Little Yosemite Valley – Half Dome – Cloud’s Rest Junction (6.8 miles ~2,800′ elevation gain)
We woke up at 0445 and tried our best to break camp in the dark and in silence so as not to wake the guys around us. We had made a plan to meet and get re-organized at the outhouse (fancy, solar-powered composting vault toilets, ooooo!) and eat a quick breakfast before starting our climb up to Half Dome junction, but it was so incredibly early that we didn’t have an appetite. After checking that we had gathered all our things, we set off at 0545 with a new plan to force ourselves to eat at Half Dome junction before ditching our packs and hiding our bear cans.
Up before the sun to get to Half Dome before the rush and heat
We had been hearing rumors about a mama bear and her cub in this area who were pretty aggressive in terms of coming into camp and stealing food (aaaand eating all the poop and toilet paper left behind from people who don’t understand how to go to the bathroom in the backcountry… More on that later…). Hiking in the dark, for me at least, still gives me the heebie jeebies. I can’t help but think that every little noise is a creature lurking in the dark to get me. I mean, I still have trouble letting my feet hang over the edge of my bed because I have an eternal fear of ROUSes (Rodents of Unusual Size, for all you kiddos not raised in the 80s). And wolves. Like, legit lupophobia. ANYWAY…
We arrived at Half Dome junction and sat on a log to make coffee and eat some breakfast. After force-feeding ourselves we found a good place to take our bear cans out of our packs (and any other wrappers or food that found its way into hip pockets) and hide them. Hiking in Yosemite wilderness (and most of the Sierras) requires the use of a bear can for all food and scented-items (lotions, trash, used toilet paper, wet wipes, deodorant, bug spray, anti-bac, toothpaste, etc). These bad boys are entirely cumbersome at first, but after about a week of using mine, I grew to love it. Once upon a time it was required that you counterbalance all food sacks, but most places are starting to change the law to bear cans and it seems to be working out quite well.
My bear canister in all its glory. OOOO! AHHH!
Just in case a bear rolled it off a cliff or into a river and I couldn’t find it, at least whoever did would know which direction I was hiking and maybe figure out how to get it back to me if they were feeling fancy
Love this cartoon. WIND!
The basics on counterbalancing
After cramming our bear cans between rocks and logs, we took out our summit packs, filled them with essentials, and started our hike up toward Half Dome with the sun just coming up. The hike up to the dome itself is pretty intense. I couldn’t believe that people do it as a day hike from the valley floor in the hot afternoon. We were thankful Jace had managed to snag a wilderness permit, otherwise he’d be doing exactly that. Up and up we eventually reached Sub Dome which was already starting to give me horrible vertigo. There were some brilliantly carved-out switchbacks, giant granite steps, and then even just walking up steep granite slab as well. Every time I looked down, up, or to the side my head would spin and I’d feel like my legs were about to give out under me. I’ve always struggled with this- just ask my mother who to this day makes fun of when I lost my shit in the back of her car driving down Mt. Washington. It’s not the height that gets me, I just hate being near the edge of anything. This feeling is beyond frustrating for me because I usually have mini meltdowns on some of our tougher hikes. I stop and truly have to talk myself out of feeling dizzy, which can sometimes take a while. Amazingly enough, I managed to get up Sub Dome quickly and with only the occasional pause to curse the mountain under my breath.
Climbing up Sub Dome
Just about to the top and getting my first great glimpse of the cables ahead. All those people looked like ants even this close.
Once we were up and over Sub Dome we sat down on the saddle between the domes and sifted through a pile of gloves near the base of the cables. We found a couple nice pairs and started our way up the last 400 feet to the summit of Half Dome. This was it. I was doing it.
Good idea, Jaimie, putting those disgusting gloves all over your face.
Man. Those cables. They were constructed in 1919 as a safer, more-accessible alternative to the iron eyebolt route created by George G Anderson in 1875. For someone like me, these cables were both a blessing and a curse. I have zero upper-body strength to begin with and a fear of falling off all the things. There are thin planks of wood about 5-8 feet apart to rest at the entire way up the cables, but I kept wishing they were 3 feet apart instead. About 50,000 climbers make their way up the cables every year and it definitely shows. The granite between the cables is starting to lose its grip and my boots kept slipping with every few steps. I instantly wished that I had brought something to clip myself to the cables for peace of mind. For Jace, this was a cake walk. He could have easily sprinted up Half Dome without the cables at all. I felt awful holding him back as usual and we had promised each other that he would keep going when I inevitably would have my meltdown. But he didn’t. He stayed right there to coach me up to the next wooden plank… and the next… and the next… and then it all went south. We heard a yell from the top of the cables that sent a chill down my spine. Everyone was silent and looking up just to hear the sound of a pair of sunglasses sliding all the way down and off the edge into oblivion. I felt nauseous and started sweating. Just seeing those sunglasses fall off Half Dome destroyed whatever courage I had managed to muster up. I froze in place, squatted down to hopefully calm my nerves, and shouted to Jace, “I’m done. That was it. Sorry bub.” At this point more hikers were starting to gather at the base of the cables and the route itself was beginning to get crowded. Only moments before there were maybe eight of us on Half Dome at all. Maneuvering around others on the cables isn’t difficult at all as long as everyone communicates and is patient with each other, but the group that had dropped their sunglasses were awful. They pushed their way down past oncoming hikers, even those that asked them to wait a few minutes. It made my blood boil and I couldn’t move in either direction or get comfortable on the cables to find a good place to stay put to let them pass. I felt bad for those who were just getting up to where I was because I could see the same fear and frustration in their faces as this group aggressively descended past them with pushing and shoving. I cursed them and wished them a thousand years of Giardia and diarrhea.
Seriously, just looking at this photo now makes me want to le barf
After they passed and the rest of us all peacefully worked out getting around each other, I shimmied my way down the cables, dropped my gloves into the pile that’s not supposed to be there (I knoooow, bad Jaimie *wrist slap*), and sat down on a rock to look back up at where I had made it. I turned to Jace and started bawling my eyes out. I was so mad and disappointed with myself. I had made it halfway and looking at the slope I could tell if I had just gone a bit farther that it wasn’t as steep the rest of the way up. I wanted to try again, but my legs were shaking from holding the same awkward position of my feet while climbing up the slope.
[Looking back now, I really believe I made the right decision for myself. I wasn’t comfortable and being in that position poses a huge safety risk. I also was in horrible shape. I wonder if I had driven right back up to Yosemite after finishing my hike if I’d be able to get the last couple hundred feet up those cables. A big part of me thinks I could, but another part of me knows that just might be how stubborn and determined I am to finish what I started. Who knows, maybe I’ll try again someday. If I do freak out again, Jace: goddamnit, keep going!]
Soooo, we headed down against the absolutely INSANE amount of hiker traffic. Again, I can’t believe that many people start in the heat of the day- I was sweaty hiking in the dark. Everyone was puffing and panting with bright red faces. I kept wondering if they’d make it.
We eventually got to a ranger who was checking for everyone’s permit. There are hefty fines of up to $5,000 or jail time if you are caught without yours. We kept hearing of people attempting to hike up before sunrise, but they’d get caught on their way back down.
We hiked an extra half mile or so to Cloud’s Rest junction, found a great camp spot and set up for the night. Not too far away was Sunrise Creek, so we went over to filter our water and socialize with everyone there. After that we hiked back through the forest past our site and sat down in another nearby creek to cool off from the hot afternoon sun and rinse ourselves and our clothes. It felt nice to have the rest of the day to relax and enjoy the area.
Back at camp I started cooking dinner in just my bra and undies since all my clothes were hanging in the sun. I filled my little backcountry bidet and grabbed my ziplock bag labeled “bathroom” and headed off into the woods to take care of business. On my walk to find a good spot I was astounded at the amount of dug-up poop and toilet paper littering the forest. It was truly everywhere. You could see where all the animals had been digging in search of whatever lurked below and I started to wonder if I started digging my own hole if I’d just end up digging up someone else’s. It was gross. And, unfortunately, this was pretty common in the more trafficked areas of the trail where frontcountry meets backcountry.
[I’m just going to put it all out there because I have to say that aside from the question about being scared of getting raped, the second most popular question I have been asked is about going poop or getting your period out in the wilderness. So if that kind of stuff grosses you out, well, then I guess you’re in the wrong place entirely because let’s face it, we’re human and that’s what we do. For my hike, I decided to not bring toilet paper at all. I had read up on the growing popularity of the “backcountry bidet” and decided I was into it. Otherwise, you are required to “Pack it in Pack it out” with all your used TP, and, quite frankly, I didn’t want the extra weight in my bear can. So I bought a hair dyeing bottle with an angled spout and used it to take care of cleaning up. For pee, I cut a bandana into quarters, tied one to a carabiner, and clipped it to the outside of my pack. That bad boy was seriously the greatest. No TP needed at all and I’d let it dry in the sun and clean it when need be. Honestly a game changer for the rest of my life with travel and hiking. For number two, it was the bidet, rocks, leaves, sticks, (I couldn’t commit to using my hand like many others do) and I budgeted myself some dehydrated wet wipes to ration throughout my hike to use in case things were… a bit messier than planned. Ehhem. I also had in my “bathroom” kit a Diva Cup in case of shark week (a silicone cup that you clean and re-use instead of having to carry around used tampons in your bear can), hand sanitizer and soap, Maskit bags to put any of the used wipes in (these were also great for any stinky gross trash along the way! Kept everything somewhat sealed and leak-proof), and my Deuce of Spades trowel for digging my cat holes 6″ into the rock-hard Sierra “soil.” That thing is amazing at cutting through roots and digging out rocks- I was really impressed. So, yeah, needless to say, I’ve gotten really, really, ridiculously good at taking care of business in the backcountry.]
Dear friend hanging out with us while cooking dinner
Back to the Day 2: I did my deed and starting walking back to camp along the side of a downed tree. When I looked up I was face to face with a mama bear and her cub standing up on the tree in front of me with a mouth full of poop and toilet paper. There I stood, in just my underwear, yelling and waving my arms in the air like a crazy person at these creatures who were staring at me all unimpressed by my ferocity like, “WTF? Can’t you see we’re here trying to eat poop, hooman?” I yelled a bit louder to Jace who was about 25 feet on the other side of them back at camp, completely unaware of what was going on. (It’s incredible how the forest silences noise that is right next to you.) “BABE! BEARS! COME HELP!” Jace ran over and there we stood flanking the bears from both sides. Mama bear apparently didn’t like feeling cornered and solidly stood her ground while baby bear leapt from the downed tree up into the tree growing next to it and climbed up. I felt bad for making them feel cornered, so I swung around in a wide circle to make my way back to Jace and we both climbed up on rocks and proceeded waving our arms around and yelling until they both ran away. I really wish Jace snapped a photo of me chasing bears away in my unmentionables. That one would have been framed for sure.
Mama bear looking back over her shoulder at us all HAAAYYYY
Baby bear treeing and wondering if that poo was really worth all this
Later on back at the watering hole a ranger was walking by and we reported our bear siting to her. She asked if we had seen a tag on her ear and what color it was, which, luckily, we had just read our bear report form and knew to look for such things. “Yellow-50,” as she has been named, is apparently (APPRNTLYYYYYY) the bear everyone had been talking about. She was teaching her cub bad habits and the park was on a mission to find her and condition them to stop. Later that night, the same ranger came back with a paintball gun and was walking around ready to catch their bad behavior again.
We ate dinner, filtered more water, and figured out which gear I would be taking and which Jace would be taking back along with all the trash. Exhausted from the past several days, we passed out around 1730. This would be my last night with Jace before being officially alone.
trips and trailmix 