April 9, 2019
Yosemite Valley
is unarguably one of the world’s most magnificent natural features. Millions of years of alpine glacial erosion carved and smoothed this wonder into the surface of the earth, after which long periods of harsh variations in climate chiseled out the dramatic features we cherish today. Every year Yosemite draws in thousands of visitors from around the globe and the park is widely considered to be the world’s premier destination for rock climbing.
A prolonged downtime in work sparked my interest in a road trip from San Diego to visit this fantastic national park. As a man of action and a firm believer in spontaneity, I quickly prepared a single bag for the trip, laid sleeping arrangements in the back of my SUV, and hit the open road. I planned to enter the park from the east, driving through the desert on the leeward side of the Sierras, and then to exit the park from the west, driving through California’s central valley all the way home.
The first day of driving took me through the Mohave Desert and into nightfall. Driving through an endless expanse of flat dirt in the pitch dark induces sleepiness quite quickly, so I took myself off the road before midnight. I pulled off the highway and into the sand, quickly finding a suitable place to park and rest for the night. After crawling into the back of my car and sliding under the blankets I’d prepared that morning, I found sleep easily.
A few delicate rays of dawn streamed through my driver side window, gently stirring me from the deep slumber I’d managed to find. Upon fully waking I was greeted with a great surprise; I hadn’t been driving through an expanse of endless flat at all! Before me stood the full majesty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, modestly showcased by the rising dawn. A quick glance at my map revealed Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous United States, to be somewhere directly west of where I lay, although I’m not sure I could actually see her. I spent a few more minutes enjoying my morning view before getting back on the road.
A few more hours of driving took me to Mono Lake and Yosemite’s steep eastern entrance at Tioga Pass. To my confusion, a large blinking sign that read “Tioga Pass Closed for Winter” served as an immovable gatekeeper and an omen for the challenges to come. When I had left San Diego it was a comfortable 75 degrees, it was already April after all, and summer was well on its way. However, had I checked a weather report before hastily hitting the highway, I would have known that Yosemite was still in the depths of winter. The contents of my bag boasted a useless pair of flip-flops, two pairs of shorts, and a variety of tee shirts. After passing by what I thought would be my ticket into the valley, I brought myself to the nearest petrol station to see what I had gotten myself into.
“Oh, you’ve got a ways to go buddy!” the attendant seemed almost excited to administer the bad news. Producing a homemade map from under the counter, he indicated my new route with a sturdy finger as he continued. “See you’re here at the Tioga Pass, which is closed ‘till May. Sonora Pass, Ebbetts Pass, and Monitor Pass are all shut down too. If ya wanna get into the valley, you’ve gotta get all the way up to Mindon Nevada, drop in through Carson Pass, travel down the central valley, and then approach the park from the west.” I begrudgingly digested his words. What he had laid out was at least a 6-hour detour that took me out of the state in order to completely circumvent the highest parts of the Sierras; but it was either his way or the highway home, so I thanked him and continued on north.
The Carson Pass is a beautiful mountain road that winds itself through seas of evergreen and snow banks twice the height of your car. It cuts straight through the Sierras just south of Lake Tahoe before spitting you out in the lush valleys north of Yosemite. Fortunately, what began as an inconvenient detour ended up being a pleasant addition to the trip. Before nightfall I was able to get into the park, visit the staple attractions from the valley floor, and find a hidden spot to camp in my car. After settling in just as the night before, I set the alarm on my watch for 0400; I had a mountain to conquer.
Okay, El Capitan is technically a monolith, not a mountain, but with a total elevation of 9,000 feet above sea level and an 18-mile hike that takes you 3,000 feet above the valley floor, getting to the top is no cakewalk. I set off that chilly morning well before sunrise. Fortunately, the emergency bag that lives in the back of my car contained a hooded sweatshirt and a gallon jug of water. I grabbed both before beginning the arduous ascent from Camp 4. In total, I was equipped with blue jeans, casual sneakers, and the hoodie I had discovered minutes earlier. The visible breath that periodically danced in front of my face was a constant reminder that this ensemble certainly wasn’t ideal for the mountains in winter, but it would have to do.
The first 3 miles of the hike to El Cap are the most difficult. A steep stone staircase leads you on a winding path up the valley walls and past Yosemite Falls. Passing the falls presented me with the first challenge in what would become a day bursting at the seams with them. I watched with curiosity as the free falling mist transformed to snow in the crisp morning air and deposited in blankets directly over the path all the way to the top of the valley. Overnight, this unexpected snowfall had frozen, leaving large sheets of ice perilously near the certainly fatal plummet to the valley floor. Putting a perhaps foolish amount of faith in the worn Puma tennis shoes on my feet, I clumsily made my way over the frozen footpath and ascended the remaining valley wall.
The relief I felt at the top of the valley was short lived, as I quickly realized what I had gotten myself into. I was supposed to be following a trail which wound along a small creek through the woods. Neither of these were visible. Before me instead lay a thick pine forest laden with 10 feet of snow cover. There was no path, only winding snowshoe prints left by travelers more prepared than I. The myriad tracks marched into the thick of the woods before spreading away from one another as they disappeared into the distance. I would be relying on one of these tracks to guide me to the top. The trick was just to choose the right pair of prints to lead me to El Cap… only 15 miles to go.
After picking a pair of prints and letting them lead me through the trees for nearly an hour, I sensed that I had doubled back. My mind briefly flashed thoughts of a snowstorm rolling in; covering my only lifeline and leaving me stranded overnight in the wilderness. Shaking off these negative thoughts, I decided to climb to a high point in order to confirm or deny whether I had backtracked. My hands burned with cold and my jeans were soaked as I clamored up the nearest snow-covered ridge to a rock that overlooked the forest. Scanning the tops of the trees and estimating my position relative to the smoky outline of Half Dome in the furthest distance, I decided that I had been traveling in the wrong direction. I also decided that I couldn’t have come so far to just give up on reaching the top of El Cap, so I planned to follow the prints back out to where I started and then try again.
I quickly traced the prints that led me astray back to where I had first entered the pine forest. In the distance I saw a snowshoed woman approaching; the first person I had seen all day.
“If you’re headed to the top of El Capitan, you’ve gone the wrong way!” I called ahead. The woman paused for a moment, pulled out her smart phone, and then confirmed my ignorance.
“No that’s not true, this app says we’re right on the path.” She introduced me to the Gaia GPS software that displayed her exact location on a topographic map that included a projection of the path, even though we hovered over it on a one story building of frozen snow. “You’re more than welcome to accompany me up. I’m at least headed to Eagle Point; John Muir said it’s the best view in the entire park.”
“What a stroke of luck!” I thought. I had already planned on fumbling through another blind attempt of finding my way up, but now I had a guide. I happily agreed to her generous offer, she introduced herself as Emma, and we began our ascent together. I left behind my gallon jug of water. I had only drunk a small portion of it and after nearly 5 hours of carrying it through the rough terrain, it had become more an encumbrance than anything.
Emma and I made our way through the forest, mostly following the path I had already taken. It was a relief to see that I wasn’t completely off course. Eventually we reached the point where the tracks all diverged from one another; I was curious to see which was the correct pair, but to my surprise we continued past all of them, blazing our own path through fresh snow. I tried my best to keep up with Emma across the steep slopes, but the sun had risen high in the sky and the surface of snow, previously made hard from the cold night, had begun to melt. Before long, I found myself sinking deep into the thick snow cover, while Emma floated ahead, lofted by her shoes.
“I don’t know if you’re going to make it.” Emma leveled with me. “We still have eight to ten miles of this and the snow is only going to get softer.”
“I hate to turn back after all this time and effort, but you’re right.” I confirmed. She was right. Dammit she was right. The snow was so deep in some places that if it were soft enough I could be swallowed whole, and in some places the winding river undercut the snow cover, creating invisible booby traps that would ensure nobody found me until springtime.
“Sorry, you can find your way back right? Just follow our tracks out. And be sure to grab your water jug; if it’s still there when I go back I’m gonna call search and rescue!”
I laughed at Emma’s comment, thanked her for her time and concern, and begrudgingly backtracked my way to the edge of the forest for the second time that day.
By the time I reached the top of the path leading back to the valley floor, my legs trembled with fatigue and I felt like I had swapped knees with a ninety year old geriatric, but I refused to have driven 2 days and hiked 10 hours without the reward of a view. So instead of beginning the long trek back to the valley floor, I instead turned and made the ascent to Yosemite Point for a spectacular consolatory perspective of half dome and the eastern valley. Although the hike is just 2 miles round trip, the thick snow cover, in combination with my crippled lower half made for perhaps the most difficult 2 mile hike I’ve endured yet. After eating lunch and drinking in the view, I finally made my decent.
Minutes felt like hours as I limped, hobbled, and groaned my way back down to the valley floor. I gave away my water to as many ascending hikers as I could; partially for altruistic purposes, but also to selfishly lighten my load. Finally, after a few more hours, I reached the bottom. I quickly stripped my saturated outfit in favor of warm, dry clothes and stretched out across the nest of blankets in the back of my SUV.
“They” say it’s the simple pleasures that mean the most; a phrase that gets tucked onto the back shelf along with the other tired clichés. However, I must shake my head and admit that the simple satisfaction I experienced simply lying there, completely motionless, allowing each and every inch to finally be relieved and to decompress after over ten hours of freezing toil… well it rivaled any profound moment of joy that readily comes to my mind. And there I lay. A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows of my car and lulled me into a half sleep as I recounted the day’s adventure. I hadn’t achieved my goal, but not for lack of trying. After spending all afternoon on top of the valley and refusing to give up without genuinely giving all my effort toward reaching the crown of El Cap, I was eventually turned away by my lack of equipment, but not my lack of heart.
As I drove east out of Yosemite Valley, I was forced to make my way past the titanic face of El Cap. He proudly stood there, seeming to loom over me alone, ignoring the other visitors in order to boast of his recent victory. A trim smile found its way to the corner of my lips. Despite my shortcomings I had a great day, and I left Yosemite with a new challenge; I have a score to settle.
Wander&Wonder 