I have a pretty interesting hike in Yosemite back in 2008. I thought this might be worth posting (and I already had it written). I learned some very important lessons on that trip. Primarily, do not forget your compass and know what condition your gear is in.
After one of the best nights of sleep I have ever had, I woke up early and began making preparations for my trip to Yosemite. I got my stuff out of my parents hotel room and had breakfast with my extended family. By 9AM I was at REI in Berkeley buying isobutane fuel for my new JetBoil stove. I realized that I had forgotten my pack towel and considered buying a new one, but I decided against it. I had an extra pair of underwear that I could use. I asked the girl at checkout if she knew where to find some refreshments for my trip. She told me to go to Peace Park (too perfect, right). When I got there it was full of sleeping bums. I asked around until one of them helped me out. Pretty soon I was on the highway heading east to Yosemite.
The lame suburbs that I passed were a lot like Chicago burbs except they were drier and had mountains in the background. I stopped at a gas station and bought a lighter and some rolling tobacco. Then I stopped again a few miles down the road for a burrito. I rolled up 5 spliffs in the parking lot while munching on tortilla chips then filled up gas where it was still cheap and hit the road. I was at the Ranger Station by 2 pm and it was raining pretty good. I was still wearing Johnston and Murphy dress shoes and Banana Republic jeans. When I asked about getting my backcountry permit they looked surprisingly unsurprised. When I told them the route I planned they seemed a bit skeptical that I could do those kinds of miles, but the younger ranger, who clearly knew the area better, asked me how many miles I could hike a day. I told her I could comfortably do 20 miles, and she looked at the other ranger and said, "yea, he'll be fine." As I waited for their Internet connection to come back online I changed into hiking apparel. My weathered hardshell clearly went noticed by the pretty rangers. The younger one had pretty gray blue eyes and curly brown hair. The older one was more classically beautiful with big brown eyes and straight brown hair. They rented me a bear canister (which they probably knew I had no intention of taking with me) and wished me luck. No one had been out on those trails this year, but they thought the conditions would be okay, and the snow cover should not be too deep over 7000 ft.
It was 7 miles through curvy mountain roads to the trail head. The rain was steady and the sun was nowhere to be seen. I was able to put down the backseats and get into the trunk. I got my pack together and made some final decisions about food. I locked up what I did not plan on taking with me in one of the bear boxes, and I asked some people who had just finished up what the conditions were like. They said they had been hiking through 2 days of rain and got the fuck-its. The weather was supposed to be better tomorrow and clear and sunny the next day. I would only have to put up with one day of bad rain. I thanked him, and he wished me luck. I hit the trail with with a little under 20 lbs on my back. I had 3L of water; for the remainder of the trip I never carried more than 1L. Water sources were quite plentiful, and with the MSR Hyperflow's actual 3L/min flow rate I didn't mind taking a minute to pump just a single liter of water (pump time was only 20 seconds, but it took some time to get my pack off and pump ready).
I felt good on the trail. The first 3 miles were an old paved road that switchbacked up the mountain. You got nice views of the reservoir. I saw red salamanders crossing the path. The rain even let up a bit as I got off the switchbacks into the woods. The sequoias were amazing. Trees as wide as the biggest oaks in Iowa and twice as tall. A lot of them had charred black bark at the bottom. I passed a few quiet groups making their way out. These were typically groups of 4 or more, and they didn't have anything to say to me besides a wordless nod of recognition. I made my way past the 4 mile mark which meant I could now set up camp. Camping is not allowed within 4 miles of the reservoir. I decided it would be dark soon enough, so I stopped to cook dinner. I had seen a good spot to set up camp not too far back. The fog was thick and getting thicker. I could no longer see the mountains across the reservoir. I cooked quinua that night, and by the time I finished eating it was dark out. I hiked by headlamp back the camping spot and set up my bivy. The grass was soft and I cleared the few sticks and rocks out of the area. I laid down and quickly fell asleep.
I had slept well below 7000 that night, and I never got very cold. I realized that water was getting in, but I didn't know how much. I figured it was mostly condensation. In the morning my stuff was pretty wet. The sleeping bag had gotten wet and the bivy had a good amount of water on the inside. The weather was supposed to be better that day and I would get a chance to dry out my stuff a bit. I cooked breakfast and got my things put away. Soon, I was back on the trail.
The fog was thick that day and it was impossible to get an idea of the time. The trail had been climbing steadily for some time and then it flattened out around 6700'. I stepped into a sequioa grove so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. The forest was wet and foggy, and the color contrasts stood out even more because of it. The tree bark was patterned dark brown and red; bright green moss grew on the trunks of enormous sequoia trees. The forest floor was a dull orange covered by branches, leaves, and pine needles. Some trees were black from burn and dead trees stood as massive as the live ones with dryorange needles. How anyone could see such natural beauty and not be moved was a mystery to me. I took a break, smoked a spliff, and moved on.
The trail began to climb again and the snow quickly became present. Soon I was hiking though a foot of snow. Fresh bear tracks crossed the path. The trail had not been marked for a few miles now, and with the snow cover it was harder to follow. When in doubt I followed a deer trail that appeared to be going along the path. The deer never led me astray. I could hear the bear within a few hundred yards of me and there were small prints as well as large ones. With the fog so thick I was worried I would stumble upon a mother and cub, not realizing it until it was too late. I sang Sublime and rapped Outkast when I could not hear the bear to try and prevent this. The trail climbed above 8000 ft, then dropped a few hundred feet very sharply. Here it was very difficult to follow the trail. I frequently had to slide down 75 degree grades on my butt.
When the trail flattened out again I had reached the mountain lakes. The rain had still not let up and I had hiked more than 10 miles by now. I needed to dry out my sleeping bag and bivy, and it was starting to worry me that the rain was had not broke. Around the lakes it was impossible to follow the trail. There was so much more water that the trail was often under several feet of it in places. I ended up navigating by map, and I realized at this point that I had forgotten my compass in the car. I had to cross some deep water, but eventually I was able to pick up the trail again. I crossed a large open clearing and was soon at the point where the I turned off the trail for my loop.
I knew I was in the right place. There was a small sign displaying the trails and which direction they went. The sign pointed at a 50 ft wide river for my trail. I hiked down it a bit, but the water only got deeper. The only way across was the ford it. I stepped in and the water was cold. It got as much as waist deep, and when I got to the other side I just wanted to get moving to warm up. I could find no signs for the trail, but I felt that I could pick it up again and just kept moving. Before I knew it i was in waist deep snow, side stepping up the steep granite. I continued to make my way in. I looked at the map and I knew that if I continued east I would eventually hit the trail again. The problem was that I had no compass. I continued hiking in and up until I reached the peak. I had hiked in about a mile at this point. It reminded me of the sand dunes in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile because of the steepness and lack of anything but your own tracks. At the top of the cliff I stared down at a lake surrounded by high granite, snow covered mountains. I tried to figure out where I was on the map, but without the sun or a compass it was impossible. I knew it was well past midday, and I didn't want to get stuck out there with nowhere to camp. My sleeping bag was still wet. On the way up the mountain I had fallen through the snow to my chest more than once, and I knew that if I twisted an ankle out there I was going to be in real trouble. I had to turn back, but I knew it was going to be hard to get below 7000 ft to camp that night if I did. I had 3 miles to get below 7000 ft on the loop, and 6 miles to 7000 ft if I back tracked. I knew I had to turn back. It was going to be a bad night.
I found a decent place to camp on the loop side of the river and I thought I could set up and weather the night, then deal with it tomorrow. It was supposed to be sunny tomorrow. When I climbed into the cold wet sleeping bag in my cold wet bivy I knew there was no way I was getting any sleep at that elevation unless I was completely exhausted. I packed my things back up and set out. There could not be more than 2 hours of light left, but if I could get myself down to 7000 ft the night would not be totally miserable. I forded the river again and moved quickly toward the lakes. I had to hike fast if I wanted to get through the steep parts in some light. I was hiking as fast as I could. I knew I was taking a different route than I had on the way in, but it was too hard to try to match my steps when there were no snow tracks. I moved quickly and without too much thinking. It got dark quick and soon I was hiking by headlamp. I don't know when I got turned around, but by time I realized, it was too dark to try to continue the right way. I had gotten mixed up around the lakes and hiked in a circle. I cursed myself for doing something so stupid, but it was too dangerous to try that terrain by headlamp. I walked to the sand bar before the river and set up for a cold night.
My sleeping bag was wet. The top and bottom of the bag were soaked but the middle was only wet. I got into the fetal position in the middle of my bag and tried to sleep. There was so little oxygen that I woke up gasping for air. This happened a few time throughout the night, but it was so cold when I stuck my head out of the sleeping bag that I kept crawling back inside.
I woke up the next morning as soon as I could tell it was light out. The snow was still crunchy on top; it was still below freezing. I was very cold, and I had to thaw my socks before putting them on. Nothing had dried at all. I put on my boots then pulled my pants on over them. I gathered my things and got moving. I was too cold to cook breakfast.
I made my way back methodically this time. I checked the map frequently to prevent doubling back like I had last night. Every so often the sun even peaked through the clouds. The cloud cover was thin enough that I could locate where the sun was in the sky. I wanted to be moving west, and I made sure I had the sun at my back. It wasn't sunny like it was supposed to be, but the weather was great compared to what I'd had for the past 2 days. The rain came and went, but around midday it stopped and I took out my bivy and sleeping bag to dry. I was actually able wring water out of the sleeping bag. After I stopped for a spliff and some food, I fixed the sleeping bag to the outside of my pack (to allow it to dry) and kept moving. I had about 16 miles to hike that day, and I was ready to be off the trail.
The fog was not nearly as thick for most of the day and I was able to see the mountains for the first time. Around the lakes there were amazing views with the landscape perfectly reflected in the water. Before I knew it I was out of snow cover and past half way. The first people I saw were a group of two older men. We stopped and chatted. I told them some of what I had been through. They were not planning on going out as far as I had. They were staying on the marked trails. Shortly after that I passed a group of two young guys. They complained about the rain we were getting. It was supposed to be sunny. I agreed that some sun would be nice. I took a lot of pictures that last day. It was the first time I had good visibility and I could take pictures without getting my camera wet. The smell in the wet sequoia groves was like potpourri.
When I made it to the last switchbacks my knee was starting to give me trouble. The cloud cover was coming in heavier, and I did not want to get poured on again. Truthfully, I was just ready to be off the trail. I hustled down the work pavement, my poles clanking loudly against the asphalt. As I got closer to the bottom there were tourists strolling on the pavement. They gave me dirty looks, probably because the racket I was making. I didn't care. I could see the damn from there and I was ready to change into some dry clothes.
When I got to the parking lot I talked to a guy who had been out the night before. He had apparently built a large fire and many hikers had stopped by to warm up. He was waiting for the rain to stop before he went back out. He was a jolly, friendly guy, and when a ranger showed up he was able to get an okay to sleep in his car in the parking lot that night. He seemed like a wanderer. He probably bends a lot of rules.
A couple guys approached me to ask about trail conditions. They wanted to do the same loop that I had planned. I told them they would have difficulty picking up the trail on the other side of the river and not to follow my tracks on that side. I told them the best I could about the conditions and told them where to watch out and what to watch out for. They applauded my efforts and noticed my ultralight gear. I gave them my remaining isobutane. We could have talked all day, but we were both ready to be somewhere else. I got in my car and drove away. I hope they broke the rest of the loop.
