Today I interviewed our new Superintendent, Michael Tollefson, for our members’ journal. Superintendent Tollefson began working in Yosemite on January 4th, and has been very supportive of our association. He originally hails from Seattle, although he has worked in many parks across the country. He is a quiet, gracious man, who I’ve enjoyed working with during his short time in the park, and I think he will accomplish much for the good of Yosemite during his tenure here. Watch for the full interview in our upcoming issue of Yosemite.
Rocky Mountain High
I spent the weekend in Rocky Mountain National Park, and had a wonderful and knowledgeable tour guide, Curt Buchholtz, Executive Director for the Rocky Mountain Nature Association. Curt has authored several books, including A History of Rocky Mountain National Park. He also has left an impressive legacy at Rocky Mountain with his tireless (and very successful) efforts in fundraising. He has raised money to build visitor centers and to acquire land that adjoins the park.
On Saturday night we were joined by Kathy, who works for the newly renamed Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy, and her mother. We spoke about the importance today of all non-profits involved in environmental work while we dined on hot potato salad, a specialty of Mary’s Lake Lodge.
Although I thought I might tackle Longs Peak (one of Colorado’s fourteeners) for a hike, some photographs showing the exposure involved for the last mile quickly changed my mind (those of you who read this journal regularly know I only like to climb mountains you can’t fall off of). Imagine climbing Half Dome without the cables! That is what a portion of the Longs Peak trail involves. No thanks!
At the advice of Curt, we settled instead on a relatively easy eight mile hike up to Twin Sisters Peak, which had a stunning view of Longs. I could enjoy the mountain without having to climb it!
Colorado Trip
Happy Day after the 4th of July!
Although I intended to be spending the weekend in Tuolumne, a combination of factors has kept me in the low country. I am attending a leadership intensive in Denver, which I leave for tomorrow, and I need to finalize all of my pre-course homework. Additionally, taking a week off from work has necessitated the completion of several projects. I hope that sounds like a good enough excuse! Even as I sit here writing it I am tempted to say the “heck with it all” and jump in my car and head up Tioga Road.
I will be posting my adventures in Colorado, as I am planning a three-day trip after the class ends to Rocky Mountain National Park. My affinity for national parks has its roots at Rocky Mountain. When I was a teenager, I gazed longingly at the photographs in my book, America’s National Parks, and vowed one day to visit them all, especially those magnificent mountains out west.
The first wish fulfilled was at Rocky Mountain National Park. I flew out from Denver with a friend and we hitchhiked from Estes Park. During the entire trip I hiked though the area in amazement. These were real mountains! The highest peak I had climbed back east was Mount Washington, a mere 6,288 feet. (I shouldn’t be so blaise – although it’s small compared to western peaks, Mt. Washington does boast the highest recorded wind speed in the world of 231 mph and hikers sometimes experience what some have dubbed “ the worst weather in the world” while climbing it.)
These mountains rose into the sky, climbing to height of over 14,000 feet. I loved the bigness, the sense of enormity that the Rockies represented. After that trip I knew I would leave the east coast for the largeness of the western landscape, and my road eventually led me to Yosemite.
Aside from my marveling at the landscape, two other first-time experiences at Rocky Mountain National Park left a lasting impression on my life. I met my first “official” park ranger there and attended my first ranger-led nature program. The ranger transmitted his enthusiasm and passion for the park to me, and I remember thinking, this is the career for me! He led us in a song, sung to the tune of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, about Rocky Mountain National Park.
The second experience was discovering the writing of Enos Mills, the John Muir of the Rockies. Like Muir, he wrote eloquently and passionately about his wilderness experiences, and battled against development in the park. I visited his cabin and met his daughter, Edna, who kept her father’s legacy alive. While I was in the park, I read Wildlife on the Rockies, and his essay, “The Story of A Thousand Year Pine.”
So I’m off to the Rockies! For those of you who may have visited Yosemite this weekend, please email me your experiences. Your stories will help me withstand five days of sitting in a classroom!
Tuolumne Bound
Wednesday, July 2, 2003
I’m heading up to Tuolumne Meadows on Friday for a hike; I haven’t decided between climbing Mt. Gibbs or journeying out to Glen Aulin. Any suggestions? Check back next week for a full report! I checked with our Tuolumne Visitor Center staff about trail conditions, but no trail reports have come in since June 20th. However, our wonderful Tuolumne correspondent (and YA staff member) Gretchen reports “that the meadows are bare of snow but out towards Tioga Pass much snow is still visible. The meadows are beautiful and the wildflowers are starting to bloom.” When I asked her about the pie selection this week at TPR, she said she hasn’t yet sampled their pie. We’ll have to rectify that soon!
Sierra Wave
I received an email from someone who had read my article on the amazing cloud formation called the Sierra Wave, and wanted to know the best time to sight one “in the wild.” (you can access the full article here). With all of my hiking and cloud watching, I have only been lucky enough to see the wave once, although smaller wind formed lenticular clouds frequently occur in the high country. The winter months provide the best conditions for wave formations, yet the cloud’s mighty crest can loom over the Sierras anytime of year. My sighting occurred in August, during an intense fire season, which had probably wreaked havoc on normal summer conditions. My best advice for a wave sighting: spend lots of time in the Sierras
Tuolumne Grand Tour
The last two days have been a sort of "grand tour" of Tuolumne and the east side for me. We opened our Tuolumne Meadows Visitor Center yesterday, and I conducted staff training and helped set up the store. One of the rites of summer: stocking Junior Ranger Handbooks and Yosemite Road Guides on our shelves in the high country. If you are in the area, please stop in at the visitor center and say hi to our dedicated staff: Jesse, Gretchen, and Jean. I treated them to a Tioga Pass Resort (TPR) lunch with the requisite piece of pie (we had blueberry!) to show our appreciation for their hard work.
The key word in Tuolumne is snow! After finishing at the store, I headed out to Gaylor Lakes. The beginning of the trail had patches of snow, but most of the ascent was clear, but wet. When I arrived at the crest a snowy world returned. A wind-formed cornice hugged the ridge to the southeast, so I strolled over to Gaylor Peak, which was relatively free of snow. My ascent to the top of the peak was rewarded with a view of frozen Gaylor Lakes blanketed in white, with the severe Sierra Crest standing guard in the background. The lake peeked out of the snow in a few areas with turquoise eyes, but the white hue dominated most of the basin.
That night I stayed in Lee Vining and fulfilled another rite of summer: dinner at the Whoa Nellie Deli. For those of you have not yet partaken in the fine cuisine served in the Mobil Station-run, don't walk! I feasted on lobster taquitos and the best clam chowder I've have ever tasted (no small claim coming from a native New Englander!). Matt, the master chef and a die-hard baseball fan, advised me that the Red Sox's chances this year probably weren't good.
Before returning to my hotel, I drove to Mono Lake and strolled on the boardwalk thought the tufas and willow trees. The evening quickly became (dare I use the overused word magical? I think I will) magical. I walked alone in the late dusk, with the wind singing in the trees and a symphony of birdsong accompanying the full moon. The tufas stood like sentries watching the passage to the lake. On my way back to my car, I noticed the swings in the picnic area. Being the sole inhabitant of the park I thought why not? For what seemed like hours I swung back and forth, reaching my legs to the sky as if I were about to leap over the still, blue-grey lake. The moon bounced back and forth in my sight.
Next day I munched on a bagel as I drove back into the park, readying myself for an excursion up Mt. Dana. The last inaugural rite of summer: my annual hike to the top. Mt. Dana embodies everything I love in a mountain climb: soft, velvet meadows, blooming flowers, and an imposing yet non-technical summit. No ropes, clips, or any gear required. Jack Kerouac said that you can't fall off a mountain, which I can't see as being universally true, but you certainly can't fall off of the north side of Dana. It's a big boulder pile. My scramble up 1,000 feet of rocks at least make me feel like I've done something worthy, even if a technical climber might scoff at the class 1 ratings the ascent to Dana holds.
Although several large snowfields covered some areas, unlike the surrounding peaks buried in a blanket of white in view, most of the mountain was snow-free. Last year when I hiked this trail, the cornflowers were blooming; this year the vegetation is scarce. Spiders, however, were the most ubiquitous lifeforms I saw on the hike. Small gray, black and one almost greenish creature were scurrying among the rocks and over the snow.
At the summit I met a few Yosemite veterans. Rich, who worked in the Bay Area, got his first glimpse of Mt. Dan when he was sixteen and vowed that he would climb it. Although he had accumulated an impressive list of mountaineering and rockclimbing accomplishments in the over twenty years since that day, this was his first ascent of Dana. I watched as he strapped on his telemark skis and boldly and gracefully descended down the east face. I am way too chicken to even think of such a feat, but I admired his confidence. Another hiker, Marcos, had made the ascent to Dana's summit many times. His father had taken many of Carl Sharsmith's classes and was a lifetime YA members.
My descent went quickly, aided by the large snowfields I had avoided on my climb to the top. After donning my rainpants, I sat down and used the snow as a giant slide. The snowcups were small, the snow was soft and I'm sure my fellow hikers heard my cries of delight as I sped down the mountain.
Hike?
Planned to backpack from Tuolumne to the Valley via Sunrise and Clouds Rest, but I've just checked with the Wilderness Office and a staff member who just returned from that area said the trail up to Cathedral Lakes still has waist high snow in some places. The idea of sinking through snow with a forty pound pack on doesn't sound that appealing, so I'm taking my ice ax and going to do some exploring on a couple of day hikes. Mt. Dana is a nice early season hike because you can slide down the snowfields on the way down. I might also try a jaunt up to Glen Aulin or up Lyell Fork. I'll report in on Monday the conditions. And of course I'm looking forward to dining at the Mobil Station: fish tacos and their famous cheesecake!
Ahwahnee Stories
Our quarterly board meeting yesterday prevented me from driving up the newly opened Tioga Road and exploring the high country this weekend, yet I didn't mind too much. A group of talented people dedicated to Yosemite sits on our board. Unlike corporate board meetings where the focus is on maximizing shareholder value, our meetings reinforce our ongoing commitment to the park.
Christy Holloway, our chairperson, has been active in the environmental field for decades and has many landmark accomplishments under her belt, especially her work with Peninsula Open Space Trust. Malcolm Margolin has been a one-man artistic force for California since he founded Heyday Books in 1974, publishing a diverse list of books on California history, natural history, and Native American Studies, as well as an array of poetry and prose. Gerald Barton owns and operates the largest walnut ranch in California. I could fill a book with a list of accomplishment by our board members, but I'll summarize with the observation that our meetings are lively, productive and never lack for interesting conversation. The question displayed in the NPS Interpretive conference room in Yosemite, "Is it in the best interest of the park?" gets posed over and over again as our board makes decisions.
Our meeting was held at the grand Ahwahnee Hotel, and since I couldn't hike, I thought I'd pass along some anecdotal stories of the Ahwahnee. If you get chance, try to attend one of the interpretive history walks given at the Ahwahnee when you visit the park. Julie Miller, a former park ranger and YCS Interpreter, presented a wonderful session that I was lucky enough to be able to attend, filled with fascinating and fun stories.
Let me dazzle you with a few fun facts I learned on my walk with Julie.
Did you know that the original design for the hotel called for the entrance to circle around the dining room and end up in what is now the Indian Room bar? Just ten days before the hotel's opening the flaw in this design was exposed, with the noise and fumes of the delivery trucks causing discomfort to the guests in the rooms above. Imagine changing a major part of the design in just ten days!
During World War II, the Ahwahnee became a convalescent hospital. Furnishings and artwork were moved into storage to make room for the troops.
Despite its rustic appearance, most of the exterior at the Ahwahnee is not wood. In order to make the hotel fireproof, concrete molds were used for the siding and beams, complete with a saw mark design for authenticity!
And, yes, like all old hotels, the Ahwahnee does have a ghost story. But you'll have to go on one of Julie's walks to hear it -she tells the tale much better than I could.
Yosemite Falls
I usually initiate the hiking season with a jaunt up the Yosemite Falls trail, which I typically complete in April or May, but April's constant rain disrupted my schedule. Mother Nature can be so inconvenient!
The above average late precipitation, however, made for a robust falls, full of life and roaring at us hikers. Past Columbia Point, at the first view of the upper falls, mist from the vertical waves danced on the air, and cooled my over heated body! With my usual sense of perfect timing, I had picked a 90F day to hike and began my hike at 10:00 am, just in time for the afternoon sun.
For those of you who haven't yet hiked the Yosemite Falls Trail, let me recite some scary statistics. The trail runs 3.3 miles straight up for an elevation gain of 3,000 feet. Do the math and the elevation gain comes out to 1,000 feet per mile. Try that on a stairmaster! Yet despite the strenuous nature of the hike, the opportunity to stand directly over the crest of upper Yosemite Falls and watch it plunge 1,400 feet below makes the effort well worth it.
Once of the best parts about living and working near Yosemite is the chance to observe the park in different seasons. Although I could probably walk the Yosemite Falls Trail in my sleep (having completed it well over two dozen times), some aspect of the hike is always different. One year most of the final switchbacks were covered in snow, and an ice crystal hung down the falls like a holiday ornament. Another year I made the trip in April on a particularly windy day, and the force of the wind tore the falls in two at times. This year the trail was clear of any snow or even water. At the crest of the ridge, two red snowplants peeked out, probably wondering why they had waited to arrive only to greet the hot weather.
The view from the top revealed a saturated valley overrun in places by the gorged Merced River. Faint memories of the flood of 1997 resounded, although the high water was not even close to that year's mark. Yet the meadows were decidely boggy in all directions.
On my descent, I had a once-in-a-lifetime experience. A rainbow stretched from the trail to the cliff below. I was actually able to touch the end of the rainbow, although the legendary pot of gold was not in sight. Except if you count the stunning view of Yosemite Falls at its peak.
Tioga Road Opens!
We just received a press release announcing the opening of Tioga Road this weekend. Hooray! Despite the scorching temperatures we experienced this past week, summer has not yet arrived until the pass opens to the high country.
Since I began working for the Yosemite Association over fours years ago, we've enjoyed relatively early opening dates from mid-to-late May. I thought May 30 was extremely late and I kept lamenting my fate until I did a bit of research. How dare I complain! In 1998, Tuolumne aficionados had to wait until July 1st for access to the high country. However, since 1980, the pass has opened after May 31 only six times: 1980 (June 6), 1983 (June 29), 1993 (June 3), 1995 (June 30), 1997 (June 13) and 1998 (July 1). Only once in the past twenty-three years has it opened before May 1st; those visiting the park in 1988 were able to access the high country via car on April 29.
Incidentally, closing dates seem to be a little more predictable. Although opening dates have a range of 62 days since 1980, closing dates only vary by 36 days (November 5 to December 11). Summer is more fickle in her arrival.
I've been gazing longingly at the photographs in our new book, Yosemite Once Removed, Claude Fiddler's poem by camera tribute to Yosemite' backcountry. Soon I'll be able to slide down Mt. Dana's snowfields on my raingear or listen to the wind rush up the Kuna Crest. My first planned backpack is an early season jaunt to Mt. Watkins, where the delicate Lewisia has a brief flowering season after the snow melt. Stay tuned for this summer's backcountry adventures!
Wawona
Today, I visited our Hill Studio Store and Visitor Center at the Wawona Hotel to conduct some employee training, and my shameful neglect of the southern area of the park was exposed. When one of my new employees asked advice about hiking trails in Wawona, I had to admit that my travels in the area had been limited to Chilnualna Falls and the Mariposa Grove. I had been a victim of Wawona-blindness, a fairly common yet curably ailment. Once the snow melts and the pass opens, I become Tuolumne focused and tend to forget that some wonderful hiking exists in the southern area of the park.
According to Jeffery Schaffer's Yosemite National Park: A Natural History Guide to Yosemite and Its Trails (one of my favorite hiking guides), the Wawona area boasts some excellent yet little used hiking trails. A foray along Bishop Creek in springtime will reward one with a view of a rainbow of wildflowers. Another backpack Schaffer outlines visits seven lakes including Royal Arch, Buena Vista, and Chilnuala. And how could I have missed exploring the tranquil shores of Chain Lakes near Chiquito Pass?
This season, I make a solemn promise to alternate my explorations in Wawona and Tuolumne. If you don't find some journal entries describing hikes in southern Yosemite, email me about fulfilling my promise!
Seattle or the Sierras?
Last night I peered out my window and stared with fascination at a theater of a pristine night sky dancing with spots of light. For moment I felt like a character in Isaac Asimov's famous short story Nightfall, where inhabitants of a planet with three suns (and consequently no darkness) fear a coming eclipse because they might get a glimpse of those terrible, mythic creatures called "stars". I realized my confusion resulted from the weeks of greedy rain clouds dominating the skies day and night.
Although our friends in Portland and Oregon may be accustomed to weekly rain showers, I am quite happy to live in a place where the rain sleeps from May to October, where the word winter doesn't quite apply to the weather from November through March (winter and 70 degree days don't ring as synonyms for me), and where "winter" storms are polite enough to occur only a once or twice a month (and usually not on weekends) and have the courtesy to allow for at least a week of sunny weather in between their visits.
T.S. Eliot was right in calling April the cruelest month. The sun became an endangered species this past April and most of us who live in Yosemite began singing "rain, rain go away, come back some other day." What was the use of rain and snow in April? We couldn't ski since Badger Pass was closed and it only would delay Tuolumne opening for the season. No, we really couldn't think of one good reason for this month-long stretch of rain.
Mother Nature, however, had plenty of good reasons for making April a tribute to Seattle in the Sierras. According to the data on the California Department of Water Resources (a great site for weather enthusiasts, hikers and skiers at http://cdec.water.ca.gov) the precipitation from October to March was running at 85% of normal. After April that jumped to 99%. Akin to the Patriots winning the Superbowl in the last seconds of the game, Mother Nature raced into the endzone with a touchdown of weather when we least expected it: April's rainfall exceeded the average by 225%.
Bob Kolbrener
"I have always responded to the grand, ephemeral gestures of Nature. Where there is lightning, fog or winter storm, I am alive with emotion. Through the teachings and inspiration of Ansel Adams I have been able to direct this energy to the making of exciting photographs." -- Bob Kolbrener
Ansel Adams' photographs have defined the Yosemite landscape for generations. Bob Kolbrener has refined that definition in his own black and white portraits of the park, paying tribute to his teacher yet achieving his own style that distinguishes the student from the teacher.
Being a weather buff, Bob first attracted my attention because of his fondness for photographing clouds and storms. When I wrote an article for the Yosemite Journal last year on the Sierra Wave, his was gracious enough to donate the use of his photograph of the cloud, the best image I have ever seen of the phenomena, to accompany the article. The photograph is now on display, with many of his other works, at the Ansel Adams Gallery.
I was fortunate enough to be able to meet Bob and his wife at a reception for his work at the Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite Valley. Claudia, Ed, Glenn and the rest of the Ansel Adams staff always host a great reception, from bringing in talented artists to ensuring that the curry dip and good wine never runs out. Glenn also shares willingly his vast knowledge of all things photographic.
Besides being one of the nicest people I've ever met (along with his wife Sharon), Bob's photography is stunning. I'm going to employ the writer's over used defense here of saying words cannot describe his work. But truly, I'm not just being lazy. Words truly cannot capture the vibrancy of these images. A print of Bridalveil Falls appeared so lifelike that I imagined I felt droplets of spray on my face as I gazed at it. If you can't make a visit to the gallery, you can view Bob's work online at www.anseladams.com.
Johnson Peak
What better way to conclude a successful Yosemite Association members meeting in Tuolumne than to stretch the legs and climb a mountain. At the meeting in Tuolumne two years ago, snow had left a dusting on the terrain and I hiked over powder when I climbed Mt. Lewis near Mono Pass. Today the weather is sunny and warm and I scan for good swimming holes for the return trip.
After a long day and night of activity, we decide to pick a short hike. Johnson Peak barely rises above treeline, but the views from the top are outstanding. Everywhere I look, we see poetry; the speaker at the meeting was the lively and talented Chicano poet Francisco Alarcón, and his words vibrate in my mind. He told us that the word Mexico can be translated as "the belly button of the moon," and I try to describe the natural features I pass just as poetically. The empty creek beds we follow through the pine forest becomes strands of a giant spider web; the pine tree branches, feathers on the coat of the earth.
The summit affords us a good view of Mt. Conness, which from this vantage point appears utterly inaccessible. This summit is friendlier, a wide oblong dotted with boulders and Jeffrey pines. Tired from the weekend event (not from the barely two mile hike) we rest at the top, gazing at green swath of Tuolumne Meadows below and know it will soon be resting under the snow.
Mt. Conness (Almost)
This is probably the most beautiful hike I’ve taken in the park. The landscape changes with every mile, from green watered meadows covered with wildflowers, to sheer walls of granite, to alpine lakes, glaciers and glacier-swept plateaus, and finishing with a panoramic view of the Sierra atop a majestic peak.
A tributary of Lee Vining Creek runs through the basin, feed by the alpine lakes above, and the water creates lush meadows of wildflowers and miniature waterfalls. It’s a peaceful walk up a gradual uphill and I tread softly, enjoying the sun and the brisk breeze that strolls through the meadow with me.
At the end of the basin we halt, confronted with the Sierra Crest, a very imposing wall of sheer granite. We are all perplexed and wondering just where the heck the saddle can be in these cliffs, which appear inaccessible. After a consulting the topo map, we all have different ideas on the route, yet with more luck than skill we manage to find the correct way to the saddle. It barely passes for class 2, and is probably more appropriate for mountain goats, but I have to admit the scramble up is fun.
The top of the saddle affords us a fine view of Young Lakes and we find ourselves in a large open plateau on top of the Sierra Crest. The cliffs hid well the relatively flat expanse we now encounter. North Peak and the Sierra Crest have guarded Mt. Conness for most of the hike, but as we follow the ridge, the peak is unmistakable. Before the summit we encounter a land of wind swept sand and rock formations shaped like stalagmites. A small blue mini-lake lies in the middle of the sandy field, and some industrious person built a rock windbreak next to it.
The last few hundred feet to the summit is not for those who fear heights, like myself. On either side of the route is a drop off of a thousand feet, and although no technical rockclimbing is required, it’s still pretty exposed. At one point on the trail, where thin boulder lie on their sides like shark fins, vertigo hits. I peer over the side and my legs start to shake. "I think I’ll just sit here for awhile," I tell Shad, who is fearlessly snapping photos of the Conness Glacier below. After my vertigo passes, I continue on, keeping my tunnel vision. Safely atop a large, secure pile of boulders, I can now reap the rewards of the view (and the chocolate chip cookies I saved for the summit) without feeling dizzy.
Kuna Crest & Mono Pass
I keep returning to the Mono Pass area for hiking. I’ve been exploring the region from all directions, having hiked, over the years, Mt Dana and Gibbs and the Granite Divide in between, Parker Pass and Mt. Lewis, and the Mono Pass Trail itself. I decide to tackle the south-west region of the area, the Kuna Crest and it’s lakes.
Smoke from the fires on the east side still linger, but we notice a very peculiar cloud to our west. Being an amateur weather buff, I have Shad take photos of it from all angles. It’s a stratiform cloud, shaped by the winds shearing off the mountains. It’s shaped like a series of solid eights, in a wave formation, and has several different textures within.
Making it even more peculiar is the smoke clouds drifting around it. I know there is a phenomena called the Sierra Wave and I vow to consult the guidebook when I get home.
From the shoulder of Mammoth Peak, we ascend into the basin containing Kuna Lake. The crest hugs Kuna Lake tight in its basin and the gem-blue water reflects the sky above. The wind is a forcible presence here and I can see why we have stratiform clouds above. I hold onto Shad when a wave of wind roars into the basin that bends the tops of the trees. Then oddly enough it’s silent again. I joke about nor’easters, being from New England, but Shad, being from the Midwest, experienced tornadoes, so this is pretty tame stuff to him.
Next comes Bingaman Lake, smaller and not nestled so tightly in the cliffs. We find multiple animal tracks on its muddied shores: marmot, coyote and something unidentifiable. We follow its outlet down, hoping over monkey flower patches near the stream, and then veer east to explore Spillway Lake. No swimming today; it’s cloudy and breezy and we haven’t worked up enough of a sweat to make the cold water enticing.
From Spillway Lake we make our way back via the Parker Pass Trail. The strange cloud still looms overhead, its massive stillness unusual.
Saddle Bag Lakes/Twenty Lake Basin
We ventured over to the east side to take advantage of the natural hot springs (and of the famous Mobil Station cuisine—the fish tacos are worth a drive!). Because of a rockslide, we had to wait in a long convoy to return to the park and only had a half-a-day to hike. A friend recommended Twenty Lakes Basin and we decided to give it a try. It’s a quick jaunt up into the high country and alpine lakes abound (hence it’s name), perfect for swimming if you don’t mind cold water.
And despite the cold water, we take a swim in Hummingbird Lake, which is quite a contrast to the warm hot springs we had just visited. As we dry off, we gaze at the glistening granite of North Peak. We see no sign of hummingbirds, but we do see several Clark’s Nutcrackers frequenting the trees around the lake.
Mt. Gibbs
This hike required all of the calories we consumed the prior evening for dinner and the requisite pie from TPR. Having hiked Dana a number of times, I’ve always gazed to the south at Gibbs and wanted to explore it as well. The hike proved to be longer, but lacked the boulder-hopping required on Dana.
Taking off cross-country from the Mono Pass Trail, we begin climbing the forested ridge up to Mt. Gibbs. We pass an old cabin and I tell Shad to be on the look out for markings on trees left by sheepherders. We proceed, enjoying the quiet. It’s a hike of solitude – we will see no other hikers the entire day.
Up and up we go as we ascend the shoulder of Gibbs, rising above the forest into high meadows littered with whitebark pines, and then into fields of colorful scree. Two false summits draw sighs from Shad and me (actually I wasn’t really fooled since my altimeter watch showed too low an elevation, but I had hoped my watch was malfunctioning). Finally we reach the actual top and relax and enjoy our views of Mono Lake and the White Mountains.
To descend we ski down the loose scree on the south shoulder of Gibbs and find ourselves in a small, pleasant meadow littered with wildflowers. Two deer flee as we approach, and Shad attempts a picture, but alas, the vowed zoom lens still hasn’t been purchased.
Gaylor/Granite Lakes
We arrived in Tuolumne at 4:00 pm and we decided to try this quick hike before dinner. Since this is a popular trailhead, I’ve always ignored it, only to discover that I’ve been missing a beautiful basin of subalpine lakes. When we arrive at the first lake it‘s deserted, proving that even a popular trailhead can provide some solitude. Shad delights in the early evening light, which makes for wonderful photographs. The rays of refracted sunlight crystallize the blue water.
The basin stretches out before us like a welcoming soft, green carpet. We decide to head north up to Upper Gaylor Lake to explore the mining ruins in the area. The remains of Dana Village still linger even though the site was abandoned over a hundred years ago. We find old mining holes, now filled, where men desperately searched for silver, disintegrating cabins and odd pieces of machinery. At the top of Tioga Hill, we glance back the way came and have a peaceful view of Gaylor Peak and its lakes, settling in for their evening rest.
Mt. Hoffmann
Last year I took a nice hike up Tuolumne Peak and intended to complete Hoffmann in the same day, but an afternoon thunderstorm forced me to abandon my goal. Hoffmann is the exact center of the park and has pretty stunning 360 views. On the day we climb the peak, despite the forecast of sunny and clear, the view to the east is covered in clouds. Rising cumulus clouds, threatening a storm, have enveloped Half Dome and Mt. Clark.
It’s still a beautiful day, however, and our missing the view is more than compensated for by our meeting various wildlife on our descent. Near the summit, we watch a hiker tussle with a frisky marmot over an unattended fanny pack.. In a small meadow we observe a grouse and her six fledglings, and Shad vows to finally buy a zoom lens so the wildlife we see actually appears as something other than a vague dot in his photos.
And near the end of the trail a young buck dashes by us. Perhaps he’s on his way to some deer errand, or maybe he’s just enjoying being able to run uphill effortlessly, a feat I have not yet mastered.