Sensational Swimming, Yosemite Hiking

Just got back from visits to Lake Tahoe and Yosemite. I swam in Lake Tahoe twice, once in the American River in Placerville, and in Yosemite's alpine lakes Elizabeth and Tonaya. Absolutely exhilarating.

Oh, and by the way, we camped at Mono Lake the first two nights because the various online registration sites said Yosemite was full. But on day two driving through Tioga pass back into Yosemite we saw a sign saying Tuolomne Meadows had space available. I asked the ranger and she said she was not surprised that the online registration had misled us, as it was a new vendor and they were having trouble. But apparently, outside of Yosemite Valley (where I don't want to camp anyway), there are plenty of first-come, first-serve sites.

We hiked to pristine Elizabeth Lake, and it was my 6-year-old's first five mile hike, 95% whine-free! That was my favorite lake. The next day I hiked alone to the top of Lembert Dome. When I got to what appeared to be the end of the trail, with a cliff to my right and a steep slope to my left, I saw some hikers approaching around the hump of the Dome with children, so I figured that was the way to go. I ventured out on the slope a few yards and came to a row of about five evenly spaced rocks. Perhaps this was a warning not to go farther? I don't suffer much from fear of heights (I did work as a roofer, after all), but have a good instinct for self-preservation. I started to feel strange, and the wind whipping at me wasn't helping. I sat down and a semi-irrational worry that I was going to start rolling downhill surged in my belly, so I stood up and walked back to the flat area. I pulled out a sandwich and ate it. Three men approached from around the dome, and I went over to them to ask how far they had gone. Close up, the youngest hiker, who was gamboling about like a teenager, turned out to be oldest, or at least the most weathered--perhaps in his fifties.

"Your eyes play tricks on you. It's not as bad as it seems," he said in the surfer/mountain climber accent that some California natives have (think Ty Pennington). "My wife had to go scooting on her butt the first few times, and they did too," he said, indicating the other man and a teenager. "Just stay to your right. You won't fall, and you can go all the way around to see Tuolumne meadows."

"OK, so there are no steep drops? If I fall, I'll just roll all the way to the ground?" I joked. "No, you just spread eagle--make a snow angel against the mountain and that will stop you." We laughed, though I filed that in my mental survival kit. I started walking, the fear mostly abated. As I rounded the first hump of the mountain, a man appeared wearing a sports suit and small pack. "Is there a walking trail to this point?" he asked. "Yeah. How did you get here?" "I climbed," he responded. "Wow. Do you ever get climber's knee?" I jiggled my legs to indicate tremors. "There was some adrenaline at points, but I had some small trees that could block my fall. And at least the wind is blowing you against the slope instead of away." "You don't seem to have much gear on you--where's your rope?" I asked. "Oh, I did it free-hand. I'm trying to build up my courage for some mountains where there's some scramble involved."

He showed me the way to the next, lower hump, pointing out an area where there were hand holds I could grip to descend to a soil-filled depression with several large trees. He took the path along the ridge, but I decided to play safe and lowered myself down the chimney crack. He waved goodbye and took off back down the mountain to climb rather than walk. I approached the edge of the dome and saw a spectacular near 360-degree view of the meadows, surrounding mountains and forests. I couldn't bring myself to lie down and stick my head over the edge, but I did ascertain that it was a cliff.

On my way back, I was glad no one could see my inelegant ascent of the seven-foot chimney crack. I struggled to find a way back up it, until I turned myself backwards and did a sort of tricep dip up, got some footholds and then very awkwardly turned myself around and climbed forward. Thankfully there were trees below. When I came around the dome, a man went whistling by, testosterone personified, and instead of heading out in the direction I came, began nonchalantly--and rapidly--scaling the cliff to the top of the first dome. I could barely watch, but I turned to look a few times as I walked to the trail. He disappeared from view when my back was turned. I saw him later on the valley floor so I guess he survived. I wouldn't want to be married to that guy.

So I can add this climb to my list of Yosemite adventures (the Half Dome climb being the one I'm proudest of). My boys were so thrilled with the camping, and it only takes three hours from Oakland to Big Oak Flat. I'm going to try to start coming every year, or maybe several times a year. I like this quote from John Muir, Yosemite's founder:

"I have a low opinion of books: they are piles of stones set up to show coming travelers where other minds have been, or at best signal smokes to call attention....One day's exposure to mountains is better than cartloads of books."