The hills are alive

Coming into Yosemite, we were excited to see whether or not this park would blow us away in the same manner that Yellowstone had done. Pulling into the ranger station, collecting our map and starting into the park, we were immediately taken by the massive clouds hanging in the sky. They looked extremely unusual, and Adam immediately identified them as not clouds, but smoke. No more than 15 minutes into Yosemite and we were already pulling off into a turnout where a small group had assembled at the top of the hill, staring at what was an actual forest fire. A sign was helpfully positioned next to the turnout, explaining the blaze for curious and nervous visitors. This fire was a planned burn, a typical practice meant to eliminate natural kindling and hopefully prevent future runaway flames. According to the dates listed, this fire had clearly lasted longer than intended. 

Now, I had never seen a forest fire before in my life, and the sight was overwhelming. We scrambled between some trees on the edge of the cliff, trying to elbow out a position to take pictures and attend the ballet of wood, fire, metal, and water. Amongst the towers of billowing smoke, planes and helicopters swung in large, trapeze arcs, trying to suffocate the dragon's breath with retardants and water. Each aircraft seemed to have chosen a particular poison; planes bloomed with rippling sheets of cayenne powder, adding a fiery scar to the already ignited land. Helicopters soared across the blaze dropping liquid punches of water that unfurled over the scorching ground like new ferns. 

Soon we grew restless at our distance from the fire, and decided to continue driving closer in search of better vantage points. Fortunately it was not long before we came upon a much larger group of cars, crowded on the edge of the road like a small herd. We quickly pulled in but unfortunately did not realize how severe the dip aside the road was, and a group of about 13-15 people smirked as the bumper to the car loudly announced New Jersey's arrival in unison with the pavement. From here we had gained a considerable upgrade; we could see the burning hill much more clearly. 

We spent quite a while here, watching large metallic insects repeatedly escaping the consumptive force of the fumes seeping from the black, bony remnants of trees reaching skyward. Eventually, we became distracted from the actual fire and became focused on the land up on the hillside that had already been subdued of its heat, but now bathed in a haunting violet fog. As the trees amongst the flames continued to sing their murky, clouded swan song, the trees on the hill sat in the exhausted atmosphere that had floated up to blanket them and then moved no further. The scene resembled a dilapidated graveyard, a charred skin that you half-expected to catch the shadow of The Headless Horseman riding across, his carved grin and empty eyes echoing the devouring inferno in the distance. 
{pri}