Cold, wet, exhausted, and ecstatic after a day-and-half of photographing Yosemite Valley glazed with new snow, my brother and I were ready to go home and count our treasures. Gingerly following my headlights down icy Highway 140, I rounded a bend a couple of miles downhill from the Arch Rock entrance station and found my path blocked by an iron gate spanning the road and securely padlocked in place. I knew the park had been closed earlier, but we had been told by the front desk at Yosemite Valley Lodge that 140 had opened hours ago. I glanced at the steep hillside abutting the road and wondered if my Outback could somehow make it around the gate, and quickly discarded the thought. That I even considered it at all was an indication of how desperate I was to go home.
We’d arrived in the park Monday afternoon, got a room at the lodge, and hunkered down against the incoming storm. What had been forecast to be 3-5 inches of overnight snow had just been upgraded to 12-16 inches, so we knew we’d wake Tuesday morning to something exceptional. A peek through the curtains in the predawn darkness confirmed a world of white, with the snow still falling hard. A check of the Yosemite road conditions hotline confirmed it: not only were all park entrances closed, all roads in Yosemite Valley were closed.
I trudged through the snow in the twilight to survey the photography potential near the lodge and found the view of Yosemite Falls completely obscured by clouds. The cafeteria was open, but serving nothing because the employees couldn’t make it to work. At the adjacent Starbucks I found only two people had been able to negotiate the snowy darkness to get to work—it turned out to be the Starbucks manager and his wife, a non-employee drafted into action and put on the front line.
On my way back to my room I swung by the parking lot and checked my car. About the time I identified the correct white lump, Yosemite Falls made an appearance and I hustled back to the room for my gear. But by the time I got there it had been swallowed by clouds.
My brother and I spent most of the rest of the morning watching the skies, waiting for the views of Yosemite Falls or Half Dome to clear enough to photograph, or simply for the snow to slow enough to allow us to photograph some of the closer views. We the snowfall abated late morning, we ventured out into the elements and forged a trail through the snow to the bridge beneath Yosemite Falls, because any photography is better than no photography.\
Shortly after returning to the room we got a call from the front desk telling us outbound Highway 140 had reopened. We had no plans to evacuate, but I took this as a signal that the valley roads would be open too (otherwise, what use would there be to open 140). So we dug out my Outback and hit the road. With snow still falling, the next few hours were spent circling Yosemite Valley, stopping occasionally when a view appeared, waiting for the clearing that had been promised for late afternoon.
When the storm broke, it broke fast. Blue sky appeared and spread quickly and we move around with much more urgency, hitting as many locations as possible while the snow remained on the trees and before the clouds disappeared completely. Most of the views I chose required battling our way through several feet of fresh, wet snow, an exhausting exercise almost always rewarded with a spectacular view. Pristine snow signaled that we were the first people at every spot we visited. In hindsight that should have been a clue that the park was more shut-down than we realized, but we were too excited by the sights for rational thought.
By the time we got to the day’s final location, the clouds had all but vacated the sky. A thin skin of ice obscured the reflection I’d hoped for, so I went exploring and found this view of El Capitan framed by snow-dipped shrubs. A small cloud hovered on El Capitan’s summit, reflecting a faint pink courtesy of the sun’s last rays. Framing the scene with my Sony 12-24 (on my Sony a7RIII), I widened all the way out to 12mm and moved to within a couple of feet of the shrubs to include as much snowy foreground as possible. A perfect cap to a memorable day.
But now I found myself standing in the middle of Highway 140, jiggling the padlock on the gate to make sure it was really locked, scanning the shoulder for escape routes, and wondering if I was going to make it not only home, but to the Bay Area for a talk I was scheduled to give the following day. I had no phone number that would connect to a human at that hour, and no cell signal with which to do it anyway.
Just about the time I was about to return to my car and admit defeat, a pair of headlights rounded the curve. But instead of pulling up behind us, the truck drove around my car and pulled right up to the gate. This wasn’t a tourist who had missed the same memo I had missed, it was a large work truck filled with maintenance workers returning to the yard after a long day in the park. Soon the driver’s door opened out popped the driver, fumbling with a lump of keys. I couldn’t believe my luck when the gate swung open, but I darted through before he could change his mind (or tell me that he didn’t have the authority to let anyone exit). Without slowing I waved my thanks and motored past him, heading home.
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