Our Nocturnal Furnace

Since we had already rejected the idea of spending an extra $80 to sleep in the valley's tent complex, we decided to suck it up and head to Hodgdon Meadows, the campsite we booked all the way on the northwest end of the park. Mumbling about the complete lack of foresight in reserving a spot so inconveniently situated, we located our endpoint on the GPS and set on our way. Slowly rolling down the main loop road, we started contemplating the fate of the fire we had seen earlier in the day and its proximity to the Tioga Pass we needed to get to camp. No sooner than the topic had taken form did we see red and blue lights twinkling at a distance eerily similar to that of the Tioga Pass intersection. Sure enough we reached our critical junction to find that the entire road had been closed down. Apparently, the fire continued to rage and the park police had understandably deemed it unsafe to allow civilian cars to take leisurely nighttime drives through a burning forest. 

While we were no stranger to these sorts of road closures and last-minute route changes, this particular alteration dealt a severe blow to our plans. You see, in New Jersey we are accustomed to a network of roads waiting to serve all of our detour needs. Yosemite, however, is not quite so accommodating. Without the crucial use of the Tioga Pass, we would now have to exit the park from the southwest gate, drive to a highway about 20 miles west, drive north another 25 miles, and then loop back around to the park and our campsite from the opposite direction. In the scope of our trip, these mileages were minimal, but they meant a 3-hour increase in travel time and we were already sleepy. We were not happy about this. 

As we set our altered course and tried to mentally accept our reconfigured bedtime (it was already 10PM at the start of the detour), we begrudgingly settled in for a very long drive to a very close location. Luckily for us, our drive proved to be better than we possibly could have anticipated. Not 10 minutes passed before the very fiery hill that had foiled our plans just moments ago, arose from the road before us in all its blazing, glowing glory. 

If the fire had been beautiful in daylight, it was absolutely seductive in the darkness of night. Like a carnelian rash fluorescing in the moonlight, the forest fire churned and pulsed in a rhythm of silhouette and shadow. Quickly tossing aside any lingering fatigue and pulling off into the shoulder, Adam began setting up his tripod while I slowly exited the car, staring at the burning hill as if in a trance. Unfortunately pictures cannot begin to convey the city of soft, illuminated crimson that frolicked on the hillside in front of us, but they can at least portray the milky garnet clouds that swirled above the trees busy fueling their own funeral pyre.

Despite the allure of the war roaring on in front of us, we conceded that with a best possible ETA of 1AM, we should get moving. Tearing ourselves away from the pavement, we settled back into the car and began our lengthy trip. Now, we were very familiar with the map that I posted above, and knew logically that this was our only available detour. We were therefore surprised when the GPS seemed to show a shorter way cutting across the giant loop with a shortcut. Giddy with the triumph of technology over other technology, we hurried on the highway to our discovered secret. When the GPS announced that we had reached the vital intersection in which we could choose to go the left on the initial path or right on the shortcut, we became utterly baffled. 

As far as we could tell, we were not at an intersection at all, but instead the absurdly steep driveway of a private residence. Fortunate enough to linger in a bubble absent of oncoming traffic, we tried to find a corroborating map on Google only to realize we were still completely devoid of any phone signal. Unsure of what to do, Adam hesitantly turned up the inclined path to test whether the GPS was actually satisfied with this response. Somehow, it seemed to indicate that we were following the intended course, but a couple hundred feet into the vertical drive a few things became very clear. The first was that the road was indeed a driveway of some sort, terminating at a small household. Furthermore, if someone were to argue that the road had not ceased at the house but continued on behind it, we would have to glance at the only possible cause for this argument and point out that it was made entirely from a smattering of gravel loosely and carelessly tossed on a near-vertical hill immediately adjacent to the shack. Without the requisite Hummer that would be necessary to scale what the GPS seemed to have deluded itself into thinking was a traversable road, we decided we would rather not get chased down with a shotgun by the slumbering owner of the residence we were thoughtlessly bathing in the bright beams of the car's headlights. 

Slowly backing out of the cramped and nonexistent "street", we found ourselves once again on the main highway which we hungrily accepted as the only prospect to get to Hodgdon Meadows intact. Now set even further back on time, we grumpily arrived at about 1:30AM. Skipping dinner preparations and reveling in the accomplishment of finally attaining a horizontal resting place, we hastily set up camp. Done with the day, we crawled into our freezing sleeping bags warmed by the unabating retinal afterimage of pure, dark heat thriving in the neighboring mountains.

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