The Yosemite Journals, Chapter Seven

“Hello, I'm an official greeter for Yosemite National Park.  Welcome to the Park. We hope you enjoy your visit. I'm also a very friendly mallard duck.  May I please have some bread?”

"I'm sorry.  I can't give you any bread."

“Oh.  Well, if I bring my babies by to visit, may I please have some bread?”

"Mrs. Mallard, you are indeed a deserving duck and you have a beautiful family, but there’s a problem with giving you bread.”

“You mean those stupid laws about feeding the wildlife?  Pay them no mind.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about those laws, though they are a consideration here in this place with so many witnesses nearby.  Actually, it’s the bread that’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.  I’m just a duck looking for a handout.”

“You see, Mrs. Mallard, our bread is AWOL.  We can’t find it when we want it because all our foodstuffs are crammed into three bear boxes.  You’ll note there was no bread on our sandwiches.  We wrapped the filling in Romaine lettuce leaves.  Our bread is definitely a big problem.”

Mrs. Mallard left with her babies to try another group just upstream.

I wasn’t kidding about the bread.

The breadless sandwich picnic.

Well done

I didn't intend this shot, but it's hard to catch a running Miles.

Congratulations to Miles Knotek who won the Junior Mt. Marathon race for the second year in a row.  Moose Pass is proud of you, Miles.

This race, up to the half way point of Mt. Marathon, and back to Seward's main street, is the second oldest foot race, and is the premier mountain running race in Alaska.

Entries are limited and places fill almost as soon as entries are opened.

And they're off.  I snapped this shot hoping Miles was somewhere in the front runners.

There he was, biding his time.  He's the shirtless one right under the fire station sign.  In front of him is 15 year old Allison Ostrander, who claimed her fourth consecutive girls' title.

It wasn't a great day for spectators in Seward, but the cooler temps favored the runners.

And here he comes down main street.

Fifty-nine seconds slower than last year, but this year the trail was slippery and treacherous.  The next finisher was 45 seconds behind him.

Miles explaining all this to the press.

Miles congratulating his neighbors and friends, the Berry brothers.

Miles being interviewed by KTUU  CH. 2 TV as a newly-arrived runner takes a seat.

Looking for a hug from family as yet another runner takes an end of the race break.

Nice going, Miles.  Now next year you can strike fear into the men who run the Senior race.  All the way to the top of the mountain and back.

July 4, 2012

Oh, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave...

Old Glory in Smithsonian Museum in Washington, DC

The Yosemite Journals, Chapter Six

I started with carne asada on a Wednesday evening in Walnut Creek, California, and finished up with honey walnut chicken the following Wednesday evening, back in Walnut Creek. 

In between?  Oh, my goodness.  (Pun intended.)

I was visiting Yosemite National Park for the first time, but my friends go every year, and have since childhood.  This was car-camping—no need to worry about weight.  If it fits in the car, bring it.

Katy on KP

Folding chairs, self-standing two-burner stoves, tents high enough to stand in, two tent trailers, a sun shade/rain canopy, folding tables, porta-potties to avoid dark-of-the-night encounters with black bears that prowl the quiet campgrounds.

No, this inflatable couch was not ours.  It's in the next site.

Jammed safely into steel bear-proof boxes are the goodies for our seven days in the park.   Right off the bat, we learn the “easy light” charcoal briquettes aren’t so easy to light.  Eventually Norman coaxes fire and the first night we dine on teriyaki pineapple chicken sausage meatball kebobs, Spanish rice, and homemade blueberry pie.

Norman grilling over reluctant-to-light charcoal.

Coffee cake starts us off the next morning  Breakfasts to follow include potatoes/onions/scrambled eggs, cold cereal with blueberries, yogurt pancakes with sausage, and—for the last morning when we must break camp—Greek yogurt with granola and more fresh blueberries.

Picnic at Glacier Point.

Norman accessorizing a burrito. 

The cantaloupe was over-ripe, but it made a delicious salad with bacon and mint!

This pasta doesn't look like much, but it was delicious with sausage, scallions, cauliflower, and Parmesan cheese.

Ice cream bars around the campfire.

Burgers.  Big ones.  Delicious.

You probably didn’t notice that I listed only five breakfasts for six mornings.  That’s because on Sunday the 17^th, Father’s Day, we went to the historic Ahwahnee Hotel for its famous brunch.

The Ahwahnee Lodge.

The Ahwahnee, built in 1927, the rustic Indian-themed lodge incorporates 5,000 tons of rock.  The huge dining room has floor-to ceiling windows and log rafters.  Indian rugs from the original days are displayed in glass-fronted frames attached to walls.  The great room has fireplaces large enough to set up housekeeping in.

But back to the buffet.  It has everything you would expect—from New Zealand green-lipped mussels to artfully crafted desserts.  In between are an egg station, a carving board with rare prime rib and a whole country ham, shrimp, fruits, hash browns, eggs Benedict, sausage and bacon, and on and on.

Rare prime rib, fruit, sausage, bacon, shrimp, eggs Benedict, and hash browns in the center.  And that wonderful strawberry.  Did I show restraint, or what?

I plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from a tray as I exited the buffet line.  Later on, I peeled the chocolate off and savored every sweet morsel of that wonderful strawberry. The best I have ever eaten.

My dessert plate: a lime tart, chocolate covered strawberry, and creme brulee.

Inside the Ahwahnee.

A corner of the mural room.

A simple cement stairway is made gorgeous with stonework.

My pals waiting in the great room of the Ahwahnee for our reservation time.

The dining room in the Ahwahnee.

The dining room from the other end.

Walking a mile or so back to camp after brunch at the Ahwanee Hotel.

The Yosemite Journals, Chapter Five

The campground is in that postprandial mellowness of a good meal eaten in the outdoors.  Some have settled into staring at the campfire.  Others finish washing the dinner dishes.  All the food and scented items are stored safely in the steel bear-proof containers.

Card games begin on the wooden picnic tables, the quiet snap of cards the only sound.  Kindles are out and active, their users reading those last few pages before the light fades.

 

Little girls dressed in pink and purple catch a final ride on pink and purple bicycles, the plastic training wheels emitting a rasp when they touch down on the asphalt lane through the campground loop.

The Midas touch of the waning sun gilds the iconic monoliths of Yosemite, the golden hue darkening inexorably as cameras capture the magic.

From far away a voice calls, “El-mer...”

Other voices, other directions:

“Ell-merrr…”

“Ell-merrr…”

“”””””My friends look up and smile.  I see in their eyes they have traveled back in time to the days of their childhoods in the 1940s and ‘50s, and the annual family vacations in this forested paradise.

“I’m embarrassed to think we ever did that,” says a chagrined Kathy.

Indeed, most of the voices are those of children, enhanced now and then by an adult voice.

“Ell-merrr….”

Choose your favorite story of origin:

            --a lost boy named Elmer urgently summoned by his mother as darkness approaches, or,

           

            --a boy who had gone to watch Fire Fall led to his camp site after dark by his mother’s voice.

In either story, other campers join in.  Now, six decades later, calls for Elmer zigzag through the tents and motorhomes, swirl around the campfires, and sniff at marshmallows toasting over burnished coals.

“Ell-merrr…”

It’s a tradition no doubt carried from campground to campground around the country, but particularly in California.  It’s the first time I’ve heard it.

“Ell-merrr….”

It’s almost dark now.

“Ell-merrr…”

Then, a nearby male voice:

“WHAT?!!!”