Yo-Ho, Part 3
Or, Hiking with Dr. Morton
Note to bear fanciers: we had to wait for our bears, and so do you. Suck it up.
To start what the guidebooks call the "moderate" hike of Yosemite's Panorama and Mist Trails, you take a bus to Glacier Point. This is over 7000 feet above sea level, over 3000 feet above the valley, and accessible either by hiking or by a very twisty road.
The driver was informative and entertaining by turns. He sadly told us, at the top, that ours was the first trip in a week in which no one had seen bears. He thought it must be our fault.
En route, we passed through the remains of a "controlled burn" a year or so ago that had got out of hand and spread far wider than planned. As the driver described the rationale of the burns, I began to think about how forestry has changed over the last 50 years or so.
In my foolish youth I considered forestry as a career, and at 14 went to a summer camp for budding foresters. Back then, a forest of large conifers with little or no understory (small trees and brush) was known by the dread term "biological desert," something good foresters avoided at all costs. Forest fires were something to fight, contain, and prevent: hence the Smokey Bear campaigns.
Now, the field understands that large coniferous forests thrive best when there is little understory, and that natural fires—those started by lightning, not morons—are not only good, but necessary, for healthy forests. When there's a shortage of lightning, portions of forests are deliberately set afire, controlled to burn out excess understory, but not gain access to the tops of the large trees. The big trees thrive on this, and a reasonable amount of understory comes back and grows healthier than before.
It's interesting and instructive that the outlook of an entire science can be changed so dramatically in a relatively short time. Still, one wonders what one says at the end of a day when a controlled burn gets out of control: oops?
Down the Panorama
There are several catches to this bus trek. First, unless you bought a round-trip ticket in advance, there is no way off Glacier Point, except by hiking. Second, it is more than five miles from Glacier Point to the top of Nevada Falls, and there is no rest room between those two points. The view below is from Glacier Point to the falls: it's a long way with a full bladder.
NPS suggests being prepared (that is, going even when you don't need to) before leaving. Otherwise, you'll need to use what the bus driver cheerfully called "the leeky-leeky tree."
A couple of years back, NPS built a new, multi-stop rest room at Glacier Point. However, they built it as a water closet rest room, a couple thousand feet above the water table.
They chose poorly. To no one's surprise but the designers', it failed almost immediately. Visitors with the urge can choose between two two-holers and one four-holer, all chemical and all vile. The closed facility stands there and mocks the visitors' desperation.
My spouse is the product of a good Catholic upbringing and does not discuss the excretory system in any detail. As a result, she forgot Rule 2 of the hikers' guide: when you find a john, use it, no matter how bad it is. (Rule 1 is always top off your water when you find drinkable water). She did not mention this oversight as we started. There was already some conflict in the party about hiking objectives. Hers was to do the route at maximum possible speed. My daughter's was to walk fast between photo ops, then stop, view, set up the tripod, go to work, and catch up with the flagging parents. Mine was to finish the hike alive. I had no idea how my questionable cardiac system would respond to vigourous exercise above 5000 feet, doubts which were fully justified.
As time went on, we became quite strung out on the trail. My wife was in the lead, walking fast and gaining. I plodded on as the default hiker with a slowly rising heartbeat and the return of foot pain I thought banished a month earlier. Em continued to shoot, run to catch up, shoot again, catch up, etc.
There was much to photograph. Panorama Trail fully lives up to its name, with views in every direction. For a good part of this stage, the trail winds through groves of Jeffrey pine. This is a cousin of the Ponderosa pine that grows above 6000 feet. Our bus driver had told us that its leading characteristic was that it smelled something like vanilla or butterscotch, not like a normal pine. Damned if he wasn't right. He had suggested hugging one to find out, but that wasn't necessary: walking through a grove on a hot morning was enough.
This went on for over an hour, until we reached the bottom of the first descent at Illilouette Falls. This was the sort of place that makes one wish to morph into a rock and stay there until the end of time. I had rather understood we'd have lunch there, but my wife plowed doggedly on. Even Em had to stop for a handful of trail mix before we too headed on.
This second stage is a climb up Panorama Point, in the background below, a climb of 1900 feet in about a mile. That's about a 36% grade. By comparison, a loaded semi-trailer can barely make it up a 5% grade from a standing start, and bicyclist in good condition who rides up a mile of 10% grade is very glad when it's done. Between my heart and my foot, I was very much looking forward to the end of the switchbacks.
Near the end of this stretch my wife reappeared, having come back to make sure the rest of the party hadn't been eaten by bears. It was here that desperation wrung from her a regret that she hadn't paid one last visit to the Glacier Point privies, bad as they were, and that her whole being was focused on reaching Nevada Falls. My kid chimed in with an unsympathetic "go find a tree, Mom:" different generational values there. At any rate we toiled along more or less together for a mile or so that was relatively level, and then into a corresponding set of switchbacks going downhill.
When we got to Nevada Falls, we'd done the five miles in a shade over three hours, not bad considering the distractions. My spouse plowed on toward the putative location of the rest room, oblivious to scenery, family and bystanders. Fortunately the johns were where they should have been. Still better, they seemed to be solar-powered composting toilets, which don't smell much at all and are as clean as human nature can make a public toilet.
Em and I found a shady spot for lunch near the top of the Mist Trail, which joins the Panorama route at the falls. Nevada Falls are a popular destination from the valley, even though the climb is up there in degree of difficulty. We were made thoughtful by watching the number of hearty Continental climbers who reached the top with their tongues hanging out.
It was here that I pulled off my left boot to see what was the matter. Now we see the benefit of hiking with a clinician. A PT is good, although in this case a podiatrist would have been better.
"Why, you have Morton's toe," Em said after a short examination. The link will fill you in on the leading features of this common anomaly (and on Dr. Morton), in which the second toe of the foot is longer than the big toe. Further study (later) informed me that Morton's toe is especially hard on hikers. Few boots are made with Morton's Toe in mind, for one thing. For another, hikers are forever stubbing their toes. In a normal foot, the big toe absorbs all this abuse and shrugs it off. A Morton's toe foot leads with #2, which objects more and more to the treatment. Em secured the toe as much as possible with tape and moleskin, and I had an NSAID dessert with lunch. From this point, there was no alternative but to go on...except the humiliation of asking for a medevac because your toe hurts.
Down the Endless Stair
In The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien recounted Gandalf's battle with the Balrog on the Endless Stair. He wrote that the stair was blocked with shattered rock and ruined by the end of the conflict. He was wrong. The Endless Stair lives, and it's called the Mist Trail at Yosemite.
The several guidebooks differ on how many stairs there are on the Mist Trail. Some say 300, some 500, some 700. Having done it from the top down, my conclusion is that those numbers are just the numbers that the writers climbed before they ran out of gas. From Nevada Falls to the curiously named Happy Isles Nature Centre, it may be more like 5000. Part of the trouble with the count is that it gets to be a question of what is a stair and what is just some natural rocks shoved together.
Another part was the traffic. You got hearty hikers coming down, requesting right of way until near the bottom, when exhaustion becomes a great equaliser. You got no-longer-hearty hikers going up, silently echoing the childrens' cries of "are we there yet? Everybody got in everybody's way, and there was a premium on places wide enough for two to pass. It was hard to keep count.
It would be worth it to come back and see Nevada Falls, and its lower relation, Vernal Falls, in May or June, when they're running at full throttle. Even in August, with the high country waters running low, they're impressive. We could see and hear Nevada Falls from the Panorama Trail, miles off. At those seasons, the entire gorge is filled with mist from the falls, and hikers often wear rain gear. There is a dangerously mesmerising effect to falling water, something that may account for the death toll. Much as people talk of bears at Yosemite, the claim is that no one has been killed by one in the history of the national park. However, falls and rapids claim visitors every year. This is not enough to keep people out of the water, particularly in the relatively placid waters just above both of these falls: that's right: above. Once get in the rapids and you are toast.
There was a fairly short walk between the Nature Centre and the trailhead, where a shuttle bus carried the worn and famished to food, shelter and toilets. For most mortals, it was a tired trudge. As I said, this was the equaliser. Beginners who thought to trot up from the valley to the falls and back were worn out. Moderate hikers who came off the route from Glacier Point or from the Half Dome hiker's route were dragging. Advanced back-country hikers who may have hiked 20 miles from a remote campsite were wasted. The trailhead was across the bridge from the bus stop, and most of the returning hikers were very grateful when the driver made an extra stop at the trailhead.
There were of course unquenchable young persons still fresh and running ... including my daughter. Em the marathoner was full of good advice to both of us, saying we should put our weight forward and let gravity take us down the hill. I was not in the mood for it. It seemed much more likely that gravity would take me to the pavement.
This particular hike, be it said, was not my idea. My spouse was certain going in that her StairMaster sessions at the Y would see her through the toughest going. It was balm to my aching body parts to hear her mutter, as we got off the bus at the camp, that she was going to sue the Y.
Note to bear fanciers: we had to wait for our bears, and so do you. Suck it up.
To start what the guidebooks call the "moderate" hike of Yosemite's Panorama and Mist Trails, you take a bus to Glacier Point. This is over 7000 feet above sea level, over 3000 feet above the valley, and accessible either by hiking or by a very twisty road.
The driver was informative and entertaining by turns. He sadly told us, at the top, that ours was the first trip in a week in which no one had seen bears. He thought it must be our fault.
En route, we passed through the remains of a "controlled burn" a year or so ago that had got out of hand and spread far wider than planned. As the driver described the rationale of the burns, I began to think about how forestry has changed over the last 50 years or so.
In my foolish youth I considered forestry as a career, and at 14 went to a summer camp for budding foresters. Back then, a forest of large conifers with little or no understory (small trees and brush) was known by the dread term "biological desert," something good foresters avoided at all costs. Forest fires were something to fight, contain, and prevent: hence the Smokey Bear campaigns.
Now, the field understands that large coniferous forests thrive best when there is little understory, and that natural fires—those started by lightning, not morons—are not only good, but necessary, for healthy forests. When there's a shortage of lightning, portions of forests are deliberately set afire, controlled to burn out excess understory, but not gain access to the tops of the large trees. The big trees thrive on this, and a reasonable amount of understory comes back and grows healthier than before.
It's interesting and instructive that the outlook of an entire science can be changed so dramatically in a relatively short time. Still, one wonders what one says at the end of a day when a controlled burn gets out of control: oops?
Down the Panorama
There are several catches to this bus trek. First, unless you bought a round-trip ticket in advance, there is no way off Glacier Point, except by hiking. Second, it is more than five miles from Glacier Point to the top of Nevada Falls, and there is no rest room between those two points. The view below is from Glacier Point to the falls: it's a long way with a full bladder.
NPS suggests being prepared (that is, going even when you don't need to) before leaving. Otherwise, you'll need to use what the bus driver cheerfully called "the leeky-leeky tree."
A couple of years back, NPS built a new, multi-stop rest room at Glacier Point. However, they built it as a water closet rest room, a couple thousand feet above the water table.
They chose poorly. To no one's surprise but the designers', it failed almost immediately. Visitors with the urge can choose between two two-holers and one four-holer, all chemical and all vile. The closed facility stands there and mocks the visitors' desperation.
My spouse is the product of a good Catholic upbringing and does not discuss the excretory system in any detail. As a result, she forgot Rule 2 of the hikers' guide: when you find a john, use it, no matter how bad it is. (Rule 1 is always top off your water when you find drinkable water). She did not mention this oversight as we started. There was already some conflict in the party about hiking objectives. Hers was to do the route at maximum possible speed. My daughter's was to walk fast between photo ops, then stop, view, set up the tripod, go to work, and catch up with the flagging parents. Mine was to finish the hike alive. I had no idea how my questionable cardiac system would respond to vigourous exercise above 5000 feet, doubts which were fully justified.
As time went on, we became quite strung out on the trail. My wife was in the lead, walking fast and gaining. I plodded on as the default hiker with a slowly rising heartbeat and the return of foot pain I thought banished a month earlier. Em continued to shoot, run to catch up, shoot again, catch up, etc.
There was much to photograph. Panorama Trail fully lives up to its name, with views in every direction. For a good part of this stage, the trail winds through groves of Jeffrey pine. This is a cousin of the Ponderosa pine that grows above 6000 feet. Our bus driver had told us that its leading characteristic was that it smelled something like vanilla or butterscotch, not like a normal pine. Damned if he wasn't right. He had suggested hugging one to find out, but that wasn't necessary: walking through a grove on a hot morning was enough.
This went on for over an hour, until we reached the bottom of the first descent at Illilouette Falls. This was the sort of place that makes one wish to morph into a rock and stay there until the end of time. I had rather understood we'd have lunch there, but my wife plowed doggedly on. Even Em had to stop for a handful of trail mix before we too headed on.
This second stage is a climb up Panorama Point, in the background below, a climb of 1900 feet in about a mile. That's about a 36% grade. By comparison, a loaded semi-trailer can barely make it up a 5% grade from a standing start, and bicyclist in good condition who rides up a mile of 10% grade is very glad when it's done. Between my heart and my foot, I was very much looking forward to the end of the switchbacks.
Near the end of this stretch my wife reappeared, having come back to make sure the rest of the party hadn't been eaten by bears. It was here that desperation wrung from her a regret that she hadn't paid one last visit to the Glacier Point privies, bad as they were, and that her whole being was focused on reaching Nevada Falls. My kid chimed in with an unsympathetic "go find a tree, Mom:" different generational values there. At any rate we toiled along more or less together for a mile or so that was relatively level, and then into a corresponding set of switchbacks going downhill.
When we got to Nevada Falls, we'd done the five miles in a shade over three hours, not bad considering the distractions. My spouse plowed on toward the putative location of the rest room, oblivious to scenery, family and bystanders. Fortunately the johns were where they should have been. Still better, they seemed to be solar-powered composting toilets, which don't smell much at all and are as clean as human nature can make a public toilet.
Em and I found a shady spot for lunch near the top of the Mist Trail, which joins the Panorama route at the falls. Nevada Falls are a popular destination from the valley, even though the climb is up there in degree of difficulty. We were made thoughtful by watching the number of hearty Continental climbers who reached the top with their tongues hanging out.
It was here that I pulled off my left boot to see what was the matter. Now we see the benefit of hiking with a clinician. A PT is good, although in this case a podiatrist would have been better.
"Why, you have Morton's toe," Em said after a short examination. The link will fill you in on the leading features of this common anomaly (and on Dr. Morton), in which the second toe of the foot is longer than the big toe. Further study (later) informed me that Morton's toe is especially hard on hikers. Few boots are made with Morton's Toe in mind, for one thing. For another, hikers are forever stubbing their toes. In a normal foot, the big toe absorbs all this abuse and shrugs it off. A Morton's toe foot leads with #2, which objects more and more to the treatment. Em secured the toe as much as possible with tape and moleskin, and I had an NSAID dessert with lunch. From this point, there was no alternative but to go on...except the humiliation of asking for a medevac because your toe hurts.
Down the Endless Stair
In The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien recounted Gandalf's battle with the Balrog on the Endless Stair. He wrote that the stair was blocked with shattered rock and ruined by the end of the conflict. He was wrong. The Endless Stair lives, and it's called the Mist Trail at Yosemite.
The several guidebooks differ on how many stairs there are on the Mist Trail. Some say 300, some 500, some 700. Having done it from the top down, my conclusion is that those numbers are just the numbers that the writers climbed before they ran out of gas. From Nevada Falls to the curiously named Happy Isles Nature Centre, it may be more like 5000. Part of the trouble with the count is that it gets to be a question of what is a stair and what is just some natural rocks shoved together.
Another part was the traffic. You got hearty hikers coming down, requesting right of way until near the bottom, when exhaustion becomes a great equaliser. You got no-longer-hearty hikers going up, silently echoing the childrens' cries of "are we there yet? Everybody got in everybody's way, and there was a premium on places wide enough for two to pass. It was hard to keep count.
It would be worth it to come back and see Nevada Falls, and its lower relation, Vernal Falls, in May or June, when they're running at full throttle. Even in August, with the high country waters running low, they're impressive. We could see and hear Nevada Falls from the Panorama Trail, miles off. At those seasons, the entire gorge is filled with mist from the falls, and hikers often wear rain gear. There is a dangerously mesmerising effect to falling water, something that may account for the death toll. Much as people talk of bears at Yosemite, the claim is that no one has been killed by one in the history of the national park. However, falls and rapids claim visitors every year. This is not enough to keep people out of the water, particularly in the relatively placid waters just above both of these falls: that's right: above. Once get in the rapids and you are toast.
There was a fairly short walk between the Nature Centre and the trailhead, where a shuttle bus carried the worn and famished to food, shelter and toilets. For most mortals, it was a tired trudge. As I said, this was the equaliser. Beginners who thought to trot up from the valley to the falls and back were worn out. Moderate hikers who came off the route from Glacier Point or from the Half Dome hiker's route were dragging. Advanced back-country hikers who may have hiked 20 miles from a remote campsite were wasted. The trailhead was across the bridge from the bus stop, and most of the returning hikers were very grateful when the driver made an extra stop at the trailhead.
There were of course unquenchable young persons still fresh and running ... including my daughter. Em the marathoner was full of good advice to both of us, saying we should put our weight forward and let gravity take us down the hill. I was not in the mood for it. It seemed much more likely that gravity would take me to the pavement.
This particular hike, be it said, was not my idea. My spouse was certain going in that her StairMaster sessions at the Y would see her through the toughest going. It was balm to my aching body parts to hear her mutter, as we got off the bus at the camp, that she was going to sue the Y.
Labels: travel, Yosemite National Park
posted by Uncle | 21:12
1 Comments:
Happy to report I do not have Morton's toe, either version. :-) Thanks for the link. My brother had that if I recall correctly.
I was very troubled by people hiking at Stone Mountain, here I was taking my time, enjoying the smell of the pines and the trees and birds and flowers, and these people were running..yes-RUNNING up and down the mountain. "Got to get to the top in the fastest amount of time and get back down just as fast!" Grrr. Meanwhile, your knees and back and lungs are screaming "ENOUGH!"
And dont even get me started on how touristy it is with its "family fun attractions" I guess Nature isnt exciting enough.
Thank goodness my parents (mom especially, and her parents) showed me the beauty in Nature- to stop and smell the roses (or pines) and to just enjoy the beauty around me.
Waiting somewhat impatiently for the bears to arrive ;-)
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