“Hey, don’t downplay my achievement strange man,” I said to the portly, middle-aged tourist standing in front of me.
It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and I had just finished hiking up the Yosemite Falls trail to the top of the upper falls and then down again—all during a continuous drizzle and, at the top, even a little snow. My legs ached, I was hungry, and most of all, I was cold.
That’s when a woman about my age asked me if I had just hiked the Falls.
“Yes,” I said.
“Was it hard?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Not as hard as Mt. Whitney,” the portly man chimed in. “The falls trail is only six miles. Mt. Whitney is much farther. I’ve hiked it myself a couple times.”
The man looked as if the farthest he had hiked lately was from his car to the base of these falls.
That’s when I snapped. Anthony, my boyfriend, who is usually slightly embarrassed when I verbally lunge at strangers, just stood there and laughed. Proof that the man had it coming.
For those of you who didn’t catch my last column (shame on you by the way), I spent part of April and most of May trying to get in shape for a Memorial Day trip to Yosemite with Anthony and our friends Chris and Dena. Training was necessary because I am out of shape, and they are not.
As it turns out, it’s entirely possible to be out of shape and still visit Yosemite, but this wasn’t that kind of trip. This was a “let’s climb to the highest peaks” kind of trip. And, oh, we did. It was great and horrible and inspiring, all mixed up in one exhausting package.
The weekend started with just a little bit of hail. Yes, you heard me. Hail. We were in the middle of the Mariposa Grove of redwoods. It was late afternoon and we were alone on the trail, among some of the most impressive trees on Earth.
It was quiet and smelled like pine needles. I was elated. This was the out-of-the-city experience I was hoping to have in Yosemite. Just as I was having all of these great communing-with-nature thoughts, we turned the corner and ran straight into a bathroom complete with flushing toilets. It was simultaneously the most wonderful and disappointing moment of the whole trip.
Moving between seeming wilderness and instant civilization is one of the more confusing aspects of Yosemite. It’s disconcerting, and a bit of a let down to go from the wild to the mundane. From an epic hike to getting annoyed with some guy I’d never met. From the cold snap of hail to the small wonder of running water in the middle of the woods.
Still, I came to appreciate bathrooms more as the trip went on. They were a sanctuary from rain, a source of warmth in their hand dryers, and places with plenty of toilet paper with which to blow my nose. Ah, bathrooms, the unsung heroes of Yosemite National Park.
But Mariposa Grove was only Day One. Day Two was the big hike—the moment I’d been preparing for. The peak of Half Dome was closed because of ice and lightning, so that wasn’t an option (thank G-d). Instead, we hiked up the falls.
The falls trail has an elevation gain of 2,700 miles. Straight up. Guidebooks describe it as “a continuous climb,” “similar to climbing stairs,” and “brutal and extremely rough on the legs.” Sounds fun, right?
My training gave me just enough stamina to make it to the top, with almost no energy left over. Along the way, there were, of course, spectacular views. It was so beautiful I had to stop every so often just to admire the scenery—until Dena noticed a pattern among my oh-so-casual breaks. Darn you, Dena. She made me keep going with no breaks after that.
Have I mentioned that this woman is a drill sergeant? I think I have.
But without her encouragement, it would have been a much rougher climb to the top, where, after hours of hiking, we stood just feet from the edge of the rushing waterfall. Standing there, with shaky legs, it struck me that despite all of the modern conveniences in the Yosemite Valley, this place is still a wilderness.
Anthony was thinking the same thing, as he wisely kept my shaky legs far away from the edge. On behalf of my worrisome mother, thanks Anthony.
Once at the top, there’s nowhere to go but down, and down, and down some more. It didn’t seem like we went up 135 switchbacks on the way up, but that’s the wonder of trying hard just to breathe: It seems to put everything else out of your mind.
Somewhere along the way, I decided it would be fun to go to the bottom of the falls, since we’d just been to the top, and that’s where I ran into the charming tourist, and the girls wearing flip-flops in the rain, and all of the other lovely people who were surely returning to a warm hotel room that night. It was hard not to hate them. It’s no wonder I snapped.
Honestly, it was surprising that I didn’t tackle the other tourists to the ground and steal their room keys, or at least shake them a little bit while yelling, “Why are you wearing flip-flops, you crazy, crazy people?”
I have such self-control. Plus, I was really, really tired. No strength … left … for … tackling.
There’s always next year.
Sports Editor Sarah E. Thien’s legs still haven’t stopped shaking. E-mail her at sthien@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 19-26, 2008.