Riding With Ranger Tomas

Polly woke up on the shuttle railing as the sun came up. A man in a brown uniform was unlocking a small office across the lot. His name patch said T. RODRIGUEZ. He looked at her and smiled. "You can ride with me," he said.

That was how Polly spent the morning in a ranger's truck.

Tomas had been a Yosemite ranger for fourteen years. He had coffee in a Thermos, a clipboard, and a radio that crackled. He drove slowly. He stopped often.

The first stop was a wet meadow. Tomas walked into the grass and looked for signs that bears had been there. "In June, corn lilies grow here," he said. "Bears love them. We mark the meadows where they feed."

Polly hopped to the open truck window. The corn lilies were not up yet. They were just small green spears.

The road climbed. The air cooled. At a switchback, Tomas stopped and pointed. A peregrine falcon was sitting on a rock. Polly's red head tilted. The falcon looked at them, then dropped off the rock and was gone in less than a second.

"They nest on the cliffs," Tomas said. "We have six pairs in the valley this year."

Polly watched how the falcon had folded its wings. She wanted to try that drop herself. Maybe tomorrow.

At the next stop, Tomas walked into the woods alone. He came back with a metal cylinder. "Bear-proof food locker someone tried to bury," he said. He put it in the truck bed.

At noon they came to Olmsted Point. The high country opened in front of them. Tenaya Lake far below. Half Dome from behind. Grey peaks fading into haze.

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