Continued from Part 9: Triumph Atop Half Dome.
The backpackers’ camp at Little Yosemite Valley is east of a spur trail connecting the John Muir/Half Dome Trail with the trail up the valley to Merced Lake. A two-story building hosting several composting toilets is the immediate target, and then it’s a matter of wandering around and selecting a place — not so much a site — within the well-marked boundaries. Huge pine trees soar above the campground, keeping it shaded at all times. I headed for the back of the campground, passing campsites of folks who were probably on the Half Dome cables.
To my surprise, I saw Joel, Scott, Cory, and Uncle Bob breaking camp. Theirs was one of the coolest backcountry campsites I’ve ever seen, complete with a table and log chairs. The boys constructed it out of stumps and logs they found in the campground so they could play cards. I was thrilled when Cory said, “It’s yours.” My ninth and final night in camp was going to be in a Cadillac of campsites!
They finished loading up, and we said our goodbyes for a third, and last, time. I settled in, setting up my hammock and arraying my gear. I got water and plopped in iodine pills for the last time. I was still carrying that infernal SteriPen, which hadn’t worked in days. I boiled some water and wolfed down a meal in a ziploc bag, Mountain House’s almost delectable beef stroganoff, for the last time. Waxing sentimental, I began to think of every task as the “last time” as the whole experience of the trek began to sink in.
I headed over to the beach area by the Merced River to watch the people for awhile. The river rustles by a series of rapids right before reaching the beach, so the soundscape is delightful. Campers of all shapes and sizes came and went. A large Christian youth group was holding court on one end of the beach. Several folks were skipping rocks as poorly as I’ve ever seen anyone try. A few people were sunbathing on a huge boulder across the river. Eventually, I ventured out into the water — COLD! — and eventually went for a very quick swim. Back on the beach, and in the sun, I took up a renewed hobby of flicking ants off of me. They were brutal.
I decided to do a dayhike up Little Yosemite Valley for my last afternoon on the trail. I was going to walk for an hour and a half, then turn around. Unburdened by my pack, I was light of foot and made good progress up the nearly level trail. The mostly forested trail stayed surprisingly far away from the Merced River for most of its length. I saw some deer browsing in the occasional meadows, and there were a couple of good views of the granite mass I’d stood atop earlier in the day.
I reached a point where the trail once again swung close to the Merced and found a rock-strewn beach near some rapids, where I sat and enjoyed the sound of the water and the color of the wildflowers. At 5:15 p.m. I started back toward camp. The sun disappeared behind Half Dome by 7:30 p.m., so there wasn’t much of a sunset. I spent a little time back at the beach and watched the light disappear from the water. I hoped someone would have a fire going at the communal fire rings, but the only one was operated by the Christian campers, and it was a full house.
So I climbed into the hammock for a final night. I slept lightly and was startled several times from sleep by intruders — human intruders — in my campsite, including a guy who set up his bivy right next to the table. I shooed him to an adjacent flat. I was also awakened by rangers who were chasing a sow and her two cubs. They had been terrorizing campers the last couple of weeks. Another group of folks tried to camp in my spot, and I scolded them from my hammock. They couldn’t tell where my voice was coming from!
The sky was blue and the sun shining bright when I packed up and started my final morning of backpacking. I had about 5.5 miles to go to reach the Happy Isles trailhead, almost all of it downhill. The first couple of miles were fairly level. Then the nearly 2,000 foot descent would begin in earnest. A clearing provided a nice final view of Half Dome, which was soon eclipsed by the smaller but much closer Liberty Cap.
Liberty Cap is an impressive granite dome rising 1,000 feet or so above the Merced River in the western margins of Little Yosemite Valley. The John Muir Trail passes around its feet to the brink of Nevada Fall. I rejoined the John Muir Trail, which I would follow to its end. I reached Nevada Fall after 45 minutes of hiking, and it was largely deserted, unlike my previous visit 10 days earlier. I didn’t linger long — I was eager to get down.
The Muir Trail offers nice views as it descends, slowly at first, from Little Yosemite Valley. Half Dome resembles a giant loaf of bread from this angle, and Nevada Fall appears as a J-shaped flume. The hiker showers — water falling from hanging gardens — were still going strong.
The trail swings around a prominent outcrop and falls into shadow. Here is switchbacks down through the forest, quickly losing elevation. As I hiked along, I was in full memory mode, recalling all the grand, scary, thrilling, beautiful, and peaceful moments of the last 10 days. The flood of flashbacks was interrupted by a loud, unmistakable sound. Below the trail, perhaps 40 feet away, a mother bear was ripping into a fallen tree.
She was teaching her two cubs how to hunt for yummy grubs and termites. The cubs, one golden and one chocolate, pawed at the log. When mom hit the mother lode, they dove in, eating greedily. I shuffled my feet loudly so she would be aware of me. She looked at me disinterestedly and dove back into the buffet. The photo quality is not great because of the amount of zoom — from the camera and the crop — but it captures their enthusiasm for their meal.
I watched them for a couple of minutes, then continued my descent, quite pleased with my second bear encounter of the trip. I passed several other hikers, telling them quietly about the bears. They’d seen them from a lower switchback. My mind, fondly remembering this trip, focused on replaying my latest bear encounter, which brought my life total to 10 (1 in Grand Teton, 5 in Glacier, and 4 here). As I hiked along, my reminiscing was once again interrupted.
The bears crossed the trail directly in front of me. Mama looked at me again, ignored me again, and then continued across with her cubs at her feet. The chocolate cub looked straight at me; the golden one stayed in mama’s shadow. They disappeared into the trees and down the steep slope. I was by now completely awed, by the bears, by this place, by the incredible timing, by the scope of what I had seen and done and achieved in the last 10 days.
The final mile was a sentimental one. The bridge across the Merced River, where Vernal Fall is framed by the boulders and the trees, was a sweet moment. I had been here 10 days earlier, trudging wearily down from Glacier Point, having skidded down the Mist Trail. My legs were tired and my head hurt. Today, there was no pain, only joy, coupled with a hint of sadness. This was coming to an end.
Less than a mile to go, I gazed again upon the wonderful waterfall. I knew the rest of the trail: a slight rise, then a downward arc, a pause to glimpse up at Illilouette Gorge, then a last dive to Happy Isles. I lost myself in the rush of the water and the bright sun and the majesty of the place, one last time.
Ten days of backpacking were drawing to a close. I choked up as I rounded the last big corner as my emotions overwhelmed me. Signs began to appear, warning hikers of wilderness conditions, bears, lightning — all turned the other way, their blank back sides signifying that the trailhead was near. In a moment, the John Muir Trail sign appeared, almost larger than life, and I got even more emotional. I managed to pull myself together long enough to ask someone if we could trade photographic services. I photographed them, at the beginning of their adventure. Then the leader of the group took my picture, at the end of mine.
More than one hundred miles of hiking and backpacking in Yosemite National Park came to a close when I reached the John Muir trailhead sign at Happy Isles. Ten days after a shuttle bus dropped me off, alone, at the Porcupine Creek trailhead, I had completed the journey.
North Dome. Lightning and rain on the north rim of the Valley. The V-shaped canyon of Yosemite Creek. Lukens Lake. The delightful waterfall of Morrison Creek. The crashing descent into Pate Valley. The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne. The boy scout resolutely ascending the Muir Gorge bypass. Beautiful waterfalls. The sheer joy of Glen Aulin. The first view of the Sierra Crest. The search for a new walking stick. The fury of Mother Nature at Cathedral Lake. The welcoming fire built by new friends at Sunrise Lake. The views from Clouds Rest. The fear, agony, defeat, and ultimate conquering of them all at Half Dome. Bears. Wildflowers. Vistas. Towering granite cliffs and trees. Boulders bigger than houses. I had DONE IT!
I left that walking stick, which has served me so well since I found it along the Cathedral Lakes trail, leaning against this sign, intentionally this time. I hoped it would serve another hiker well. Letting go of it was one of the hardest things I did on this trip.
At 10:30 a.m., I reached the Happy Isles trailhead. The shuttle bus came moments later, and I took it to Yosemite Village, where I bought a clean shirt and a sandwich. Another shuttle bus took me to Yosemite Lodge, where, unfortunately, my room was not ready. My first shower in 11 days was in their pool’s locker room, which thankfully was not as gross as Camp Curry’s. I spent several hours hanging out at the swimming pool, which came complete with an ice cream stand and a jaw-dropping view of upper Yosemite Falls.
Following a steak dinner at Yosemite Lodge, I walked to nearby Cook’s Meadow to observe the last rays of the setting sun kiss Half Dome. It was my final night in Yosemite, and my first spent in a bed in 10 days. I had hiked over 100 miles, seen and accomplished many things, and was treated to this grand farewell from Half Dome.
I actually slept quite poorly that night. I had grown accustomed to being cradled by my hammock and sleeping bag. That bed, comfy as it was, just didn’t feel right. I awoke a dozen or so times, always with the sensation that I was falling. The last time was just before sunrise. Lying there, I decided there was time to take one last walkabout before I had to leave this special place and return to civilization.
Continues in Part 11: From Woods to Wharves.
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