Arriving in San Francisco in 1868, John Muir asked a carpenter for “the nearest way out of town to the wild part of the State.”
the carpenter responded “where do you wish to go?”
John Muir’s response:
“Anywhere that's wild.”
On the way to Yosemite Valley for the first time, Muir shunned the "orthodox route," for "we had plenty of time," he said, and proposed “drifting leisurely mountain ward by the Santa Clara Valley, Pacheco Pass, and the San Joaquin Valley, and thence to Yosemite by any road that we chanced to find; enjoying the flowers and light; camping out in our blankets wherever overtaken by night and paying very little compliance to roads or times."
We are on the threshold of Tioga Pass, the eastern gateway to Yosemite National Park, having dry camped last night at a free site with views of Mono Lake on the driver’s side and the Sierras on the starboard.
I’m cherishing my insulated mug, iced with dark cold brew.
John Muir drank purple tea he made by soaking sequoia cones in water, “hoping thereby to improve my color and render myself more tree-wise and sequoical.”
I just love that.