Yosemite: A Glimpse Through the Clouds

We’d finally made it. Yosemite. And oh my god, it took my breath away. I didn’t even realise a place could be like this, and I wasn’t even inside the national park yet. As the day slowly faded, we pulled in to our accommodation for the night. We parked the car, checked in, and went straight out to explore. Snow was still falling, soft and steady, wrapping everything in a white hush. It felt like stepping into a fairy tale or some kind of Christmas wonderland.

The next morning, I was far too eager to wait. Yosemite was calling. But first, a little reality check: our car was buried under about three metres of snow. Thankfully, back in Palm Springs we’d made a spontaneous stop at Walmart and picked up snow chains just in case. The only problem? We had no idea how to put them on. Embarrassing, yes—but the kind concierge saved the day, not only fitting them for us but giving us a few tips for driving in the snow.

With chains rattling and nerves tingling, we set off. The winding road was slippery, but every twist and turn revealed another magical scene. Pines heavy with snow. Granite cliffs hiding behind shifting clouds. I wanted to stop everywhere, but it wasn’t always safe, so I made do—snapping photos out the window while Jason focused on keeping us from sliding off the edge (thanks Jase). With Ansel Adams running through my mind, I couldn’t wait to finally see the Yosemite Valley for myself.

Our first stop was Tunnel View. I stepped out of the car, heart racing, and I swear a tear escaped as I looked out. But instead of El Capitan and Half Dome in all their glory, the view was swallowed by low clouds. Don’t get me wrong—it was still breathtaking. But flying across the world only to see… nothing? A little heartbreaking. I took a few photos anyway (and, to be fair, they turned out pretty well) before we ventured further in, glued to weather apps, desperate for any hint of a clearing.

Still no view. El Capitan and Half Dome remained hidden. We grabbed a quick bite, thinking maybe it would blow over. A couple of hours later - nope. The blizzard was here to stay.

We wandered into the Ansel Adams Gallery, somewhere I’d been longing to visit for so long. I tried to remind myself how rare and special this snowstorm was, but I couldn’t shake the disappointment. By dinner, I was bothering the staff with questions—“Do you think it’ll clear tomorrow?” Most of them just shook their heads. “Probably not,” they said. “We haven’t seen this much snow in years.”

The next morning, we got up super early. We had to leave Yosemite by 11 a.m., but I wasn’t giving up yet. We drove back into the park, hoping for a miracle.

And we got one.

For about ten magical minutes, the clouds thinned. El Capitan revealed itself. Half Dome glowed in the distance. I was breathless. Tears streamed down my face. It was everything I had dreamed of and more. A moment of pure awe—magnetic, indescribable, impossible to capture fully in words or even photographs.

And then, just as quickly, Yosemite closed the curtain again. The clouds rolled back in, hiding its treasures.

We hit the road once more, smiling, grateful. Yosemite had shown itself, just long enough to make me fall completely in love. I left knowing I’d be back. Next time, I’ll stay longer. I’ll hike the trails, wander deeper into the wilderness, and really channel my inner Ansel.

For now, I carry that fleeting glimpse in my heart. And that’s enough to keep me dreaming.