Staggering Yosemite Heights

An hour into our drive, past Oakland and out Rt 24 East, the temperature had increased a whopping 27 degrees since San Francisco. I had barely gotten settled into the drive and we were already rolling the windows up and cranking the AC.

We stopped in a sleepy little town southeast of Modesto for a quick lunch when the radio announcer said, “It’s a hot one out there today, Turlock. The mercury is headed to 102 degrees.” Walking across the parking lot was like being inside an oven until the jingle of the open Subway door brought instant relief.

As you drive through the yellowed landscape, you’d think the whole place was all but abandoned. The only signs of life were the occasional laundry hanging still and limp on a line, old rusted Chevys parked helter-skelter on a dusty plot outside a ragged trailer. I try to picture a life out here where the perpetual California drought has annihilated any crops, and left little work for these folks. You know people live here but the only movement comes from the gleaming white modern windmills that cluster in groups, lethargically rotating like the heat has gotten to them too.

Humor me while I go off about California radio. In the first hour, Pitbull is followed by Boston, who is then followed by Gloria Estefan, and the station is still labeled “Todays Hits”? Farther along, radio waves seem to ignore this stretch of the California interior altogether, providing mainly static for the duration of the ride except for that one Selena Gomez song “Calm Down” that the whole of California plays on repeat. Sure enough, halfway through the song, the static resumes and we’re back to square one - me repeatedly mashing the seek button and marveling how the dial can go through from 88.1 to 106.5 without stopping anywhere in between. The three things you’ll find that, without fail, refused to be silenced are country music, religious sermons, and nerve-jangling accordion tunes. So, in the absence of Selena Gomez, we are stuck with silence.

We officially enter National Park territory - the telltale sign being the switchback roads and rollercoaster hills, prompting me to reach for my Dramamine, just in case. The minivan didn’t take to these hills well, shaking violently when the brakes were applied on a steep decline. I feared that on one of the downward turns we would careen off the side of the cliff, Selma and Louise style.

What I hadn’t remembered from our Yosemite adventure 17 years ago was the overwhelming signs of fire damage. Like passing an enormous cemetery, bare-leafed trees, white with ash, stand like tall headstones. There are few leaves or needles to speak of and a bit of new green undergrowth which provides a beautiful contrast. This goes on for acres upon acres and our car fell particularly silent as we took in the destruction.

Our first stop before settling in at Curry Village campground for the next three nights was Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. A two-mile hike in the middle of the day was a bit short-sighted considering the heat, and yet we trekked through to take in these magnificent trees that seem like they don’t belong in this world. Many trees had evidence of black char along the trunk, and I instantly thought of a world in which these trees no longer existed. It would be tragic. Fortunately for Sequoias, they have special fireproof protection. Their bark is two feet thick which protects their “inner organs” that transport water and nutrients from root to limbs. One fire won’t kill them, but if it continues, we can’t guarantee their survival.

To give a sense of size, the most famous Sequoia in this grove is The Grizzly Giant at 30 ft in diameter, 210 feet tall, and approximately 2,900 years old. Really think about that for a second. If this tree had a voice, think about what stories it could tell about the world it was witness to.

We knew we needed to leave and head for shade and water when we took a good look at Onora’s blood-red face. Either she’s got great circulation or she was about to pass out.

Deeper inside Yosemite, life returned, redwoods and pines jostle for position along the slopes of the valley, hills turn to peaks, and peaks turn to sheer rock faces that rise straight from the forest floor.

Welcome to Yosemite. We arrive through a dark tunnel roughly carved through the mountain, and like a surprise party guest of honor being led into a room blindfolded, when our eyes adjusted, the sight ahead of us entirely took our sense of speech.

Two enormous slabs of towering rock flank the valley and smack in the middle, is a third peak, more distant and set back in the haze. Unexpectedly, water pours from the top all the way down into the valley. The majestic gray sentinels are at such an unfathomable height that you have to stick your head out of the car window to see the tops. What we noticed immediately, however, was an eerie orange haze that had settled along the tree line and the startling scent of a wood fire. The North Dome of Yosemite was burning due to the Pika fires that were ignited by a lightning strike on June 23rd.

Around 5 pm, we arrived at Curry Village campground in the heart of the valley and close to everything. Permanent canvas tents have been erected in no recognizable order. Finding your way back to your own tent from the communal bathroom is always a fun game. One family had the foresight to hang Christmas tree lights to help “guide their sleight..ahem…way tonight”. Bear lockers are bolted down outside each tent and guests are instructed to put EVERYTHING that is food or has a scent in the locker, lest a bear smells something tasty in your tent and ends up eating you. Shampoo, chapstick, wet wipes, and snacks were locked away before setting up our things in the quaint and clean tent/cabin.

Still in the nineties with the sun heating up the side of the tent, I wondered how we would possibly sleep. Yet, after deep-dish pizza on the Curry Village Pizza Patio, we came back to a setting sun and a drastic drop in temperature. In the middle of the night, as the nighttime temperature dropped to the lower 50s, I grabbed the comforter that I had earlier tossed on the floor and wrapped myself in it like a burrito for warmth. Shockingly, the sleeping is quiet considering the number of families spread along the property. Babies cry in the night on occasion, early hiking groups shuffle about at 5:30 am, and at dark you hear the eerie calls for, “Elmer!!!” in the night air. This tradition has been going on since the 1930s but no one is sure how it began or who they are supposedly searching for. A missing child? A WW1 reference to a soldier shirking his duty that prompted the phrase, “Where‘s Elmer?” Or, after a pesky bear that the locals named Elmer? Here‘s an interesting article found on the National Park Service website that traces its possible origins.

https://www.nps.gov/yose/blogs/yosemite-valley-a-land-of-beauty-peace-sanctity-and-elmer.htm

Our first hike was a winding drive up the mountain toward Glacier Point and a two-mile jaunt to Taft Point. Before Magellan proved the earth was round through circumnavigation, any explorer coming upon Taft Point may very well have thought they’d reached the end of the world.

Heart-stopping cliffs drop off into the abyss. Watching people (myself included) inch toward the edge, sometimes crawling, is a real display of a lack of trust in oneself. It’s like we suddenly feel our body is so unpredictable that it’s going to flail and leap off the cliff unexpectedly. Or that a sudden gust of rogue wind on a perfectly still day might sweep us off the cliff? Nonetheless, we crawl toward the edge…but not too close, stretching our necks to their full length and gasping at the wonders of this planet.

Up on Taft Point was the only time I received any kind of internet signal since leaving San Francisco so I was surprised to hear my phone ding with a missed call. Our 9-11 pm Stargazing Night Hike was canceled due to the fires and resulting smoke in the valley. For a whole host of reasons, I was disappointed. Apparently, in the past 24 hours, the fire had consumed another 400 acres and counting. As of July 17th, the fire has burned a total of 818 acres.

Up the road toward Glacier Point, a lookout rewarded us with a panoramic view of Half Dome, Taft Point, and, believe it or not in this heat, snow-capped peaks in the distance. We grabbed an ice cream from the gift shop freezer at the top of Glacier Point. They know exactly where to station those things! On her second bite, Onora promptly lost her top tooth, the little white chopper stuck into the top of the cone. We told her the “Tooth Beary” was coming that night!

That afternoon we walked 10 minutes to the Merced River, a trickle when we were here last so I was floored to see a full river with a swift current. In fact, according to the NPS, the river is 356% higher than normal due to higher temperatures creating faster snow melt in the Sierras. In May of this year, the campgrounds were closed due to flooding concerns. Even with the flow of the river, we jumped in to experience the glacial temperature, coming in at less than 60 degrees. After 20 seconds of battling the current to get back to shore, my ankles ached something fierce. This is some serious cryotherapy! Not one minute after I’d gotten on shore, a snake came gliding down the river, almost exactly in my path (had I been in the water). Do you know how I feel about snakes????

The little ones played with their dinosaurs on the bank while the older ones took turns jumping in the water, drawing in their sketchbooks, and having kickboxing fights on the sand. What a glorious way to pass an afternoon.

Still too hot to relax in the tent, we took a quick drive to the famous Ahwahnee Hotel for a cold beer and reading on the lounge couches before dinner, accompanied by a lovely pianist.

I woke the next morning with the acrid scent of smoke in my nose and a dry throat. The smoke still lingered, creating a sense that you were looking at the landscape through frosted glass.

However, by mid-morning, it seems to clear out and the view sharpens just in time for our hike to Lower Yosemite Falls.

Across a meadow of tall grasses and wildflowers, we came to a quiet wooded trail. About 50 yards prior to the waterfall, a cold breeze makes you shiver and throw on your sweatshirt. Standing on the footbridge at the bottom of the falls to snap a photo is invigorating and energizing when gusts of water and cold air mist off the waterfall. The hike itself seemed like something from a fairytale, with burbling water downstream from the falls, quiet pine needle floor, and a sense that the forest is holding its breath for something.

Another afternoon was spent at our “spot” along the river bank, trying to ignore the snake incident from yesterday. Liam, his competitive spirit showing, decided to swim across the river to the other side. Mapping out his projected trajectory, he aimed for directly opposite our camp, knowing/hoping that, with the swift current, he’d end up farther downstream prior to the bridge. It was a slow start as the current almost took his bathing suit with it. He stopped, readjusted, and carried on, furiously slapping at the water. Not the most graceful stroke, yet effective enough. With Quinn’s British narration of his progress, it was quite entertaining.

After the swim across and back, we figured Liam might have had the beginning stages of hypothermia. He was shaking uncontrollably and fell into an equally uncontrolled laughing fit.

On our last night in the tent and I was disappointed that we hadn’t seen a bear yet. I’m not sure of the conditions with which I wanted to see a bear but the last time Kip and I were here, we found one up in an apple tree munching away, completely unthreatening. So, in my naïvete, I’d imagined that bears would be as prolific as the squirrels. Sadly not.

However, our last hike to Mirror Lake is apparently known to be Mountain Lion territory which urges you to stay calm, don’t let kids stray, make yourself appear larger, and if push comes to shove, fight back! Ummmm….alright, come on kids, are you ready to hike?

On most hikes in Yosemite, you're not the only ones on the trail but, in this case, it was silent except for our footsteps. Would anyone hear us yell if we were attacked? Probably not. Oh well, let’s carry on then! Past raging rapids that split around large boulders, we hiked companionably, me scanning the woods for stalking predators, meanwhile pretending that I’m perfectly relaxed.

In addition to the mountain lion threat, maybe no one was on this trail because of the mosquito breeding habitat as well. The size of hummingbirds, they buzzed in your ears and hovered around your eyes. The kids could be found flapping their arms and smacking at their legs. The view was worth it though!

We packed up our tent, lugged our belongings back to the minivan rental (which somehow made it to and from without becoming a “missile on wheels“ without its brakes), and headed back to San Francisco for one more night to officially say goodbye to Nicole and family and to wash the dust off our bodies. I am conflicted. I do believe everyone should see this place once in their lifetime but, at the same time, I think it’s better for the park and its inhabitants to have all the people just leave it alone and keep the wilderness exactly that: Wilderness.