Yosemite Diaries: From Bears to Beers in Yosemite Valley

Sept. 23. 2015: Hetch Hetchy to Yosemite Valley

Mileage: 15.59 miles
‘Floors’: 90

IMG_5972One of the great things about camping trips is that it’s easy to change your plans around, “Choose Your Own Adventure” style. After 4 days of hiking in the Hetch Hetchy area, Kurt and I decided to check out Yosemite Valley. It would be an hour-to-90-minute drive from where we left our car at the backpacker campground, so we woke up bright and early at 6:30 am to get an early start to the day. We had trail mix for breakfast instead of cooking a hot meal to make packing up easier.

P1070114The trail back to the trailhead took us past Rancheria Falls, which was already dry for the season. Someday, it would be awesome to go back to Yosemite earlier in the year to see all of the big waterfalls gushing at full volume. The high season means more crowds and harder-to-get trailhead permits, so it’s always a toss-up when picking what time of year to travel. The last 5 miles of trail wrapped around the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir. Back at a lower altitude, we were quickly reminded how HOT it was outside. It was close to 90 degrees, and the sun was unrelenting on the unshaded trail. Once we were close enough to see O’Shaughnessy Dam, we became eager to finish. All I could think of was ice-cold Gatorade from the nearest gas station. We ran into a couple out on a day hike who was surprised to hear that we had been camping for the last 4 days, and offered to give us a beer from their cooler. We told them that since we were coming out of the backcountry, there was a 6-pack apiece with our names on them in the near future.

IMG_6031We got off the trail in the mid-afternoon, and drove straight down to the valley, stopping at a visitor’s center to inquire about a place to spend the night. All of the campgrounds in the valley were full, but we found a vacancy in the tent cabins in Curry Village. As we drove into valley, El Capitan suddenly appeared before us, with Half Dome looming in the distance. “It’s our screensaver in real life!” I saved. “It’s our whole Mac operating system in real life!” Kurt replied. We pulled over, joining the clusters of cars and tourists on the side of the road getting their first pictures in.

Upon checkin, we stuffed our food and bear cans into the bear vaults (a bit redundant, but we couldn’t bring the cans into our soft-sided tent) and ran straight for the showers. I attempted to hand-wash our nastiest clothes in the shower with me, which we hung dry on a rope strung across the top of our tent, pure camp-style.

Once we were feeling fresh and clean for the first time in days, we walked into Curry Village and ordered a giant pizza with beers, which we ate outside on the patio. There was a wi-fi lounge across the way with a wraparound porch full of rocking chairs, so we picked up a 6-pack of beers from the gift shop, grabbed some seats, and spent the rest of the evening Instagramming (me) and catching up on Packers news (Kurt). That night, we went to sleep in a real bed, listening to drunk tourists stumbling to their cabins instead of the hooting of owls.

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Yosemite Diaries: All Downhill From Here

Sept. 22, 2015: Lake Vernon to Tiltill Valley

Mileage: 11.51 miles
‘Floors’ ascended/descended: 74

In the morning, I went to filter some water at the edge of the lake.  A loud whooshing noise approached, like a swiftly moving plane or train. I looked up into the sky; three birds in formation, their wings steady in a V,  swooped down over the lake at an incredibly high speed. In seconds, they were gone. “What was that?” Kurt called from inside the tent where he was rolling up our sleeping bags. “It sounded like a car driving right at us.”

21939545792_2814d294ea_oAs we finished packing up, we spotted a bear across the lake near the water, our fourth sighting in 24 hours. It was time to hit the trail again, and it was a 750-foot climb to get over the ridge surrounding the lake. It didn’t feel as hard as I thought it would be; as they say, you get in shape on the trail. As we climbed higher, we got a great view of Lake Vernon, including a bear walking along the water (probably the same one I saw earlier continuing his stroll).

21763764508_4e6c0d6bed_oAt the top of the ridge, the trail flattened out and we found ourselves in an alpine forest. “It’s the forest moon of Endor!” Kurt said. In the fresh mud, we saw a bear print and what could possibly be a mountain lion paw print. The trail meandered through a high meadow, and as we entered the deep brush we heard a crash to our right; we had startled a mule deer. It hopped away from us about 25 yards, then looked back to check us out, hanging around to nibble on grass while keeping an eye on us.

somebody got got :(

somebody got got 😦

When we reached the far end of the ridge, we started a long climb down (1800 feet, to be exact). The switchbacks took us back and forth through thorny bushes that made me wish I had left the legs on my convertible pants. At the bottom of the steep descent, we reached Tiltill Valley, our destination. However, in the search for a perfect campsite, we continued another .75 or so of a mile to see if we could find a scenic view on the other side of the valley. It turned out there wasn’t a decent water source, so we backtracked closer to the trail marker, where we ended up finding a pretty cool well-hidden spot across the river and over a large rock. Tucked away from the word, we set up camp then took a dip in the bubbling creek to clean up. The rocks created a small pool, our own personal spa (that happened to have freezing water).

While climbing up the rock to our ‘kitchen’ area where we cooked dinner/kept our bear cans away from the tent, I heard Kurt exclaim “Snake!” I ran over to check it out; he had found a Sierra Mountain kingsnake, which is very colorful but not poisonous. After the sun set, we went into the tent (we were now at too low an elevation to legally have a campfire) for a “tent party,” which basically meant that I journaled by headlamp while Kurt went over our maps, and then we both read our books until falling asleep while listening to the hooting of owls.

 

 

Yosemite Diaries: All the Bears

Sept. 21: Laurel Lake to Lake Vernon

Mileage: 7 miles
‘Floors’ climbed: 69

In the morning, I peeked out of the tent door to check on our bear canisters like a kid on Christmas Day, wondering if they’d be knocked out of place in with fresh claw marks on the side. But they were just as we left them the night before. We made a breakfast of powdered eggs, dehydrated hashbrowns, coffee, and tea, then packed up our tents and packs.

The route to Lake Vernon traveled out of the grassy meadows and onto the granite rocks that Yosemite is famous for. We quickly learned that the trail, when traveling over rocks, was much harder to follow. Looking ahead for cairns quickly became a habit. The hot sun bounced off the white rocks onto our arms and faces. After we crossed over the peak, the rest of the trail snaked downhill towards the lake. We followed the trail halfway around the lake, looking for a spot where it got close to the water; we needed a good entry point where we could filter clean drinking water. After going a bit off trail, we found a grassy spot where Kurt could crawl out onto a log and dip the gravity filter bag into the lake. We took a lunch break while filtering 3 Nalgene’s worth of drinking water, then came up with a game plan to backtrack and continue along the trail to an area on the opposite shore that looked like a small sandy beach.

As we bushwacked back to the trail, Kurt pause in front of me. “It’s a bear,” he said. About 25 yards away, I saw the furry rounded back behind a bush. The bear briefly lifted its head, looked at us, then returned to its bear business. “HEY BEAR!” we shouted, waving our arms to look bigger, following the ranger’s advice. Slowly, we backed away, keeping an eye on him while continuing to wave our arms and make noise. He showed zero signs of wanting to follow us, or any interest in us whatsoever, so as soon as we reached the trail we walked away like normal humans (with pounding hearts).

IMG_5954On the other side of the lake we found an ideal campsite–a sandy beach with easy access to the water, and a primitive trail leading into a wooded area with a fire ring and enough space to pitch our tent. We set up camp and relaxed; Kurt fished while I read my trashy time travel romance novel. At one point while sitting on the beach, I heard the padded footsteps of something behind me. I spun around; a young bear had spotted us and ran away. I remembered the ranger’s words: “they’re afraid of us.”

At dinnertime, we took our Jetboil and baggie of dehydrated mac and cheese and hiked partway up the ridge to watch the sunset. No picture can capture the beauty of a Yosemite sunset. The tops of the granite bluffs took on a rose hue as the sky darkened, reflecting its mirror image into the glassy lake. Further up the ridge and in the distance, we spotted the shape of a black bear rambling along the rocks. As the last remaining light waned, we walked back down to camp. Kurt noticed a fresh pile of bear scat by our fire ring.

We made a toasty fire and laid out the socks that we had rinsed and wrung out earlier on the rocks to dry (camping laundry). With the moon behind the ridge, the stars began to come out. I caught a glimpse of a shooting star. When we turned off our headlamps, the nighttime view was breathtaking; the white rocks glowed in the moonlight, creating an otherworldly vision of another planet. In the warmth of the fire, we reflected on the views, the stars, the stillness. This was everything we came to the backcountry to experience.

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Yosemite Diaries: Hiking Out

Sept. 20, 2015: From Hetch Hetchy to Laurel Lake

Mileage: 12.68 miles
‘Floors’ climbed: 164

We woke up just before 7 a.m. Pacific time and immediately began to pack up our stuff. Our first day was going to be our hardest; besides the fact that we’d be carrying full food and water (as the rangers mentioned, most rivers in the area were already dry), we’d also be climbing out of Hetch Hetchy Valley on a switchbacking trail, gaining about 1,200 feet in about 2 miles. We’d be adjusting to the heat, the altitude, and pack weight all at the same time.

After a breakfast of almond oatmeal, we were ready to go. We filled our water at the campground and took our last pee in toilets; the women’s room door was covered in warning signs mentioning bears, mountain lions, and plague (transmitted by squirrels). We were not on a Club Med Vacation; that much was clear.

IMG_5931The trail began by taking us over O’Shaugnessy Dam and through a tunnel dug into the mountain ridge. We took our obligatory first day photos, then got down to the business of the trail. There was a handful of other people out and about, mostly day hikers with tiny packs or no gear at all.

As the switchbacks grew more and more grueling,  the view of the valley became even more impressive. We stopped as needed to suck down water (the sun beat down on us on an 87-degree day) or rest our legs. I tried to count how many switchbacks there were on the map, but gave up. Just when we thought we were close to the top, the view would expand and we’d see a whole new ledge of rock we had to climb. Pinecones as big as my head were scattered across the trail. When we finally reached the last switchback, the trail continued to climb uphill but at a less steep progression. Still, it was enough to knock us on our asses.

During a lunch break of trail mix and Clif bars while sitting on some rocks, a ranger caught up with us. We chatted for a bit, and we gave us a heads-up that there had been a lot of recent bear activity at Laurel Lake and Lake Vernon, our destinations for the next few days. “Don’t forget,” he said, “they’re scared of us. Wave your arms, shout at them, throw rocks–not to hurt them, but to remind them to keep away.” We thanked him and said goodbye and he continued down the trail, giving us a view of the large shovel strapped to his pack. “That must be for a lot of poop,” Kurt joked. The ranger overhead and turned back to smile. “It’s for breaking up coals in fire rings,” he explained.

The trail continued to climb; Kurt’s legs were jelly and I was wheezing from the pack weight. When I stopped to rest against a tree and apologized for the pause, Kurt waved it off. “There’s no hike-shaming today,” he said.

Just when it felt like our legs were about to give out from underneath us, we reached Laurel Lake. As we set our backpacks on the ground to eat a celebratory snack of goldfish crackers, I spotted a black bear moving through the trees about 75 yards away. “Look!” I pointed it out to Kurt. Our first bear sighting–that’ll give you an adrenaline rush. We set up our tent, then took a dip into the lake to rinse the sweat and stink off our bodies. Back at camp, we made our dinner of rehydrated broccoli and chicken with rice-a-roni. A mule deer doe wandered through our site, unfazed by our presence. We made a campfire in an existing fire ring and rested our weary limbs while watching the stars come out. I told Kurt that my Fitbit estimated we had climbed 164 stories. Ever the mechanical engineer, he said “That’s almost the Sears Tower AND the Bloomingdale Building!”

Sleep came easily.

Yosemite Diaries: Arriving in Hetch Hetchy

Sept. 19, 2015: Hetch Hetchy Backpackers Camp

Our alarm in Chicago went off at 4:30 am; it was quiet and dark on our street. After groggily rolling out of bed and getting dressed, I took our dog for a walk before leaving for the airport. My brother, who was housesitting for us, would arrive later that day to take care of her and our cats. As River and I walked along our block, I caught a glimpse of a skunk lurking in our neighbors’ front yard. I guess that counts as the first wildlife sighting of our vacation.

We took a taxi to the airport and a little over four hours later, landed in San Francisco (my in-flight move: Pitch Perfect 2; Kurt’s: Focus). After picking up our rental car, we left the city immediately, heading southeast towards Yosemite, with one quick stop at an REI in Pleasanton to purchase fuel for our Jetboil (as we couldn’t carry it onto the plane). There was an attempt at In-N-Out Burger for lunch, but a line snaked around the parking lot so we gave up and hit McDonald’s. My last non-dehydrated meal for the foreseeable future was a Big Mac. After stopping near Stockton to use a gas station bathroom that looked like about 50 junkies died in it, we finally reached the Yosemite area. Our cell reception went from spotty to nonexistent. The pines began to tower over us, and I was reminded of Special Agent Dale Cooper’s first impressions of Twin Peaks: “Oh Diane, I almost forgot. Got to find out what kind of trees these are. They’re really something.”

We arrived at the Hetch Hetchy entrance to Yosemite around 3:30 pm and checked in with the ranger to get our backcountry permit. The ranger checked our packs to make sure that we had bear canisters for storing our food: “A bear got some food at Lake Vernon about a month ago, so they might be a little more aggressive.” She mentioned that one bear near Snow Pass had gotten smart enough to roll bear cans off of cliffs to break them open, allowing her access to the food inside. Oh yes, we were officially in bear country for the next few weeks.

P1060800After arriving at the backcountry campground, we selected a site for our tent and threw our food and toiletries into a bear vault. We drove our rental Nissan around the loop, giving us a fantastic view of Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, the source of San Francisco’s drinking water. In the early twentieth century, John Muir had unsuccessfully protested the damming of the Tuolumne River, as Hetch Hetchy Valley was one of his favorite sites in the Yosemite River. We took a short walk from our campsite up past a helipad landing area to get a higher view of the reservoir and Kolana Rock.

Tomorrow, our adventure would begin.

The Mountains are Calling…

…and I must go.

It’s an appropriate time to quote John Muir. In just a few days, my husband and I will get on a plane and fly to San Francisco, then drive down to Yosemite National Park and Emigrant Wilderness Area for an adventure. We will spend 2 weeks camping, hiking, backpacking, exploring, and getting incredibly dirty and smelly.  I am greatly looking forward to this trip. I need this trip. It’s been a long time since I’ve fully immersed myself in nature, and this will be the longest time we’ve spent “off the grid” together yet. After months of devouring hiker blogs online, I’m finally going on my own hiking trip! It will be a far cry from a 5-month long thru-hike, but you’ve gotta start somewhere.

My backpack holds: one bear canister full of snacks and dehydrated meals, one quick-drying t-shirt, one sports bra and pair of underwear, two pairs of socks and sock liners, one pair of long underwear, one nano-puff jacket, one set of trekking poles, a headlamp, travel toothbrush, two empty water bottles, a water filter, rain jacket and pants, a sleeping bag and sleeping pad, tent, pocket knife, hat and gloves, a solar charger, a small journal, and a paperback copy of Outlander (because who doesn’t love reading trashy novels in the wilderness?). Kurt’s backpack is similar, plus or minus a few odds & ends we split up between the two of us (he’s reading The Martian). Other than the clothes on our backs, that’s all that we’ll have for 2 weeks.

There may be bears, fires, and plague. We may have to improvise our plans at times, or deal with rough weather. We may want to strangle each other. We may give up after 3 days and get a hotel room in Reno. Who knows?! I can’t wait to find out.

 

 

 

Summertime

I blinked and June  and July were gone. How is August almost over too?? I swear that summer just started. In a midwestern city where summer flies by so fast, we feel the need to be outside every single moment so as not to miss a precious drop of sunshine.

Remember when you were a kid and summer was the greatest time ever? Long days at the swimming pool, cruising town on bikes with friends, sprawling out in the backyard to look up at the moon while cicadas chirped a soundtrack to your most secret sleepover conversations–summer meant pure freedom. No school. No responsibilities. Even when I eventually had summer jobs as a teen, they were easy, carefree times. I’d scoop ice cream for a 4-hour shift before my friends came to pick me up from work so we could drive around, playing Alanis Morisette’s “Jagged Little Pill” on repeat and riding past boys’ houses.

As an adult with a full-time job and a mortgage, it’s hard to capture that delicious taste of summer freedom again. How do you fit in long, lazy weeks of bicycle-riding, dock jumping, keg beer drinking, and s’mores burning amidst the work week, the paying of bills, the doing of laundry, the running of errands that never go away? I used to have a co-worker who, every time I’d run into her and ask how it’s going, would reply “Same shit, different day.” That phrase perfectly describes the grind that is adulthood.

How do you make summer magical again? It’s all about catching the little moments when you can, as often as you can. You head out after work to the local street fest near your house to listen to a band and eat meat on a stick. You drive up to Wisconsin to spend 36 hours at a cabin to ride on a pontoon boat while drinking New Glarus before jumping out into the deep dark water in the middle of the lake, floating on a pool noodle and letting the sunshine beam down on your face. You go to a  giant music festival and sweat through the summer heat until the sun goes down, the night air soothing your sunburnt skin, and you share a spontaneous moment with tens of thousands of people when the headliner plays their biggest, most classic song, and you all sing along and feel the communal thrill of happiness over being present for this moment of time. You go canoeing with a few dozen friends, lazily floating down the river while drinking light summer beers and laughing at what everyone says, because everyone is hysterical when you have known each other for so many years and have a rich history of shared, hilarious stories. You let yourself float along the edge of the bank of the river, feeling the current tugging at your feet while a sun shower breaks out overhead, dappling the water all around you while warm raindrops bounce back up onto your face. You stand on the back porch of the house you bought and listen to the cicadas, the soundtrack to every summer of your Midwestern life, and remember the times you heard their chirps while riding around in your best friends’ Geo Metro listening to “Jagged Little Pill” so many years ago.

 

 

 

City Kid with an Outdoor Heart

I constantly feel conflicted about living in a big city.  Throughout every downtown office cubicle job I’ve had, I would find moments to slip away and gaze out a window. I needed to see the outside for whatever brief little moments I could find. My husband and I have traveled to the Badlands, Black Hills, Yellowstone, and Glacier. We’ve kayaked and camped along the Wisconsin River nearly every summer we’ve been together. We used every last frequent flier mile we had to travel to Alaska, where we drove an RV around for 10 days of exploring . When I’m outdoors, it feels like my soul can finally breathe. I love it.

But I also love living in the city–the third largest U.S. city, to be precise (stand down, Houston). In Chicago, I have regular access to art, culture, and whatever kind of food I’m craving, be it Indian, Mexican, Ethiopian, Filipino, or Korean. In the city, I meet people from all walks of life, who grew up in other countries or have interesting backgrounds, who spent a year backpacking across Australia or studying the circus arts. On any given evening, I can go attend a live literary reading or open mic, see a band I’ve never heard of or one I grew up listening to, or go to a bar to cheer on one of our many local professional sports teams and high-five strangers.

In the outdoors, I’ve seen a mountain lion cross the road in front of us, its eyes fixed upon us, long tail slowly swishing, looking like something majestic and wild and otherworldly, before it leapt up the hillside in three fluid strides.

In the city, I’ve seen both obscure arthouse films and major movie premieres on the big screen with the director present for a live Q&A.

In the outdoors, I’ve had a bison huff angrily at the tent where my husband and I slept, threatening to charge us for being on his home turf.

In the city, I’ve participated in a flash mob during the halftime of a roller derby bout while dressed as a ninja.

In the outdoors, I’ve heard the howls of coyotes, the hoots of owls, and the soft patter of rain on the roof of my tent as I drifted to sleep.

In the city, I’ve seen priceless works of art at our local, internationally renowned museums.

In the outdoors, I’ve waited out a rainstorm with my husband in a 3-man tent on a narrow sandbar in the middle of a river, drinking boxed wine from our camping cups and reading the third Game of Thrones book by the light of my headlamp as rain pelted our fly and lightning crackled over our heads.

In the city, I’ve danced in the rain during a street festival with a beer in one hand and a taco in the other, surrounded by friends and live music.

I love my hometown while simultaneously feeling frustrated by it. I get disheartened by crime and the disrespect people can have for their surroundings, others’ property, and human life. This city will always inspire me, excite me, act as a muse, and break my heart over and over. And when things become to stressful, bleak, or maddening, the mountains start calling my name.

A Big Year

I turn 36 today. Here’s some of the things I did during my 35th year:

  • got married!
  • bought a house!
  • visited three new states: South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana
  • got into yoga
  • started forcing myself to eat kale, like, all the time, mostly because:
  • got addicted to Oreos
  • got hit by a car while crossing the street
  • coordinated an office build-out and move
  • started performing again (storytelling)
  • left a job at a famous tech company to try out the small business world
  • saw both Katy Perry and Britney Spears in concert
  • rode a mechanical bull in Las Vegas
  • Margaret Cho started following me on Twitter for some reason
  • saw three Broadway plays in one weekend
  • got my ninth tattoo
  • I decided that my favorite Christmas movie is Batman Returns
  • lost the Halloween costume contest at a dog park
  • finished a novel-length manuscript
  • took singing classes at Old Town School of Folk Music
  • started a karaoke club
  • found way more gray hair than ever before
  • used the phrase “YOLO” ironically so often that it stopped being ironic
  • cried over the Star Wars trailer
  • experimented with growing my eyebrows in thicker. Turned out less Cara Delavingne and more Peter Falk.

I Heart Vegas

It can be hard to come back from vacation. Initially, it’s nice–the long plane ride is over with, I get to kiss my husband and hug my dog and cats and sleep in my own bed. But after a few days, the vacation hangover kicks in. Regular life is boring! You want to be back in vacation life, away from overflowing inboxes, dirty dishes, and piles of laundry. Vacation is a fantasy where none of those things exist, and no vacation is more pure fantasy than Las Vegas.

Sure I go out to bars in normal non-Vegas life, but not nearly as often or as late as I used to. Most Friday nights, a bottle of red on the couch with some Netflix cued up is my number one jam. In Vegas life, however, I’d look at my phone and suddenly realize it was past 4 am (6 am Chicago time),  I had a comped beer and a pile of chips sitting in front of me on the roulette table, and I barely felt tired. In Vegas life, I can fit the following into a 48-hour period: drink from a margarita tower during dinner, swap my jeans for my sister’s skirt in a casino bathroom so she could zip line several stories above Fremont Street,  lose track of time in the Flamingo pit, nearly barf up a Johnny Rocket’s BLT, hang out at the sprawling MGM sports book and cash in our aunt’s winning ticket for OSU taking the National Championship, drink a Bloody Mary in the shower, drink champagne and eat chocolate-covered strawberries while 5 girls sharing one hotel bathroom get ready for a big night out, eat dinner at a restaurant called Yolo’s, see Britney Spears in concert and watch her walk a man on a leash across stage and sing along to every single song amongst women dressed in Catholic school girl skirts or wearing plush snakes around their necks, go to a bar and ride a mechanical bull (each girl taking turns swapping out the same pair of bike shorts under our fancy going-out skirts and dresses), gamble alongside a bachelor party, see a woman sitting on a curb having a hissy fit crying “I HATE being sober!”, order a 4 am slice of pepperoni pizza and stuff it into my face while boarding the elevator as a stranger smiles at me, get one last boozy brunch with rounds of Bloody Marys and hilarious stories from the night before, hit the Britney store to drop any winnings on themed merchandise like panties that say “Work Bitch” on the butt, give goodbye hugs to the great group of girls I spent the whole weekend with, cab to the airport and finally, slump into a seat on the airplane and get some sleep.

That’s a pretty epic weekend, and pretty typical Vegas. Sorry Netflix, but you’re paling in comparison at the moment. But at least I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “Britney, bitch” while I watch.