A Family History in the Sierra

My siblings and I were lucky. We grew up in sunny Southern California, and during the summertime, when we weren't spending our days on the beach in the surf, there was a good chance you would find us in the mountains. Each of us developed an early love and respect for natural beauty thanks to our Dad, Robert. But please, call him Bob, and no neck ties, thank you. He's the chief instigator in this tale.

We frequented the Yosemite Valley for family vacations. When I was a scrawny nine year old, Mom let Dad take my brothers and I up the cables on Half Dome, a challenging climb up the round side of an 800 foot granite dome, following an 8 mile hike gaining 4500 feet of elevation. Keep in mind this was the day after Dad marched us from the Valley floor to the top of Glacier Point (the shuttle hadn't opened due to heavy snow that year), then on the 11 mile Panorama Trail to Nevada Falls. This was a typical "vacation" for our family. But it was ours, and we loved it.

Dad with me and my brothers on the Diving Board, June 1995

There was also a trip in 5th grade with one of my older brothers. Dad took us to Mammoth, and the Ansel Adams Wilderness to see some amazing places we'd never been to before. To this day, Garnet Lake remains my favorite spot I've ever hiked to. We'd hiked a part of a famous trail too, but didn't care to notice at the time.

Picturesque Garnet Lake

Dad was a true mountaineer in his day. When I was very young, he would make us all sit down in the living room for one of his slideshows of his backpacking trip through the Sierra Nevada. He'd set up the old school screen and projector and show us a different world, with none of the common luxuries, disturbances or basic comforts of modern life. Dramatic vistas, clear running rivers, bright glaciers... Dad with a beard. Of course, as a child, I was bored as hell with it.

Dad being Dad

In 1975, Dad hiked the John Muir Trail, a 211 mile trek through California's Sierra Nevada mountain range. I can only imagine what his pack and dated-gear weighed for his twenty-five day journey. Things have changed quite a bit in forty years. His old external-frame Jansport backpack is still hanging in the garage at Mom's house. I used it once for a backpacking trip in the Sequoias in 8th grade. Never again!

Cooler than your Dad

We lost Dad to an aggressive form of oral cancer in 2007. It came out of nowhere and turned our family's world upside down.

My older brother is the other protagonist in this story. We both dealt with the loss in our own ways, but we were both guilty of forgetting much of what Dad taught us to value. We forgot about the mountains, clear streams and green forests, and turned to building our own lives. We both went off to pursue our careers, and while he stayed in California, I moved to New York City.

I can remember when he contacted me a few years back after a trip he'd taken to the Sierra Nevada; he had become inspired. He sent me a video with his phone: he was wearing Dad's old "Indiana Jones" hiking hat, hiking down from Mt. Whitney, and said he was going to hike the John Muir Trail.

I've kept an old journal of Dad's thru-hike he gave to me before he died, and considered the trip myself, but I'm an attorney and I live in NYC. I'm not supposed to take time off for a pilgrimage through the mountains with my brother. That's career-suicide right? A month off for a backpacking trip. Yeah right. The realities of adult life require me to dream about the Sierras instead.

I would need my own moment of inspiration.

Oh, the socks.