HaveKidsWillTravel

And in springtime, when the sun is shining like today, all the special effects are on display. The crystal clear Merced river is lined by flowering dogwood as it rushes along the forested glacial valley floor, pausing in pools to reflect the snowcapped granite cliffs on either side of the valley. Waterfalls cascade thousands of feet down the sheer face of the cliffs. Deer graze in lush meadows carpeted in wildflowers.

But having a few million visitors a year and just a couple of hundred campsites, means staying in the valley itself requires either a lot of forward planning (bookings run 5 months in advance) or quite a bit of luck. In summer, the backcountry opens up and there are hundreds of square miles you can lose yourself (and ideally the children) in, but with the roads out of the valley still closed to snow at is time of year, the valley was our only option. So we left Wawona at 7 in the morning to get to camp registration in the valley when it opened, hoping to score a cancellation. Sure enough, there was already a queue when we arrived, but we were at least given a number to come back with that afternoon, and this turned out to be our golden ticket, scoring us a campsite for two nights in the small North Pines campground.

Kids aren’t as visually orientated as grownups, and a pretty view doesn’t really hold their attention for long – you need to be in the scenery, smelling, hearing and feeling it. The Valley floor is flat and lined with trails, and we picked up cheap bikes for everyone at Walmart before we left LA, so we saddled up and headed out to explore. Angus rides well, and we actually brought his new bike over with us. Digby gets to ride in a baby seat (there were a lot of tears when he realised he wasn,t getting a bike of his own), and Evie is… well… on the cusp of becoming a competent rider. She wobbles, veers, spurts off ahead, then kind of forgets to pedal, steer, and crashes into something in a flurry of sparkly ribbons. She is covered in scratches and bruises, but never deterred.

The first day, we headed up the valley to hike up to the mirror pool, and splashed in the icy stream and spotted some deer. On the second, we went down valley to the base of the Yosemite falls, the highest falls in North America. A short path leads up to the base of the falls, where a bridge crosses the stream, confronting you with the fall roaring force of the falls in an icy blast of drenching spray – a full sensory experience that the postcards and photos will never quite capture.

The next morning we headed up to the Mariposa grove of giant Sequoia, high enough up the mountain to still have ice lying in the shadier parts of the grove. Digby was ecstatic – he’s never really seen snow, so was desperate to try it out. Despite not exactly being equipped for the conditions (a cotton pullover, no gloves, and a pair of crocs on his feet), he rushed straight out to onto an icy drift to make snowangels. And then – “SNOWFIGHT!”.

Now the Sequoia truly are ancient, majestic looking trees – kind of rocket shaped, fat at the bottom and cinnamon in color, distinguished, wise and ancient creatures. We followed a trail for a couple of miles up through the grove, past trees thousands of years old, trees that had fallen, and even one that had had a hole cut through the middle of it just for the photo opportunity (and given the indignity it had suffered, it seemed kind of rude not to oblige…).