So we completed our 6-mile hike through Tuolumne Meadows, a voyage filled with spectacular sights and sounds and much gloriosity. When we finally arrived at our campsite at what seemed like 2 in the morning, we found an abandoned site with padlocked bear cannisters and half-constructed building. But it was right beside a gorgeous waterfall that would provide exactly the background noise needed to “mat down” successfully. So after scouring the campsite itself (appx. an extra 12 miles of nighttime hiking) for more signs of life and perhaps finding some, we returned to the original spot and produced fire. We laid down the tarp and soon unfurled our bags and slept—or perhaps become temporarily frozen in the sub-30 temps during the night. Did I mention we chose not to bring a tent that night, and that bears are known to roam that area since not many people take this trail at this time of year?
So not too surprisingly, I woke up with one of my patented sore-throat head colds and prepared for the return journey (6 miles, remember). After grubbing some granola and Snickers and attempting to snarf down some water (which for some reason hurts like the dickens when I have a cold), I headed out with the others for more pristine views and incredibly breathtaking panoramas. After a couple miles we took a break on a bright white dome situated right beside a rolling brook with snow-capped mountains in the background. Upon completing a much-needed nap, I noticed that Danny, Mark and Paul had trekked to the top of said dome while Matt remained motionless and possibly dead a few feet away.
At this time my energy levels were surprisingly high, so I needed to take advantage of the situation. I took off on a solo mission the rest of the way, and I have to say that experiencing Yosemite for at least a while by one’s self is an experience to be savored. With so few people on the trail, much time was spent solely between nature and myself, and once again I was rendered awestruck by God’s artistry—although our group has been a bit suspicious so far by the utter lack of weeds and red clay that tends to mar our side of the country. Everything in California seems to be perfectly groomed at all times. It’s really weird actually, as if we’ve passed into the garden of Eden by taking a wrong left turn somewhere.
When I finally reached the last half mile of the trail, my legs were staging an open rebellion against the rest of me, and I could not fight back in kind. I kept repeating the mantra “one foot in front of the other” as I hovered back towards our van. When I arrived I immediately replaced my boots with sandals and drove to the nearby general store. Remember how I’m still sick and stuff? I needed Sprite, and I needed it more than air. I picked up some drugs too and did what I had to do. When I drove back the other four were just arriving, so I was spared their wrath—not that wrath isn’t a price worth paying lymon-flavored carbon water.
June 6th, 2007 at 3:32 pm
What bears may come.