Yosemite National Park
A Jewel in the Crown of America’s Great Outdoors
by Robin Bonner
Yosemite Reunion, at Last
The trip had been a long time coming. Gary and I had breezed through Yosemite National Park in the summer of 1979, and we always regretted it. The breezing through, that is—not the being there. As Ken Burns comments in his film series by the same name, the national parks were America’s best idea, and Yosemite was a jewel in that crown of wisdom. During our post-college adventure, we were on the road for 5 weeks, alternately camping, visiting far-flung relatives, and driving for long stretches (sometimes pulling over during the night until the local gas station opened in the morning), then trying to make it back to NJ for my father’s birthday in mid-July. Every goal seemed worthy at the time, but when the dust settled and we had spent only about 24 hours in Yosemite National Park, we both agreed that we had definitely come up short. Planning a 4-day stay in Yosemite with our daughter Amie and her husband, Todd, more than 30 years later, then, felt like an opportunity to complete some unfinished business.
Mono Lake, CA, from the air, en route to San Francisco. Just springing free on a vacation is an adventure. I had such a huge backlog of work to wrap up (and the spring issue of this magazine to publish) that I never began packing until about 2:00 a.m. With that task finished, I napped for an hour before showering, then leaving with Gary to catch an 8:00 a.m. flight. That made for a surreal travel experience, alternately sleeping and working on the plane, catching WiFi during a layover in San Francisco so the out-boxed emails would send, and then hopping on a short “puddle-jumper” prop plane (an Embraer) to Santa Barbara. This last, 1-hour leg of the journey felt more like an amusement park thrill ride. The small plane did allow a great view of both the Channel Islands, off the coast, and the mountains to the north of Santa Barbara. However, the lurching and dropping of the aircraft were byproducts that I decided I could live without.
Santa Barbara Airport. It was so great to see Amie again. She and Todd are such fun, and such good company; they are truly fine examples of why it’s great to have kids, why it’s so worth the investment of one’s life to raise them. Living in California and within a 5–6 hour drive of the park, Amie and Todd had been to Yosemite many times, camping with friends. (Who would have known?!) And, being the camping “pros” they are, they organized and supplied everything for this trip, even individual sleeping bags and a tent for Gary and me. We felt like royalty!
Amie & Todd's new digs. Arriving in Santa Barbara from PA late that Tuesday afternoon, we enjoyed the ambience of the mission-style airport. Amie picked us up and gave Gary a tour of their new digs (they had moved recently, but I had already been out for a visit earlier in the year). We all enjoyed dinner at Addamo’s, where we had a chance to catch up. Gary and I were suffering jet lag, and Amie and Todd were both wiped out from preparations for our arrival, so we all hit the sack early.
On Wednesday, I awoke about 5:30 a.m., showered, and hit my e-mail to take care of some residual work stuff. Amie and Todd packed the cooler and camping gear, and Gary helped Todd load the car. I can’t remember the last family camping trip for which I wasn’t the packer-in-chief. In fact, I don’t think there has ever been one. It sure was nice to pass the torch!
The drive to Yosemite is long and arduous. As we traversed CA, I marveled at the dearth of trees: just fields and scrub bushes for miles and miles. We grabbed some lunch in Fresno, then made our way into the High Sierras. The roads winding into the mountains sharpened our anticipation; it had been so long!
Yosemite Valley and Crane Flat Campground
First glimpse of Yosemite Valley. By then, it was about 3 p.m. Once inside the park, we negotiated a half-mile-long roadway tunnel. The atmosphere created by the rock-lined passageway provoked a somewhat doomful thought: “What the hell do we do if one of those rocks falls down on the car?” Before long, though, we were out of the tunnel and rounding a bend to face, unexpectedly, the Yosemite Valley stretched before us like a hand-colored Ansel Adams print. The majestic rock feature El Capitan, in the left foreground, rose up more than 3500 feet from the valley floor, and to the right and farther back, equally famous Half Dome, stood tall at more than 5500 feet. The many surrounding peaks seemed to pay them homage. It was hard to convince myself that this was real. Enveloped by a blue haze, the view was just the way I remembered it. No doubt, this scene is etched on the collective American psyche.
Bridalveil Fall. Todd and Amie led our grand tour of the Yosemite Valley. As we drove farther into the park, yet more amazing vistas greeted us. Dodging hordes of summer tourists (our hosts reminded us that a Wednesday afternoon in June was nothing compared to a weekend in August, when humans literally thronged the valley and its popular attractions), Todd fought for parking and eventually snagged a spot where we could unload the car. We hiked a short way in, to the foot of Bridalveil Fall, ignoring the warnings not to climb on the rocks. The watery "veil" blew away from the rock face, and we were treated to a spray of moisture from more than 500 feet above our heads. I very gingerly climbed from rock to slick rock, not remembering my Tevas being so wimpy, but water and tourists had been polishing those smooth surfaces for many, many years, so I exercised caution and all ended well.
Next, we headed into “Yosemite Village,” comprising a sports shop, café, and grocery store, plus an arts center and the Ansel Adams Gallery. We were trying to cram a lot into that late afternoon. The gallery offered not only Adams prints and books but also many other crafts from local and national artisans—among them, jewelry, pottery, prints, and books. I could have spent hours in that tiny shop, and that is where we did spent the bulk of our touring time that day. In my college black-and-white photography class, during my days as an art major, Ansel Adams had been our patron saint. The spell cast by his impressive textural shots never left me. I truly felt at home viewing Adams’s work again, after so many years.
At the campsite, Crane Flat. Finally, we tore ourselves away and headed out to the Crane Flat Campground, about 40 minutes from the valley. Amie and Todd had planned quite a camping dinner, so we eagerly settled in at our campsite. Wine and cheese, hot dogs, and s’mores (not to mention Jiffy Pop)—who could ask more of a camping trip? Sleeping on pads in the tent reminded me of my age, but the good news was that the quarter-mile trek to the restroom didn’t seem to bother me in the morning, probably because I was dehydrated from the elevation (more than 6000 feet) and not drinking enough water to compensate.Hey, if you don't have to go, you don't have to rush.
Tuolumne Meadows
View of Yosemite Valley from the north. On Thursday, we rose around 6:30 to prep for the day. The beauty of Yosemite can't be beat at any time, but the early morning hours are the best. We broke up the hour-long car ride into the depth of the park (and a hike in Tuolumne Meadows) with several stops. First, an overlook of the upper valley from Olmstead Point had an unexpected focus: Half Dome from behind, where you can just barely make out the cables hikers cling to on their trek to the top. A short walk from the Olmstead parking area offered an even better view of granite monoliths, both named and unnamed. A short time later, we stopped again, at pristine Tenaya Lake, another gem sparkling in the early morning sun.
Granite slab, near Olmstead Point. Finally, around 9:00 a.m., we arrived at our destination: Tuolumne Meadows, a gorgeous expanse of grassland framed on all sides by peaks (some still covered with snow—the Tioga Road, the only access to this area, had opened for the season only a couple of weeks earlier). We hiked toward Glen Aulin, alongside the Tuolumne River. The sandy trail wound through a forest of ancient evergreens, and monolithic rock features rose around every bend. Between trees and rocks, we caught glimpses of the sapphire blue sky. The hike proved to be about 8 miles. The walkway was fairly flat, but at an elevation of 8,600 feet, it was a good way to acclimate for the rest of our stay. We lunched on a massive granite rock slab overlooking the river, while river water rushed through some nearby rapids. Our provisions included tuna, chips, apricot/peach Newtons, and Oreos. How’s that for delicious? I debooted and dangled my tired feet in the icy but soothing water. Then, I laid back on the rock, resting my head on my rolled-up Polartec, and dozed off.
Tuolumne Meadows. Gary and Todd hiked up to the top of a nearby unnamed dome to gain a better view of the surrounding area and came back with some amazing panoramics. In general, the hike back was fairly easy (although we had to ford the same stream twice by balance-walking across a foot-wide log). Still, my feet were screaming to escape those boots when we finally reached the car.
Our campsite was an hour away, but we still made it back by about 5 p.m. Amie had put a bottle of Viognier on ice in the morning, and we were happy to open it, then drag our camp chairs into the sun to celebrate our first hike. The guys went off for firewood and ice but soon caught up with us. A bottle of red followed the bottle of white, and before we knew it, Amie had the steaks on the griddle. Todd had already buried foil-wrapped baked potatoes deep in the coals. Zucchini and yellow squash with butter and Italian seasoning (also roasted in foil on top of the campfire grill) rounded out the main course. S’mores followed, of course.
Vernal and Nevada Falls
Aprés hike. Friday was the day of our “big hike.” Having made a pact to rise early to reach the trailhead before the crowds, we awoke around 5:30 a.m. The day’s hike, to Vernal Falls and then farther upward, to Nevada Falls, was about 9 miles in all and began in Yosemite Valley, the most crowded area of the park. With almost an hour’s drive ahead of us, we did need to get out early. However, it’s not easy to drag your reluctant body out of a sleeping bag when the temperature has dipped down into the 40s.
Vernal Falls. Washed up and with lunch and snacks packed, we soon headed out in hat and gloves (unusual for June). We were able to park about a half-mile from the trailhead and hit the trail, running into only a few other hikers that early. By the end of the day, however, the same trail would be teeming with visitors, at least to about 1.5 miles up, with everyone trying to get a look at Vernal Falls. The first uphill hit me hard that morning, and I stopped a few times to remove layers of clothing and grab sips of water. I vowed to drink more water to combat altitude sickness, which can really slow you down, should you succumb to it.
At some point the steep trail turned into granite “steps” along a sheer rock face. Just as I started thinking, “Just one false move . . . ” I rounded the corner and was faced with Vernal Falls, blowing mist across the Merced River and showering us all. The surprise dousing, a beautiful rainbow, and the sheer grandeur of the falls were suddenly the only things on my mind. At the top of the falls, the trail meandered down to a fenced-in overlook, where we posed for pictures. A big milestone!
Switchbacks en route to Nevada Falls. But we had so much farther to go! The trail wound through the woods for about a mile, with only a gradual incline, but soon it steepened. Once again we met with granite “steps,” this time arranged in switchbacks, which just seemed to emphasize the seriousness of the climb. As we continued our ascent, we could see Nevada Falls across from us, and knew the only way to get there would be to work our way painstakingly up the many switchbacks. Once at the top (after carefully placing one foot in front of the other, over and over again), however, we were rewarded with the crystal pools and rushing water of the Merced River, eventually careening over the falls and plunging 594 feet. We devoured our lunch on a spacious granite rock slab, then explored a bit, finding a side trail that came in just below the falls and offered a spectacular view, not only of said falls but also of the rushing river below. The sheer granite rock features added a surreal touch.
Nevada Falls, with Liberty Dome. Finally, it was time to begin the arduous journey back down to Yosemite Valley. With several options available, we chose the John Muir Trail, which offered a more gradual, but longer, trip down to a shower and dinner. (To aid my efforts, I was trying to focus on something enticing, which almost always involved food and drink.) I had taken a few caplets of ibuprofen to prevent the knee and foot pain I usually experience toward the end of long hikes. By the time we reached the lower trail, though, I still found myself limping. During the last mile or so, we passed many other park visitors (there were swarms of them at that point, actually), and I found myself thinking, “Good thing we did get out early!” It was nice to see so many people enjoying the park; I was, however, happy they all hadn’t decided to join us for lunch at Nevada Falls.
Gary free-solos the first 10' of The Nose on El Capitan. Because we finished our hike at such a reasonable hour (about 2:30 p.m.), we decided to split up for a bit—Amie and I wandered toward the shops in the valley, and Gary and Todd took a ride over to El Capitan, to check out the rock-climbing situation. We would reconvene for showers, to get ready for dinner. Amie and I headed straight for a little café, where we rewarded our efforts on the trail with a serving of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, and, for me, a Starbucks Frappuccino. We eventually ended up back in the Ansel Adams Gallery, where I pored over the photographer’s biography, trying to decide whether to purchase it. The size of the tome and the limits of my luggage finally convinced me to just pick it up sometime back home. We tried on artisan-crafted jewelry and finally settled on some earrings for Sarah (our younger daughter, not along on the trip). Soon, the guys were back with stories of climbers planning 3-day-long pitches on the face of El Capitan, and, following a tip from a local, we caught showers at the Yosemite Lodge pool locker room, practically abandoned at that time of day.
The Ahwahnee
The Ahwahnee, at dusk. Our dinner destination was none other than the acclaimed Ahwahnee Lodge, reposing majestically there in Yosemite Valley. Now this is a feat to pull off when you’re camping. It necessitated packing and keeping somewhat presentable “dinner clothing,” that would satisfy the Ahwahnee's dress code. After all, we weren’t staying at the Ahwahnee, or even a hotel, for that matter. Our “luggage” for this portion of the trip consisted of a handled duffle bag. Well, you can tell from the photo that we managed pretty well to fit in comfortably with those who were enjoying less primitive accommodations.
Celebratory dinner at the Ahwahnee. The Ahwahnee, built in 1927, boasts cathedral ceilings and chandeliers but also rustic exposed beams and multistory picture windows that reveal views of the magnificent Yosemite Valley. A jazz pianist set the mood, and our two experienced servers took care of our every need. For a couple of hours, we seemed worlds away from arduous hikes and s'mores around the campfire (as much as we do love both). I can’t tell you now what meal I ordered, but I can tell you that it was wonderful. And, for the price tag, it should have been. Dinner at the Ahwahnee, as well as simply wandering its hallowed halls, where U.S. presidents trod (evidently, John F. Kennedy slept in the third-floor suite), was a fitting way to spend our last night at Yosemite, to celebrate our experience in the park.
Lembert Dome, Leavetaking
At the top of Lembert Dome. On Saturday, we drove back up to Tuolumne Meadows and enjoyed a short hike up Lembert Dome. The exposed rock face proved a little unsettling as the wind whipped all around and threatened to hurl us off the top in almost any direction. To show that we weren’t impressed, like idiots we took turns photographing each other standing on top of the highest rock. I can’t speak for the others, but I truly was terrified. At the top we had been forced to don hats and gloves, as well as additional layers of clothing. The view was stunning, though, and well worth the extra care and clothing. Once back down on the trail, we stripped down to shirt-sleeves again and hiked over to Dog Lake for lunch. Another pristine spot!
Soon, we were headed back to Crane Flats to pack up our campsite and begin the long drive back to Santa Maria. Leaving beautiful Yosemite was such a sad occasion! Already, we are scheming to return—the place is just that magnificent. And, we owed so much to Amie and Todd for their hard work in arranging the perfect trip. It was truly the most relaxing camping adventure I’d ever been on.
And Then, the Wineries, of Course
Winding down: Sunstone Winery, near Santa Ynez. Sunday found us recovering from our trip to Yosemite, although taking with us such happy memories certainly was a consolation. We drowned our sorrows with a wine-tasting expedition to the Opolo Winery, in beautiful Paso Robles. Housed in a metal-clad building, the establishment seemed at first glance to be an airplane hangar or some kind of warehouse. We were pleasantly surprised with the offerings there, however, and I was particularly taken with their fruity Flirtations blend of whites.
On Monday, we headed to our all-time favorite, Sunstone, for a tour, tasting, and picnic on the exquisite patio, overlooking acres and acres of grapes. A snack of Danish pastry in Solvang and another tasting at Lucas & Lewellen rounded out our perfect vacation with Amie and Todd. We couldn't have asked for a more wonderful kickoff to our summer or for two more congenial travel companions.
Robin Bonner is editor of Empty Nest. For more about Robin, see About Us.
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