Photo by Intricate Explorer
Two Fall to Death from Overlook in Yosemite National Park
John Wojtowicz
“I long to be that free, flying above the cluttered world of normalcy,
where so many are half alive.” –Dean Potter
The ponderosa pines in the valley below
look like blades of grass. Rangers rappel
800ft down jagged rock face
to recover the bodies of the hapless hikers
who tumbled from Taft Point
while the park was temporarily closed.
The same ledge where my buddy and I
dangled our feet a month before,
fumbling through “Here Comes Sunshine”
acoustic guitars reverberating
against the pale, coarse-grained granite
monolith of El Capitan.
It’s possible to just look and do that looking
twenty feet from the edge–
still paint yourself into the panorama
of Yosemite Falls thick with snowmelt;
scrutinize the dark-veined fissures
extending to the valley floor, a mile below.
However, this sediment-striped cliff
is also where Potter & Hunt leapt
wearing wingsuits, pursuing
the oldest dream, and died
attempting to glide through a V-shaped notch
in a neighboring precipice.
Some men are content to observe feathered
guests as they feast at backyard feeders.
Others compelled to venture into the woods,
learn their calls. Then, of course,
those who wish to occupy the same air,
flirt with a tantalizing sun, without getting burned.
John Wojtowicz
“I long to be that free, flying above the cluttered world of normalcy,
where so many are half alive.” –Dean Potter
The ponderosa pines in the valley below
look like blades of grass. Rangers rappel
800ft down jagged rock face
to recover the bodies of the hapless hikers
who tumbled from Taft Point
while the park was temporarily closed.
The same ledge where my buddy and I
dangled our feet a month before,
fumbling through “Here Comes Sunshine”
acoustic guitars reverberating
against the pale, coarse-grained granite
monolith of El Capitan.
It’s possible to just look and do that looking
twenty feet from the edge–
still paint yourself into the panorama
of Yosemite Falls thick with snowmelt;
scrutinize the dark-veined fissures
extending to the valley floor, a mile below.
However, this sediment-striped cliff
is also where Potter & Hunt leapt
wearing wingsuits, pursuing
the oldest dream, and died
attempting to glide through a V-shaped notch
in a neighboring precipice.
Some men are content to observe feathered
guests as they feast at backyard feeders.
Others compelled to venture into the woods,
learn their calls. Then, of course,
those who wish to occupy the same air,
flirt with a tantalizing sun, without getting burned.