Yosemite National Park: Mist, Smoke and Granite.

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft. 

Running back and forth between Rhyhorn and the house I could already feel the excitement growing in my chest. Sleeping bag, tent, camera - check. I could already see the open road, the mountains, the never-ending sky. Dried food, jackets, boots - check. I could feel the hum of the road beneath me, the warmth of the dusty sunlight. Shit, the yeti. With a satisfying slam of my trunk I walked over to the driver’s seat, organized my maps, music and GPS and started out of the quiet, Portland neighborhood. It was 0730, I was going to Yosemite. 

The cool morning air whistled through the cracked windows as I merged onto I-5 S. To get there I would have to drive across Oregon and nearly half of California. California is fucking huge. I would be passing through many of my old stomping grounds. Eugentron, Corvallitron, Grants Passtron, Medfordtron, Ashlandtron and Reddingtron. South of that I had never really travelled this far inland. Traffic wasn’t as much of a bitch as I thought it was going to be. Shoulder to shoulder with tired morning commuters I broke away from the rat race once I cleared Tigardtron and gunned it south. 

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The old anal Airstream parked at the intersection of hwy 96 and I-5 - an old landmark to my Klamath Crew that meant we were almost home. 

Driving south out of Portland has some of the most dramatic landscape changes along a highway I’ve ever seen. Oregon is a patchwork of agricultural land, public/private wilderness and towns with large cities like Portland, Eugene and Bend interspersed within it. At one moment you are driving through the congested web of Portland’s bridges and the next you are hurtling towards Mt. Shasta in all of her misty beauty.

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Mt. Shasta elev. 14,180ft.

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Mom vans, trucks and weathered campers blend together on I-5.

My first mission was to meet up with none other than Kevin Tenorio in Rocklin, CA. Our friendship goes back to middle school days when our everythings consisted of Yu-Gi-Oh!, self-taught martial arts, Rurouni Kenshin and social anxiety. Bitten by the hip-hop choreography bug in late high school we both dedicated a lot of time perfecting our separate dance styles and blended it with martial arts to form the Take-Out Boys. Add on Johnny Chen and you had the triumvirate. After college Kevin took his passion for dance to the next level and moved out to Denver, CO with the hopes of teaching choreography. Hands down he was the most courageous person in our close-knit friend group and had held onto the passion for dance firmer than any of us. His bold move to pack up his life and drive across country was secured by nothing more than the prospect of a few job interviews. Fast forward to 2015 and he hasn’t just started teaching choreography - he has taught at 3 schools, created countless choreographies for the massive Denver PrideFest and has done commissioned work for MapQuest. But things change and life keeps moving. As of this month Kevin packed his life up again and made the move to northern California to pursue a more stable job as a branch manager for an up and coming energy company. It doesn’t seem glamorous but it’s part of the path that myself and all of my friends are traveling - growing up. Check out his work at his YouTube Channel.

New to the area and within driving distance to me I figured I would spend my last unemployed weekend with him (I got a job at the Hillsboro REI!). Looking through my maps and looking at how many days we both had off I told him he was in for a treat, we were going to Yosemite. As I continued south through California the sun began to set. I wasn’t going to make to Rocklin before dark and was starting to wonder where we would camp for the night. 

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Endless agricultural fields almost looked like savannas in the orange sunset. 

It wasn’t until 2000 hours when I pulled into the parking lot of the gym Kevin was currently using as his showers. He had a house lined up and had already accepted the job but for now he had to tough it out of his car while things fell into place. Like I said, courageous. We ate at a local burger place and caught up while I poured over my road map. I didn’t like how dark it already was and hadn’t quite planned this far ahead - unlike me, I know. I debated on just gunning it for Yosemite tonight and gambling on the off chance that the less popular campgrounds had space. Hearing me think out loud he helped me make the decision by simply saying, “Let’s just fucking go tonight”. Moving his things to Rhyhorn and parking his car in a sketchy motel parking lot we gunned down the dark highway. We had 4 hours ahead of us and with luck would be pulling into the western entrance by 0100 hours - it was going to be clutch. As time ticked on we caught up more and more. It was wild to think that we were sitting here in the same car. You could just feel how much we had changed since high school and how much we had changed from each other. We were always quite similar growing up but the difference now was as plain as black and white. He was clean-cut, dressed in all black dance-specific clothes, tatted and pierced and as city mouse as you could get. And I, well, I was me. Dreadlocked, dirty feet, dirty shorts and blasting country. It was wild and epic and all to unreal how we had managed to reconnect all the way out here.

It started to get near the arrival time and we were suspiciously still on the major highway. From looking at the map earlier we should have already started heading east towards the National Forest land but we weren’t. What had happened would be the first of many silly logistical mistakes I would make. Instead of verifying that we were heading towards the western entrance I had just plugged in “Yosemite” to my GPS and accepted what it told me. Yosemite National Park can be simplified down to a large circle with two major roads crossing it horizontally splitting it into thirds. The top one was an alpine road that separated the northern wilderness from the more car-friendly lower parts of the park. The bottom road was Yosemite Valley itself, the heavily developed area surrounding the Merced River where the famous peaks like Half Dome and El Capitan resided. We were unintentionally heading towards the valley. This wouldn’t have been a big deal under any other circumstances but it was already late, we didn’t have a lot of gas and there were no open campsites there. To put it into perspective, Yosemite is a national park the size of Rhode Island and instead of cutting west towards a campsite at the outer edge of that top road we were entering the park from the SE towards a ghost town of empty visitor centers and full campgrounds. Breaking my navigational error to city mouse he was undaunted. We were explorers and we were gonna do it - simple as that.

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 Nothing could have prepared me for what would eventually become an epic 3 hour journey through the winding roads of the pitch black mountains of this park. Driving slowly though the eerie night we found ourselves in the valley. Thick fog filled the cold air and not a soul stirred. It was ghostly. Continuing along the main southern road of the valley loop I was jolted awake by the unmistakeable orange of fire. 

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Holy shit Kevin the forest is on fire!”

Getting out of Rhyhorn I stood before the darkness and let in the unmistakeable crackling of a thousand little fires. Like spirits dancing between the shadows of the trees the fire licked and cracked through the night and I breathed in the warm air with relish. I was 100% sure this was a prescribed burn and was at a loss of words. It was simply amazing to be there. 

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The mission was to continue around the loop and to check the campgrounds dotting the valley. These were the most popular campgrounds since they were close to the Valley Store, Visitor’s Center and, of course, El Cap and Half Dome. We ran into a park ranger and asked him what camp sites were opened and learned that they were all full. Discouraged I asked him about Wawona campground near the south entrance.

Wawona?…Maybe. Good luck, get some rest”. 

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Pulling into Wawona all I could think about was how loud and bright Rhyhorn was. Desperately looking left and right all I could see were taken campsites. City mouse was falling asleep and would have been little help anyways as he wouldn’t have known what to look for - this would be his first time camping ever. With a heavy heart I made the call to drive south some more in hopes that an unnamed campground just out of the south entrance was open. Closed. It wasn’t until we had driven through Fish Camp and further south that I realized that we were out of luck - there was simply not going to be anything out here. Turning around I made for a turn off I had seen earlier near the closed campground. Pulling in at an angle I made a triangle with Rhyhorn and the ridge protecting us from the road. Grabbing my headlamp I quickly set up our two tents (REI skills to the rescue) and broke down the basics of tent camping to the sleepy city mouse. We climbed into our tents and passed out - it was 0400 hours.

The next morning rumbled me awake into a hellish blaze of yellow light as 18 wheeler ripped passed us. The tent shook violently and I sat up heart racing. This was exactly what my team spent the whole summer trying to avoid - dispersal camping along a major road. Waking city mouse up we emerged from our tents and began to load up Rhyhorn. Our mission was to get back to off the road before any Park Rangers found us and to get to Wawona. There we would wait for a campsite I had seen the night before that was only reserved for one day. Piling into Rhyhorn we started off for the camp, it was 0600. As we drove I realized that in an hour and a half I would have been driving on and off for nearly 24 hours, Rhyhorn’s engine hadn’t even cooled down since we had fallen asleep. Fast forward a few hours and we had a campsite, breakfast in our bellies and a gameplan for our first day. Since we had 2-3 days allotted for the park I decided to focus on one major area each day. Today we would work our way northward and explore the valley. It was a perfect morning.

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Massive granite mountains so characteristic of the park.

Our first stop was a quick hike to the top of Sentinel Dome. Walking through the granite meadows I was overcome with the scent of the pines.

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Smooth granite took the place of soil.

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Sentinel Dome elev. 8,122ft.

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An adorable pinecone family.

Yosemite NP was, like much of Oregon’s defining mountains, born from volcanos. Formed underground from massive magma flows, the granite bedrock eventually rose to the surface thanks to a tag-team effort of surface erosion and tectonic plate shifts. Once these bad boys rose to the surface water and ice sculpted them to the shapes they are now. The Merced River carved out the Yosemite Valley and ice age glaciers polished and cracked the ridges into the iconic shapes we see today. 

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A view of the other side of the valley from atop Sentinel Dome. 

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On top of the world. Kevin and El Capitan in the distance. 

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Ansel Adams’ Jeffrey Pine and yours truly. 

Back at Rhyhorn we continued up Glacier Point Road to Glacier point where we came face to face with Half Dome and all of it’s glory. It was the best lunch spot to date. 

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Half Dome elev. 8,842ft. | Shot with Canon 5D Mark II.

After walking off my geomorphological full-chub we got back into Rhyhorn and headed north for the valley. Along the way we went through the tunnel and exited out into what has been described as “the most photographed vista on earth”

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From left to right: El Capitan, Half Dome, Sentinel Rock, Cathedral Rocks and Bridalveil Fall | Shot with Canon 5d Mark II.

The valley itself is made up of a one-way loop that runs west to east. On the northern loop is Yosemite Village which is a town made up of the visitor center, valley store, forest service dispatch, valley garage and a bunch of restaurants and parking. We treated ourselves to a hot dinner (1 orders of fries cause shit was hella expensive) and made our way back to camp as it started to rain. 

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Swinging Bridge Picnic Area - a spot Kevin was considering for a choreography.

Wawona was spared from the heavy rains that flooded the higher elevations of the park the night before and we awoke to a morning shrouded in fog and smoke. I knew that there was more to see in the valley but was also debating on going further north. Realistically, weather consistent, we might pack up and head out the next day so for all-intensive-purposes this was our last day. Driving into the valley we parked and walked over to the visitors center for city mouse to collect himself (the dirt and general exposed nature of the outdoors was getting to him) and for me to look up some day hikes. What I realized was that there was an incredible amount of day-hikes that we hadn’t done at all. Instead of moving onto the northern part of the park I realized we couldn’t even finish the hikes here in the valley. It was good news. As the rain began to worsen I picked out a short, popular hike that would round out the day as well as give us a good workout to an amazing view. The mission was Vernal Falls

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Misty mountains. 

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Merced River. 

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The sheer size of the mountains was hard to grasp. Photos seemed powerless. 

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The mossy side of the ridge. The trees were growing at 45º angles. 

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Tree up close for scale. Tree on slope for scale. 

The hike towards the falls was luxurious. If there is one thing to know about Yosemite it would be that it has an incredible amount of infrastructure. Most national parks will be rather built up and accessible but one as charismatic and large and iconic as Yosemite is a totally different story. The path was a 1.5 mile switchback up a wide paved path. Rain vacillated between drizzling and torrentially down pouring making the hike difficult on the rockier portions. I discarded my jacket and ended up hiking in a t-shirt. I still haven’t mastered the art of hiking in the rain. As we approached the last stretch of switch backs the path turned into steep, narrow staircases carved out of granite. City mouse was a champ as he carried his water bottle, soaked sweatshirt and camera bag up the stairs. Even as experiences as I was I was having difficulty with the slippery stairs and almost would have rather just had a gravel path or dirt - but this was a mountainside we were talking about. 

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Another view of the Merced River. 

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A view downriver towards the valley. People for scale. 

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Rounding the last corner the rain started to pour hard.  Like ouch-this-is-hard-rain pouring.

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There she falls!

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By this point I was scared for my phone. Hurry up Lifeproof.

At the top we took a wet breather. Gazing down into the valley my breath was taken away. The steep cliffs, the curving river disappearing into the foggy green of the forest. It was an awe-inspiring picture of force and it was just one hike of the park. It was then and there that I realized that I needed to come back, come back soon. 

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From the narrower part of the river, the large snag in the middle and the size of the people you can backtrack where I took the previous photos. 

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A few miles further up the path and we would have reached Nevada Fall.

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Granite. Deep and dark. People for mind-blowing scale. 

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Started from the bottom. 

Wet and tired we changed our clothes and made our way back into the valley for a nice dinner. Walking around the village store I searched for stickers (of course). It wasn’t until we were checking out that I realized that I didn’t have my car keys. Quickly going through the past hour I realized I had dropped them in the cup holder as I was changing my pants - they were locked inside of Rhyhorn. With daylight to spare we made our way to the visitors center where I asked the shop clerk if they could recommend a course of action. They passed me to the park rangers who then passed me to the village garage. They told me to call AAA (thanks for advising me to get it dad!) and then, once they got the call from AAA they would drive over and help us out - simple enough. AAA had me on hold for almost an hour. It was unbelievable. The situation quickly dissolved from me pacing back and forth saying grateful things to city mouse like, “Man I am so glad I have AAA, this was easier than I thought!” to “How? How is this even possible? How can this be the situation that is happening right now? They still have me on hold! I know they can hear me I know it’s recording! BALLS BALLS BALLS BALLS WHAT THE FUUUUUUCKKKKKKK!”. Eventually one of the guys came out and asked for my card and made the call themselves and within 15 minutes were were driving back to camp. Driving back along the windy road that had become our familiar commute I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t explore enough. There was so much more to do and so much more to see. I knew that there would be another chance and that this was just a taste of a whole world of exploration. Rounding one of the last corners we were struck with a sunset so orange it looked like wildfire. 

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That night it stormed. It may have been the hardest storm I had ever camped in. Starting around 0300 the rain had become so loud that it had woken up most of the campsite. It was lightening and thunder crazier than I had ever felt. Being me I set up my phone to voice record the storm and sat back for nearly an hour listening and counting lighting strikes - it was surreal. Within 30 seconds I counted nearly 49 strikes - somewhere was getting its shit fucked to put it scientifically. The next morning we found our tents owned. City mouse was basically sleeping in a small pond and my tent had mud and sand kicked up the sides underneath the rain fly from how hard the rain was landing. But instead of a flaming deathscape we found the morning greeting us cool and misty. Packing up our wet gear we hit the road for home. Bidding farewell to my new campground friends I set my sights for Rocklin. We took an alternative path that traded I-5 for forest roads. It was a flashback to the Klamaths. Winding mountain roads took us through a landscape dominated by shrubs and rolling hills. At this point city mouse was pretty done with nature and responded to my stopping with, “What are you doing. What the hell are you doing.”. 

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Oh, hi Shenandoah. 

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He jumped head first out of his comfort zone to join me on this adventure and I have a lot of respect and gratitude for him. 

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That part of California no one thinks about. 

On the road back home thoughts of my realities started filtering back in. It was like the sudden onset of cell signal and text messages was a calling for me to come back to real life. To responsibilities. It’s strange. What I experienced and witnessed and felt in my bones this weekend was everything I consider to be real life. The realest it can ever be what can be truer than the earth, the water the mountains that have been there so long before us and will be there so for longer? I settled into a peaceful storm of thoughts on that endless road. 

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This is why I do what I do. 

We picked up Thai food and Kevin’s car. Shouting for joy we were both relieved to see that it didn’t have any tickets or wheel clamps. Saying goodbye to Kevin was a mix of feelings. Here we had spent such an amazing weekend far from our problems and here we were back in Rocklin. I watched as he organized his car and couldn’t believe he had been living in it for as long as he has. I was happy that he had gotten his managerial job and that things were starting to pick up for him again. I’ve never met a person so dedicated to his passion - never. Hugging it out we said goodbye and good luck. Good things will come soon yet my dear friend. 

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Country Mouse | City Mouse

The next 10 hours would be a painful test of man and machine fueled by gas station bathrooms, trail mix bars, oreo shakes and me ultimately caving in and buying the new Mumford & Sons CD. But God. Damn. It. Rhyhorn and I were made for the road. 

Give me golden fields and blue skies over concrete any day. 

By this point my mind was starting to melt - like the sunset. 

At this point I was shouting Mumford & Sons and crying in joy to see Portland.

All in all the trip was an amazing one. It felt forever since I had been on such a journey. Covering 1,763 miles in two days I was just 1,044 short of returning home to Virginia - 2/3 of the way across the U.S. But more than just the distance I hadn’t had a journey that affected my heart and mind like this in a long time. I suppose it was a mix of seeing Kevin in his current situation, my encroaching responsibilities, how much I missed being with someone and how much I missed my family. Whenever I see places as beautiful and breathtaking as Yosemite I am always pulled from deep within by a sad feeling that my parents and my grandparents aren’t with me. These are places that my brother and I can spend our whole lives exploring but my grandparents and parents have spent most of their lives working to survive and to provide for us. Making sure they retire soon and can start enjoying their lives is going to be a big part of my 5 year plan. I want to show them things they’ve never seen before…Here’s to making that happen. 

As always, love and miss you all,

Chris

Crater Lake National Park

Klamath River, CA (aka the bowl the PNW shits all of its heat into)
Elevation: 4,090ft.

It was good to be on the road again. Loaded packs pressed against extra gas and water, beers chilling in the yeti and assorted gear hanging about Rhyhorn’s trunk - I was finally on an adventure again. Work has been wearing me down mentally and physically and the heat has been a cruel bonus. Gripping the wheel tightly, sitting back in my seat I pulled out onto Hwy 96 east - the destination was Crater Lake.

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Driving northward on I-5 we passed the familiar, steep windy roads we usually drove for work. Passing lumbering tractor trailers we chugged along towards Ashland. In my mind we were heading to the bluest, deepest lake in America and, hopefully, cooler weather. Pulling into the park we headed westward along the Rim Drive figuring that we would hit as many overlooks and hikes as we could, camp in Mazama Village in the south for the night and then tackle the bout tour and Wizard Island the next day. 

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Hiking through the sandy soils of the caldera’s rim we encountered a lot of sun-bleached snags and exposed rock. No matter where you hiked you could see down into the massive lake. It clocked in at 80ºF which, while not as cool as I would have liked it, was a welcome respite from the 100ºF averages we were working through last week. We stopped at a lookout and hiked up to Discovery Point where gold prospectors first encountered Crater Lake. 

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From the Lightning Spring pull-off we hiked northwards towards the Watchman Overlook. The winding road tok us up a few mild switchbacks but granted us amazing views of the lake and the lands to the west. To the northwest you could see Desert Cone, an old cindercone, a landmark I would rely on several times over the rest of the trip. 

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Much like any major National Park, CLNP was extremely built up and accommodating to the average tourist. This meant well-maintained trails, nice roads, occasional restaurants and gift shops and signs. Signs signs signs I love signs! Signs and maps always translate to not being lost. The comforts of the park were welcome luxuries and made the lake all the more enjoyable and vacationy for us. 

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A view of the road below where the hike started. 

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Driving northwards we passed Cleetwood Cove Trail where we would eventually board the boat tours that take visitors down to Wizard Island in the center of the lake. But that was for the next day. Today was “hike all the overlooks” day. On the east side of the park we parked Rhyhorn, geared up and made our way up Mt. Scott. The 2.5 mile trail would gain us 1,479 feet and would be a test to our underfed (our faults) and field-tenderized bodies. Gazing up through the thick air I made out the small dot that was the watch tower. 

Fuck”

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Making our way up the trail a cool breeze whipped at our sweaty bodies. Everything seemed to hurt. Disproportionally so. We were both realizing how much this season was affecting our knees. I like to think that I am fairly resilient and built fairly tough but at my ripe age of 24 (going on 25) you begin to realize that there is “good hurt”, “hurt that hurts but then heals stronger” and then there’s “fuck these are my only knees and it hurts to squat down to shit I’m in trouble”. But for now, there was this lovely cool, moist-ish breeze cooling down our elevation-stricken panting light headed bodies. Looking out to the south I could see misty blue mountains topped by endless skies.

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To the west I could see storm clouds coming to kill us.

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Getting worried about the encroaching storm we sped up our pace. We were so close there was no turning back now. Turning the last corner we could see the watch tower.

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Plunking down at the tower’s base we busted out some snacks and took in the well-earned view. There was still a surprising amount of snow scattered about the summit. Not enough to really warrant being called significant snowpack but enough to breed “snow mosquitoes” which promptly attacked the hell out of us. The good thing was that, unlike the smaller lowland variants, these were big, brown and clumsy. Killing them was child’s play.

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Sweaty, tired and satisfied we pulled into Mazama Village wild-eyed and ready for bed. Unpacking our gear it was funny to look around at the assortment of car campers that were our neighbors and seeing how much fun they were having. I personally love seeing people, no matter how tacky and over prepared, out and about enjoying nature. Put it simply, if they were here sweating, hiking, complaining, driving, gazing through the window of a massive camper at the lake with us they came here for the amazing experience of sharing these natural places with others. In a way I realized, as I systematically set up my tent and ate a cold can of Chef Boyardee, that I missed when the outdoors were fun and not work. I realized that I was dancing on the edge of the fragile balance all people face when their passion becomes a job and they just need to let go of the gas a little lest they burn out. I know that I want to work for the earth. I want to work long and hard and to spend my days out here for as long as I can and that it just means climbing the conservation ladder systematically and tactically. Choosing jobs wisely and not being too picky - but making sure that each one counts and pushes me further. I am determined not to burn out. The next morning started at 0545. We needed to get to the boat dock by 0730. 

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Looking down into the water, no matter where you were on the caldera’s rim, it was clear that getting down and back up was nearly impossible. The soft, sandy sediment of the inner walls of the caldera were constantly eroding into the water. To think how early adventurers and animals made it down to the water was mind-boggling. We were lucky in that there was a reinforced 1 mile trail leading down to the dock. We were part of the first tour that morning and it was obvious that the other early birds waiting at the dock with us were prepared to hike and explore.

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The climb was steep and, as we neared the top of the cindercone, sandy and barren. 

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Reaching the top of the rim I was unsure of what to expect. It was the first time I had ever seen a cindercone let alone climb one and here I was face to face with an old volcano. 

It’s crazy to think that, at one point, this was the spot that it all went down. Everything around here knew that it was going down. This is where all of the shit gathered to hit the fan.”

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Realizing we were the first folks to summit the island we laid our packs down and I grabbed my DSLR and we hiked around the rim. From the top of Wizard Island it felt like we were in a gigantic bowl; deep blue water stretching out below us towards towering walls of rock, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed flowing around us through the dry heat. 

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The red soil contrasted so beautifully with the blueness of the water. These were the first DSLR photos on the blog that didn’t need to be edited.

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The ridge across the water is Mt. Scott which we hiked the day before.

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We stopped for lunch before hiking back down. Sliding as close as I dared to the rim of the cindercone I ate my nuts and meat sticks. It was definitely the coolest lunch spot to date. 

We had about an hour and a half before the boat returned to get us leaving us just enough time to hike down, hike to the bay and take a quick dip. At the bottom of the cindercone the soil became much more volcanic and by that I mean it was hell to hike in chacos. 

It was hands down the coolest place I’ve stripped down to my undies and washed myself in. 

Back on Rim Drive we headed clockwise south and hit overlooks we didn’t have time to hit the day before. In the bright summer sun we could see further to the east than we could yesterday. 

From Cloudcap Overlook we could see the tiny island we had just climbed. 

Our last stop of the day before heading back south for home were The Pinnacles. Hardened pipes of exposed fumaroles that gave the dried up stream valley an eerie look. 

Driving closer and closer to the cabins we watched the temperatures climb. Stopping in Medford for a resupply for the nest spike the temperature clocked in as 107ºF. This spike will be mainly southern Oregon and at high elevations. Fingers crossed that that means less mosquitoes, poison oak and cooler temperatures but I have learned not to really rely on these mountains for reliability. Halfway done with this season and it will be back on the market for work. Fall and Winter will be around the corner and I can be back in my element. Until the next adventures my friends.

Chris