The alarm goes off at 5 AM, and my husband announces that he won’t be joining me today.
I lay in the bed fuming. I’ve changed my plans to accommodate him, and I’d have been long gone if I was going solo. I glare at him, not especially useful since it’s pitch black in the room. After some..ahem..discussion, he changes his mind, and we head to Yosemite National Park.
At the entry gate, after a less-than-spectacular rendition of Lynard Skynard’s Sweet Home Alabama by the ranger on duty, we head towards the parking lot for the iconic Mist Trail. After poking around the far corners of an unpaved lot until we finally find a spot.
We wander off in the general direction of the Mist Trail searching for the trailhead.
After about twenty minutes, I see a woman strapping on some professional-looking equipment. She looks like she knows her way around the backcountry and I ask her if we’ve arrived at the Mist Trail.
Sizing me up, (I’m still carrying the beat-up Nike bookbag/backpack, except now it’s stuffed with a gas station acquired smorgasbord of snacks), she points behind her. “That way,” she says while continuing to gear up. “Ok, will there be a sign when we get there?’ I reply, Peering over the aviator sunglasses perched on her nose, she sighs. “You’ll know. There’ll be a lot of people. A lot.”
She was not wrong.
We fall into line with the crowds of people and begin making our way up the paved path.
It doesn’t take long to arrive at the bridge overlook which offers the first look at the spectacular Vernal Falls. We are fortunate to be there during peak runoff; the waterfalls are magnificent.
From this point on the trail climbs steadily, and at a couple of points – alongside the falls themselves – steeply. So steeply, that trail makers carved steps (over 600 of them) directly into the granite.
We soon realize how the Mist Trail came by its name as the giant staircase quickly becomes slippery due to spray from Vernal Falls. And the people…they’re everywhere. Many of them dressed in flip-flops or sandals. There’s a line going up, and a line going down. But the scenery is nothing short of sublime.
We arrive at the top sitting down to enjoy the view and a snack.
My husband, who I often refer to as the Reluctant Traveler, smiles, expressing feelings of accomplishment. “But we’re only halfway,” I say pointing off in the distance to Nevada Falls. “We’re going up there.”
A look of dismay crosses the Reluctant Traveler’s face. He says nothing. I let that sink in while I repack our stuff. Truth be told, I could quit myself. We’d enjoyed a lovely dinner the night before, and I’d enjoyed maybe one more glass of wine than necessary.
But this kind of elevation can’t be found in Alabama, or anywhere in the Southeast for that matter. Determined to make it to the top, we set off through a forest towards the 594 foot Nevada Falls.
The wooded trail quickly transitions into a series of grueling, rocky switchbacks that run parallel to the Falls. RT, in his usual stoic fashion, has pushed ahead. It’s hot with the sun beating down on my neck; I’m thankful for the stick a woman who was on her way down had given to me exclaiming, “Take this, you’re gonna need it.”
I’m close to giving up when a man with a toddler on his back tells me I’m almost there. It’s early on in my hiking career, I’ve since come to know that hikers are notorious liars when it comes to time, distance, and elevation gain. None the less, I eventually crest the top of the waterfall and marvel at the view of the entire Yosemite Valley.
The thought of returning down all of those stairs makes me want to cry.
My knees are howling, and I know RT’s are. I remember that this trail intersects with the John Muir Trail and decide that that’s the way we’ll descend. Well, that is until we’re informed that the John Muir Trail is closed.
I wonder out loud about how you can close a trail. A man looks at me, “You put a barricade up and a sign that says the trail is closed. There is still snow and ice on the trail, but they do tend to err on the side of caution here.”
I typically err on the side of caution too. But not today. Deciding to take our chances, we skirt around the metal barricade and make our way down the trail. We are not alone.
Turning a corner, we are astonished at the unbelievable view of Nevada Fall, Liberty Cap, and the back of Half Dome.
The reason that this is the signature hike at Yosemite is abundantly clear.
While most popular trails lead to a single spectacular destination, this hike is littered with amazing sights all along the route.
We finally make it back down to the trailhead. We still have a ways to go to get back to the car. There’s supposed to be a free shuttle to the lots, but I don’t where to catch it. RT votes to keep going and finish it out.
We fund the car and climb in, sweat-soaked and stinky, tired and hungry, but filled with a sense of accomplishment. I ask RT if he’s glad he went. He is, although he claims he may never walk again.
I don’t let on how sore I feel; it’s not often that I’m the more athletic half in our duo. RT tells me he’s glad I convinced him to go. I’m happy too. I’m not sure that I wouldn’t have called it quits at the top of Vernal if I’d been alone. But that can be my little secret. Don’t tell.
Hike 15 is complete — the steepest, most strenuous one yet.
Only about half of the elevation gain of Grand Canyon, but there are 6ish months left to train. Just have to take it one hike at a time.
Thanks for reading! If you’d like an overview of my 52 Weeks, 52 Hikes journey click here.
For Hike 1, click here.
Finally to read how it all got started, click here.
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