Into the West

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to..." -J.R.R. Tolkien.

The Yosemite Valley from Wowona Tunnel

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Finally the day is here: the journey begins, but not on the trail. Like most adventures, mine began with a farewell at home, in my NYC apartment saying goodbye to my then-fiancée, Phoebe. She travelled without me to Southeast Asia with her family for nearly three weeks in April 2015, so we've been apart for a long stretch before. But when the time actually came, the gravity of the separation, and the potential loss and danger of me setting out into the wilderness truly came home to us.

When Dad hiked the Muir Trail in '75, Mom gave him a small signet ring, unadorned except for an inlay made of turquoise. Phoebe gave me a strong band of tungsten last night, inlaid with bright turquoise, and in so doing she carries on another JMT tradition for our family. I'll wear it with pride and gather strength from it every step of the way.

With my heavy suitcase filled with gear, and my heart feeling heavy at leaving her behind, I step out the door without looking back. My tears quickly transform into a salty grin. This is it, we're on the threshold of the grand plan Nick and I have been working toward these many, many months, and I won't look at my work cell phone again for at least three weeks. I can't help but crack a nervous and optimistic smile.

Of course, before I can hike the John Muir Trail, I have to travel to California from NYC, which almost always turns out to be an adventure in itself, and this occasion would be no exception. I reluctantly check my suitcase at JFK International with the troublesome knowledge that it contains several thousand dollars worth of premium backpacking gear, hoping that the TSA agents who inevitably go through it don't steal anything. Luckily Phoebe hooked me up with an approved TSA lock, so the only people looking inside should be TSA inspectors (comforting I suppose?).

I board the plane and settle into my seat in the window. The middle seat stays empty as the flight continues to fill. I take my Tom Harrison JMT maps out of my backpack to study and make some last minute notes to the itinerary. The man sitting in the aisle sees my maps and exclaims, "you're hiking the JMT?! I section hiked it last year!" So commenced a great, but terribly short conversation.

For, boarding the plane is a large group of Europeans connecting in NYC from a flight from Athens, Greece. A very big, rotund, older man argues with the flight attendants in broken English because his young daughter or granddaughter can't sit next to him in the "Even More Leg Room" seats because the passengers sitting there must be physically able to operate the emergency exit doors and assist others in case of an emergency. The flight attendant asks the man I'm chatting with if he'd be willing to move to the More-Leg-Room seat for free, and of course he accepts, leaving me with Grandpa and princess.

I make the fatal mistake of assuming that the small child will slip into the middle seat next to me, and Grandpa will squeeze his fatter-ass into the aisle seat. But that would've been easy, and way too courteous . Instead, the 3ish year old girl makes a reluctant sort of squeaking sound at the prospect of sitting next to a strange man (see: me), so Grandpa indulges the child instead of, you know, telling her what to do, and decides he'll "sit" next to me. I spend the next six hours digging my right elbow into the very squishy rib cage of a very large man with bad breath squeezed into his seat like a busted sausage casing. There isn't enough booze on this whole plane for this shit!

Six magical hours later, we land in San Diego without further incident. Mom picks me up, and after a quick (see: required) stop at In 'n' Out Burger, we head home to her new condo in Oceanside for the night.

Friday, July 17, 2015

I barely slept last night. Between the preparations I have to complete today before travelling to Yosemite tomorrow morning, and travelling from the Eastern Sea Board last night, there's no sleep in me. I'm up at 6AM and ready for coffee and shopping. Today I have to sort and pack my gear, and purchase my consumable goods (food, toiletries and medications) for the first three days of the hike.

I retrieved my rented Bear Canister from Nick last night, and upon inspecting my suitcase, I discover that TSA left my possessions intact. Mom and I enjoy brunch on the beach in Oceanside before heading over to Target, Wal-Mart, REI and a host of other destinations to check each and every item off my shopping list for the first three days of the hike from Yosemite Valley to our first resupply at Tuolumne Meadows.

It's a long and hectic day. I'm stressed out, and find myself pretty exhausted and dehydrated from failing to eat and drink enough. Not exactly the best condition to be in before a long distance thru hike. Not to mention, I'm probably testy with Mom as she tries to help.

After all of the gear is finally sorted and prepared, I snap a quick photo of everything that I'll use in my day to day life for 20 days. Mom and I eat a late dinner of pizza and salad at home, and I lay down to try to sleep for the night. In the morning I return to the Yosemite Valley after a 20 year absence.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Waking up in Mom's apartment, and not in the house I grew up in, has been a little weird. I'm anxious now, and very much awake, and Mom and I are at Nick's door at 3AM ready for the drive up to Yosemite National Park. Sam arrives and we caravan up, Mom and I together in one car, and Nick and Sam in the other. Mom takes first driving shift as we crawl up the spine of California. At Bakersfield we switch, and I get the pleasure of driving once the sun is high enough to brighten the San Juaquin Valley around us. Billboards and dust remind us of California's drought every few miles or so. 

We reach the eastbound two lane highway that snakes it's way into the Yosemite Valley. Once we drive into the last town before reaching the Park, we switch seats so I can give my full attention to the view when we arrive through Wowona Tunnel. There are two ways to drive into the Yosemite Valley from the West. One is by El Portal Road on Highway 140, which is less scenic as you drive into the small beginnings of the valley itself and wind your way up. Arriving via Wowona Road takes longer, but a marvelously engineered tunnel cut straight through a mountain spits you out onto a cliff face overlooking the valley with the dramatic, iconic view of Yosemite waiting for you. For first timers, there's not other way to arrive. 

First we reach the gated entrance to Yosemite National Park and get into line. It costs $40 for a week long pass for the park, the cheapest option. Yikes! To say we've been oddly fortunate throughout this entire JMT planning process is a huge understatement, and today wouldn't be any different. As Mom and I wait in line, a generous stranger approaches her car window and offers us the remainder of his annual pass for free. He says there's only 6 days left on it and he won't be returning to Yosemite while the pass is still valid. I smile, knowing this kind of courteous gesture is what I can expect from most strangers as we head into the mountain wilderness. 

It's so awesome driving in through Wowona Tunnel. This is the first time I've been here since 1995, the first time I've ever seen this place with grown eyes. We snap the obligatory pictures and we quickly head down Southside Drive to the Valley Floor. Our destination is the Wilderness Center at Curry Village, the Valley's bustling commercial and information central, where we'll retrieve our wilderness permit for the whole trip. We drive along the bottom of the Valley next to the Merced River with the convertible top down. Cruising by El Capitan, I gaze up and salute the Dawn Wall: we've arrived. 

This place is a zoo, way more crowded than I ever remember it as a child. We find Uncle Jim, Dad's younger brother, waiting for us at the Wilderness Center. He's joining us for the first six days on the trail to Reds Meadow. He and Sam's permit requires them to begin the hike today, at Glacier Point, while Nick and I begin tomorrow morning at Happy Isles. We'll rendezvous at Little Yosemite Valley Campground tomorrow. The luck/fortunate streak continues. Sam snagged a walk-up permit to start hiking with Nick and I tomorrow; since Jim is ready to get into the high country right away he opts to get up today as he originally planned. We all managed to add day use permits to climb Half Dome to our wilderness permits for tomorrow. Score! Or so we thought...

After a quick lunch in Curry Village, there's nothing else for us to do except to follow Jim up to Glacier Point to see him off and enjoy the views. This turns  out to be a big mistaken waste of our time. After sitting in horrible traffic on the long road up up up to Glacier Point for at least an hour, we reach a detour sign directing us to turn around because the parking is full. Instead of following the sheep and turning around, we improvise and ask one of the parking attendants if hikers with permits are allowed up to the Point, despite the fact that the parking is full. She says yes, so we head back to the detour and without asking permission from the Ranger on duty there, both cars hang a quick right in front of his confused face for the final drive up to Glacier Point and Jim's trailhead. 

We've been here before, several times. Glacier Point was usually Dad's staging point for our family hikes in the Yosemite Valley, namely the Panorama Trail, the exact trail Jim will use to access and connect with the JMT. I remember the area being larger, but the views are as magnificent as ever, and I drink in the sheer size of the mountains surrounding us. I look to the rows of peaks in the far distance behind Half Dome, knowing we're headed that direction in a couple of short days. We say goodbye to Jim for now, we'll see him again tomorrow morning when we arrive in Little Yosemite Valley, and he heads off down the Panorama Trail for a 5-6 mile hike to camp for the night. 

If we didn't regret going to Glacier Point because of the traffic driving up, the traffic getting back down into the Valley was so bad, so horrible, so mind-bending that we would've skipped it entirely in order to avoid the gridlock. Stop and go is inaccurate; the traffic on the Valley floor was so dismal people stopped their cars and unpacked entire picnic lunches or dinners to wait it out. At some point I simply decided to get out and walk: if we're going to be down in the Yosemite Valley I may as well walk around and have a look. 

I'm immediately shocked and dismayed by what I find. As I glide along between the roadside and the Merced River, I can't believe how crowded the place is. People feed the wildlife, to the point where the squirrels and other rodents grow obese and sloppy, fully dependent on humans for food. While we're in the Visitor Center, a father of two, when asked by a Ranger to identify the name of Half Dome (literally the iconic symbol of Yosemite and the National Park Service) shrugs and guesses, "Elephant Rock?" And the trash: it's everywhere, so I begin stuffing various articles in my pockets in disgust. Within minutes I don't have anymore room in my cargo pants for more and I begrudgingly give up. I gaze bitterly at the meadow below Yosemite Falls as some idiotic masochists destructively tromp all over the delicate grasses and flowers that take fifteen or more years to grow. They went off of the marked path, ignoring signs forbidding them from doing so, in order to snap a stupid picture, obviously meant for social media. It's hard to stomach these changes. As Nick puts it so eloquently, Raider Nation comes to Yosemite now.

A Ranger riding by on a bicycle against traffic provides some insight to the automobile-congestion and the conditions of the Park in general. Yosemite's visitorship has increased by 200% every single year for the past decade, with no apparent end to the growth in sight. All the while, the Parks Service is horribly underfunded and the Parks themselves are understaffed and under maintained, even as visitorship increases. This is a recipe for disaster. The ranger explains that daily, tens of thousands of people drive into the Valley, spend about an hour looking around and taking pictures, and drive back out. The Parks are public lands and nothing can prevent people from visiting, but the two lane road in the Yosemite Valley can't handle it. This is the result: a smelly, crowded, trashed example of a cherished place that has special events for the removal of litter and eco-graffiti. 

Finally, and for no explicitly obvious reason, the cars that have stood motionless as I walked by creaked into gear and inched forward. I waited for Sam and Company to pick me up, and soon we were back at Mom's car ready for the short drive down 140 to the Yosemite Cedar Lodge for the night. We arrive around sundown and check-in, then make for the dingy restaurant for our last dinner before hitting the trail. This would be our last taste of real food for three days. Or so we thought... 

The food was uninspiring, and the cashier made several strange jokes about my USC shirt because we were in 'bear territory.' I exhibited typical Trojan self-control, and didn't point out to him that USC had won 11 of the last meetings between the teams. Soon it was back to the room. I purchase the hotel's wi-fi so I can communicate with Phoebe; there's already no service here, and we're headed for the back country. I'm glad I splurged on a GPS device with satellite messaging for once we hit the trial, that way we can check in with our families and the outside world on a daily basis. 

I go through my gear one last time while everyone else tries to sleep, purging a few more items I was so certain I would need or want just yesterday. By the time my pack is ready, I can hear Nick and Mom snoozing away. Sam is next to the AC in a leather reclining chair set, apparently asleep immediately. I take one last hot shower. Then, just like we used to when I was a child, when I lived with my brothers and my sister, and me being the youngest, I squeezed into the middle in the only bed in the room between Mom and my brother Nick, and drift off to a light and never quite restful sleep.

Tomorrow we start the John Muir Trail.