Glen Aulin to Cathedral Lakes

Here beside the Glen Aulin High Sierra Camp, the White Cascade of the Tuolumne River plunges the final 50 feet into a deep, swirling splash pool. A rocky beach lines the pool’s north shore, beside the camp, and a jumble of boulders, wet with the fall’s spray, creates a scramble along the southern shore to the curtain of water. The cold water beckons weary hikers, while the water’s roar drowns out almost all other sounds.

Continued from Part 4: Walking Among the Waterfalls.

Glen Aulin (pronounced like the name Alan) turned out to be one of my favorite places during the trip. The High Sierra Camp (HSC), a collection of white tent-cabins surrounding a central dining area and store, is one of five in the park. Behind it lies the backpackers’ camp, a collection of cleared areas in the trees running between some low cliffs and Conness Creek, which feeds into the Tuolumne near the bridge into the camping area.

What I call Glen Aulin Falls I later learned is known as the White Cascade of the Tuolumne River. It plunges 50 feet into a deep pool surrounded by a rocky beach. The only thing louder than the roaring falls was the sound of a rescue helicopter’s engine and its blades slicing through the air. A search-and-rescue ended well as I arrived. This particular view, from the rocky beach, is right before the sun disappeared behind the canyon wall, as its last rays kissed the falls goodnight.

Let’s back up a moment. I chose a campsite a little after noon and got set up. After eating lunch — and swatting all manner of ants — on the rocky beach, I waded out into the pool. COLD! I expected it to be cold, but not that cold. Needle-cold. Almost burning cold. I splashed some water through my nappy hair and quickly retreated to the warm rocks, my pack towel, and some angry ants. I crossed the main trail bridge to the other shore and hopped my way across the boulders, drawing ever closer to the falls. I found a spot close to the spray, where the sun was shining and I could sit and enjoy, or even stand and celebrate this incredible place.

Following my exploration of the rocks and falls, I brought some water back to do some laundry. About that time, the sun disappeared behind some ominous dark clouds, and thunder cracked like a fast heartbeat. The monsoonal flow had settled in, and it appeared we would be getting drenched. I ditched the laundry idea and instead gathered everything under the hammock’s canopy. I doubted it would effectively protect everything if it rained hard, but I nonetheless crawled into the hammock and napped. A few drops fell, but mostly the thunder rumbled unfulfilled (at least where I was).

Upon reflection, I knew it had clouded up each of the last couple of afternoons only to break about an hour before sunset. There may have been thunder before, but I was so close to the rushing river that I might have missed it. This weather pattern, and my own tired legs, made me question whether the 12-mile days and 10,000-foot passes ahead were wise. As the skies cleared and I ventured out to watch the sunset, I thought about rerouting my hike to ensure I wouldn’t be searching for campsites at 6 or 7 p.m. My brain kept focusing on that first afternoon, dodging the lightning and ducking the rain while trying to get to Yosemite Creek. I did not want to repeat that experience.

Meanwhile, the sunset was beyond spectacular, and my mind’s wheels, churning as they were over alternate routes, slowed to ponder this glorious sights and sounds of this remarkable place, in this singular moment. Not much I can add to what’s here, save to say that this was the sunset, as viewed from a perch just west of the Glen Aulin High Sierra Camp. The haze and clouds, the cliffs and the water, together they made for a sunset far more beautiful and radiant than this photo conveys. There were only a handful of moments where I wished I had lugged the EOS and all its lenses instead of the compact, lightweight Powershot G9, and this was one of them.

Despite the relatively crowded nature of the camp, I slept quite well, finally, on the fifth night, finding the hammock’s sweet spot. It was a cool night at nearly 8,000 feet. For the first time, I had to zip the sleeping bag up all the way to keep warm.

The next day (Sunday, my sixth on the trail) would begin with a steep climb and then a long, level ramble into Tuolumne Meadows. I got off to an early start, departing camp around 6:45 a.m. The GPS didn’t find a clear signal for almost a mile. I had gained about 250 feet and wandered by the upper portions of White Cascade, even visiting the brink of Glen Aulin Falls. In the background, one of the HSC’s tent cabins is visible through the trees.

The trail passes several waterfalls as it continues to climb up the canyon, weaving in and out of forest, meadow, and open granite. Finally, a last roaring cascade marks the end (the beginning, from the river’s perspective) of the long tumble toward Pate Valley. Beyond the brink, the Tuolumne RIver is placid, calm, and, though moving with urgency, still-looking. And quiet.

After being in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne and wandering alongside a rushing river for three days, it was surprising to see distant mountains, so clearly, and to see water so still, and spaces so open, so sunny, and so crisply.

This photo was taken just west of the braided crossings of (dry) Dingley Creek, where the river runs south to north, affording the wonderful reflections of the mountains in the morning. As best as I can tell, the peaks are (L-R): Unicorn Peak, Cockscomb, Matthes Crest, Echo Peaks, Cathedral Peak, and Fairview Dome. Pothole Dome is squatting down in front. Cathedral Peak — specifically the upper lake in the shadow of its crown — would be my ultimate destination for the day. In the short term, all I could think about was getting a hamburger at the Tuolumne Meadows Grill.

I made good time trekking across the level meadow, admiring views of distant mountains, majestic granite domes, pretty trees and meadows, deer browsing, and the meandering river. I reached civilization, via a confusing series of trail junctions, around 10:45. Unfortunately, the grill did not begin serving lunch until 11:30, and they finally took my order close to 11:40. In the meantime, I bought some additional provisions, emptied out the bear cannister of trash and uneaten trail food, and camped out at a picnic table beside the Tioga Road. When will I learn that I simply don’t eat on the trail? The hamburger wasn’t anywhere near as good as it was in my head all morning. In my haste to catch the shuttle bus to the Cathedral Lake trailhead — saving almost 1.5 miles of walking — I left my trekking pole behind, for the second time.

I began my ascent at 12:15 p.m. and immediately began looking for a walking stick. Since it was a popular trail, they were predictably absent. I labored up the switchbacks, realizing how much I use a trekking pole to help with climbing. I finally found a short pine branch which worked for the uphill sections. I soon passed the only remaining snow I saw up close and was startled when a huge slab of it broke off and crashed down the granite it had clung to. The sky was filled with cotton puffs of white clouds.

I broke my too-small hiking stick tapping it on a log I was planning on sitting on. About 45 minutes later, I found the perfect stick leaned up against a fallen tree. Someone obviously left it behind and was no doubt wishing he hadn’t. My eyes, finally done casting about the ground and fallen wood searching for a suitable stick, now looked up, above the trees, and saw the darkening skies.

The craggy summit of Cathedral Peak is a lone jagged spike from this portion of the Cathedral Lakes Trail, as foreboding as the thunder rumbling low and loud and the bristling lightning shooting over the not-too-distant Sierra crest. The air was deathly still. I had not yet made it to where I could camp, and I quickened my pace, bypassing scenic lower Cathedral Lake (where I also could not camp) and made a hasty scramble over the 9,600-foot-high saddle between Cathedral and Tressider Peaks.

It took 2 hours and 45 minutes to reach the upper Cathedral Lake from the Tioga Road. The lake sits in a broad basin, 9,585 feet above sea level (and more than a mile above Pate Valley, where this climb began four days ago), just north of Cathedral Pass. A bank of trees sits on a slight hill to the left, just below Tressider Peak. I make a quick line for them and pick the first two trees I can tie up between. The GPS records the time as 3:03 p.m. The thermometer on the back of my pack says it’s 64 degrees.

In the still air, the mosquitoes descend upon me. I slather Deet on my hands and face to keep them at bay while I clumsily get my hammock and tarp out. The mosquitoes vanish, not because of the chemicals. I get the hammock, still in its snake skins, lashed to the trees. I clip the tarp to one side, then the other. I attach the first guy line to a stake in the ground.

What happened next can charitably be described as rising above a difficult situation. Another description is a disaster narrowly averted. It could just as easily be called a survival situation.

Continues in Part 6: The Tempest.

The complete trip report:
Part 1: Yosemite Valley and Glacier Point Dayhikes
Part 2: Porcupine and Yosemite Creeks
Part 3: Entering Yosemite’s Grand Canyon
Part 4: Walking Among the Waterfalls
Part 5: Glen Aulin to Cathedral Lakes
Part 6: The Tempest
Part 7: Sunrise to Clouds Rest
Part 8: Facing Fear on Half Dome
Part 9: Triumph Atop Half Dome
Part 10: The Final Miles
Part 11: From Woods to Wharves
Part 12: The Streets of San Francisco
Part 13: Muir Woods and Foggy Shores

Tags: cathedral peak, glen aulin, grand canyon of the tuolumne, jul08 yosemite trip, tuolumne meadows, waterfalls, yosemite national park