The recent flood of attention given to the National Parks in the media due to the government shutdown had me reminiscing on our time in Yosemite.
This trip sparked in me a deeper longing for exploration that encouraged me to ask questions about my fears, desires, experiences, dreams and goals. I think sometimes we need an adventure out of the ordinary to get us thinking about the journey ahead and what we want from it.
I was a marketing intern for Gearhead Outfitters in addition to working the floor while finishing up my last two semesters of college and was slowly learning more and more about the outdoor industry and community. It was after watching the film Valley Uprising that I decided that’s where I wanted to take my celebration trip after graduating.
First I met my girlfriends in Seattle, then I met Jackson and my dad in San Jose. We drove to Yosemite and spent a couple days in the valley where I got my first true backpacking experience. I experienced several realizations within those few days.
Upon arriving in the valley we sought out a backcountry permit; no cabins and no campsites this go around! I was going to be a backpacker. Jackson of course has several thru-hikes under his belt, and I know my dad has camped in the backcountry often. As for myself, I’d only been on one overnight with Jackson and I’d lain awake 95% of the night because we’d shared a single person tent… and had squeezed both our bodies onto one sleeping pad. It was a long night.
This was going to be more fun. For one, we were carrying our new Hubba Hubba two-person tent from MSR. We each had our own sleeping pad, too.
We were to begin our exploring by hiking the Four Mile Trail up to Glacier Point. On the bus ride to our starting point, my dad informed me that we should go alone. An old knee injury had flared up a couple of weeks before our trip and upon entering the valley he’d realized that his pace wouldn’t be anywhere close to what we were hoping to maintain. He felt as if he’d hold us back from covering all the ground we wanted to.
My heart constricted and my eyes burned as I fought back tears. My reaction was not out of disappointment, but rather the knowledge that my Daddy probably felt like he was disappointing me, and I so badly didn’t want him to feel that way.
My dad taught me to seek adventure. His advice, my entire life, has been to “Go. See. Do.” Growing up I heard stories of his own adventures, like when he road his bike across Tennessee, and I was encouraged to do anything I wanted to do when it came to exploring a new place or taking a risk. “Life is a grand adventure, baby,” he’d say while grinning. He wore that same grin on the bus in Yosemite Valley, his eyes glittered with pride after telling me he wanted Jackson and I to go ahead without him.
I teared up thinking that he might feel as if he was disappointing me. But the truth is he was the very reason I sat on that bus, in the middle of paradise, ready to conquer new heights and seek epic views. His encouragement and advice had led me to the first step of each adventure had and yet to be taken, and I could hardly bear the thought that he might not know that. So, the only thing to do was hike.
The new plan was for my dad to drive up the road to Glacier Point, and Jackson and I would meet him there. As we hiked, I realized that it was time to chase all the things that my dad had encouraged me to, and also that he wouldn’t be able to walk every mile with me. I’d simply have to hold on to his voice inside me, and use it to push me up all the mountains, figurative and literal, to come.
After reaching Glacier Point we joined my dad to take in the view, then hopped in the car to drive down to a much less traveled trail that lay outside of the valley in order to camp for the night. In Yosemite, if camping in the backcountry you must hike at least four miles down the trail before making camp, and it can’t be in the valley. On the second night, we would be able to camp at the backpackers only camp of Little Yosemite if we chose, but not the first.
So we walked, and walked, down a trail to find a spot to make camp for the night. My dad held his own and covered the necessary miles in order to camp with us. We made camp, slept well, and in the morning we hiked out, hopped in the car, and then my dad dropped us off at the John Muir Trail that we would take to the Little Yosemite Campground so that we could camp and hike Half Dome in the morning. My dad gave me another big bear hug before sending us off.
We had not been selected for the lottery to hike up Half Dome, but the cables to assist hikers were down anyway and the only way up would be with climbing gear. We didn’t have gear, but we wanted to at least climb the subdome and earn a view of the valley.
Starting out on the trail we were surrounded by people on all sides. The trail was paved. People of many ages hobbled along the steep path and we zigzagged our way through them in order to walk at a semi-reasonable pace. I felt as if we were at a zoo.
We wore our backpacks and carried our trekking poles up the path while mothers scolded screaming kids and groups stretched across the entire path(This is terrible trail etiquette! Come on people, you’re not the only ones there, be respectful!).
Finally, we came to a bridge where most walkers diverged to get a glimpse of Nevada Falls. We kept walking and suddenly we were alone. We at last had the peace we desired. I realized, as we kept climbing, that while we’d likely see many more day hikers willing to climb to the top of Nevada Falls, the trail wouldn’t be crowded anymore because the pavement had ended and most visitors had already arrived at their destination. Most people weren’t willing to walk any further than the easiest viewpoint.
We took in the stunning scenery at the top of Nevada Falls before trekking on. After arriving at Little Yosemite Campground, we parked our gear and continued down the trail. Despite being given advice that the trek to climb the dome should be started early in the morning, we felt as if we still had plenty of daylight to roam. We walked.
By the time we broke tree-line my legs were feeling the weight of the distance we had traveled. Despite being a collegiate athlete, I was no match for Jackson on the trail. His trail name served him well; Mission kept moving.
Several times I would stop, look ahead at him plowing down the trail, and release a deep breath of frustration. I was tired and weary of the uneven path. When the steps got steep and there was much less foliage to catch me should I fall, I began to feel nervous. Despite relatively easy hiking, the expanse of rock in front of me rattled my nerves. I would place my trekking pole on the smooth stone before me and slowly execute each step.
My breath was not labored but my legs trembled as I continued upward. I was acutely aware of my position on the monstrous, curved stone. I imagined the highly unlikely but possible event that I should misplace a step and going rolling down the face of the dome. Jackson cruised ahead of me, placing confident steps up the stone staircase. At one point, we came along a snow patch and I feared slipping. I knew that should we not have the view around us that we did that I would casually walk over the snow. It was only standing at such height that caused my not-quite rational fear to creep in.
Though we’d seen very few hikers on this trail, at the point we came to the snow, a dad and his teenage daughters were descending. They wore tennis shoes and giggled as they slid down. Why weren’t they scared?!
I finally sat down, taking deep breaths to calm my racing pulse. I looked out over the view behind me and fought back the stinging tears. The mountains were speckled with snow and they rolled before me like God had been shaking out a blanket then decided to freeze it. The beauty was stunning and yet the view was crippling.
Why was I so afraid? Why was I worried of falling? I’d never been scared of heights! I loved heights! Apparently not anymore.
I sat there, wallowing in my new fear. I thought about the prospect of dying, of how easily it could come, really; there on that big rock or anywhere else. One step could send me tumbling, possibly for a very long ways. I was twenty-two years old on the biggest adventure of my life and crying because I was scared of taking a wrong step on a fairly easy climb…
Jackson came back to me. He sat beside me. He asked if I was alright.
I didn’t feel alright. I’d come all the way out to California for my big “I graduated, I want an adventure!” celebration and I was sitting below my goal with tears in my eyes and a huge, gripping fear that I wouldn’t have the courage to walk to the top, after all.
Jackson waited with me patiently, and after some time we both continued to walk. On top of the subdome we took some pictures and watched a few climbers descend from Half Dome. I still wish we could have gone to the top, but I was satisfied to have gone as far as I did after feeling as if even the subdome might be too far. I basked in the view and the moment that was filled with such beauty.
We made our way down slowly. The next morning trekked back to my dad who was relieved to learn we were ready for a hotel room after he too had camped another night in the backcountry. Let me tell you right here that each night spent on the ground is worth it when waking up to walk a beautiful trail the next day, but sometimes you’re just ready to crawl back into a bed.
On our way out of Yosemite we passed a line of cars waiting to get into the park that was at least three miles long.
Where will they all go?? I thought. Parking had been full when we left, so all of the cars waiting to get in would have to park along the roads and their passengers would walk miles just to get to the trailheads. I thought about all the people that had clogged the trail leading up to the viewpoint for Nevada Falls and wondered how many of the people in the cars we were now passing would actually get to see what they were hoping to… I wondered how many were willing to walk to their desired view, or if they’d just drive through the park and then exit without stepping foot out of the car.
Less than a week later, back at work, someone asked if I had seen the news that Alex Honold had free soloed El Capitan.
I was just there! I thought. We left Yosemite on Memorial Day, May 29th, 2017 and Honnold climbed on June 3rd. I later looked back at a pic of myself staring up at the wall and wondered how nearby the climber had been while I’d gazed upon the natural wonder.
Recently, I watched the Free Solo film; heart pumping furiously and fingers twitching nervously. I reflected on my own climb, just days before the athlete had made his own. I recalled sitting on the incline, terrified of falling. I recognized the major differences between myself and Honnold; first, the fact that his climb was infinitely tougher and more dangerous than mine and second that despite the ratios of difficulty I had still been paralyzed by fear while he had scaled smoothly toward his goal.
I won’t be bold enough to say that I’ll explore with less fear or that I’ll start rock climbing (I doubt either of those happen), however, I do hope I learn to conquer my fears in a way that allows me to press forward pass the moments of pause in order to pursue the moment of pure beauty.
Here’s to battling the fears that threaten to keep us from climbing. Here’s to making our dad’s (or whoever your hero, supporter, cheerleader is) proud by seeking the adventures of a lifetime. Here’s to telling a story that we might think pales in comparison to others; my hike in Yosemite would NOT have been as thrilling of a movie as Free Solo was, and yet, I think it was a story worth telling. So here’s to more stories, more adventures, and more lessons learned on the trail.
What has the trail taught you?
You are my hero Lindseybeth!