Half Dome May 1996

In early May my daughter Rosie and I were at yosemite for an early season hike. My plan was to head for Hetch Hetchy for a spring hike along the lake, enjoying the ceanothus, the bees, the waterfalls, and the bears. These plans changed when the fellow issuing trail authorization told us that the road to HetchHetch was closed for repairs and that we couldn't get there from here. (Rosie was relieved; the last time we had hiked that trail we were met by a sow and her cubs. The section of trail where we met the bears was one of those ledge regions where the left hand side was a wall and the right side a cliff, leaving us no choice but to flee ahead of the ursae.) We now had to choose a different region of the park for our hike; Rosie suggested going up HalfDome, I hadn't done that for 35 years, got choked up over taking my daughter for her first time up, so we got authorized for little yosemite.

A midmorning snack for ourselves and the varmints at Nevada falls allowed me to catch my breath and enjoy the view. We continued on to the campsites in little yosemite where we stashed our packs in the bearboxes and continued on toward halfdome. Bearboxes are a good idea, there arent enough of them though; I would like to be able to donate a bearbox for a specific site. Little yosemity camping has changed greatly since my last time there, many years ago. Sites used to be spread out along the river, in sun or dappled shade, with views of the deep greeen pools or granite cliffs. Now, campers are ghettoized in a dense stand of trees with no views except of other campers. The old campsites are fenced off. And you need a "wilderness" permit for this abuse. Stealth camping here I come.

There are warning signs at the base of the first shoulder of halfdome and at the base of the cables leading to the top cautioning against continuing on if there is A cloud on the horizon. Turn back, bail out, don't do it; the anthem of the park service. Noting the warnings and the overcast and darkening sky we pushed on to the base of the cables and chose the best gloves from the heap of gloves left at the base of the cables. We waited for three people to descend; the first a middle aged German man whose wife was waiting for him nearby.

The second was a couple of English young adults who took an inordinately long time to descend, pausing for many minutes about halfway down. This pair had waist climbing harnesses and webbing to clip into the cables. Ultimate safety. We had no harnesses or safety lines. We talked with them for a bit about the delay they had halfway down; the woman told us she was crying because she was unable to continue, she froze. Her guy talked to her for a while and talked her out of her fear. So after the fear of her descent she strongly endorsed the adventure for us!

I waffled; Rosie, more determined now, told me she didn't come this far to turn back.

So up we went. Rosie took the right cable, I took the left one. The cables are there year round. From late May to October the cable are lifted by pipe stands to make a pair of handrails up the sloping side of the dome. When we were there the cables had not yet been lifted so they lay on the rock, requiring us to lift them as we went up hand over hand. My concern was letting go. There is nothing like imminent catastrophe to focus one's attention to the task at hand. The big reason I could see for letting go would be encountering a jagger. It's all stones up there but not that kind of jagger. A wire rope jagger that would puncture my hand and cause me to release my grip. There were no jaggers on the lefthand cable.

We both made good time to the top, Rosie first, of course; spent about 5 minutes there, some photos, and enjoyed the clouds and wind. We returned to little yosemite for the evening in the company of sprinkles and wind.

What a difference 30 years can make in an experience. As a college student my halfdome trips were 9 hour affairs, in the heat of a July or August day, racing to the top to prove something to those who didn't care. This time was a leisurely walk, with rests and conversation, trying to share the experience with my daughter.

The next day we carried on to Merced lake and spent the day lazing around the hikers' campground and the river. In the early evening some Ranger guy stopped by to check our paperz. I witness the gentle introduction of the police state.

We decided to walk out all the way to the valley on the next day as it was all downhill and Rosie was antsy to get back to sitting around in Fresno. The highlight of the walk down the foot trail from Nevada falls was the crowd at the top of Vernal falls. In the bright sun lying sprawled about like so many beached sea lions were about two hundred highschool students wearing lots of brilliant white tees, shorts, and socks. This was indeed the "range of light". A shower at housekeeping camp and a light meal got us ready for the drive back to Fresno.

On the way out of yosemite we went by Fern Spring, a prodigious water source right beside the road at the west end of the valley. This has been a traditional stop for me for years; a final sipping of the water of the valley. This trip the tradition continued with me filling water bottles for later consumption. Two weeks later, diagnosed with giardia, I wondered about the value of traditions.