The Wow Factor of Yosemite National Park

Nate Loper – May 4, 2026

The moonlight now spilling into the forest and onto the trail provided all the light we needed, yet we never would have seen it if we did not trust enough to turn our lights off.

There is something memorable about taking people into God’s creation where the senses move the soul of man. My friend Steve Lummer from Outdoor Nations Network says it best: “We take people outside, so that God can speak to their inside.” I absolutely love this phrase.

Over the years, I’ve led hundreds of Christian trips and tours to various national parks and wild places. The reason we go into the wilderness is not only for teaching, but to spark that “wow” moment in people’s lives they get while immersed in God’s creation.

The massive and ancient trees of Sequoia cause us to say “Wow.” The surprising Sahara-like slopes of Great Sand Dunes baffle the mind with “How?” The prismatic pools of Yellowstone are matched only by graceful geysers, with visitors waiting to say “Now!”

At the Grand Canyon, we’ve guided thousands on trips and tours, with countless first-time encounters resulting in both trembling and tears at seeing the expanse for the first time. The experience is truly moving and unforgettable.

My favorite wow moment came some years ago when I was leading a creation camping trip to Yosemite. After supper, s’mores, and flickering flames had evolved into embers, we doused the fire, loaded up vans with students, and set out for a late-night surprise.

After about 10 minutes of driving, we arrived at the trailhead for Sentinel Dome, one of my favorite hikes in the park. I first fell in love with it on a sunrise solo hike. This time, I had planned something different. We ambled down the trail. The occasional shriek and giggle echoed from a group of big-city kids walking a path shadowed by the night, spooked by every creak and sound from the deep forest. Soon, we arrived at the base of the granite dome.

But of course, they could not see it. In the dark of night, their flashlights had taken away any hope of peering into the void without the aid of Duracell daylight. So I told them to turn their lights off and listen to a story. Thinking back, I can’t even recall what that story was. And, in truth, it doesn’t even matter. The whole purpose of the tenebrous tale was to give time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

I had timed it perfectly. For the ten minutes or so that I was talking, the moon had begun to rise, peaking through a distant saddle of the Sierras and first lighting the highest points along the rim of Yosemite Valley. Behind me, and true to its name, Sentinel Dome came to life first, watching over the valley with its milky rise now bathed in moonlight. I didn’t have to look behind me to know what was happening. I simply watched the faces of the students who were huddled in front of me. Mouths dropped open. Heads tilted upward. Eyes widened. Before them now stood a giant of glowing granite. This was the first “wow” of the night.

I shifted my story into a parable—a lesson lent by light itself. When we first arrived at that stopping point, the mountain was there, though we could not see it. By holding our flashlights and lighting our own path along the journey, we had blinded ourselves to any natural light around us.

Though it was scary to turn off the lights we held and stand for a moment surrounded by darkness and uncertainty, it required us to trust. By leaning not on our own ability to light our path, we were now able to see much more illuminated around us.

The moonlight now spilling into the forest and onto the trail provided all the light we needed, yet we never would have seen it if we did not trust enough to turn our lights off. Likewise, if the students hadn’t trusted me when I told them they would be okay—even as the darkness surrounded them—they never could have seen the light that existed all around.

It’s easy to want to light our own paths in life, rather than trusting the One who is the Light of the World Himself. If we insist on doing things our own way, we often miss out on the glorious light and life that Christ has for us when we place our trust in Him. Standing there at the base of the dome, I shared with the students a message to always seek the path that God has for them and to trust in His ability to lead and guide them, even through the darkest places.

With eyes now adjusted, I said, “Keep your flashlights off and follow me. We’re going to the top.”

The beauty of a granite monolith like Sentinel Dome is that once you reach it, there’s not really a marked trail that you can follow to the top, though it’s fairly easy to walk up without worry of misstep. The light gray rock was well lit by the moonlight, and so we were able to easily ascend in the solemn quietness of the night.

Reaching the summit, the entire valley now lay before us. Across the way, we could see rock climbers at multiple stages on the Nose of El Capitan, with headlamps moving back and forth from some pitched halfway up the climb, spending the night anchored to the rock face.

Three thousand feet below us on the valley floor, we could see hundreds of campfires flickering like fireflies in the darkness that still gripped Yosemite’s depths, reminding us of the many torches of Gideon’s men.

Above us, the stars put on a show that these kids from Los Angeles had never seen in all their lives. Constellations came to call. Shooting stars streaked across the silver-specked sky. And adding to the voice of the heavens that declare the glory of God, all we could say was “wow.”

Squint your eyes. What do you see?