"Water, water everywhere; and not a drop to drink." Vernal Fall, like all Yosemite waterfalls in the height of the runoff season, disgorges a tremendous amount of water. The Mist Trail is so heavy at times hikers wear ponchos or other rain gear to keep themselves semi-dry. It is especially important if you are carrying a camera that is not waterproof. This shot, taken on our first visit to the Mist Trail, captures the force of the fall. The trees and rocks are almost in silhouette and it reminds me of the stylized Chinese or Japanese art.
The Falls were just as spectacular during the Death March, but by the time I reached the footbridge at the base of the Mist Trail, I was done and the scenery was the least of my concerns. It was only with massive cajoling and threats by my companions that I continued. By this time, Tina's and my water bottles were empty. It was still a good 1/2 mile to the trailhead and the promised shuttle bus to Camp Curry. But night was coming on rapidly. We had to get down before it was too dark to see the trail, which was covered in a thick coat of granite dust from the rock slide a few days earlier.
I had no idea how I was going to make it. But we staggered on down the trail as best we could. Fortunately Roy and Aida had a ace up their sleeves. They knew that part way down the trail there was a natural spring that emerged a few feet up the slope from where we would walk. Despite the warnings, we were reasonably sure that if any water was going to be amoeba-free, it would be at the point were it emerged from the ground. So we drank, and drank, and drank. The water was incredibly sweet. I thought I'd never get enough.
There was only one other time that water has tasted that good to me, and that was also from a natural spring, one on the trail up to the top of Mt. Baden-Powell here in the Angeles National Forest. My Boy Scout troop knew of it's location and made a point to visit it every time we hiked Baden-Powell. Like the Yosemite spring, I could not get enough to drink.
In any event, that small, trickling spring, emerging magically out of the powdery dust on that mountainside, saved me. It was still a long haul, but we eventually made it to the shuttle stop in total darkness. Ironically, there was a couple of hikers behind us and they caught up with our party at that point, but not before spooking Aida into thinking we were being stalked by bears. This will become important later.
I can't really remember the shuttle ride to Camp Curry. My memory says we missed the last shuttle and had to walk. Everyone else says we did make the last shuttle. Perhaps my brain had shut down by then. I do remember making it to the cafeteria at Camp Curry and just getting our order into the kitchen before it closed. The pizza was hot, but I could barely taste it; I was shivering and my body was shutting down. Unfortunately, we still had 3/4 of a mile to go to our camp site. But like any good serial, that part will have to follow later.
Continuing our saga, we visited Yosemite for a few days just about a week after the huge scaling (slide) event off Glacier Point that nearly took out Camp Curry and closed the Happy Isles area in July of 1996. We were more fit in those days than we are now, so we were up for an adventure. Roy and Aida were with us and we conceive of a hike that would take us from Glacier Point down to Illilouette Fall, back up over a ridge then down to Nevada Fall, down the North side of the Merced River to Vernal Fall, then following the Mist Trail back to Happy Isles, Camp Curry and on to the housekeeping camp area where we were staying.
Part of the reason we wanted to do this was to see what the damage was from the scaling, in which 78,000 cubic yards of granite face fell off from an area between Washburn Point and Glacier Point. The Mist Trail heading up to Vernal Fall was closed in that direction, but oddly, hikers going the other way were not restricted. That, in part, decided our route.
We figured it would be about 10.4 miles from the Glacier Point trailhead to the Happy Isle bus stop. We started relatively early in the morning (it is about an hour's drive from the valley floor). Roy and I were carrying about 50-60 lbs each in camera gear, plus water. Tina and Aida carried packs of food, jackets and water. We had plenty...or so we thought. More on that later.
The first part of the trip was uneventful. It's mostly downhill to Illilouette Fall from Glacier Point and the trail was moderate to good. We lunched at Illilouette and then began the trek to Nevada.
I don't do well going uphill...I never have. When I did all those long hikes in the local mountains and in the Sierras as a boy scout, you could hear me puffing up a hill from miles away. I usually always made it, but on my own schedule and pace.
The slog up from Illilouette was no different. What was troublesome was the trail was in the sun and we began using a lot of water. By the time we crested the ridge we were getting low.
We could also begin to see the damage. A huge swath of pulverized granite dust coated the valley floor near Happy Isle and up the canyon towards Vernal Fall. It looked like the color of the moon.
That part of the trip was still hours ahead of us. For now we made the downhill march to Nevada Fall, where we stopped. There was a water fountain at the top of the fall where we hoped to fill our canteens/water bottles. Alas, the piping must have been damage by the granite fall because it was shut off when we got there. Due to the concern of parasitic amoeba in the water, we were stuck with what we had, which wasn't much. And that's when things started to go south in a hurry.
The story will continue in a later post. In the meantime, I took this shot from the top of Nevada Fall looking towards what I believe is Liberty Cap. This is the same peak that can be seen in the last post, but now we are on the other side of the Merced. I like the mirroring of Liberty Cap in the small boulder in the foreground. But so much for now, stay tuned for Part Three: same Bat time, same Bat channel.
These next few posts will be like the old fashioned "Perils of Pauline" serial, mainly because I've been so busy at work doing the department year-end video (my first) that nearly all blogging has come to a screeching halt. Nevertheless, this is a cautionary tale, in line with the last entry's reference to "suffering for one's art."
I truly do use the phrase with some jest. As I mentioned, some people feel the need to "experience" life (read "suffer") in order to gain an appreciation of it for their artistic expression. I do agree that experience is invaluable, and unfortunately a lot of experience comes with some pain. But I don't see the need to actively seek it out purely on the excuse that it'll necessarily make you a better writer/painter/musician/artist. There is enough real suffering out there through wars, accidents, crime, disease and the other social/political/economic travails inherent in life to make actively seeking such experience seem naive at best and foolish at worst.
Indeed, my experience has taught me that pain and hardship are ready companions at the slightest whim and arrive when least expected. So it was on the Yosemite back-country trail Tina and I half-kiddingly refer to as "the great Death March." The photo above, of Nevada Fall, was part of that hike, and a subject to be continued on the next post.
There is this idea that you have to "suffer" for your art. I once had a girl friend who adamantly believed in that philosophy. As a result she left home as soon as she was 18, rented a room in somebody's finished garage and proceeded to do some really reckless things that could have lead to bad things happening to her. All this in pursuit of "life" and life's experiences.
The whole exercise was kind of lost on me. while I do appreciate the value of experiences, I think imagination and the ability to place yourself in the shoes of others is equally valuable.
Yet, there are indeed times when one must suffer for ones art. The above photo was taken knee-deep in the Merced River several years ago. While it was technically summer, the water was snowmelt, so cold was an understatement. Much like the Tioga Pass photo, I spent nearly an hour in that frigid river shooting Half Dome photos into the twilight.
This is one of the more startling photos I ever took, and I did not notice it until after the slides were processed. I was at Inspiration Point overlooking the Yosemite Valley watching the colors in the valley shift as the day drew to a close. I had recently purchased on eBay an 1000mm lens for my 35mm camera. I decided to try it out on El Capitan, the impressive monolith that dominates the left-hand side of most images taken from that vantage. I liked how the granite face glowed golden and how the ridge between us and the rock face was silhouetted against the light. Indeed, for scale comparisons, if you look closely at the little jutting piece just above where the gold on the face, the ridge line and the shadow cast on El Capitan meet, you can see what would normally be a large tree. It is a mere speck in this image.
I took a few shots and went back to a more normal angle of view for the rest of the day. It was only when I looked at the processed transparencies that I noticed the rich, blue shadows cast by the ridge onto El Capitan. It absolutely floored me in its intensity and has become a favorite image of mine.
This is the uncropped version. I have a large print of this in a square-cropped format hanging above the familyroom fireplace at home. It is one of the more abstract images I have ever shot, yet I find it very tranquil. It definitely opened up a new way of looking at things for me, which I've tried to explore since then.
There is something ethereal about ground fog. It gives an other-worldly quality to the landscape, making it both dream-like and mysterious. Couple that with the clouds and mist around Yosemite Fall and the picture is complete.
These shots were taken the same day as the photo in yesterday's post.
Bad weather can also make for some very atmospheric landscapes. This shot was taken last February from Yosemite Valley looking towards Half Dome at about 1:00 PM. The sun was struggling to break through the low clouds and mist. Fog was heavy on the valley floor for most of the day. Color images were almost black and white in many of my morning and day-before shots, but color began to seep back into view as the fog lessened. It was cold standing there for two hours, but I got several promising images on both the digital and medium format cameras. All in all, it was a very good day.
There are places that truly inspire the soul in this world. Yosemite Valley is one such place for me. The sheer granite walls and towering geological features never fail to elicit within me an awe toward the powerful forces of Nature with a capital "N". Certainly Inspiration Point is a visual high point in this place of photographic wonders. No one standing there today with a camera at the ready can forget the iconic images of Ansel Adams. Yet Adams isn't the first nor the last person to attempt to capture the essence of Yosemite on film. So how could I resist?
Inspiration Point is spectacular in color, especially when weather crowds the valley with clouds and shadows. I caught this view on one visit and was quite pleased with it.
The drama of light is amazing. It is just as amazing, if not more so, in black and white. This was a different visit.
Both images took a bit of luck and several hours of waiting. Fortunately the clouds were properly majestic and the light magnificent. I like them both; but the black and white is special to me. It is my "Adams" moment. And while no one will forsake him for me, I can at least feel that I have felt the same rush he must have experienced when capturing for posterity that one grand, fleeting instance in this timeless place.
"Water, water everywhere; and not a drop to drink." Vernal Fall, like all Yosemite waterfalls in the height of the runoff season, disgorges a tremendous amount of water. The Mist Trail is so heavy at times hikers wear ponchos or other rain gear to keep themselves semi-dry. It is especially important if you are carrying a camera that is not waterproof. This shot, taken on our first visit to the Mist Trail, captures the force of the fall. The trees and rocks are almost in silhouette and it reminds me of the stylized Chinese or Japanese art.
