The Road to Yosemite

After leaving Bishop, we hit the road bound for Yosemite National Park. It’s a place I’ve dreamt of visiting for years. As a photographer it holds something almost sacred. The soul of Ansel Adams seems to linger in the air there, his black and white images etched into my imagination since the first time I picked up a camera and discovered his world.

The drive started out beautifully. Snow-dusted peaks framed the road, and the wide, open skies were shifting between silver and blue. It was the kind of scenery that makes you want to pull over every few minutes to take it all in. There’s something so grounding about watching the land change shape as you drive, especially in the high country.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

Not because the views faded, but because we drove headfirst into a blizzard.

The snow piled up quickly, but somehow the traffic didn’t slow. Locals carried on like it was just another day. We, on the other hand, made the very touristy call to stop at the servo, along with what looked like every other out-of-towner who’d never driven icy mountain roads before.

Inside, people were warming their hands, buying snacks, coffee, and trying not to look completely panicked. We grabbed some essentials and after a few deep breaths, wiped off the snow that was piling up on the windscreen, and a bit of “we’ve got this” bravado, we got back on the road.

We kept driving, inching closer to the park, snow thick on the trees, wondering what Yosemite would look like under this heavy white coat. Would we even be able to see anything? Would the roads be open? Would it be worth it? So many questions.

But somewhere in that space between fear and awe (I felt fear, Jason was fine), between whiteout and wonder we knew we were getting close. We could feel it.

To be continued…

by Belinda Van Zanen