Getting Away from It All
How one couple discovered the beauty and solitude of the back country
MY WIFE and I had not seen a soul for almost a day as we hiked down the tallest peak that skirted magnificent Yosemite Valley in the heart of California’s Sierra Nevadas. Both of us were in good spirits, yes, exhilarated at having been at the top of Cloud’s Rest, a gentle mountain rising almost 10,000 feet (3,050 m) in the crisp clear air.
Admittedly, most persons will not share my enthusiasm for climbing a mountain or hiking a dirt trail. But, for us, having that mountain to ourselves made it all worth while. Only a few days earlier we had been down in the valley waiting in long lines for a campsite, for groceries, for counter service, for the use of shower and bathroom facilities and, at times, even for a place to sit. It was August, the peak season for popular Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park—and we were beginning to be reminded of hectic New York city, our home.
Time to Get Out
As much as we enjoyed the amusements, the restaurants, the educational programs and the stunning beauty in this scenic valley, it was time for us to get out.
The next morning we caught the Lee Vining bus that snakes its way slowly up the Tioga Pass Road, the only road that crosses the 1,189-square-mile (3,100-km2) park. We got off at Tenaya Lake, a lake so appealing that I know my wife would have been pleased to camp there. But I gently reminded her of our plans. Basically, we would travel southwest along the rim of Tenaya Canyon, turn south along famous John Muir Trail and then follow the Merced River into Yosemite Valley.
We were well prepared for our trip. We had down sleeping bags and coats to cope with the cold mountain air. Additionally, we carried a three-day supply of dried foods, a canteen, first-aid equipment, maps and a small stove in our two aluminum frame packs. Locating the Forsyth Pass Trail, we started climbing, following dry, dusty switchbacks that zigzagged up the side of Sunrise Mountain.
Late that afternoon, on a 9,000-foot-(2,740-m-)high plateau between Sunrise and Cloud’s Rest, we reached a lovely lake and a delicate meadow surrounded by a forest of pine. This was too inviting for us to pass up. So we set up camp, replenished our water supply at a gentle stream and then cooked a tasty meal of freeze-dried beef Stroganoff.
Finally, for the last hour before sunset, I scoured the surrounding forest until I found what I thought was the very best bough on which to hang our food. Why my concern? The bears in these parts are smart, and I had been outwitted by them before.
Outwitting the Bears
I learned about these bears when I backpacked in Little Yosemite Valley with two of my friends 10 years before. The rangers had told us to hang our food in the trees, but, being inexperienced, we did not think it was worth the effort to hang our food very high.
That night, as the three of us lay in our tents, we were alerted by a soft shuffling sound. What a surprise when we looked out and saw three large black bears with their noses pointed up at the delicacies contained in our packs! One of them scampered up the tree to which the packs were tied. In a moment food was scattered in every direction over a blanket of pine needles. Feuding over their portions in this wild nocturnal picnic, they ripped up every can, package and pack they could get their claws on. The next morning we futilely tried to boil half a potato—the only food the bears left us!
Now, as my wife and I lay under the same star-filled sky, I was hoping I had learned something in the intervening years. This time our packs were empty, unzippered and lying on the ground. Our food was in two nylon sacks suspended 18 feet (5.5 m) in the air by a strong cord on a stout limb. And—to keep us out of the field of action—they were hanging 200 feet (60 m) away from camp.
That night we were awakened with a start. The absolute silence of the forest was shattered by a hungry bear determined to get a free meal. From our camp we could hear the strain of a lower limb bearing his weight as he desperately clawed at the sacks. Edging further out, he stepped too far. The limb snapped. Down came Mr. Bear, landing with a thud. What an agonized growl he gave!
From the noise, one might have thought he had taken the whole tree down with him—certainly our food—and thoughts of my defeat at Little Yosemite flashed through my mind. I felt frustrated. Without food we would have to turn back.
But you should have seen me in the morning. When we went to the tree and discovered the food still hanging there safe and sound, I whooped and hollered and slapped my knee in sheer delight. Both of us danced up and down like children. Breakfast was simple—hot milk, granola, dried fruit and tea—and in fervent prayer we thanked our Creator for it.
The Back Country of Yosemite
And then we hiked up Cloud’s Rest. Actually, if you want to rate mountains, Cloud’s Rest would be considered easy. The route we took had no cliffs to scale, no talus to stumble on. Besides, I didn’t want to repeat the mistake I had made on our honeymoon only two years earlier.
At that time we had started up the steep switchbacks along the side of Yosemite Falls, one of the highest falls in the world. It was late in the day and I wanted to get to the top before nightfall. Unfortunately, we were so out of shape that by the time we returned to the valley on the following day, our legs were terribly sore. We walked around for the next four days like stiff-legged robots, grimacing in discomfort.
This time it was different. We were standing on top of one of the largest continuous rock slopes in the world, a solid granite face that slanted down 4,500 feet (1,370 m) to the bottom of Tenaya Canyon—and we felt fresh. For the first time we got a bird’s-eye view of Yosemite Valley to the west and the rugged High Sierra to the east.
John Muir, the famous naturalist, was instrumental in getting this whole area set aside as a national park in 1890. We could appreciate his description of the park: “The headwaters of the Tuolumne and Merced Rivers, two of the most songful streams in the world; innumerable lakes and waterfalls, and smooth silky lawns; the noblest forests, the loftiest granite domes . . . and snowy mountains soaring into the sky twelve and thirteen thousand feet [3,660 and 3,960 m], arrayed in open flanks and spiry pinnacled groups partially separated by tremendous canyons and amphitheaters; gardens in their sunny brows, avalanches thundering down their long white slopes, cataracts roaring gray and foaming in the crooked rugged gorges, and glaciers in their shadowy recesses.”
Regretfully, we had to leave this glorious spot. That evening we hiked into Little Yosemite Valley and slept the soundest sleep we ever had on the trail. Refreshed in the morning, we continued along the John Muir Trail overlooking the “songful” Merced River playing its tune over rocks and boulders and making two spectacular leaps at 594-foot-(181-m-)high Nevada Falls and 317-foot-(97-m-)high Vernal Falls. What a sight to behold!
Our Journey Ended
As we entered Yosemite Valley, we were tired, hungry and sore. But it was worth it! Our bodies had been invigorated by the physical exertion. Our minds had been freed from stress. Our appreciation for our loving Creator, who made this beautiful earth for us, had been heightened.
It was just as John Muir had said so long ago: “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”—Contributed.