10 years ago I woke up in Wawona, rode my bike to the ranger station and picked up a permit to climb Half Dome (I’m told this is very hard to do nowadays). I left from Glacier Point and within a few hours of criss crossing deer I was pitching my tent at Little Yosemite Valley. I met someone from Spain who would become a friend and we ate dinner together and planned to leave for Half Dome very early the next morning. At around 2am I got out of my tent. The full moon had been up for hours and decked Half Dome in a glorious blaze of silver. We donned our headlamps and summit packs and moved through the dark on an empty trail. Within a few hours we reached the cables and by the light of the setting moon we took the final steep climb to the summit. By full moon we’d beat the sun. Within an hour the sun rose over the eastern valley and the small gaggle of hardy sun and rock worshippers cheered. Someone played a flute. I stayed on the summit for a few hours, napping, taking in the vistas, until the hordes of tourists started up the cables. Then it was down down down to the valley, into waterfalls, through the mist, and all the way to the valley floor. One of the greatest experiences in my life.
