Exploring Yosemite - A Hiking Journal

by Beth Pratt
Photographs by Shad Stites

Yosemite has many landscapes, from the granite icon of much-visited Half Dome, to a delicate sky pilot flower growing in an untrammeled alpine meadow in the Tuolumne high country. Living and working near Yosemite allows me to explore these different landscapes and the altering moods of the park that comes with the changing of seasons.

This year marked change in my wilderness explorations – I was forced to slow down. Last year I ruptured a disc in my back and had to hang up the backpack, at least for a few seasons. Making the transition from a backpacker who has hiked the John Muir Trail to a dayhiker was at first difficult. I had always considered hiking without a 50 lbs pack rather "wimpy." I realized rather quickly that scrambling around mountains without the extra weight is fun. More importantly, losing the extra weight allows me to set a pace where observation, not a destination, becomes the focus.

I share with you my explorations of the Yosemite backcountry for this past summer.

Yosemite Falls - April 14
First hike of the season! My cross-country skis have been stored away and the hiking boots waterproofed and readied for another year. My strategy has always been to complete the Yosemite Valley hikes in early spring, before the summer crowds. Just last week a snowstorm hit Yosemite (and my home), but today the sun shines and hints at the start of spring. I’ve hiked this trail countless times, and each time it rewards me with a different story of the landscape: the lighting on the granite, the varying path of the water as it crashes down the cliffs, and once, even a black bear ambling down the trail to greet me.

I also have the pleasure of being able share the park with a new partner, which allows me to experience the hike through his perspective. His fresh eyes see things I’ve previously missed. He’s in good shape, but new to high-elevation hikes. I warned him of the 3,000 feet of elevation gain on this trail, but he’s proven himself to be a trooper and he’s not even breathing heavy. We both seem to hike at the same pace and have an affinity for chocolate – perhaps I’ve found the perfect hiking partner!

At the first viewpoint of the falls, a short distance past Columbia Point, we pause for photographs and enjoy the mist from the pounding water as the wind carries it to us. Shad pauses to experiment with f-stops and exposure settings; he just bought a camera and is learning photography. It’s all too technical for me—I prefer the ease of a good point and shoot. At the top of the ridge the landscape blooms with snow patches, and I assembly a snowball that my companion easily dodges. "Don’t interfere with art," he says, using his camera as a shield against a further attack.

After descending the rock staircase, we come to the to the top of the falls. Shad leans precariously over the railing in pursuit of a good photograph, while I stay further back, being a bit chicken of sheer heights. I’m close enough to see the surge of water over the cliff, a rolling motion of whiteness.

On the way down, I add a different picture to my memories of the landscape: the wind has strengthened and it plays with the falls, twisting and turning the stream of water the way the breeze will tease a curtain in an open window.


Glacier Point
May 19th
I recommend hiking the Four Mile Trail before the Glacier Point road opens for the season, but this year there wasn’t much of a window of opportunity. The trail opened on May 8th; the road on May 15th. It’s wonderful experience being at Glacier Point alone: I’ve trudged through a foot of snow on the at the top with only myself for company. Still May isn’t too crowded, and we had a nice breeze to cool us. One more tip: Beware of the misnomer – the trail is actually 9.2 miles round-trip.

I arm myself with water and a peanut butter and jelly for the hike; Shad’s film to food ratio is quite out of balance. The photo bug has hit and he’s been sending off weekly shipments to Seattle Photoworks for developing.

They put stickers on photos in need of help, with suggestions like "Oops, check your light meter." Shad’s goal is to have a packet come back sticker free.

Switchback after switchback we trudge upward, passing a changing assortment of trees as we gain in elevation: canyon live oaks, manzanita, white furs and sugar pines. I point out to Shad a future photo opportunity as we pass stands of aspen that will blossom into brilliant yellow in the fall. When we hit the first patches of snow, small towers of bright red snowplants peek out from the ground.

The long ascent provides its rewards as we reach the top. Snow still blankets the Clark Range, and Half Dome stands guard over the Valley. Shad doesn’t even flinch when I tell him we’ll be scaling that massive granite dome on our next hike. He’s probably thinking about the photographic opportunities.


Half Dome
Wednesday May 30th

Despite the crowds on this trail, it’s still a wonderful hike. Half Dome is the Yosemite icon and there is something special about standing atop this icon. I still remember my first view of that monumental rock as I drove into the valley ten years ago on route 120. A native New Englander,
I’m not used to hugeness. My mouth literally dropped open at the site of the sheer face of granite looming over 4,000 feet out of the valley.

This was my third time climbing Half Dome, and I decided to take a day off midweek in order to minimize the "highway effect." After passing the highway of people at Vernal Falls footbridge, I steer us to the lesser-used Muir Trail and my strategy works – Shad and I walk alone until we hit the top of Nevada Falls. Nevada throws her plumes of water at us in full force. I inform Shad of the cool treat that awaits us on the way down via the Mist Trail.

After a water stop in Little Yosemite Valley (the last reliable water) we head up to the summit. We both groan at the assault on our knees at the granite staircase, but as we approach the cables, we’re both revived by being so close to our goal. With the help of a second wind (and a few powerbars) we hoist ourselves up the cables and arrive at the wide expanse of the top of Half Dome.

At the top, Shad snaps many photos and even peers over the sheer drop, something I’m too scaredy-cat to do. I look around and as usual am amazed at the number of people, all in different levels of preparedness, who have made it to the top. Some have only sandals on their feet, others wear jeans and tennis shoes, others carry dehydrating cans of soda. All hiking "don’ts" but I guess they can be forgiven and I admire their persistence– being on top of an icon is a great motivator.


Mt. Dana
June 24th
Tuolumne has opened! And another hiking season in the high country begins. Mt. Dana provides a great welcome to the higher elevations and I usually make it my inaugural hike in Tuolumne. It’s short (less than six miles round trip), strenuous (an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet) and propels you into the beautiful alpine landscape and atop the park’s second highest summit fairly quickly (depending on your hiking speed!).
Due to a craving for pancakes, we begin late in the morning but the sky holds no troubling clouds. "It’s all uphill from here," I keep joking as we walk. Shad kneels down to get a photo of a field of corn lilies waving their green leaves at us. He’s become more confident in his photography since his rolls of film have come back from the developer without the fix-it stickers attached.

We pass a small rock decorated with an orange paint spot and I relate to Shad the story behind this strange spot. The late ranger, Carl Sharsmith, established this trail in the 1930’s and led wildflower walks up to the Dana Plateau. At one point, he was ordered by his supervisor to paint blazes marking the trail up to Dana. He disagreed with the directive but was forced to comply. So he painted the orange spots only on small rocks, and when his supervisor left, he marched up the trail and turned all of the rocks with the orange blazes over.

After boulder jumping up to the summit, we find only one other party at the top. Proving the small world theory true, a member of the group happens to be William Alsup, a board member of the association. We enjoy the panoramic view together and between the five of us we are able to identify most of the landmarks: Mono Lake, the White Mountains, Saddlebag Lake, Mt. Conness, Cathedral Peak, Echo Peaks, Mt. Ritter and Banner (just barely) Lembert Dome, Mt Hoffmann and Mt. Lyell.

Since it’s early in the season, the scurry down the mountain is accelerated by the large snowfields. We slide down with our raingear, laughing as we go, bumping and falling over suncups. And our pace is also quickened by the motivating factor of a Tioga Pass Resort homemade piece of pie.

Endnote: Shad consumed a rather large slice of chocolate cake; I opted for the apple pie.


Mt. Hoffmann
July 8th

Last year I took a nice hike up Tuolumne Peak and intended to complete Hoffmann in the same day, but an afternoon thunderstorm forced me to abandon my goal. Hoffmann is the exact center of the park and has pretty stunning 360 views. On the day we climb the peak, despite the forecast of sunny and clear, the view to the east is covered in clouds. Rising cumulus clouds, threatening a storm, have enveloped Half Dome and Mt. Clark.

It’s still a beautiful day, however, and our missing the view is more than compensated for by our meeting various wildlife on our descent. Near the summit, we watch a hiker tussle with a frisky marmot over an unattended fanny pack.. In a small meadow we observe a grouse and her six fledglings, and Shad vows to finally buy a zoom lens so the wildlife we see actually appears as something other than a vague dot in his photos.

And near the end of the trail a young buck dashes by us. Perhaps he’s on his way to some deer errand, or maybe he’s just enjoying being able to run uphill effortlessly, a feat I have not yet mastered.


Gaylor/Granite Lakes
July 21st

We arrived in Tuolumne at 4:00 pm and we decided to try this quick hike before dinner. Since this is a popular trailhead, I’ve always ignored it, only to discover that I’ve been missing a beautiful basin of subalpine lakes. When we arrive at the first lake it‘s deserted, proving that even a popular trailhead can provide some solitude. Shad delights in the early evening light, which makes for wonderful photographs. The rays of refracted sunlight crystallize the blue water.

The basin stretches out before us like a welcoming soft, green carpet. We decide to head north up to Upper Gaylor Lake to explore the mining ruins in the area. The remains of Dana Village still linger even though the site was abandoned over a hundred years ago. We find old mining holes, now filled, where men desperately searched for silver, disintegrating cabins and odd pieces of machinery. At the top of Tioga Hill, we glance back the way came and have a peaceful view of Gaylor Peak and its lakes, settling in for their evening rest.


Mt. Gibbs
July 22nd

This hike required all of the calories we consumed the prior evening for dinner and the requisite pie from TPR. Having hiked Dana a number of times, I’ve always gazed to the south at Gibbs and wanted to explore it as well. The hike proved to be longer, but lacked the boulder-hopping required on Dana.

Taking off cross-country from the Mono Pass Trail, we begin climbing the forested ridge up to Mt. Gibbs. We pass an old cabin and I tell Shad to be on the look out for markings on trees left by sheepherders. We proceed, enjoying the quiet. It’s a hike of solitude – we will see no other hikers the entire day.

Up and up we go as we ascend the shoulder of Gibbs, rising above the forest into high meadows littered with whitebark pines, and then into fields of colorful scree. Two false summits draw sighs from Shad and me (actually I wasn’t really fooled since my altimeter watch showed too low an elevation, but I had hoped my watch was malfunctioning). Finally we reach the actual top and relax and enjoy our views of Mono Lake and the White Mountains.

To descend we ski down the loose scree on the south shoulder of Gibbs and find ourselves in a small, pleasant meadow littered with wildflowers. Two deer flee as we approach, and Shad attempts a picture, but alas, the vowed zoom lens still hasn’t been purchased.





Saddle Bag Lakes/Twenty Lake Basin
August 15th

We ventured over to the east side to take advantage of the natural hot springs (and of the famous Mobil Station cuisine—the fish tacos are worth a drive!). Because of a rockslide, we had to wait in a long convoy to return to the park and only had a half-a-day to hike. A friend recommended Twenty Lakes Basin and we decided to give it a try. It’s a quick jaunt up into the high country and alpine lakes abound (hence it’s name), perfect for swimming if you don’t mind cold water.

And despite the cold water, we take a swim in Hummingbird Lake, which is quite a contrast to the warm hot springs we had just visited. As we dry off, we gaze at the glistening granite of North Peak. We see no sign of hummingbirds, but we do see several Clark’s Nutcrackers frequenting the trees around the lake.


Kuna Crest & Mono Pass
August 19th

I keep returning to the Mono Pass area for hiking. I’ve been exploring the region from all directions, having hiked, over the years, Mt Dana and Gibbs and the Granite Divide in between, Parker Pass and Mt. Lewis, and the Mono Pass Trail itself. I decide to tackle the south-west region of the area, the Kuna Crest and it’s lakes.

Smoke from the fires on the east side still linger, but we notice a very peculiar cloud to our west. Being an amateur weather buff, I have Shad take photos of it from all angles. It’s a stratiform cloud, shaped by the winds shearing off the mountains. It’s shaped like a series of solid eights, in a wave formation, and has several different textures within.

Making it even more peculiar is the smoke clouds drifting around it. I know there is a phenomena called the Sierra Wave and I vow to consult the guidebook when I get home.

From the shoulder of Mammoth Peak, we ascend into the basin containing Kuna Lake. The crest hugs Kuna Lake tight in its basin and the gem-blue water reflects the sky above. The wind is a forcible presence here and I can see why we have stratiform clouds above. I hold onto Shad when a wave of wind roars into the basin that bends the tops of the trees. Then oddly enough it’s silent again. I joke about nor’easters, being from New England, but Shad, being from the Midwest, experienced tornadoes, so this is pretty tame stuff to him.

Next comes Bingaman Lake, smaller and not nestled so tightly in the cliffs. We find multiple animal tracks on its muddied shores: marmot, coyote and something unidentifiable. We follow its outlet down, hoping over monkey flower patches near the stream, and then veer east to explore Spillway Lake. No swimming today; it’s cloudy and breezy and we haven’t worked up enough of a sweat to make the cold water enticing.

From Spillway Lake we make our way back via the Parker Pass Trail. The strange cloud still looms overhead, its massive stillness unusual.


Mt. Conness
September 2nd

This is probably the most beautiful hike I’ve taken in the park. The landscape changes with every mile, from green watered meadows covered with wildflowers, to sheer walls of granite, to alpine lakes, glaciers and glacier-swept plateaus, and finishing with a panoramic view of the Sierra atop a majestic peak.

Accompanying us on this trip is Jay, a close friend of Shad’s, who has done his graduate work in biology. It’s a bonus having a guest who can identify the flora and fauna readily, without having to reach for the guidebook. Following the advice of the all-knowing R.J. Secor (author of my battered copy of High Sierra: Peak, Passes and Trails), we begin our trip from Saddlebag Lake and head southwest into a basin hugged by the Sierra Crest.

A tributary of Lee Vining Creek runs through the basin, feed by the alpine lakes above, and the water creates lush meadows of wildflowers and miniature waterfalls. It’s a peaceful walk up a gradual uphill and I tread softly, enjoying the sun and the brisk breeze that strolls through the meadow with me.

At the end of the basin we halt, confronted with the Sierra Crest, a very imposing wall of sheer granite. We are all perplexed and wondering just where the heck the saddle can be in these cliffs, which appear inaccessible. After a consulting the topo map, we all have different ideas on the route, yet with more luck than skill we manage to find the correct way to the saddle. It barely passes for class 2, and is probably more appropriate for mountain goats, but I have to admit the scramble up is fun.

The top of the saddle affords us a fine view of Young Lakes and we find ourselves in a large open plateau on top of the Sierra Crest. The cliffs hid well the relatively flat expanse we now encounter. North Peak and the Sierra Crest have guarded Mt. Conness for most of the hike, but as we follow the ridge, the peak is unmistakable. Before the summit we encounter a land of wind swept sand and rock formations shaped like stalagmites. A small blue mini-lake lies in the middle of the sandy field, and some industrious person built a rock windbreak next to it.

The last few hundred feet to the summit is not for those who fear heights, like myself. On either side of the route is a drop off of a thousand feet, and although no technical rockclimbing is required, it’s still pretty exposed. At one point on the trail, where thin boulder lie on their sides like shark fins, vertigo hits. I peer over the side and my legs start to shake. "I think I’ll just sit here for awhile," I tell Shad, who is fearlessly snapping photos of the Conness Glacier below. After my vertigo passes, I continue on, keeping my tunnel vision. Safely atop a large, secure pile of boulders, I can now reap the rewards of the view (and the chocolate chip cookies I saved for the summit) without feeling dizzy.


Johnson Peak
September 9th

What better way to conclude a successful Yosemite Association members meeting in Tuolumne than to stretch the legs and climb a mountain. At the meeting in Tuolumne two years ago, snow had left a dusting on the terrain and I hiked over powder when I climbed Mt. Lewis near Mono Pass. Today the weather is sunny and warm and I scan for good swimming holes for the return trip.

After a long day and night of activity, we decide to pick a short hike. Johnson Peak barely rises above treeline, but the views from the top are outstanding. Everywhere I look, we see poetry; the speaker at the meeting was the lively and talented Chicano poet Francisco Alarcón, and his words vibrate in my mind. He told us that the word Mexico can be translated as "the belly button of the moon," and I try to describe the natural features I pass just as poetically. The empty creek beds we follow through the pine forest becomes strands of a giant spider web; the pine tree branches, feathers on the coat of the earth.

The summit affords us a good view of Mt. Conness, which from this vantage point appears utterly inaccessible. This summit is friendlier, a wide oblong dotted with boulders and Jeffrey pines. Tired from the weekend event (not from the barely two mile hike) we rest at the top, gazing at green swath of Tuolumne Meadows below and know it will soon be resting under the snow.


Guides for Hiking in Yosemite:
I have two hiking "bibles" that are wonderful resources for hiking in Yosemite and beyond. Both are available at YA’s online store; www.yosemitestore.com or by calling (209) 379-2648.

The High Sierra: Peak, Passes and Trails, by R.J Secor.

Yosemite National Park: A Natural History Guide to Yosemite and Its Trails, by Jeffrey P. Schaffer.