Ahwahnee, Day 3

Day 3, July 31

            Glorious day. I am awakened by a text message at dawn informing me that I am now the proud uncle of a brand new nephew. Not sure what could possibly top that event or make this day even more special, I now get to journey deep into the backcountry of Ahwahnee. Evidently there was a bear in the backpackers camp that morning, drawn by some food left outside of one of the mandatory bear boxes found everywhere in the High Sierra. Quite a commotion, evidently. I was so happy with the new news that I slept right through all of it. Glorious day, indeed.

            Up through the Lodgepole groves, Rafferty Peak greets us to the west. Another huge, wide-open meadow grants us a clear view of the plethora of distant peaks and domes and mountain passes that fill the Yosemite backcountry. Earhart Peak, Toulumne Pass, Vogelsgang Peak, Simmons Peak. Easy to orientate one’s self when the landmarks are 11,000-12,000 feet in the sky. There is still a tiny bit of snow present on some of the peaks, even in this bone-dry summer of 2012. Evidently just last year, the Sierras were still filled with snow until July (nope, no climate issues here, Mr. Man… keep on denying it as your water sources and land base disappear before your very eyes.) Soon we enter Vogelsgang High Sierra Camp, where I meet the famous Water Ouzel for the first time in the fast flowing stream behind it. Quite a little bird, this one – zipping over the rushing water with his super high pitch call clearly audible over the roar of the water. Vogelsgang HSC is one of the numerous camps present for folks who can’t - or won’t - quite make the effort required to pack in and out everything one needs for a backcountry wilderness sojourn. Again, my emotions are mixed. I appreciate these camps for the chance it gives our elders to come out here and pray. Clearly, many cannot and should not carry 50 lb. packs. It was nice to see many of them making the trek, as well as talking and mostly listening to a wonderful couple in their late 70s at breakfast that morning tell their tales of old Yosemite and the backcountry adventures of their younger years. But for the grungy youth hostel type crowds we would see at these camps during the week, unwilling to make the effort and really learn what it means to go backcountry, even in the vigor of youth… well, I just think they’re a bit lazy.

            Glacial dip, take ten. I’m overcoming my fear of ice-cold water splendidly this Summer. But Vogelsgang Lake is capital ‘F’ Frigid! We swim out to a large rock in the middle of the lake. Realizing that once we get completely dry in the warm Sierra sun, jumping back in is going to be twice as difficult the second time, we quickly head back to shore. One of my calves turns numb halfway through. My god, this water is cold. But soon utterly refreshed once warmed back up by the sun, we happily continue on through another high mountain pass and down into a marvelous valley that holds the first flowing water source to enrapture me this week – Lewis Creek. Gushing down the heart of the valley towards Merced Lake, I could sit for a week just listening to him and soaking in his crystalline waters. These Sierra high country streams and rivers are marvels that you must behold at least once in this dear life. You will never swim in nor drink from purer water.

            The famous alpine glow reflecting off the eastern peaks, I notice how the valley suddenly hushes quiet as the sun disappears. The wind was zipping through our camp quite fiercely mere moments ago. But instantly it ceases. It’s as if every being is paying its silent respect to the sun as he slowly drops below the horizon, dousing everything in brilliant hues of red and pink. One of my favorite Muir quotes echoes in my mind as I stand admiring this grand sight:
“This was the alpenglow, to me the most impressive of all the terrestrial manifestations of God. At the touch of this divine light, the mountains seemed to kindle to a rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed like devout worshippers waiting to be blessed.” I guess I can understand the ancient sun ceremonies that have developed in every region of this good Earth. All you have to do is stop for a moment and pay attention to how every other creature big and small honors the sun each evening, and follow along.

            We watch a brilliant full moon rise over the easternmost peak in the valley, sending new pale reflections across all the high peaks in view. The alpine glow slowly shimmers away as the sun’s last light disappears to the west. I settle in for the night and read as much Thoreau as my tired eyes can handle, but sleep soon calls. A perfect flat rock high above the creek makes the new uncle’s first night in the Yosemite backcountry comfortable and content.

             Glorious day.