This is a picture I have several times over from all my trips to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite and yet it never gets old. And, of course, the picture doesn’t do it justice.
And then the lake really was frozen over. The thin layer would melt shortly after the sun edged over the eastern stone walls but for those moments before daylight caressed the lake, it sparkled with frozen mischief.
I’ve camped and hiked in some cold weather and cold conditions before and it never fails to impress how crazy it is a thing we love when we wake up to a sheet of ice over everything. It isn’t spirit breaking. It is spirit affirmation. Yes this is crazy. Yes this is love.
There is a certain magic to camping in the high sierra that can never be fully capture in a picture and that I lack the words to fully convey, and yet it is there to be experienced, to be lived, to be survived…
We had heard that the lake was mostly frozen and then it turned out that only a small part of it was. Still, it was impressive to find ice floating here and there while being driven up the lake by the afternoon breeze to collect together, while the snow drifted down to the shore most of the way around.