Footsteps

Springtime thaw adds drama to the already majestic at Yosemite National Park.  Massive angular peaks and endless green valleys easily absorb your entire focus.  You are fully impressed.  Until you hear the roar of a waterfall and find there is even more.

At first it’s a sound.  A throbbing beneath your feet. As you begin your approach the air and ground vibrate with the steady staccato of falling water. When sound meets sight, the water flow seems endless. Gushing torrents jet skyward upon impact into a dense billowing mist.

At 317 feet Vernal Falls is rather short compared to towering Yosmite Falls (2420 feet) and Bridalveil (670 feet), but it packs the power of a heavy lifter, tossing down a river of water that explodes over boulders in its race to the Merced River below.

The trail to Vernal Falls begins as an uphill walk that feels more and more like a climb.  The steady upward grade works the leg muscles well and will provide a good cardio workout if you push your speed even moderately.  The viewing bridge provides both a tantalizing glimpse of the thundering fall and perspective as one views the tumbling water spilling away toward the valley below.

From here, it becomes a wet walk and a strenuous hike.  Sheer drop-offs near the Fall make it best to leave one’s imagination paused and the mind fully focused.  We waded through icy puddles of water as the drenching mist engulfed us.  The climb up was slippery over uneven boulders and block steps.  The soaking drizzle was frigid enough to add some speed to our ascent.

The rampant power of  Vernal Fall’s surging waters endowed it with a seeming permanence, making it hard to picture the upcoming dry season.  Another paradox was the utter stillness that awaited us at the top.

Next: The Emerald Pool

Tags: Yosemite National Park, Yosemite National Park by Heather Dugan
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The best part of our visit to Perkins Observatory, besides seeing the remarkable delineation between night and day on the moon, was talking to members of the Columbus Astronomical Society.  Simply said, they knew their stuff.  I learned more in one short evening about the science of astronomy than I ever gleaned in a classroom.  Their passion was engaging and they were as eager to share why they owned (and had often even built) a telescope as they were to share their personal views into the universe beyond.

In the classroom, Tom Burns had explained how galaxies produce litters of stars and how a nebula is basically a breeding ground for new planetary life.  Individual enthusiasts on the outer walkway shared telescope views of these star clusters, the Moon and Mars, as well as helpful advice such as to gaze to the side of an object to fully see its details.  It turns out that “gazing” is not so much a measure of adoration as it is the means to allow ones’ eyes to adjust and truly see.

Through a telescopic lens we spotted the “Terminator” (an astronomical term before it was ever a movie title!) on the Moon.  This distinct line is the clear divider of night and day in a world where lack of oxygen leaves no shades of dawn or dusk.  Our eyes could not adjust to “night” on the Moon as they can and do to earth’s blackness because the Moon’s  is an utter and complete darkness with no light whatsoever.

Our magnified view revealed a lunar landscape with distinct craters, high ledges and vast plains (one smart guy even offered to show me one of the golf balls Neil Armstrong had launched there!). With help we spotted an ice cap on Mars, made of frozen carbon dioxide, and the Seven Sisters (Pleiades’s Cluster) -siblings of the same molecular cloud.

It was then time for a trip upstairs to a platform cranked open to the night sky.  Strands of tiny red light bulbs guided us up a metal stairway as normal lighting would have spoiled our eyes’ adjustment to the darkness and ruined our viewing experience.  It was wintry cold, but I forgot temperature in the moment I peered through the monstrous telescope pointed through the opened observatory roof.  Distant moon craters seemed as close as my outstretched finger tips, even though they were at least 36 million miles beyond my reach.

Being the last viewers of the night proved to be advantageous.  The “telescope guy” (better known as Don Stevens) allowed me to capture a magical moment: the reddened telescope, the opened roof line and the black night beyond.   Dramatic.  After my conversations with the amateur astronomers outside, I understood the internal pull to monitor a distant sky-scape that is changing by the light year.  Viewing the giant telescope, our means to understanding, bracketed to the ground and yet catching distant worlds and moments within our present tense… defined the dream.

Highly Recommended.  Perkins Observatory: Call ahead for reservations (740-363-1257). Public programs most Friday nights. Private group visits available. Click Google Map link below for more information.

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Tags: Ohio, Perkins Observatory by Heather Dugan
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