Riding With Ranger Tomas

Polly woke up on the shuttle railing as the sun came up. The bus had been parked at the visitor centre all night. A man in a brown uniform was unlocking the door of a small office across the lot. His name patch read T. RODRIGUEZ. He looked up, saw her, and laughed once, quietly. "Visitor's pass is over there," he said, pointing at a kiosk. "Or you can ride with me."

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That was how Polly came to spend the morning in the passenger seat of a backcountry ranger's truck.

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Tomas had been a ranger at Yosemite for fourteen years. He had a Thermos of coffee, a clipboard, a radio that crackled every few minutes, and a backpack that contained, among other things, a folded-up tarp, a small saw, four energy bars, and a paperback. He drove slowly. He stopped often.

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The first stop was at a meadow near Sentinel Rock. Tomas put on a wide-brimmed hat and walked out into the grass. He was looking, he told Polly, for signs that bears had been browsing on the wildflowers. "In June we get the corn lilies coming up. Bears love them. We mark the meadows where they feed so visitors give them space."

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Polly hopped down to the truck's open window. The grass was wet to her knees. The corn lilies were not up yet. They were just green spears about a hand's width above the ground. Tomas made a small note on his clipboard and they moved on.

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The road climbed. They passed a sign that said TIOGA ROAD CLOSED, and another that said FOR SHUTTLE TRAFFIC ONLY. Tomas waved at a colleague in another truck coming the other way. The road wound up the granite shoulder of the valley wall. The air cooled.

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At one switchback, Tomas stopped and pointed. A peregrine falcon was sitting on a knob of rock about thirty metres away. Polly's red head tilted. The peregrine looked at her, at Tomas, and back at her. Then it dropped off the rock and was gone.

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"They nest on the cliffs," Tomas said. "Pulled them off the endangered list a long while back, but we still count. Got six pairs in the valley this year."

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Polly thought about the falcon's drop. From a standing perch to vanished in less than a second. There was a particular way it had folded its wings as it left. She wanted to try it. Maybe tomorrow.

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At the next pull-off, Tomas got out and walked into the woods alone. He came back ten minutes later carrying a metal cylinder. "Bear-proof food locker someone tried to bury," he said. "Educational opportunity." He put it in the truck bed. The cylinder rolled and clanked.

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Near noon they came out at an overlook called Olmsted Point. The whole sweep of the high country opened in front of them. Tenaya Lake at the bottom of a granite bowl. Half Dome from behind. Polar grey peaks fading into haze.

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"This," Tomas said, "is the part most people drive past." He poured a small amount of his coffee into the lid of his Thermos and set it next to Polly on the dashboard. "Stay a while."

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