September 1, 2014
On Monday morning after breakfast in Sonoma with my family, it was time for me to go off on my own. It’s never easy leaving the comforts of family and familiarity, but Yosemite National Park beckoned a mere four-hour drive away. I couldn’t resist the allure of one of this nation’s treasures. On Sunday before calling it a night I had applied for a permit to hike Half Dome, Yosemite’s crown jewel, on Wednesday. But I had plenty to look forward to before that 16-mile hike — assuming I was granted the permit for Half Dome’s 400 feet of cables to its flat summit.
About an hour away from the park, I turned onto highway 120 and drove past a line of stationary cars that must have stretched for two miles. Yes, Labor Day traffic coming out of Yosemite was alive and well. I had no issues the way I was going. As I entered the park, I learned that all the first-come, first-served campsites had space — also not surprising — which gave me plenty of options. I drove down toward the valley — passing the outlook where the incredible view of Half Dome and its surrounding peaks appears for the first time, a spot where Dad and I had stopped and gazed in awe during our 2011 trip — and then took a turn to the south and back up to Glacier Road.
After setting up my tent at the Bridalveil Creek Campground, which was pretty empty at about 7,000 feet, I packed up some food and my book and headed farther up the road to the Taft Point and Sentinel Dome trailhead. It was about 4pm. I had done both short hikes with Dad three years earlier, but I knew they would be equally enjoyable a second time around, especially in the late-afternoon and evening light.
The 1-mile walk to Taft Point reminded me of just how different Yosemite is a few months apart. When we had done the hike in late June, there had still been patches of snow. This time, the trail was completely dry. There were no signs of water — anywhere. When I got out to the point, with its sheer dropoff of more than a thousand feet, I carefully took a seat and was joined by a pair of ravens who sat just inches from the edge. I was a couple feet farther back. We took in the scenery together. I only saw four other people there, too; the place felt vast and empty.
After retracing my steps about a half mile, I turned left on the Pohono Trail, which took me around the northern edge of Sentinel Dome and offered tremendous views into the valley. After descending the first part of the trail, I knew it would be a lot of uphill to the peak. However, the ascent didn’t seem too long or arduous. After awhile, I reached a clearing with what appeared to be a radio tower and some kind of electrical hub. From there, views opened up to the east of neighboring high peaks and I took a few photos of Half Dome framed by the branches in the foreground of a large fir.
From there, I enjoyed the short ascent up to Sentinel Dome (8,123 feet), passing a few groups as I climbed the open rock slabs. It was close to 7pm, and the sun was setting on the summit that offers 360-degree views. I found a flat rock, ate my cheese and crackers dinner (note: the crackerbarrel cheese had basically melted during the four-hour drive when outdoor temperatures were in the 90s), read my book, and enjoyed the scenery. After the sun set and darkness began to envelope the peak, the western horizon turned an array of dazzling colors and I got the camera out. The only other people on top were a photographer and his two pupils, who were attempting all kinds of different shots using a tripod. As I began to descend, I turned back and snapped a few photos of their silhouettes cutting into the color sky, with the moon also bright.
The 1.2-mile hike down shouldn’t have been difficult except for the fact that my headlamp was basically dead. It had accidentally been bumped and turned on during my flight and now it was almost useless. Using a combination of the headlamp, my phone flashlight, and footprint identification, I was able to navigate the easy trail back to the parking lot. I have to admit, though, that was a bit scary. I guess, in retrospect, I could have waited for the photographer and his student. Still, being out in the wilderness by yourself with no phone service can be a little nerve-racking. But I made it, and the stars were incredible.
The only problem that night was the guy at the adjacent site. After I crawled into my tent and turned on my headlamp to read, he yelled out, “You’re not alone here! Turn your light off!!” I couldn’t believe it. The time was 9pm. I wasn’t doing anything egregious. But I didn’t want a confrontation, so I turned my light off and called it a night. Not surprisingly, I didn’t sleep well, waking up several times throughout the night.
MILES HIKED: 5.1
September 2, 2014
I had originally planned to wake up for sunrise at around 5am and drive up to Washburn and Glacier points, which both offer outstanding views to the east. But perhaps spooked by Mr. No Light, I didn’t set an alarm and instead woke around 6. Still, my live-to-explore mindset kicked in and I didn’t settle for hanging around the campsite. I drove up to the two points even though I knew the light wouldn’t be great. It was cold (38 degrees), underscoring the wide temperature changes during a Yosemite day (90 degrees) and night. Wearing my down coat and winter hat, I walked out to a rock at Glacier Point and read. It was a nice way to start the day, even if the sky looked bland.
After cooking oatmeal back at the campsite, I hit the road to drive up to Tioga Road. My plan was to hike to Cloud’s Rest — a 14-mile trek to a tremendous peak with great views of Half Dome and the valley. However, I first wanted to secure a campsite and get that set up. And having not gotten an early start, when I got up to Tioga Road, I encountered a traffic jam for construction — not too infrequent of an occurrence on the road and my second jam of the morning. I didn’t make it to the Porcupine Flat campsite until about 10:20am and after identifying a site away from where others were staying (I’d learned from that experience the night before) and paying, I didn’t get to the trailhead until 11am.
I also didn’t have enough water for the hike, so I walked to the edge of beautiful Tenya Lake and filtered 32 ounces to add to my Camelback, which already had about that amount. And finally, I started on the trail. It was late enough that I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the Cloud’s Rest hike. My other option would be to hike to the Sunrise Lakes and the high sierra camp at 9,400 feet, which would be a 10-mile day.
I hiked fast and passed dozens of backpackers with heavy loads who were all going to Sunrise Lakes. I reached the 2.5-mile mark in just over an hour and decided I could do Cloud’s Rest. However, about a quarter mile down the trail, I stopped and decided to turn back. My thinking was as follows: I was alone, no one knew exactly what I was hiking and I didn’t have cell service, and I didn’t feel that great.
(Note: Hiking by yourself is hard because you’re the lone decision-maker. Whenever you question yourself, there’s no one to tell you, ‘Oh, you’re fine, Jake, you’re a very strong hiker. And you’ll have me with you!’ It’s hard to explain, but very difficult. In the past, 99 percent of the time I opted to keep going. But this time, I convinced myself not to. I still would have had 4.7 miles to the summit before turning around.)
The hike to Sunrise Lakes was nice, but far from spectacular. I actually got confused, thinking the lakes were at the high sierra camp. When I arrived at the camp and there was a large, dry meadow, I thought for a minute it was a dried-up lake. Then I pulled out my map and realized that I had passed the three lakes en route to the camp. A couple years ago, Dad and I applied through a lottery for the high sierra camps, which are tent cabins — five of them — spread out in Yosemite’s high sierra. We weren’t chosen, but will definitely apply again. In seeing one of the camps for the first time, it was about what I expected. There was a main building with chairs and tables where breakfast and dinner, it appears, were served. Spread out around the building but not too close to it were the tent cabins. I look forward to that experience!
But on this day, I had to turn around and head back up the path toward the lakes. I made sure to stop at a lake, dip my feet in, and lie down to read my book while being baked by the hot sun. I felt like I was on a beach, except one that was at 9,000 feet and surrounded by the high peaks of the sierras. That was a pretty cool feeling.
When I returned to the junction, I noticed a man huffing and puffing his way up from the Cloud’s Rest trail. Once he caught his breath, the man informed me that he and his wife had decided to see how far they could go on the path. He made it about three quarters of the way to the summit. His wife, who appeared a few minutes later, had gone to the top. Well, not technically the top. She told me she had stopped just short of it when she got to the section of trail that was a couple feet wide with a thousand-foot drop on either side.
I felt sick to my stomach. How could I have missed that? I knew I had made the conservative decision, but inside I was killing myself for not being my usual ambitious self. Thankfully, as I had learned minutes earlier — when at Pluto Point, a place with cell service, I had called to confirm that my permit had been issued — I was set for Half Dome the next day.
I took in a mild sunset from Pothole Dome, the short peak right on the side of Tioga Road and adjacent to Tuolumne Meadows, and then slept very peacefully at the near-empty campsite. I was ready for the big day.
MILES HIKED: 10
September 3, 2014
On Half Dome day, I didn’t want to make the same mistake of a day earlier. I got up early. My alarm woke me at 5:23am and I was in the car a couple minutes later. After a seemingly interminable ride on Tioga, I reached the junction to the valley. As my car’s dashboard told me, it was slowly warming up outside. I reached the valley around 6:40, giving me 20 minutes to find water and the shuttle bus stop from Curry Village to the trailhead. It would have been about a 0.75-mile walk to the Mist Trail from the village, but I was eager to get to the trail as soon as possible. The shuttle was a bit late, but I was on the Mist Trail around 7:30.
The first portion of the trail is paved and alongside the Merced River. I had done the hike with my Dad three years earlier when we went to Vernal Falls. Then, the river was roaring like it never had before — as confirmed to us by a Yosemite lifer we met alongside the falls after getting soaked by its spray. He had never seen anything like it. This year, the river was nearly dead. It was most certainly dry season. After about a mile, I turned right off the Mist Trail onto the world-famous John Muir Trail. It would make for a longer ascent, but the incredible views that quickly opened up as I walked the switchbacks made it so worthwhile. I also passed by a woman and her band of horses stopped alongside the trail, bathed in early morning sunlight. I stopped on several occasions to admire the view of Half Dome and an unnamed smaller dome in front of it. The crazy thing about the 8.2-mile hike is that you almost do a full circle. As I hiked east, I wasn’t really getting closer to Half Dome, which was to the north. So while it remained in my view, the bald peak certainly didn’t seem very close.
The incredible thing about the hike was how much the scenery changed from one mile to the next. On the John Muir Trail, the path was packed-down dirt. After reaching the 4.5-mile mark, the trail turned sandy and I was tempted to take off my boots and walk bare-footed as I passed by the Little Yosemite Valley backcountry campsite (future idea!) and the ranger station. Then, as the trail turned north, I entered a long section of old-growth either sequoia or red wood trees. It was a welcome relief to escape the sun and the heat for the shade of the enormous trees.
I was on a mission, having eaten just a single Larabar the first few miles of the trail. After my turnaround the day before, I was determined to reach Half Dome’s summit and conquer the 4,800 feet of elevation gain in an absurdly quick time. Especially in the forest, I passed dozens of groups of people. Half Dome is a ridiculously popular hike, even after Labor Day. The granite dome of a mountain got so overcrowded that in 2010 the National Park Service began limiting the number of hikers each day through a permit system. At first, it was just for weekends. In 2011, it was expanded for seven days a week. Now, only 300 people are granted permits each day. As I got within about a mile of the summit, I came upon a park ranger stationed in a shady spot just before, it appeared, the trail became rocky and left the trees. The ranger asked for my name and checked his ipad. I was good to go. Talk about a unique hiking experience!
From there, it was all uphill, all steep. I first climbed up a spiraling staircase, stopping every minute or so for a few seconds to catch my breath. Having survived the stairs, I then climbed up steep rock slabs, careful to navigate my way around scree on some of the rocks (nothing’s more dangerous than scree on granite, except, of course, for water). I was tired and sweating and my legs were feeling it, but I was also full of adrenaline. I was so close!
And then, just ahead of me, there were the cables. They had been hard to imagine 6 miles earlier in the morning, but there they were — 400 feet of them. They’re not easy to describe, but basically poles were drilled into the granite about 10 feet apart going up the steep northeast side of the dome. Cables are attached to the top of the poles, about waist height. Also, wooden slabs are wedged into the base of the poles, providing makeshift platforms for hikers every 10 feet to rest without having to rely solely on gripping the cables. Gloves are essential, and I had brought my thin winter ones. Despite the ranger telling people not to leave gloves, there is a hidden pile of them behind a rock at the base of the cables.
As I began the ascent, I was a little nervous. I had never done anything like this before. I steadied my confidence by narrowing my focus to each 10 feet of climbing. When the woman in front of me left her wooden plank to pull her way up to the next, I would do the same. That was the rhythm I assumed. It was broken a few times as we stopped to allow descending hikers to shimmy past, and the women in front of me were another story. They both appeared to be in their 60s and for the majority of the ascent, they kept asking each other, “Why are we doing this?” “Are we crazy?” “How are we going to get down?” I chuckled inwardly and wondered the same thing. Even though the people descending said it was easier, I had a hard time believing them.
Really? For one, the rock was extremely steep. Additionally, I wasn’t particularly confident in the traction of my two-year-old boots. But there was no turning back. I was almost there. The last 10-15 sections were the easiest, as the grade lessened. The women were still fretting, but I had no doubts about reaching the summit. And then I was there, on top, having conquered the 8,844-foot, world-famous peak.
You would never think this from the valley views of Half Dome, but the summit is flat and expansive. You could play a full-field game of football on top. It was a bit hard to believe. Immediately, I scoped out the place where I wanted my picture taken. At the time, I mistakingly thought it was “The Diving Board,” made famous by Ansel Adams’ photographs. As I learned later, the rock outcropping above a severe, sheer dropoff is called “The Visor.” I sat on the edge of a rock and had a nice guy named Austin shoot several photos of me from about 150 feet away where I had eaten lunch and been joined by a high-elevation squirrel. It was a pretty cool spot. Then I walked a couple hundred yards west, going down the summit looking toward the valley.
The cables are the only way to hike up Half Dome, but many (crazy) rock climbers gain the summit by ascending its northwest wall. Many of them do it without equipment. I like to sit on rock ledges and don’t mind some exposure, but I could never imagine myself climbing a rock wall without support. Those people are the real adventure nuts.
After lacing up my boots securely, it was time to go down. Really quickly, any nervousness I had vanished. It really was much easier; I didn’t even need to use both cables. Gripping the cable on the right, I took itty bitty, quick steps with my boots and sideways walked my way down the cables sans any issues. It was an enjoyable descent, and I basked in how friendly everyone was in letting each other go up or down. During those moments I thought to myself that my faith in humanity, in the common good of people, had been restored (then again, it almost always is in the mountains).
On the hike down, I got a little dehydrated. It was such a hot day that even the 80-plus ounces of water I brought weren’t enough. When I reached the junction with the Mist Trail, I opted for the shorter, steeper descent, not to mention different from what I had ascended (Note: I’ll almost always take a loop as long as it’s not significantly longer than the out-and-back). On the path down to Vernal Falls, I think I passed half of France. There were swarms of people, the majority of them European. Because it was so crowded, the hiker etiquette I was used to disappeared. No one said hello. It was unfortunate, but I realized that’s just how it is on such a ridiculously popular trail.
Above Vernal Falls I came to a large pool of water. In 2011, it had been a raging river that my Dad made sure I didn’t even dip a foot in, thinking I might be pulled in and sent over the large waterfall. This year, there was no threat of that. I took off my shirt and walked down to the edge of the concave pool. Immediately, I lost my footing on the slippery rock and had no choice but to dive right into the bone-chilling water. It was COLD — probably the chilliest water I’ve gone full immersion into in quite a while — but very refreshing. After a couple minutes, I scraped my way back onto dry rock and laid on the granite, letting it quickly warm my body. It was a great feeling, especially for my tired legs.
There was another pool at the base of the 317-foot waterfall, and a party was in full swing. As I walked down the path adjacent to the waterfall, I observed people cannon-balling and diving off rocks into the pool. With the waterfall still somewhat powerful and a faint half-rainbow forming above the pool, it was quite the place to be. Apparently, a hundred other people felt the same way!
I waltzed down the final mile of paved trail with the hundreds of Europeans and completed the 16-mile hike a little more than 8 hours after I had begun. Well, actually, I wasn’t done walking, as I decided I had enough energy to skip the shuttle and strut back into Curry Village. By then, I was ready to sit down and enjoy Curry’s awesome buffet that had been a favorite dinner tradition for Dad and me three years earlier. But sadly, as a worker at the ice cream counter informed me, it was no longer a buffet. It had been changed a couple years earlier to a sit-down restaurant with a regular menu. I guess hungry hikers like me had made the buffet an unprofitable business. Oh, well.
The village was hopping with people, but I was kind of tired of crowds so I returned to my car to head back to Tioga Road. On the way, I picked up a hitchhiker named Sam who worked in Yosemite Village at a food stand and also is from Ann Arbor. What a coincidence! I enjoyed listening to Sam go on and on about how awesome living in Yosemite and working there was. It definitely sounded like a cool gig. Maybe if I’m ever in between jobs, I’ll do that. After dropping him off at the White Wolf lodge, I grabbed a quick dinner at the campsite then took in sunset and read my book with the headlamp at Olmsted Point as millions of stars lit up the California sky. The next day, it would be back to a different place. I wanted to soak up Yosemite and its wonders for as long as possible.
MILES HIKED: 16
TOTAL YOSEMITE MILES HIKED: 31.1
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