on my back in the meadow beneath El Capitan, staring up at the massive monolith, I can’t help but think about the concepts of size and scale. It is difficult to contemplate a feature so large, but there it is, right in front of me.
Yosemite
GRANTING THE LONG VIEW
BY ADONIA RIPPLE
I can find the shape of Yosemite on any map of the world. It’s in the heart of California. A boundary carefully drawn to contain the headwaters of both the Tuolumne and Merced Rivers. Of the twelve major river drainages that flow west out of the Sierra Nevada, how did the landforms of Yosemite end up so unequivocally beautiful? I know this answer intellectually: granite plutons, uplift, glaciers, river incision, succession of plant and animal species, and so on. But the Sierra is built of rock and water and plants and animals arriving at just the right time. There must have been some extra-special combination of elements that made Yosemite. No other river flowing west out of this range reveals such a perfect and ancient excavation, where the granite cleaves at just the exact angles to catch the sunrise and alpenglow for all the world to enjoy. The commanding profile of El Capitan, the hunch of Half Dome’s whale back, the serrated spire-topped Cathedral Range, where sharp mountain ridges escaped the crush of glaciation.
YOSEMITE VALLEY FROM THE SOUTH RIM
FLETCHER PEAK AND VOGELSANG LAKE
People store these shapes in their memory banks and let them soak into their DNA. Appreciation of these essential forms is passed down between generations. For both brand-new and long-term Yosemite lovers, these places seep into their minds and live in their bodies. Descendants look over dusty pictures of grandmothers long ago sitting in the same places as their now great-great-grandchildren, in a Yosemite changed yet unchanging. Something about that Yosemite-specific rise and fall of the horizon line draws us in. The distinct shape of Yosemite Valley triggers something deep in our primordial selves, offering a sense of being protected and inspired at the same time. It is a land that beckons you to come closer and listen. These universally gorgeous forms
Yosemite seems almost uniquely made to create a sense of comfortable humility
call to generation after generation. It called your parents’ parents to honeymoon, an uncle to camp at the river, families to return in recognition of life’s benchmarks—a special birthday, a college graduation, the birth of a child, the death of a parent. And on it goes; Yosemite receives us. It is big enough to hold our aspirations and our pain, to be our steady when all of life seems upended. Yosemite welcomes us to sometimes kneel, sometimes strive, sometimes just sit on that smoothed granite and feel the brevity of human life that only all that geologic time can reveal.
Yosemite has played host to my most formative life scenes. Ascending steep vertical walls and the resultant tears and smiles of a young climber’s early learnings. Dashing deeper into the winter wilderness on skis with storms nipping at my heels to high and lonely peaks. Freewheeling climbs with air under our feet over spiny granite ridges in the company of dear friends. And now, scrambling and rambling in the company of our young children and taking time to swim and throw rocks in those two rivers that flow west out of this most singular place on Earth. Again and again, in