A month ago (on New Year's Day), I was sitting at a spot in Yosemite National Park known as Dewey Point, alone, looking across the valley, mesmerized by the view. Snow covered the distant mountain peaks and the valley floor far below me.

Only an hour earlier, I had been on the crowded shuttle bus that takes visitors from Curry Village, the Ahwahnee, and Yosemite Lodge to the Badger Pass ski area.

The ride had been uneventful. We had stopped twice along the way. Once for the driver to remove the snow chains and once for him to reattach them. Oddly enough, the longest part of that process didn't involve the chains; it involved the driver's wardrobe.

Before leaving the bus, he would methodically remove his leather fedora, carefully set it on the dash, pull a yellow slicker from behind his seat, and put it on. After dealing with the chains and reentering the bus, he would remove the jacket, fold it, tuck it behind his seat, lift the hat from the dash, and fit it on his head, adjusting it twice before sitting behind the wheel.

His motions were so deliberate, I began to wonder if he performed this ritual for superstitious reasons, believing if everything wasn't done in the proper sequence and in the proper way, he would jinx the bus. A crooked hat could mean doom for him and his passengers. (These are the types of thoughts that wander through one's mind when one has an hour to spare and an overactive imagination.)

If his motivation was superstition, nothing happened on the trip to contradict his belief. We made it safely to Badger Pass, which was fine by me.

Once off the bus, I crossed the parking lot to the trail head and latched on my snowshoes. It was a few minutes after 9:30 in the morning.

I started along well-groomed Glacier Point Road at a steady pace. After ten minutes, I was so warm, I had to peel off my fleece jacket. My remaining t-shirt and long-sleeved shirt were more than enough to keep me comfortable.

I only came across one person on the road. He was a sure-footed backpacker on his way back to Badger Pass, with snowshoes and a shovel secured to his pack. I wanted to ask him where he had camped, but his eyes seemed focused on his feet. Instead, I gave him a nod and he nodded ever so slightly in return.

Beyond Summit Meadow, I took the trail junction north, towards Dewey Point, following the snowshoe and cross-country ski tracks. As I skirted the meadow, I could hear the echoes of children laughing and yelling. I took a second to scan the treeline on the far side of the clearing and spotted the source of the sound. In between two gray and yellow tents, I saw three small, bright blue and green shapes (which I assumed were children) running around, throwing snowballs, and falling to the ground.

I kept walking, quickly leaving the meadow and entering a heavily wooded area. For the most part, I followed the footprints of those that had trudged before me, but every once in a while, the trail would branch off in three or four different directions without reuniting. In those cases, I searched for the yellow triangular markers anchored high on the trunks of trees every few hundred yards. They pointed the way.

Soon, I reached Dewey Point, which is one of many vista points located along the southern wall of Yosemite Valley. It was 10:30, and to my amazement, I had the view to myself -- the first time that had ever happened in five trips.

After spending a few minutes taking photos and uploading a shot to Flickr (I know, using my phone on a hike! For shame!), I put away my gadgets and endeavored to be "in the moment" and enjoy the rare gift of solitude.

I sat in silence, staring at El Cap and Clouds Rest and Half Dome and several other peaks I recognized, but could not name without the help of a labeled topographic map. I watched the sky above and gazed at the trees below. I felt the wind pick up and die down. It was bliss.

I kept expecting to hear the sound of approaching voices or footsteps, but they never came. I finally looked at my watch and realized I had been sitting for more than an hour. If I wanted to make it back to Badger Pass in time to eat lunch before the first afternoon shuttle left, I needed to scoot.

Ten minutes into my return trek, I encountered a loud group of twelve or thirteen Russian cross-country skiers. When the last one had passed, I let out a sigh of relief. I had left Dewey Point just in time.

I came across several more groups of skiers and snowshoers before reaching Glacier Point Road. I must admit, the presence of other people broke the spell that had enchanted the snow-covered meadows and trails only a few hours earlier.

Back at Badger Pass, I ate a vegetarian wrap and savored a large cup of hot coffee while watching kids of every age ski and snowboard. Just before 2:00, I boarded the shuttle and napped on the return ride.

With an entire month to let this experience settle in my memory, I would say this one ranks as one of the best winter treks I have ever had.

You can see a few more photos from the Yosemite trip on Flickr.

You can also read about two previous hikes I did to Dewey Point -- one from last April and one from November 2007