Saturday, May 17, the day dawned cold and dark, with the wind roaring. Only the first night, but this would be the coldest and most difficult night of the trip and I had survived!  I took a deep breath and poked my head out from under the covers and looked around at the frosty bodies scattered around in the dingy Howard Johnson Hotel room in San Francisco.  The air conditioning/refrigeration had functioned exceptionally well. Particularly because Bill had turned it to maximum. Just the day before I had been flying first class, which made my stay in this sorted, cold hotel all the more difficult to endure.  The airline had immediately noticed my superior character and breeding so they were compelled to bump me up to first class.  Oh pity the poor folk in coach. How do “those people” manage? 

For breakfast we dinned on the assorted stale foods so generously provided by the inn keeper. And then we were off on our adventure. After a mere 7 hours of driving in heavy traffic we entered the glorious Yosemite valley.  The fine van that Steve rented was very comfortable and easily held all our luggage. Tami, Bill, Steve, Dale and me debauched from the van at the back country office, still glassy eyed from the spectacular views of waterfalls and mountains.  There we planned our adventure and arranged for our campsite at Upper Pines near the banks of the mighty Merced River. 

The next morning we took the Hybrid Shuttle bus over to the base of Yosemite falls. There we mingled with the throngs of foreign tourist and dirt-bag rock climber duds as we made our way to the trail head.  The temperature was already in the nineties and would soon climb to 100 on the valley floor at about 4,000 feet.  The slog up the endless switchbacks was grueling under the intense sun and heavy packs. Or so I was told.  My pack weighed only 22 pounds. We reveled in the blast of cool air that hit us when we reached the bottom of the upper falls.  It roared like a jet engine. After the brief respite we continued to toil upward topping out at about 7,000 feet.   It was 3,000 feet of elevation gain to the top of the highest falls in North America.

We persevered from the top of the trail to the bridge over the river that feeds the fall.  Dale enjoyed this section so much that he hiked it 3 times. After relaxing along the raging river we continued on to Indian Canyon Creek.  Along the way we first heard the unearthly moan. It sounded like the noise made when you blow across mouth of a empty bottle of a fine vintage of Chardonnay or perhaps a Cognac, but alas, only first class passengers could understand this reference.  A thorough search of the area did not reveal the source of the strange noise. Only later on the trip would this mystery be solved.                      

 We procured water at Indian Canyon creek, cooked, ate and then camped about a quarter mile up the trail in a clearing among the old forest giants, hiking 6 hot miles that day. Several deer visited us throughout the evening and under the gleam of the full moon during the night.  Early the next day we continued up to North Dome, Basket Dome, Indian Ridge and the rock bridge on Indian Rock. The merciless glare of the sun in the clear sky burned us on the exposed rocks and sand at this high altitude.  We joyfully plunged back into the cool shade of the forest on the back side of the ridge, down the snow covered trail meandering our way uncertainly to Snow Creek. The snow is well packed this time of year so we could slide and skate along it only occasionally punching through. It did make locating the trail more difficult, but our woodcraft was up to the challenge and we completed the snow cover section without mishap. Ice cold Snow Creek was a welcome refreshment.  We soaked our shirts and hats in the water that had so recently been melted from the snow pack to get relief from the ninety degree heat. 

We continued down to the bridge that crosses Snow Creek and camped just beyond it in a grassy glade of giant Ponderosa pines under a tableau of Half Dome towering over us. The thundering of Snow Creek serenade us. We covered 8 miles that day. That morning a cold and steady draft was streaming down the mountain so we quickly packed and hiked the short distance to the surging Snow Creek to have breakfast in the shelter of the thick forest.  There a most glorious thing happened.  The highlight of my trip!  Bill bolted his breakfast and moved out down the trail ahead of us.  He mumbled something about wanting to take pictures, but I think it was more likely some gastrointestinal issue given the quantity of gas being produced. Sharp eyed Steve spied the “Spork” soon after Bill left.  Bill had left his spork.  I caught Steve’s arm before he could fling the spork into the raging torrent beside us and claimed it for my own. Bill had errored! Long have I dreamed to see Bill capsize his kayak or slip and fall in a stream and now I had in my possession a spork he had so foolishly left behind.  The fine titanium instrument gleamed in my hand. I marveled at its extremely light weight juxtaposed to its high strength and resistance to metal fatigue.  The ultimate architectural material. I danced down the trail delighted in my knowledge that I had Bill’s spork.  Shortly I spotted a pile of bear dung and being curious as to what bears eat this time of year I dissected it with the spork and found they eat the most disgusting things imaginable.

 Further down the trail we solve the mystery of the haunting moaning sounds.  Dale spotted a grey grouse and as we watched he expanded his yellow throat sacks and made the very noise we had been hearing. It is the matting call.  The bird then proceeded to fan his tail and strut like a little turkey.  Apparently the grouse found Dale very attractive. The cobble stoned trail dropped sharply.  These cobbles had been polished by multitudes of boot soles and covered by granite sand that acted like tiny ball bearings.  Needless to say the descent kept our interest. After about 4 miles we were reunited with the van, had showers, returned Bill’s spork and consumed 2 large pizzas, one with pepperoni and the other with sausage.   That afternoon we hiked to the bottom of Yosemite falls and on to Sentinel Falls.

Wednesday, May 21, after a restful night in the Upper Pines backpacker campground we started up the Mist Trail. This is a spectacular trail through the spume of Vernal Fall on the Merced River.  One must don water proof clothing as protection against the cold spray.  The trail is slick with the wet and slime.  The walls of the grotto are encrusted with drooling moss and lichen.  I proceeded up through the drizzle, glancing back I saw rainbows in the mists.  Looking back I also saw Bill lurking who had been transformed into even more of a misanthropic form by the wearing of his poncho over his pack and head.  The ungainly shape lumbered through the gloom reminiscent of the description of Grendle in the Beowulf epic. Occasionally I caught the fearsome sight of smiling white teeth underneath a twitching mustache.  That day we hike on passed Nevada Falls up into the Little Yosemite Valley until we reached Bunnell Cascade.  My heart had just barely recovered from the sight of the Grendle when I saw the “dirty lady.” She was cooking dinner for the ragamuffin band of urchins she was leading. . Normally I would have begun to ingratiate myself in hopes of mooching some food, but the sight of her dirty nails and the delicate brown filigree on her yellow teeth drove all such thoughts from my mind. Her gaunt form was topped with a dingy straw hat covering matted hair and her trousers were a tapestry of filth. There are worse things in this world than have been imagined by mere men or legend.

That night we camped near the foot bridge at Bunell Point at 6,600 feet.  Tami used her ninja skills to do a security sweep to insure the dirty lady had left the area.  We slept well knowing we had a world class martial artist in our midst. Hiked about 8 miles this day. Thursday we moved on to where the John Muir Trail joins the trail to the top of Half Dome and made a nice camp in the big pines, luxuriating in the soft bed of needles.  It was at about 7,000 feet.   From there Bill,Tami and I made an attempt on Half Dome. We scurried up the trail until we reached the open rock slabs.  There we put on our rain gear to shield us form the fierce wind and started the exposed climb to the base of the dome where the cables start. Cables are needed to climb the dome, it being steep and smooth; polish first by glacier and recently by many boots.  I reached the cables first and put on one of the pairs of gloves that were in a pile.  These are needed to protect the hands from the cable. I  looked back over my shoulder and saw Bill.  He slowly shook his head side to side signifying his decision not to do the climb. Later he would tell me he stayed back to protect Tami.  So, I started my scamper up which soon became a labored crawl due to the compounded affects of the wind, altitude and near vertical pitch.  It was not as easy to climb as it looked and it did not look easy. After much hand over hand hoisting myself up I finally reached the end of the cables.  Then I had to fight my way passed the endangered Mount Lyell Salamanders. They snapped at me viciously, but I was able to use my pack as a shield and push my way through to the top at 8,800 feet. The cabled section was a 400 foot vertical rise.  The top was barren with some scattered rocks similar to one of the pictures the Martian probes send back.  The view was magnificent.  The raging snow storm over the mountains to the east was particularly interesting.   I found a rock to huddle under to get out of the continuous cold wind, ate a power bar and then began the descent.

 The descent was interesting, wondering all the while if the soles of my shoes would hold on the now damp, polished, nearly vertical rock. Needless to say we all returned safely to camp.  I then went to a stream to get water and along the way I once again encountered the dirty lady. This time she was bring her urchins down from Clouds Rest. I skirted wide around the “lady” and her young charges and made it to the stream. When I looked up from filling my water bottle there was a young woman standing near by looking at me.  It turns out she was Hilda.  A student from Germany.  Her English was very limited and I do not know any German. We managed to communicate.  She had run out of drinking water and had either a filter or chemicals to purify water.  So, she hiked back to camp with me and I put some iodine tablets in her bottles.  It was just a routine rescue of a fair damsel in distress. She was a very smart person who recognized iodine as the superior method of purifying and improving the taste of water.  12 miles hiking for me this day.

On Friday we descended in a delightful snow squall back to Happy Isle and the van.  We went about 5.5 miles.  Also drove to see the big sequoias at Tuolumne Grove and bought some $4.73/gallon gasoline. Friday night we camped at Upper Pines again.

Saturday we drove to Mariposa grove and saw the Grizzly giant.  Also viewed the Pioneer Museum. It snowed heavily.  That afternoon we ate 2 large pizzas; one pepperoni and one sausage. That night back at Upper Pines camp ground, Steve skillfully scammed the ranger into letting us stay an extra night.  Steve also got us out of a ticket for burning wood and pine needles from the valley floor in our camp fire.  He is pretty smooth for an Engineer.  It seems that Yosemite is a National Park or something and they frown on folks burning all the vegetation, killing the wildlife and such.   

Sunday we drove back to San Francisco.  On the way we cruised route 1 and stopped several times to soak our feet in the Pacific.  Then we swung up to the Golden Gate and had spectacular views of fog and much time to enjoy the heavy, excruciatingly slow traffic. Bill did get a look from one of the “boys.” Spent the night in another luxurious and spacious Howard Johnson’s hotel before boarding the plane on Monday. Once more the alert airline staff recognized me as person of class and bumped my up to first class.

Yours truly,

Sir Shackleton

In the service of her Majesty the Queen