Day 1: Where the Sidewalk Ends

"It was like lying in a great solemn cathedral, far vaster and more beautiful than any built by the hand of man." -President Theodore Roosevelt, on the Yosemite Valley

Nevada Falls is a trickle of its former self by mid-July

Day 1: Sunday, July 19, 2015

4.3 Miles

Happy Isles to Little Yosemite Valley Campground

My alarm sounds at 5:00AM, as if I need it. I've been awake for an hour, and now the nervous excitement hits a fevered pitch. I grapple with my emotions, transitioning between fear, anxiety, excitement, and that very special feeling one only gets when a lifelong dream materializes and is actually realized. I try to ride the high of our labors coming to long-anticipated fruition, but it doesn't help. I'm a nervous wreck, with no appetite or any desire to drink water and hydrate, which I know I'll be paying for in a few short hours.

We prepared everything last night, so this morning its into the cars and back into the Yosemite Valley without any stops. Jim had cell service at LYV and confirmed his location for us. There's no traffic on Highway 140 at this hour, not even anywhere open to grab a cup of coffee. We zip into the Curry Village parking lot in about 30 minutes. Nick, Sam and I dawn our full packs and Nick and I immediately exchange a look that says it all: 20 days with this thing on, what the hell were we thinking?! I stuff a banana into the top-lid of my pack for later and commence a previously scheduled bombardment of Hostess crumb donuts into my mouth. I'm so nervous about starting this hike, it takes every ounce of will I have to avoid gagging and puking them up. A sour stomach that prevents me from eating food and drinking water can force me to quit the trail after just a few days by causing a host of maladies. I try not to dwell on it.  

The rising sun strikes the peaks surrounding the valley and we're steeped in their shadows as we make our way to the John Muir Trail trailhead at Happy Isles. I glance up periodically at Half Dome, it's character changing at every angle, becoming drastically more impressive as we approach the trailhead that rests down upon it's skirt. As we pass Upper Pines Campground we walk right by the campsite we camped at as a family in 1991: there's a boulder field, and a small creek bed along the road Nick and I used to play in with our action figures. I stop and gaze at that spot, momentarily drunk on the nostalgia, but looking back up at Half Dome I snap out of it, reminded we aren't here for kid stuff this time. I shift the weight of my newly acquainted pack and move on down the road toward the trailhead.

We arrive at the iconic sign, it's been relocated at least a few times due to floods and other natural events at Happy Isles causing miniscule alterations in the length of the John Muir Trail. The last time I was here I was 9 years old. The moment is overwhelmingly surreal and enormous.


Of course we have to take the required pictures, prove we were there and that this really, actually happened. Two more thru-hikers arrive at the same time and ask mom to snap their picture. They're older gentlemen from Newport Beach named Matt and Jim. Jim (not to be confused with our Uncle Jim, who's waiting at LYV) is a BIG BOY, dwarfed only by Matt's giant red external frame backpack that would earn him the trail name of 'Big Red' later on. As you might guess, we'll cross their path again over the next several days. 

After one last tearful embrace with the woman who carried us, gave us life, and drove me up here we finally turn our backs on civilized life, and take the first steps on the John Muir Trail. Cue the excited exclamations: 'can you believe it?!' 'We're on the JMT!' Etc. We're immediately served a harsh and rude awakening. The trail climbs dramatically out of the Yosemite Valley, going nearly at a forty five degree angle for a mile and a half over paved trail (weird) before crossing Vernal Falls. From there, the JMT switchbacks up up up to Clark Point where we get our first view of Nevada Falls. By now, mid-July, the flow is just a trickle. We'll then head straight for the falls, and go another half mile or so beyond to the Little Yosemite Valley Campground. A short but difficult day.  

Remember that banana I stuffed in my top lid? Well it got crushed and squished out a little into my pack almost right away. I experience the first of many spikes of anxiety: is a bear going to come after this tonight? Will rodents chew through and destroy my lid? I choke down the banana along with the bitter self-confession that I made a possibly dangerous mistake before we even set foot on the JMT. I'm immediately nauseous, my body aggressively reminding me that it doesn't want me eating. I'm painfully aware that my head is also beginning to hurt. The specter of altitude sickness showed up quickly.  

I realize I've got to make my first tough decision. If I'm having difficulty today, I have no business going another couple thousand feet up Half Dome. I know that I should hang at camp at LYV and acclimate myself instead, learn to exist at this altitude. The climb up to Half Dome will bring us up another 2000 feet. Yikes. I begin to wonder how I'm going to tell Nick I'm not going to be able to climb Half Dome with him. We hit Nevada Falls and take a packs-off break; that is, we take off our packs and rest a while. Some breaks we'll find places to sit to take the packs 'weight off our bodies, since its a commitment to take everything off. Depends entirely on the day and on the spot.

I have cell service, so I text the in-laws, Phoebe and Mom. I slap on sun block for the first time, which will become a morning ritual every single day for the next eighteen days. Little did I know my sun screen ritual would annoy my brother so much. We meet a large family hiking the JMT, they've already been at it for several days since their permit required them to start almost 40 miles away. They also wanted to acclimate to the altitude before getting into the high country, a preparatory step Nick and I didn't have the luxury or the desire to work into our hike. We're strict traditionalists, and wanted to do the whole JMT start to finish.
  

LYV is only a short hike beyond Nevada Falls. We actually passed the cut off for the campground without realizing it, but without going too far we find Jim in a beautiful shaded spot with plenty of room for all of us to set up. As I pitch my tent I break the news to the group that I'm skipping Half Dome. Nick says he's staying with me: we're hiking the JMT together. Sam and Jim are going for it, even though it's 11:30AM, and the weather is calling for thunderstorms promptly at 1:00PM. You get up Half Dome on steel cables embedded in the mountain, not the place to be in an electric storm. Sam and Jim head out with their slack packs on, and Nick and I settle into our REI camp chairs for the first time, exchanging stories while I try to eat a bagel with an avocado that's turned my bear canister into a greenhouse. Another mistake!

Time passes slowly on, when Nick looks up at me and asks, 'what time is it?' I look down at my watch and answer, '1 o'clock.' As if to second my response, and remind us of the forecasted weather report, the sky suddenly blows as if the answer KABOOOMDOOOOMBOOOOMDOOOOM, and the rain comes in pelting sheets. Nick and I run for our tents, and even though we're only ten or so yards apart, we can't hear each other's shouts over the din. But we're both alright.

Once the worst is over, we emerge with our rain pants and rain jackets on. Both of us have waterproof backpacking boots from Vasque, no trail runners for us. Jim and Sam emerge from the forest a half hour later looking dejected: the storm forced them to turn back and they made the right choice and listened. Sam will bag Half Dome tomorrow morning when Nick, Jim and I head further down the JMT.

The rest of the afternoon passes without incident. We're visited by the resident LYV ranger, Josh. The certainty of nasty storms tomorrow thanks to Hurricane Dolores (more on this later) has us contemplating hiking through the night into the high country at Uncle Jim's suggestion. The ranger approves of our plan if we want to do it, even though our permits say we have to stay at LYV. More interestingly, he gives us a stern warning as he confirms the rumor of a legendary bear known as Purple 8 who's territory happens to be where we'd be hiking through. Purple 8 is the color and number of the tag on her left ear. She's learned a trick to get into your sealed-bear canister: she rolls it up a hill with a big tall cliff on the other side and tosses it off. The canister smashes open on the rocks below, and she hikes down to claim her evolutionarily earned prize. Not so bear proof after all!

In the end we skip that plan and elect to wake up at first light and hike between 6AM and 1PM in an effort to avoid the afternoon storms headed our way from the Eastern Pacific Ocean. Not only do I not have an appetite; I feel genuinely sick in my stomach and get increasingly anxious and fearful that my body is physically rejecting this endeavor whether  I want to continue or not.


Tomorrow we climb to up above 10,000 feet, I MUST eat. So I choose the least offensive item I have: top ramen. After choking down most of the rehydrated top ramen, we visit the community fire pit. Tonight's feature: Jurassic World being projected onto a damn bed sheet by a bunch of college kids? We didn't come up here for this bullshit, we came for wilderness and nature, so it's one more trip to the compost toilet before bed.


In the morning, the Danza Men say goodbye to Sam for now and head into the Yosemite High Country.