Yosemite in Winter

The sun rises behind Glacier Point, making the bare granite rock of North Dome and the meadows below glow with warm yellow light. In Cook’s Meadow, acorn woodpeckers hop up the trunks of dead trees, picking out acorns they stored there in the fall. Three young bucks hang out by Sentinel Bridge looking for trouble, their breaths coming out in small puffs. The crow in a nearby tree makes a gurgle noise repeatedly. It's a funny sound, and each time the crow caws, its tail goes down. By Swinging Bridge, a square chunk of light gray granite that was washed downstream by the spring flood, sits on the edge of a reflecting pool of emerald green. A white lace of ice edges the banks of the calm and meandering Merced River; its tranquil water reflecting the blue sky. An ouzel flies up and plays in the rapids flowing down a two-foot-stretch of pebbles.

Taking a physical inventory, I find that my only warm place is in the small of my back. Adjusting my clothing to get warmer without success, I head to the cafeteria for a hot breakfast. Then it's back outside to see more of the valley in this early light. Later in the morning I duck into Degnan's for hot coffee. At noon I heat up a can of soup. When the sun finally reaches camp, it’s finally warm enough to take off one layer of clothing. After hours of shivering, my body relaxes.