Had a bad case of alpine blues, so called in sick to work and met an old friend Joe Balay up in Yosemite yesterday. Beautiful sunset coming into the park. Burned out trees against a firey sky and at their terestial meeting point lupines; the first promise of rebirth after a fire. Made it into the backpackers camp around 9, split some wine with Joe, James and two german girls. James, Joe's little brother that we use to manipulate into doing all sorts of things is now like most little brothers that got picked on, huge. I think James could probably easily fight off me and joe at this point in our lives. I crashed out with my bivy and just a airplane blanket and slept unturned in the warmth of the valley's leaf litter. With the 5am start we hit the top of HalfDome probably around 10am. We moved quickly in the still of cool morning air, when warm gusts of soil and stream moisture penetrate deeply into the brain through the olfactory into the pockets of recollection and youth. Western azeala bloomed their honey rich white flowers in the breeze and the smell of smoldering camp fires reminded one of the overwhelming impact of humans in this small corridor of the sierras. Atop half dome the air was clean, almost without scent, but sight has never been a good predictor of what is there. The view to the west obstructed by some fog in the central valley of california, such that Mount Diablo's dual peak was not observable. We snacked, scared away the marmots, chipmunks, sparrows and other animals that had become trained to beg at the sound of crinkling plastic. Its trully amazing how many animals survive ontop of halfdome. I just wonder how many would be there without the human traffic. We bombed back down to the valley, face first down the metal cables and through the mist trail back to the parking lot.
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