Going home

Going to the mountains is going home.  

—John Muir

Sunday: I've arrived at cabin 22 where I'm trying to get my woodburning stove going for the first time since Black Sheep in Quilotoa. 

Not too bad for a girl from the suburbs. Even if I did use all the matches.  

Oh, yeah. This is why I'm here. 

Also this. That's Half Dome from the back side. 

I took an easy stroll out to the Lyell fork of the Tuolumne River. 

I loved this tree. 

There's no electricity aside from the dining room and shop. Less prepared people line up to charge their devices. For my 7-day adventure, I have a car charger and a solar-powered external battery. We'll see how they do. (It's very sunny.)

The tent cabins come with old-fashioned looking lanterns.

There is a pay phone with a few odd free calls: God, Wells Fargo, Social Security. 

Tomorrow I'll do a harder day hike, to get used to the elevation. I met a couple at dinner doing a similar but longer loop: 55 miles for her 55th birthday. 

It's early, but I'm going to turn in while the fire's still roaring. 

There's no place like home.