May 31, 1989 |
It's a chill, drizzly Friday in May, yet Yosemite Valley is packed. Station wagons and RVs block the one-way road in, the occupants craning to see Bridalveil Fall spill toward the Merced River. Every campground is full, and tourist mobs tromp over meadows and surround hapless chipmunks. This is spring in Yosemite, 75 years after John Muir's death. Come summer, when most of the park's 3.2 million yearly visitors will motor in, the sense of Yosemite as paradise lost will loom even stronger.