Above the Valley

Polly came in low through the Merced canyon, her red-orange head turned into a wind that smelled of pine resin and granite dust. Below her the valley opened. Sheer cliffs on both sides. A river the colour of pewter. A long green floor.

She climbed and turned. From the air, Yosemite Valley looked like a U cut out of stone by a careful giant. That was not far off. Twenty thousand years ago, an ice sheet a thousand metres thick had pushed through here, plucking blocks of granite off the walls and grinding the floor flat. The valley was the negative shape of that ice.

She banked toward El Capitan. The wall was nine hundred metres of pale grey rock, almost vertical. Two tiny dots of colour were stuck to the face about halfway up. Climbers. They had been up there for two days and would be up there for two more.

Polly perched on a wind-bent jeffrey pine at the rim. The needles smelled of butterscotch in the sun. From here she could see the climbers more clearly. They moved one careful motion at a time, anchored to small metal plates. She watched a long minute. Neither of them looked down.

A ranger's pickup truck climbed the road below. Polly noted it. She had been told, by a previous parrot of her acquaintance, that the best way to learn a park was from the passenger seat of a working ranger. She thought about that for a while.

She flew down the south rim, slow, taking the air as it came. A turkey vulture rose past her on a thermal without flapping once. Polly tilted her glasses straighter against the wind and watched the vulture climb.

At the valley floor, the air was warm and dim under the canopy. She landed on a fallen sugar pine and let her feathers settle. The pine was perhaps two metres across at its base. It had fallen some long time ago. Already moss was working on it.

The Merced River ran past, brown with spring melt. Polly hopped down and put her yellow feet in the wet sand at its edge. The water was cold enough to make her toes ache.

A park sign near the trail read SHUTTLE TO VISITOR CENTER. Polly considered this. Then she stretched her blue-teal wings and made for the shuttle stop, lower down the valley.

The shuttle was a long green bus with open windows. A woman in a brown uniform was the driver. She looked at Polly without surprise. "You riding?" Polly tilted her head. The woman opened the door.

Polly hopped to a railing inside the bus. The bus rolled. Outside, El Capitan turned slowly past the windows. Polly watched the climbers grow smaller again. Tomorrow she would find a way up.

The shuttle pulled into the visitor centre. Polly stayed on the railing. The driver said, "Last stop," and laughed. "You can sleep here if you want." Polly tucked her head under her wing. She did.