Those who have unlimited time find something worth while all the year round on every accessible part of the vast deeply sculptured walls.

At least so I have found it after making the Valley my home for years.
Here are a few specimens selected from my own short trips which walkers may find useful.
One, up the river canyon, across the bridge between the Vernal and Nevada Falls, through chaparral beds and boulders to the shoulder of Half Dome, along the top of the shoulder to the dome itself, down by a crumbling slot gully and close along the base of the tremendous split front (the most awfully impressive, sheer, precipice view I ever found in all my canyon wanderings), thence up the east shoulder and along the ridge to Clouds' Rest--a glorious sunset--then a grand starry run back home to my cabin; down through the junipers, down through the firs, now in black shadows, now in white light, past roaring Nevada and Vernal, flowering ghost-like beneath their huge frowning cliffs; down the dark, gloomy canyon, through the pines of the Valley, dreamily murmuring in their calm, breezy sleep--a fine wild little excursion for good legs and good eyes--so much sun-, moon- and star-shine in it, and sublime, up-and-down rhythmical, glacial topography.
Another, to the head of Yosemite Fall by Indian Canyon; thence up the Yosemite Creek, tracing it all the way to its highest sources back of Mount Hoffman, then a wide sweep around the head of its dome-paved basin, passing its many little lakes and bogs, gardens and groves, trilling, warbling rills, and back by the Fall Canyon.

This was one of my Sabbath walk, run-and-slide excursions long ago before any trail had been made on the north side of the Valley.
Another fine trip was up, bright and early, by Avalanche Canyon to Glacier Point, along the rugged south wall, tracing all its far outs and ins to the head of the Bridal Veil Fall, thence back home, bright and late, by a brushy, bouldery slope between Cathedral rocks and Cathedral spires and along the level Valley floor.

This was one of my long, bright-day and bright-night walks thirty or forty years ago when, like river and ocean currents, time flowed undivided, uncounted--a fine free, sauntery, scrambly, botanical, beauty-filled ramble.

The walk up the Valley was made glorious by the marvelous brightness of the morning star.