I came in here to say exactly the same thing! I first hiked the Bear Gulch Trail 40 years ago, and have remembered its beauty ever since. I got to hike it again several months ago, and it still awes me.
Wow.
Did you suffer psychological trauma at some point in your life? I’m not being a smart-ass; it’s a valid cause of emotional detachment.
Not that I’m aware of, and as best I can tell I’m not emotionally detached. If I had to analyze myself I’d speculate that I’m just highly analytic - When I look at something I notice the facts about the thing to the degree that it precludes bothering to pretend there’s anything else there. I see a big mountain: “Huh. A big mountain.” I see a grove of trees: “Huh. A grove of trees.” I see a bunch of fireflies: “Huh, a bunch of fireflies. Why am I outside again?”
Cannon AFB and Clovis, New Mexico in my rear view mirror.
Oh my God, yes.
Some years ago (like twenty), on a long, multi-week motorcycle ramble around the US, I left the Grand Canyon at the crack of dawn. Rode east, crossed the Navajo and Ute lands, rode through the Rio Grande National Forest, and over the Sangre de Cristos. Came down on the east side, and actually saw cowboys riding herd. Amazing. One of the best days on a bike in my whole life.
Me too. Maybe that’s why I live right there, exactly where you’re talking about.
Mary Jo Kopecki smiling and taking her shirt off.
Seeing a friend five month’s after her son was the victim of a murder/suicide by his father. Seeing n obviously pregnant friend!
I was at a convention in Seattle and there was an out-of-the-hotel event, a Puget Sound dinner cruise, so a bunch of us were waiting right at sunset for transport down the hill to the waterfront. It was clear sky to the west and everything to the south was that liquid purple you get at dusk, except for Mount Ranier which was painted gold-orange. We all stood transfixed for the minute or so it took for the gold to fade.
It had to be the sight of my wife walking down the aisle at our wedding. I can think of no other sight, even the birth of our children as awesome as that was, that triggered the same level of emotion.
The total solar eclipse in August this year.
The waterfall effect in the annual fireworks concert that marks the end of the Edinburgh Festival (when we celebrate getting our city back!): YouTube Video of Waterfall
Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow.
The red light of sunset hitting the snow covered mountains on the edge of Reykjavik.
Glencoe in the Autumn mist.
Santorini.
Taj Mahal at dawn. Cliche, but true.
Feluccas at sunset on the Nile.
Stephane Adam scoring against Rangers to win the Scottish Cup for Heart of Midlothian in 1998.
The first airplane I personally owned, A 1946 85hp Glob Swift. I had 54 hours in my logbook.
Unknown young woman walking down the street.
A hot air balloon ride at dawn in Northern New Mexico where where we circled a small valley and landed within a few feet of where we took off.
My parents 25th & 50th anniversary pictures where she is wearing the same suit she was married in.
My son at birth just looking around & not crying.
Flying below the rim of the Grand Canyon.
The runway being right where it was supposed to be when breaking out at minimums after a long hand flown instrument flight.
My old horse when he caught up to the calf & I got a rope on it.
I swear he looked so proud. ( No, we did not win, we just got’er done… Finally. )
I sat up all night after a date with my now wife on the seawall in Seabright, New Jersey. As dawn came up it illuminated this beautiful girl that I liked so much. She looked radiant in the morning light. The sun was just peaking over the Atlantic and waves were glistening.
My first view of my grandson.
It may seem odd that I choose that and not my first views of my own kids. I cannot explain the difference, maybe another grandparent-type can help me out.
mmm
A few years ago, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, who both worked for Disney, got us a (heavily discounted) suite at the Paradise Pier hotel across the street from Disneyland. It was the first time we were bringing our 2.5 year old daughter to Disneyland and it was at Christmastime.
We had just showered our daughter and put her in her brand new snowflake footie PJs when we heard booms outside.
We looked and we could see the fireworks from our room! We turned off the lights and watched the fireworks as my daughter stood, whole body against the window and saying “wooooooow!” My husband and I held each other and my in-laws were there with their son.
We sat quietly watching the fireworks for about 15 minutes, enjoying the view, enjoying each other’s company and knowing that we were in for the trip of our lives. I wish I could capture that moment again.
zoid:
Ted Kennedy, is that you?
This has special clarity for me now, since winter is coming again to Chicago.
I was sixteen, and it was January, 1979. It was a Sunday night, and the TV news had just announced that Chicago public schools would be closed for the entire week. The Blizzard of '79 had just roared through town, leaving over twenty inches of snow upon snow that hadn’t melted from December.
You have to understand my frame of mind. I could never remember any school snow closings being announced that weren’t just for a single day, and usually not announced until the morning of the day cancelled. Chicago was a tough northern city. It doled out school snow days like drops of gold from a miser’s fist.
And now, a whole week off? Just like that? It was unprecedented, and I was elated. I hated school with a dark intensity that only the chronically depressed can know.
I gazed at the living room window, the ten o’clock news still on, but it was impossible to see through the snow-sodden glass. I had to see the cause of this miracle that had befallen me. I quickly bundled up, sweaters, scarf, coat, saying I was going outside. If my parents objected, I can’t remember. I would’ve ignored them if they had.
I went down my apartment building steps, and when I passed the door, I passed into a world that was not the Earth as I recognized it.
The world was dark, lit with silver light and and the land lay soft and porous over my knees. It was a white land, a solid glowing white everywhere, with undulating dunes where the cars were entombed and trees with long spindly fingers, heavy with mounds of sparkling snow. The frosted branches did not sway for there was no wind now. It was cold, below freezing, but I could only feel it in my nose. I looked up into the streetlights, and the glare from them was eased by the bright flakes dancing though as they fell endlessly from the black and infinite sky.
I plunged unsteadily around my building to the alley, where the wind before had smoothed a tall wave against the brick. I sat and burrowed myself against the wall of snow and watched the glitter falling around me. It was so cold, but I was as warm and comfortable as if I lounged in an easy chair. I was mesmerized by the beauty I had all to myself. It was silent, peaceful, soft and clean. The only marring were my own footsteps, my own rutted tumbled path to this spot, and the broken scar of my steps were already healing under a fresh layer of snow.
I’ve never forgotten that night. When other Chicagoans talk about that winter, they talk about it in this sort of way. But I can still see what I saw all those years ago, and be glad I live where winter comes in abundance, even as others curse.
Similar names but I can assure you, two completely different people.
This is one of mine, also. When my son was a baby/toddler, he was astoundingly cute. There was a time we were with a group outside London at a pub/dinner place and some guy – okay, he was a little off – looked like he was going to have some kind of existential crisis watching my son crawl around. All of our friends (an acting class) were like, Yeah, not surprised. And when it’s your own child, that beauty is magnified by infinity.
The two other that stand out are: 1.) being on the Yosemite Valley floor looking across the meadow at the church with the granite face in the background – gets me every time; 2.) we had friends living in the Champagne region of France and they took us out for a tour. The golden sun drenching the villages at sunset was a sight to behold.
