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!
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