Continued from Part 6: The Tempest.
The calm morning and bright sunshine belied the sound and fury of the afternoon before, when a vicious hail storm pounded the tree-studded meadow surrounding Upper Cathedral Lake. I laid my gear over a large boulder facing the sun so that everything would dry out. My hiking clothes, in particular, were still soaked from the rain, as were my boots. My sleeping bag was damp. The hammock’s canopy was covered in dew. The hammock itself was damp. My sleeping pad was wet on the edges and damp in the middle. Even the windshield reflector was wet. This would take awhile. I guess I’ll explore the lake.
The ground was still wet and dewy, and I had on my crocs, so I stepped carefully, trying to keep my socks as dry as possible. A series of granite slabs provided access to the lake, and the view of Tressider Peak reflecting in its mirror-still waters was inspiring. Already the bad memories of this spot were fading away like a bad dream exposed to the light. I noticed two people sitting on a rock across the water. We called out to each other, discussing the storm. They had set up camp about half an hour before it hit. There were, in fact, better campsites along that opposite shore, but I did not have the time to seek them out.
One could follow the shore easily around the eastern shore to the strip of trees and boulders beneath Tressider’s shoulder. The path to the western shore required crossing Tenaya Creek, which I, at that moment, lacked the footwear to accomplish. A waterfall was heard and briefly glimpsed on the mountainside, and I expect the creek created waterfalls of its own as it headed down to the lower lake. Part of me wanted to backtrack down to the lower lake — supposedly very scenic — but I was going to be getting a late enough start without the detour.
Though I broke camp around 7:30 a.m., I didn’t get packed up and on the trail until around 9:30 a.m. Clouds were already streaming in from the east, as the monsoonal flow once again was in charge of the mountains’ weather. I could expect another storm today. All the more reason to get going!
A short climb from the Upper Cathedral Lake’s southern shore is needed to reach 9,700-foot or so Cathedral Pass, a saddle between the Echo Peaks to the east and Tresidder Peak to the west. The view back towards the lake includes a stately portrait of Cathedral Peak, 10,911 feet in elevation (about 1,300 feet above the lake). I believe the round granite dome in the left background is Medlicott Dome. From here, the John Muir Trail gently climbs the southeast flank of Tresidder Peak, reaching a high point just below 10,000 feet, about 1.4 miles from the lake. From the trail are good views of the Matthes Crest, the crown-like Echo Peaks, and the aptly named Columbia Finger, which vaguely resembles an obscene gesture made by a huge granite hand.
Not far thereafter, the trail pauses at a grand viewpoint (9,850 feet), from which some of the park’s eastern peaks come into view. As best as I can tell, they are (L-R): Amelia Earhart Peak (with scattered snow patches), Parsons Peak (with Fletcher Peak in front of it), Simmons Peak, Mt. Maclure, Mt. Lyell, and Mt. Florence (with Vogelsang Peak directly in front of it).
The trail then descends 500 feet in elevation over about a mile into Long Meadow, where it becomes a highway. Several parallel tracks cut across the, well, long meadow, passing between clusters of small trees, random rocks, and rivulets of slow-moving water. At the Sunrise High Sierra Camp, the John Muir Trail continues south while the Sunrise Lakes Trail climbs over the northern arm of Sunrise Mountain. I stopped at the HSC a little before noon for water and quickly returned to the trail, beginning the brief climb. Clouds were gathering, and darkening.
The trail drops down past the three Sunrise Lakes. The upper lake, situated at 9,427 feet in elevation, sits beneath an unnamed 10,151 dome. The trail follows its southwest shore, before it reaches the outlet creek and the sounds of water falling. The middle lake (9,258 feet) is off the trail and seen only fleetingly through the trees. About a quarter-mile later, the trail curves around the western shore of the lower lake (9,166 feet), crossing over its outlet creek, before leading to a series of campsites. I wandered around the area looking for the right spot. There were several nice spots right by the lake, complete with fire rings, but not suitable for a hammock. I found a spot around 1:30 p.m. and began setting up immediately.
The site I selected had a large boulder separating me from the lake, and several trees provided another windbreak. A large log cut across the site, hopefully providing protection from rain (and hail) splashing off the granite. I tied up lower than normal to improve the canopy’s ability to shed the rain, and I quickly got it taut. I coiled the foam pad and reflector around the hammock (still sheathed in its snake skins). I got my warm clothes ready. I pulled out the bear cannister, removed lunch from it, and set it (locked) on the ground. Then I walked over to the granite shoreline and ate, listening to the thunder and watching the sky grow angrier.
The breeze picked up, and the temperature began to inch downward. Another round of bad weather was coming, but at least I was prepared for it this time. At 3:15, I slipped my Driducks over my hiking pants and put on the same group of layers I wore the day before with a slight adjustment — base layer, tank top, down vest, wind shirt — and put my wool hat under my hiking hat. Around 3:30, the rain started to fall. Lightning arced across the sky and thunder boomed off the granite domes surrounding me. It was on. I took a seat upon the bear canister — finally found a good use for it! — and clutched the foam pad and reflector in my arms.
The hail came down like a flood of plastic pellets, as though someone had opened a great box and all the packing material fell out at once. Except it went on for 30 minutes. The ice piled up around me, turning the ground white. It bounced off the rocks and logs, pelting me sideways in my otherwise dry shelter. The rain was splashing, too, but my boots and rain pants were shedding it. The canopy was low enough that I hardly got wet at all, and it held against the wind. I actually got an intermittent signal on my cell phone and sent a photo of myself riding out the storm to my blog via Flickr.
About 5, I was surprised to hear someone calling out to me. I turned around to see someone with a poncho draped over himself and pack. He asked if there was a fire ring nearby. I said I saw a nice one in a great campsite over there, pointing toward it. He thanked me and went on, joined by another person. It was still raining heavily, but the hail was long gone. A little while later, I saw them putting up their tent, trying to keep it as dry as possible. Around 5:45, someone else called out to me. “Have you seen a couple of guys come through here?” I directed him to their campsite.
The thunder grew distant, and the lightning ceased. The rain stopped around 6:30. I could hear those guys — now numbering four — talking about getting a fire going. A fire sure sounded nice to me, so I ventured over to their site, introduced myself, and we went about getting a fire going. The first two I’d encountered, Joel and Scott, were brothers, one from San Diego and the other from the Chicago area. The other two were their father Cory and his brother Uncle Bob. I offered one of my esbit cubes to start the fire, but they brought lighter fluid. Finding wood was challenging — the place was picked pretty clean — and finding dry wood even more challenging. Yet, we soon had a roaring fire, and they were drying their gear. I thanked them for letting me crash their party. It was great to have company after enduring these two hail storms.
They had hiked up from Tenaya Lake after doing some dayhiking at Tuolumne Meadows. They were going to follow the John Muir Trail to Little Yosemite Valley and camp there the next night, then summit Half Dome the following morning. That was when I would be climbing Half Dome, since the weather and rerouting had moved it up a day. Perhaps we’d run into each other. I hung out with them until around sunset, and what a sunset it was.
They settled into a card game, and I retired to a dry hammock, warm sleeping bag, and dry clothes. I slept very well that night.
I awoke just after sunrise and got off to an early start. It was nearly 5 miles to the top of Cloud’s Rest, and the clouds were already gathering. I said goodbye to Joel and Scott (The other guys had already hit the trail.) and starting hiking. As I hiked, passing boulders and trees and views of Sunrise Mountain, I debated whether I should follow the day’s plan or take a play-it-safe alternative. The plan was to hike over Clouds Rest and then camp along the Half Dome Trail above the junction with the John Muir Trail. The alternative was to follow the Muir Trail to Little Yosemite Valley and camp there. The alternative meant there would be no chance I’d get caught on 9,926-foot Clouds Rest if the storms came early. I went back-and-forth as I walked, but decided to put off the decision until I reached the trail junction, 2.5 miles from the campsite.
The trail remains fairly level for those 2.5 miles, hovering around 9,000 feet in elevation. At one point, it passes a buggy, marshy lake that has no inlet or outlet. Its shore is completely lined with trees, and it seemed out of place. My pondering the lake and rehashing my internal debate over route choices was suddenly interrupted. There was a bear on the trail in front of me. It looked over its shoulder, saw me, and scampered into the dark cover of the trees. My horribly out-of-focus photo shows a snout and face, but little else. It was probably a yearling. Bear encounters are best when they do bear things, like run away when a human approaches. I was smiling over the next mile or so — I just saw a bear!
I reached the trail junction a little before 9 a.m. Surveying the skies, I noticed the clouds had burned up. It was clear in all directions. I will go to Clouds Rest, I decided, settling the morning debate. In a little under 2 miles, the trail gains about 850 feet of elevation, gently rising up the northern slope of Clouds Rest. The route is mostly in the forest, occasionally offering some views of Tenaya Canyon and teasing the splendor which is to come. About half a mile and 400 vertical feet from the summit, I ran into a group of three hikers who’d come up from Tenaya Lake. After a rest and some chatting, we headed up the summit trail together. I dropped my pack at a high trail junction, and we made our way up the narrow spine of the mountain to its summit, from which the whole park unfurled like a giant three-dimensional topo map.
Even the haze from fires and agriculture cannot fully obscure the grandeur of Yosemite Valley, Half Dome, North Dome, or even distant El Capitan (the white clifftop at the top right). The sheer faces of Half Dome are dramatic from here, and it becomes clear how steep a climb to its summit will be.
Staring back down the summit ridge, Mount Hoffman and Tuolumne Peaks look like scale models of real mountains. Wild Tenaya Canyon slices its way between the granite walls, and waterfalls can be heard in its depths. Tenaya Lake appears as a distant blue patch nestled among green, lichen-looking trees beneath a granite dome. Columbia Finger appears as a dark triangle, listing lazily to the left, while Cathedral Peak and the Echo Peaks look like little sand castles. Even some of the upper reaches of the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne and its eastern extension, Lyell Canyon, can be seen along the horizon.
We stayed on the summit for about half an hour, then tightroped our way down the summit ridge. The guys headed on back to their car at Tenaya Lake, wanting to get down before any afternoon storms hit. They said the hail storm closed Tioga Pass, washed boulders onto the road, and stranded motorists for a few hours. I was also eager to reach safer elevations, so I strapped on my back and descended.
And descended. And descended. The Clouds Rest Trail loses 2,900 feet over four miles in unrelenting fashion. It begins by dropping 1,000 feet in just over a mile, slicing across the southeast slope of the peak high above the forest. At that point, the trail passes by a flat granite expanse with spectacular views of Half Dome and western Yosemite Valley. The wind was whipping over this viewpoint, but it still seemed like a great place to have an Odwalla bar — probably the only backpacking food I’d eat in the real world — and admire the views.
The trail begins a series of wicked switchbacks, each one drawing closer to the badly titled granite slope connecting Clouds Rest to the Quarter Domes. Twice I ventured out about 20 feet onto this slope before returning to the safety of the trail. My original goal for a campsite was across this slope. Looking at it, and having seen the topography with my own eyes from Clouds Rest, I knew it was folly. There are probably spectacular views to be had, but I just wanted firm, level ground. The descent would continue.
By around 1:30 p.m., I had reached the John Muir Trail. A tributary of Sunrise Creek runs right by the trail junction. I filled up both 2-liter and my 1-liter Platypus bottles and boiled water for lunch while I sat under a tree fighting off ants. A fair number of people walked by, mostly headed for Half Dome and the Valley. There was a group of people camping just behind me. They were going to head up the trail I just descended to watch the sunset from Clouds Rest, then climb Half Dome to watch the sunrise. I told them they were crazy, something I suspect they already knew, though they seemed to be in a bit of a haze, herbal or otherwise.
The John Muir Trail descends to a hair above 7,000 feet, where the Half Dome Trail begins its ascent to Yosemite’s most famous summit. Along the way, the forest opens up and offers this astounding view of Half Dome’s backside. Just 4 1/2 hours earlier, I was standing atop Clouds Rest, 1,100 feet above Half Dome’s summit. Now I’m 1,800 feet beneath it, but still 3,000 feet above where most people begin their climb of Half Dome: Happy Isles. I’m also 6 miles closer. I would camp in its shadow and begin my climb to the summit before sunrise.
I started up the Half Dome Trail, mindful of gathering clouds, and soon found a broad flat area under the tall trees. I set up in a “multi-room” campsite — sleeping area, living area with fire ring, gear storage area, entry hall — and gathered wood for a fire. In case it rained, I piled the wood where it could easily be moved under the canopy, but the rains never came. I was relieved; some of these trees were way too tall to be hiding under when lightning was present.
The traffic on the Half Dome Trail — mostly people headed down — finally subsided around 7:30 p.m. By that point, I had a good fire going. This would be the only trail night where I stayed up much past sunset, probably holding on until nearly 9:30 p.m. It was a warm evening, so the fire was purely for ambiance.
I had two fires during my nine nights on the trail. The first was a group affair at lower Sunrise Lake the night before. The second was this solo fire during my eighth night on the trail, camping in the shadow of Half Dome. Sometimes, there is just nothing better than a little campfire. I sat by the fire, tending it dutifully and reflecting on the past eight days’ of backpacking: prior campsites, wildflowers and waterfalls, peaks and valleys, a bear, Nature’s fury, and her serenity, fear and joy, solitude and warm welcomes, conversations and silence, breezes, clouds, the sound of water, the wonder of Creation. Sometimes, there is just nothing better than a little campfire.
And for the encore: Half Dome.
Continues in Part 8: Facing Fear on Half Dome.
The complete trip report:
Part 1: Glacier Point Dayhike
Part 2: Porcupine and Yosemite Creeks
Part 3: Entering the 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
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