One's Craft

“Like a lily among thorns
is my darling among the young
women”

– Song of Songs 2:2

For my love, Stacey

Beauty is the struggle. I remember back in 2021, my buddy Adrian and I hiked a long 19 mile hike around Ansel Adams Wilderness. We experienced every bit of the natural elements one can endure throughout a journey – rain, snow, hail, thunder, fog, cold, and heat all in one day. Much of the trail required experienced snow trekking. Our hike was covered in snow, so it made our journey all the more special. The rivers were roaring. It was early May, and the runoffs from the snow were in full display. Everywhere we’d turn, there would be rivers and waterfalls in every direction. The struggle was truly therapeutic. All I could feel internally was nothing. I was focused and determined to go to someplace I’m not sure what I’d expect, yet I continued to finish the unknown mission. Fast forward into the morning, and my body was hurting. I remember walking by myself, anticipating the sun to rise and illuminate the lake we had setup camp. I had my coffee in hand, and casually walked to an area I didn’t expect. Once the sun rose, there lit this beauty I saw outside and in. From that contrast, I saw the beauty and the struggle.

I remember planning an impromptu visit to Yosemite. It was a Sunday, and I wanted to catch a sunset, but I didn’t want to miss church. We gathered around 11 a.m., and it was important that we leave by 1 p.m. The drive to Yosemite would take about 3 1/2 hours, so in order to time it right, we needed to arrive by 5 p.m. My girlfriend, Stacey, and her sisters, Judy and MaryAnn, wanted to join as well. After eating lunch during fellowship, we headed out, praying for a safe drive.

During the drive, I saw reports of black ice on the Yosemite roadways. That was when I realized there would be some risk involved on this trip. Driving around Yosemite, you see sheer drops off the edge of the highway, and on top of that, I was still worried about making it on time. I had to stay focused on the road, but my priority was definitely the safety of my girlfriend and her family.

As we drove on, we finally entered the park, and the reports were not lying. Snow started to accumulate along the highway. The further we went into the park, the sketchier the road became. While I worried about the black ice, I also had faith in my Subaru’s all-wheel drive system. I knew it would help us get far, but I didn’t want to rely solely on its dependability. In the end, the responsibility fell on me.

After careful driving, to my surprise, we actually made it just in time. There were plenty of people around, perhaps those who had been at the park for longer or had driven in from the safer northern route. However, when we arrived, the drive seemed eerily empty. There were no other cars in sight. We found a spot to park, unaware that there was a designated area further down the road.

A new stress began to arise as we hurried to get to a good vantage point for the sunset. I looked around and saw nothing but clouds covering the park. The conditions were overcast, which I had expected before driving in, but I had gambled on the chance that the sky would clear. I put my faith in God, trusting that good things would still come from this trip. I told Stacey and her family, “Let’s head on anyway. Let’s see what happens. Why not?” The park was still beautiful, resembling a winter wonderland. Towering, snow-covered canyon spires surrounded us, like a snow globe. In the distance, we could hear chunks of snow tumbling off cliffs, creating a thunderous echo throughout the park. The air was still, and a mist was rising from the ground.

We were near the famous Merced River, trekking slowly across a snowfield. There were others around us, coming from all directions. At that moment, I realized that everyone around me was just as lost as I was. I was curious about the Firefall phenomenon, which occurs only in a brief window in February, during sunset. For about 30 minutes, sunlight beams its orange rays onto Horsetail Falls, a waterfall that only flows in winter. The sight is breathtaking, as the waterfall appears to glow, drenched in orange like lava.

We all knew the Firefall would happen, but we had to figure out where. The park was massive, and those cliffs were 3,000 feet tall. It was hard to pinpoint exactly where the phenomenon would occur, but to me, it seemed likely to be around the area where the sun appeared to be hitting the most. I also spotted a small waterfall, slowly melting over the edge, which seemed to be Horsetail Falls.

We followed the river, choosing a spot that seemed appropriate for the setting. Others gathered nearby, and soon we were surrounded by fellow enthusiasts, all setting up cameras. I had my tripod and both my lenses ready. The problem, however, remained: there was still no sunlight. The clouds lingered, but they slowly began to break apart as they moved across the mountains. Hope began to rise.

As time ticked away, I’ll admit, I was getting antsy. We were nearing sunset, and we only had about 30 minutes to witness the Firefall before it got dark. I kept repeating to myself, “Good things will still come…” I continued to pray in my head.

Then, knowing that God always answers, the sun broke through dramatically. It reflected off the falls, and the waterfall began to glow red and orange. I shouted in joy, and I knew in that moment that God was communicating with me. I couldn’t help but think, I was seeing a glimpse of Heaven. It was truly beautiful. Afterward, I heard the sound of thousands of camera shutters as everyone around me took photos, relishing every moment.

Truly, I tell you, good things will still come—just believe that He will answer.

Often, I find myself sitting here thinking about my physical health. More and more, I feel fragile. My body has accomplished so much over the years, and I reflect on it all with a tear of gratitude. Now that the new year has arrived, I’m reading more about what could be another great hiking season here in California, thanks to all the precipitation we’ve received lately.

I’ve come to realize how important time truly is. I used to think time was important, but lately, it feels like time is now of the essence. There’s so much to do, but committing to everything has become a challenge. Like my daily routine, my love for the outdoors has turned into a badge of completion. I find that disappointing. It used to be something I did freely, without a second thought. Now, it feels like a necessity to check off, almost like a job. I hope to change this mindset.

I remember back in March when my buddy Fred and I hiked in Kearsarge, this beautiful spot in the Eastern Sierras. We set out early in the cold morning, and suddenly, rays of light pierced through the sky, bouncing off the peaks like mirrors. I was mesmerized by how patiently beauty can unfold. The night before, we were hit by a storm, with clouds obscuring everything in sight, but the next day, hope arrived in the most unexpected way.

I don’t see my new way of life as hope, but rather, I find myself mimicking nature and everything I’ve discovered through my explorations. One way or another, we fight, grind, and struggle through our depressions, but sometimes, one morning can shine rays of light that pierce your soul for eternity. After that, you’re left longing for more.

This was taken after a bad snow storm by Lake Aloha at Lake Tahoe, Desolation Wilderness. We were working our way back next morning towards Eagle Lake. Despite all the dangerous elements, this ended up being a really fun trip. It just goes to show that no matter the situation, we somehow move towards the light of all things.