The El Capitan of National Parks
A few months ago, an invitation appeared on the horizon. Would we like to join our old friends from Palmdale in a week’s worth of exploring Yosemite National Park? Stay in a small, rustic park cabin at Curry Village in the valley. Hike, float the Merced River, enjoy the outdoors.
I’ve always wanted to visit and photograph Yosemite. Ansel Adam’s photography had long ago made it a magical place for me. It was a no-brainer.
Cabins must be reserved a full year ahead of time. Planning and commitment are required. Our friends were veterans of the chase, having annually visited Yosemite for the past twenty-five years. Get up at midnight to reserve your cabin exactly 365 days ahead or there won’t be a cabin left to reserve. They had the drill down to a fine art.
From Seattle, it’s a roughly 16-hour, 900 mile drive. We broke it into two days. These days, I detest driving most of Interstate 5, so we either opt for US99 or bale at Vancouver, WA for Interstate 84 along the Columbia River, then down US97 through Bend and Eastern Oregon before heading through Reno along US395. Entrance to Yosemite Valley is spectacular, with the 3,000 foot granite monolith of El Capitan and the 2,400 foot Yosemite Falls soon looming into view.
A late day entrance to the park avoids much of the backup and we wind our way unmolested to Curry Village where our one room log cabin, complete with sink and shower, awaits. John and Jill have arranged a series of five cabins for family and friends. We are first to arrive. An old-fashioned brass key unlocks our door, revealing whitewashed wainscotting walls and ceiling, wood floors, white tiled shower and bathroom, and a tiny metal-framed double bed. Waist-high, single hung windows frame two adjoining walls.
There are tricks even to cabin camping here in Yosemite. The bears, squirrels and Stellar Blue Jays are all wise to you. They examine your car for trace amounts of food; bears have no compunction about destroying a car in search of that single breath mint, stick of gum, or leftover french fry. Be sure your car is clean before you leave.
El Capitan from the road and the Merced River and Bridalveil Falls
The squirrels and birds are no less possessed to rob you. Leave a window or door open and squirrels will soon be ransacking your food stores. Those little furry-tailed monsters have learned how to jimmy partially closed windows and slide open window screens. If you’re eating outside, they mercilessly try to catch you napping so they can abscond with whatever you have on your serving table, in your chair, on your plate. A broom, stick, or hiking pole are good tools to keep them at bay. But remember, nothing will deter their efforts.
The hikes are anywhere from easy, valley floor walks to arduous climbs across granite cliff faces requiring both courage and faith in the anchored cables Park workers have provided. We opt for 5-mile and 8-mile hikes across Glacier Point and the Mist and John Muir Trails that fall somewhere in-between.
There’s a grocery, cafeteria, bar, and supply store in Curry Village and buses to transport you to various parts of the valley for trail heads, the Ansel Adams Gallery, the Yosemite Lodge and Ahwahnee Lodge, among other things. We hit the bar twice. Surprisingly, they have one of my favorite gluten-free beers and at happy hour we manage to nab two of the only four seats at the bar. They also make a good smash burger. Service is good, but not attentive; know what you want or you’ll get sent to the back of the line.
The hike to Glacier Point can be tackled one of three ways – from the valley floor, which amounts to a strenuous 3,200 vertical foot, 5-mile trail; from along the Glacier Point Road near Taft Point (a moderate 5-miles if you take in Taft Pt before heading to Glacier Pt); or drive directly to the Glacier Pt. parking lot and walk the last quarter to half mile. We go middle of the road and enjoy some spectacular views.
Left – Approaching Taft Pt; Right – View of Yosemite Falls along the Pohono Trail.
We are a group of about ten, with couples rotating in and out through the week. It’s a communal group, with camping chairs arranged in a circle fronting the porch of Jill and John’s centrally located cabin. The only thing we’re lacking for atmosphere is a campfire – strictly forbidden in the Park. No matter; we’re having fun. Nothing like an early morning cup of coffee while snuggled in your chair, quietly conversing about the coming day’s adventures.
Left – Yosemite Valley (and our cabin) 3,214 feet directly below; Right – Ferns along the trail to Taft Point
Truth be told, the hiking has made pretty much every old joint injury protest with varying degrees of swelling and soreness. Even backpacking 20 pounds of camera gear has made my shoulder hurt. Thankfully, day four’s very leisurely 3-mile float down the Merced River helped immensely. The river is shallow and slow. Nothing like a little laziness to compensate for the strenuous hikes of the two days before.
Recovery complete, on day five we pack up and head for home, feeling relaxed and rewarded after a new adventure with good weather. And it’s good to be back in my good, old king size bed. Those nights scrunched together on that little double mattress took some getting used to – I never did quite get the hang of that. Thank you, American excess, for inventing the king bed. I’m comfy again.
