There’s no place I would rather walk than in Ann Zwinger’s land above the trees. The spacious views and clear bracing air, the naked rock dotted with pincushions of ground-hugging flowers, the new snowmelt trickling in mountain creases, resting a moment in high mountain lakes before continuing on – all of this harmonizes in a way that is better felt than adequately described.
But to live there? Not a chance.
I recently visited the remains of the Great Sierra Mine above Gaylor Lakes a short walk from Tioga Pass on the eastern boundary of Yosemite National Park. The mine sits at 11,000 feet on the very crest of the Sierra with views down both sides of the divide. Rock, rock, and more rock. Other than the wind-trimmed krummholz of whitebark pines, there was nothing there to soften the scene.
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As I walked among the rocky ruins of miners’ shelters built there in the late 1800’s, I tried to imagine daily life in this environment. It is a place of stark beauty that is enchanting in the small doses enjoyed by a visitor from the flatland, but all day, every day, the beauty must be trumped by the pervasive starkness. The day I visited was lovely and still, but it is not hard to imagine the winds and brutal weather that rake this spot.
So, I gained a new appreciation for the softness of the lowlands that I always seek to escape. “Down here,” our homes are safely nestled in green rolling terrain, and that feels good. But “up there” never stops calling for another visit.
