The Willow Glen Resident Photograph courtesy of Cookie Curci-Wright Sweet Memories: Marshmallows always tasted better when roasted by fire and surrounded by cliffs. Yosemite Valley firefall brightened family vacations for many years The annual evening event was one of the National Park's biggest attractions By Cookie Curci-Wright The Yosemite Valley is regarded as one of the scenic wonders of the world. Each year, millions of people visit this majestic park in the High Sierras to camp among its venerable pines and to enjoy its natural beauty. Naturalist John Muir's writings spread Yosemite's glory, and his long battle to protect its wonders helped make it a National Park. But, despite all of Yosemite's innate natural beauty, there was a time when visitors flocked to this park to see something quite unnatural--a sight created not by nature, but by man. Though Yosemite is known for its waterfalls, there was a time, during the 1940s,'50s and '60s, when visitors to the park were entranced nightly by a fall of a different kind, an incredible fall made up entirely of flame. For more than three decades, the firefall, originating from high atop Glacier Point, became a park ritual and a main tourist attraction. During that era, my family and I were among Yosemite's yearly campers. We were fortunate enough to see this incredible fall of fire on our annual camp-outs. It was a time when mom, dad, kids, grandparents, aunts and uncles took their vacations together. Every summer, our family formed a caravan of cars, kids and camping equipment, and headed out from San Jose to Yosemite Valley. We loved to wake outdoors to the smell of fresh-perked coffee and sizzling bacon and eggs on a hot grill. We walked through groves of wildflowers that tinged every breath of fresh air with fragrance. We slept under the stars, snuggled in sleeping bags around a roaring campfire, and loved to hand-feed the young deer that came into camp every morning. At night we exchanged ghost stories, knock-knock jokes, and roasted bags of tender, gooey marshmallows. But, as much as we enjoyed all of these natural pleasures and sights, it was the park's man-made firefall that we most anticipated. At sunset, with great expectations, we joined the crowds of valley campers sitting on the wooden benches at Camp Curry's entertainment center. It was here campers gathered to see the wondrous firefall. The overflow of spectators not lucky enough to get seating were content to sit on the ground, cushioned only by soft pine needles. As the gathering crowds waited expectantly for night to fall, we were entertained on stage by local talents, such as a 10-year-old tap dancer, a youthful baton twirler and an elderly folk-singer. Meanwhile, thousands of feet above our heads, out of sight, a controlled fire was burning atop Glacier Point, a fire prepared, stoked and fed by park employees, who earlier that day had hauled up 20 wheelbarrows of firewood and bark to fuel the enormous flames. At exactly 9 p.m., after the sun had completely set behind the Sierra Nevada mountains, an expectant hush fell over the spectators. All camp lights were extinguished, making it so dark we could hardly see our hands in front of our faces. The only light came from the full moon above us and the distant stars. The moment we'd waited for was close at hand. A drum-roll signaled the camp announcer to make the call. Our hearts beat faster with anticipation. Using only his hands as a megaphone and his powerful lungs to project his voice, the caller shouted out these special words to the top of Glacier Point: "Let-the-fiii-yurrr-fall!" A moment later, from high on Glacier Point, a voice echoed back through the darkness: "Fiii-yurrr-is-fall-ing!" The long awaited spectacle had begun. Like a cascading meteor shower, originating from a single point, the fire's radiance trailed through the night sky and down the side of the mountain. It was an ignition that even Prometheus, the mythical god of fire, would have been proud of. At that same moment, as the combustion of hot sparks glided down the face of Glacier Point, an angelic choir of voices from Camp Curry's stage, sang out the spellbinding melody, "Indian Love Call," the romantically enchanting song made popular back in the 1930s by famous singing duo Jeannette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. Like billions of tiny fireflies, the red-hot embers fluttered down to the valley floor, leaving a fluorescent red glow, like a comet's trail behind them. We all watched, mesmerized, until every last glitter of light had been extinguished. It is said that Yosemite's firefall was late in starting only once, the reason being that President Kennedy had come to the park to witness the scintillating sight for himself. But he and his party hadn't finished dining by showtime, and the nightly fire was delayed until the President had finished dinner. The firefall was discontinued in 1968. Due to the incredible crush of visitors attracted by the sight, the park's natural habitat and meadows were being destroyed. Traffic congestion and a damaged environment were the result. The park authority, in a park known for its natural beauty, halted the popular attraction. But I'm glad I was around to see it all, years ago, when my family spent summer vacations at the park. Those of us lucky enough to have seen the firefall share a memory brightened by the unique experience. [ Back to Contents Page | Willow Glen Resident Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Willow Glen Resident, January 13, 1999. ©1999 Metro Publishing, Inc. 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