Day Two: Stream crossings and more bears in Yosemite National Park

Here's a straight excerpt from my trail journal for the second day of my excursion into Yosemite:

What a day....  The weekend plans didn't really pan out, and I'm cutting the trip short by a day.  Everywhere is snowbound so I'm stuck at lower elevations.  I had to traverse snowpack for the second half of today, and it was exhausting.  People aren't kidding when they complain about walking "uphill in the snow."  I didn't have poles or snow shoes, so the going was ridiculously difficult.  Not only was it hard to walk through drifts up to three feet deep (the max I fell through was mid-thigh), I lost the trail completely.  The trails in Yosemite aren't blazed, so you have to follow the ground.  When the ground is a uniform blanket of white, there's no trail to follow.  I got out my compass a few times, and navigated back to a trail or to a landmark a few times.  I was quite impressed with myself, since I only knew that skill in theory.  Cool.

Today was much more of a traditional hiking day, it felt like, as if I were living out here, rather than rushing through trails like I normally do.  I only made maybe 7 or 8 miles today, but I took necessary breaks and used some real skills.

I woke up with the dawn at 6:30am, needing to pee, so eventually I let myself out, then curled up again.  I was slightly cold overnight, so it felt good to burrow into the warm sleeping bag.  I then woke up for real at 10:30am.  So much for this excursion curing my jet lag.  I just laughed out loud.  I've never slept that late on the trail, not even close.  But there was no need to hurry, so I stretched, ate a leisurely breakfast and hit the trail around 11:30am.  No need for lunch, I guess.

I checked out Miguel Meadow (no meadow) and the ranger station there, then I booked it for Beehive Meadow.  The plan was to lunch there (at Laurel Lake), then head to Morraine Ridge to see if I could get to Lake Vernon and try to navigate that trail back to Hetch Hetchy, or at least spend the night at Lake Vernon.

Those plans went out the window when, 2 miles in, I hear a roaring.  Oh yeah, Frog Creek.  It's pretty high, but the crossing is well-established and there's a backstop of debris to catch myself on if everything goes haywire.  So I grab a stout tree branch, take off my boots, socks and zip my pants into shorts.  I face upstream and unbuckle my hip belt and sternum strap.  Everything I read.  Except I can't remember the "do not cross if the water is above..." part.  Knees?  Hips?  Screw it, let's go.

A super-successful crossing, in bare feet (water was at hip level; bottom of pack got a touch moist...) in snow run-off.  I was grunting in agony after the first few gasps.  But I made it.  And I felt so proud.  I took a while on the other side to dry myself off, change layers and care for my feet.  I usually never stop, but this was obviously a good idea, and pretty necessary.  Fifteen minutes later, I headed out again.

After that setback, I was still pretty convinced that I could make the plan.  Until I lost the trail under snowpack.  At first it was a patch that covered maybe 30' of trail (hey, cool, snow in April!), then a patch that covered a turn in the trail, and I could start to see how snow could get annoying.  Then boom, an entire snowfield.

I caught the trail once, about 50' in, then lost it completely.  So I switched to map and compass navigation, using landmarks to get me through.  That got me to Laurel Lake at 3pm.  Argh.  So, lunch and a little break, laying out the navigation for the next bit, then start at 4pm.  Now Beehive was my overnight plan, and screw Sunday night--this trip rapidly became too frustrating to wallow around with nowhere to go for another day.  Onwards.

And I lost the trail a half mile later, as soon as I crested a rise and slid over to the sheltered side of a valley (but I did see a mama bear and two cubs, which raised my spirits considerably, in that clear stretch of trail).  Well, I was less than a mile from Beehive, so map and compass it is.

And there was Frog Creek again.  Further upstream than a couple of major tributaries, so it was much smaller, but still swollen from all runoff.  And ice cold.  It was pretty narrow, so the current was ripping. But it was only knee deep, so I went ahead.

It was hard to find a place to enter, since 2'-3' deep snowpack bordered the water all along the bank.  I stayed under a tree where the snow had all melted.  I took off my boots, socks and went one better, so I could warm up on the other side.  Off came the pants (hey, I hadn't seen anyone in two days).  It was so cold climbing through the snow to get to the water in my bare feet, but that quickly paled compared to going in the water.

Three quarters of the way across, the water got swifter and deeper.  I started losing endurance (it was a 20' stream crossing, what the heck, 'endurance?') and the going got rough.

My tree branch lost its purchase and I plunged forward.  I kept my balance against the current and kept my feet, but I got dunked up to my neck in the icy water.  Keep going.

I lost a foot, but I got it back with the tree branch's help.  The water was now up to my waist, and winning.

I had a moment of realization that I couldn't go back and I couldn't swim for it.  I had to keep trudging.

My footing went, and I scrambled, using my tree branch, and got it back.  Then again.  Then the water caught me.

I turned and lunged to the bank.  I was four feet from my goal: an eddy with some bank showing through the snowpack.  I grabbed some branches and caught.

I hauled myself into the eddy, dropped the tree branch from numb fingers.  Panting, I scrambled out of the water, over three feet of snow, with my bare hands and knees.  I clawed my way over to a tree and fell into the snowless bowl under it and rapidly began damage control.  Luckily, the ambient temperature was in the 60s.

My legs were entirely lobster red and I was panting, trembling and numb.  I whipped off my bandana and scrubbed the ice and snow off my legs.  I ripped off my soaked shirt.  I climbed into my pants, grabbed some semi-dry socks that were hanging off my pack from a washing this morning, toweled off my feet with my bandana and shoved the socks on my feet.  I took a moment to grab my toes and feel them out.  Cold, but painful and responsive; good.  I used my knife to open my bear canister and pulled out my down vest and rain gear.  I put those on and zipped them all the way up.  I shoved my damp feet in my boots and found my right boot had gotten soaked.  Oh well.  I quickly packed up, in an inexplicable hurry, still panting.  I lashed my wet stuff to the outside of the pack to dry, and I headed up the hill, through the snowpack.  No waiting around, no stopping to rest.  Warmth comes from movement.

It was one single step at one single time all the way up that (rather small) hill, but by the top, I had a plan (head to the campsite at the top of the switchbacks that I stayed at a year ago), my orientation (I could see the prominence that I would camp under) and my warmth (I took off my rather damp down vest [down doesn't work when wet] and my rain gear).  Then I found the trail (big grin and points for navigation!!) and booked it.  I was headed slightly down hill, so I made excellent time.

Someone had broken the trail through the snowpack, which was few and far between, and the whole trail was blazed (what a novel concept, Yosemite!).  Things were good.  I only had a mile to go, and I flew.  In soggy boots.

I got to the campsite with two hours of daylight left, but it was too far to make it to the trail head.  Well, I could have made it, but I didn't want to drive to San Francisco after today, and I didn't want to cut my 3-night trip to a 1-nighter.  That'd be quitting.

So I lazed around, aired and dried everything in the sun (My first naked sunbathing experience.  Luckily no one happened by.  I love Yosemite).  I built a huge fire and cooked over it.  Plenty of food, now that I cut a day off the trip, but I'm not that hungry.

So a typical trail day.  During, I was alternatively miserable and elated; after I'm overjoyed and exhausted; and tonight I'll be cold and miserable.  And it must be bullfrog mating season, because those suckers are so loud!



The next day was largely uneventful, with me making good time back to the car, washing up and changing into my clean clothes, then driving back to San Francisco to sleep in a climate-controlled room in a bed.  Success!

San Francisco's wild backyard: Yosemite National Park

Whenever I am in San Francisco, which is at least twice a year (go to and coming from ships), I try to make it out to Yosemite National Park for an overnight or longer. It has many diverse trail systems that can be strung together for a day hike, an overnight, a weekend trip or a longer excursion. It's accessible by public transportation, or it's a straightforward (four-hour) drive from San Francisco. It's one of the most awe-inspiring parks in the country, and it's free with my national parks annual pass.

So I headed to Yosemite on my semi-annual ritual of escape. Since it's mid-April, the majority of the park is snowbound, so I headed to Hetch Hetchy Reservoir in the Northwestern part of the park. That part of the park is at a lower elevation, despite being extremely picturesque (it has towering granite formations as well) and riddled with trails that can make a good overnight, weekend or long weekend's worth of camping.

My goal was to spend three nights out on the trail, pushing the limits of my day pack and my stoveless approach. The temperature at night would plunge to low 40s, and I had to carry all my food for the entire trip. I packed light, strapped a few extras on to the pack, and headed out.

I got there and immediately realized how early in the year it was. Most ranger stations were closed. The park was deserted. Half Dome was blanketed in snow (that didn't show up on the webcam!!). Good thing I had already decided against trying to connect Tuolomne Meadows with the Valley. My snow shoes and crampons were still on the East Coast...

After checking out the Valley (Yosemite Falls was positively exploding from the snowmelt), getting some last-minute supplies and a bear canister, I headed up to Hetch Hetchy. It's about an hour's drive from the Valley, but the whole trip is an experience. I felt as if I were already on the trail, since I was already surrounded by nature and lovely vistas, and completely alone.

A quick stop at the ranger station at the entrance to Hetch Hetchy gave me an outline of current conditions. There was lots of snow, so my initial planned route was off the table. A look at the map and some snowpack reporting lead me to a backup plan. I secured my wilderness permit, and off I went. I parked the car, repacked my pack with the bear canister, took a quick picture, and headed out.

All trails leaving from the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir cross the O'Shaughnessy Dam, built for hydroelectric power and water supply for San Francisco.

A quick jaunt around the reservoir brought me to the trailhead, with its 7 switchbacks and 1500' climb. An hour and three minutes later, I was at the top of the switchbacks, and continued to book it towards Miguel Meadow, where I would spend the night. With just two hours of daylight left, I was looking good.

That plan very rapidly came to a halt, as a few minutes down the trail, I look up to see two black bear cubs hurtling up a tree. Because their worried mother stood at the base of said tree, encouraging them up to safety. Safety from me.

Oh.

Hi Mama.

Now I've seen bears before in the wild, but never this close. She's 10 long steps away. And never mother bears who have just sent her cubs to safety. Because they're worried about me being a threat. All the PSAs and do's-and-don't's about bear interaction and bear safety come clamoring into my head. "Uh, hi bear?" I offer, frozen in place. I probably don't want to scare her off, so I shouldn't make myself bigger. I shouldn't make a lot of noise, but I'm not trying to sneak up on her. She knows I'm here, though.

Ok, she's looking at me, but looks away and wanders around the base of the tree. Out comes the camera. Cool. I slowly back away. And start talking to her. The old staple of "Hey, bear" comes to mind.

I circle wide around some standing water on the other side of the trail (the bear tree is about 10' off the trail on the left) and get to some rocky outcroppings, giving me high and open ground. I'm "Hey, bear"-ing the whole time, and Mama seems to be unconcerned. She lies down at the bottom of her tree. Ok, cool. Picture time.

I've lost track of Mama, but the cubs are eyeing me, and I feel a little foolish perched on a rock, still "Hey, bear"-ing to keep my confidence up (and to appease the PSAs running through my head). Then Mama gets up and ambles over to me. "Hey, bear" quickly switches to "Ok, Mama, you're coming over to me, so that means you can't attack because that's just plain not fair, and this is my rock."

She's unconvinced, and comes and takes a drink in the puddle separating us. Ok. Cool.

Then she wades in.

Uh. "Hey, bear?"

Let's play my-side-your-side.

Then the cubs come scrabbling down from their tree, bored of being safe. Ooookay...

And Mama goes and joins them, and takes them foraging. Whew. I'm free to move on up the trail, after they safely vacate it. I stand for a good 15 minutes, watching them maul apart fallen tree trunks for the bugs, lift boulders and snuffle in the leaves. Cute.

Well, daylight is in short supply, and they're not likely to do anything different for the next few minutes. And they can't decide to kill me if I'm not there. So onward I go.

To Gravel Pit Lake, a short jaunt from Miguel Meadow, and a likely place for a good campground. The concerning thing is that on the half-mile side trail to the lake, I see another Mama bear and her one cub. They go shooting off into the trees as soon as they hear me, but will they shoot off into the trees when I'm asleep at night? And I'm planning on camping just two tenths of a mile from the spot... I decide to continue and keep a wary lookout in my hour of camp-setting and cooking.

I find the predicted perfect campsite overlooking the lake, with enough daylight left to gather some firewood. I'm going stoveless, but I counted on building fires to be able to cook my dinners. Hot dinners are the anchor of the day, especially at altitude and especially when there's snow on the ground. Luckily Yosemite is very accommodating with plenty of deadfall firewood, many established fire rings at backcountry campsites, and a low fire danger at the time. Less weight and gear in my pack, then. I make dinner and pitch my tent to the chorus of bullfrogs throughout the lake (man, they are loud, but that means no bears around. Whew). The sun goes down, the temperature starts to drop, the bullfrogs get louder in the chorus, the fire starts to die, and I settle down for the night.

The next day will bring snowpack up to 3' deep, hazardous near-freezing creek crossings, more bear encounters and lost trails resulting in map-and-compass navigation.

Tasmania: One of the Corners of the World

My final cruise of the contract was a circumnavigation of Australia. I had done a relocation cruise around the top of the continent, but this would be my first time along the south edge, across the Bight and to the island-state of Tasmania.

We called in Burnie and Hobart, with an overnight stop in Hobart. The weather was refreshingly cold, after the north of Australia and Bali (8 degrees south of the equator). We could see mountains from the deck of the ship when we were in port. Most of our other ports were flat, or included gentle hills, so sharp, wild mountains were a noteworthy sight.

Overnights are always a holiday aboard ships. We go for months without ever seeing darkness on land. Sunset finds all the crew back onboard, back at work. The technical department, in charge of the maintenance and upkeep of the ship, work regular working hours, between 8am and 6pm, so they never get a chance to get off in port. Nightly entertainment needs to be prepared and rehearsed. All of that changes with an overnight. The whole ship finds fill-ins for or ways out of any remaining duties, and all departments head out for a night of normalcy.

A leisurely dinner out preceded a few drinks at a local bar, followed by a visit to a night club. Hobart’s sleepy Tuesday night was woken up by the hundreds of crew members looking for a break from ship life.

I had dinner with friends then hung out at a bar, but when it got to the night club, it was identical to the crew bar on the ship, when we have a crew disco. No thank you, not my scene. So off to bed for me, in preparation for an early start going to a wildlife refuge the next day, to visit wombats, Tasmanian devils, kangaroos and koalas.

We headed to the Bonorong Wildlife Refuge for a taste of local wildlife. We drove under the brooding peak of Mount Wellington and crossed the wide Derwent River. A brief half-hour drive out of Hobart brought us over foothills and through valleys, giving us a taste of wild Tasmania. Its stretching grasslands reminded me of England’s Lake District or South Africa’s stretching game reserves. I guess grasslands are grasslands, the world over.