On Tuesday, August 18th, I awoke early and drove to Lake Tenaya above Yosemite Valley for a short visit to the now (partially) open Yosemite National Park. Yo, Semite!

As in previous visits, I enjoyed the light traffic and quietness of the valley and the park.

My first goal was to paddle board on Lake Tenaya.

Before… 

…during…

…and after.

Then I took a swim.

My second goal was to hike the much overlooked Pothole Dome. If you have ever driven through Tuolumne Meadows, you have probably driven right by this minor outcropping. The trail skirts the dome and heads out into some quiet woods, emerges at a meadow and leads the hiker to one of the nicest swimming spots on the Tuolumne River. 

Upon my return I scaled the mighty dome, a “roche moutonnée”.

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roche_moutonn%C3%A9e.

I joined fellow hikers on my first night in the backpacker’s camp at Tuolumne Meadows.

Nothing is open except for these 40 or so walk-in campsites. In a normal year, this area is a hub of activity with over 300 campsites, a lodge, tent cabins and a post office. After falling asleep to the pleasant chatter of my neighbors discussing golf, football, blisters, freeze dried food and the merits of dining on the Google campus I vowed to sleep alone in seclusion the next night.

Upon waking I worked my way up to the May Lake High Sierra camp, which was also closed with the exception of a backpackers camp.

I hiked another mile down the trail and poked around until I found this hidden gem of a campsite.

After setting up camp and eating lunch I began my assault of 10,855 foot Mount Hoffman. 

As I neared the summit, I saw an old mountain man on his way down. He looked just like John Muir! Excited to exchange pleasantries and discuss the weather I gave him a friendly greeting. He grunted hello and then farted loudly as he passed me by. 

Near the summit was a group of young men and women who I had seen (and heard) earlier. They were hooting and hollering as they neared the summit. I didn’t want to be an old fart like the John Muir facsimile I had just passed, so I reserved judgment. When I met up with the group they offered me their spot and called me “sir”. I asked why they weren’t doing the last thirty feet to the summit, which required a bit of a scramble. “No thanks. We’re fine here.” I wasn’t about to stop short of the summit, even though the last 30 feet were dizzying if you looked down.

When I returned to the youngsters, I learned they had met while attending college in Florida. They had all gone their separate ways, but were now reunited in Yosemite and couldn’t be happier. It was easy to imagine them together in college and what their roles might have been: The Instigator, The Peacemaker, The Voice of Reason and The Cheerleader. It turns out The Cheerleader, who was munching on a huge sandwich, had just finished medical school and was thinking about her upcoming internship. 

On my way back down to camp I looked back up to the summit. They had all scrambled up to the very top and were in various positions of repose and contemplation.

That night I spent some time with an eighty year old couple. We shared the same political views so were comfortable talking about the state of the world and what the future might hold for their grandchildren. 

Upon turning out my light in my little tent I realized I had not slept alone in the wilderness for some time. Soon my mind was in full Stephen King mode – coming up with all sorts of ridiculous scenarios for my disorientation and demise. I decided to give into these musings and see what would come of it. The invasion of the zombie bears? An endless night trapped in my tiny tent for all of eternity? Squirrels? The best concept that my Stephen King Lobe came up with was a subtle one.

In the morning I walk into the abandoned camp where the elderly couple had been, only they are nowhere to be found. A thick smokey haze has descended. In fact, there are no campers to be seen – nor any hikers. Can this be explained away by the pandemic and Yosemite’s policy of a partial opening? Were the campers evacuated due to a nearby wildfire? However, upon returning to the trailhead my car is the only one parked there. On the drive out of the park I don’t pass a single vehicle. Should I be worried? To be continued?

On my way home I stopped in the valley for one more swim – this time in the Merced River. There I am visited by ducks.

So, I guess I am not alone after all. There are ducks!

(Originally published on August 30, 2020)