Valley Autumn Oddball Odyssey: Canyoneering down Yosemite Falls

After the Ledge Trail warm-up, Al and I were raring to go the following day...until we hopped out of our beautifully comfortable bed to find complaining muscles. Nevertheless, by 8 AM we were geared up at the base of Yosemite Falls, contemplating the route ahead. Our objective was for once, not climbing, but descending. A descent of the canyon between the base of upper Yosemite Falls and the top of lower Yosemite Falls via a canyoneering route named "Middle Earth", to be precise. What canyon? you might well ask, even if you have visited Yosemite frequently. In spring flows,  it is easy to overlook this section when your attention is diverted by the splendour of the immense volumes of water pounding down the 1500 foot Upper Falls, and the 350 foot Lower Falls, However, in late summer, when the falls are dry, the canyon section opens up to idiots like us who love to explore. 

Before entering the canyon, we needed first to climb up into the amphitheatre at the base of the Upper Falls to the start of the route. There were two ways to approach this: either up the extremely well travelled Yosemite Falls Trail (with another conga line of hikers), or up the climbers' descent route from Sunnyside Bench, a row of cliffs to the right of Lower Yosemite Falls. I opined that the established Falls Trail would be quickest - I knew we could get to the amphitheatre in perhaps a little over an hour.  Alistair asserted that the climbers' route would be much shorter. Shorter won out. Three hours later, we made it to the top of the canyon.

The climbers' trail was steep, narrow with loose footing and, teetering above the cliffs of Sunnyside Bench, quite exposed at times. In other words, par for the course for a climbers trail. The problem was that I just hadn't done enough climbing recently, and was feeling extremely insecure shod in my water sandals. When we needed to traverse some steep slabs which required a few exposed technical moves, I balked at doing them in my Tevas. Alistair of course had scrambled across like the mountain goat he is. I whimpered and moaned at the base. Finally, I broke out the magic sticky rubber climbing shoes, waltzed across the moves, and my mojo was restored. It was full steam ahead.

Feeling quite exposed here as there is a huge cliff just over the side

A good section of the climbers trail above Sunnyside Bench

Climbing shoes on, no worries!

We charged forward with great eagerness, scrambling up across open slabs and through bushes until finally we were greeted by this:

Is Lost Arrow Spire saying something to us?

It was Lost Arrow Spire. We were almost at its base. There were some excellent bivy spots and the views were marvelous...of the waterfall amphitheater about 500 ft below.  Suddenly the Spire seemed to mock us like a giant middle finger. Sigh. There was nothing for it but to backtrack down, down, down. We told ourselves with some futility that the 'bonus' hike was an excellent warm-up and would work out the kinks in our legs from the previous day.  Eventually, the correct trail materialised  and we were soon approaching the base of the Upper Falls.

Almost into the amphitheatre with the Upper Falls completely dry

The base of the Upper Falls

An extremely foreshortened view up the Upper Falls

After playing an entertaining game of 'listen to that echo bounce' with some other hikers on the nearby Yosemite Falls Trail, it was time to get the business and start our descent down the canyon.

The start of the canyon from the base of the Upper Falls

The first rappel was a short one, but after the second, we were well and truly committed. There was no escape upwards, it would have to be down.

Setting off on the first rappel

Beyond the point of no return!

We found a terrific shady alcove featuring another view of Lost Arrow Spire for lunch before venturing down the really long drops which were reputed to end in pools of water. We really didn't want our sandwiches getting wet.  Beyond this point, the phone was stowed in the dry bag, and so I have stolen a few images from other trip reports, presumably taken on waterproof cameras, to give you an idea of the challenges involved.

Lunch alcove with view of Lost Arrow Spire

A series of linked rappels took us down an enormous cliff, perhaps 250 feet high. In any other park, this would be an impressive waterfall in its own right in spring. In Yosemite, virtually no one knows of its existence. Incredibly, we spotted life where we expected none to survive: in an overhanging crack grew a thriving garden of verdant ferns, and a tiny garter snake wriggled across the slabs to the trickle of water that was seeping down from the canyon walls. 

One of the long drops, with the fern garden hidden under the overhang (borrowed photo)

Lonely garter snake seeking water

Between rappels, we scrambled through boulder fields and down slick slabs polished by an unknowable volume of water. 

At one spot, Alistair managed to squeeze his skinny hips through a tiny hole formed under a chockstone wedged between a boulder and the canyon wall, and scrambled down the 10 foot drop below. When I tried to repeat this manoeuvre, I couldn't fit, and became wedged firmly, legs kicking in mid air. "Alistair," I called, "I think my bum is too big!". "Here," he responded helpfully, "let me climb up and pull your leg - maybe you'll fit then". He proceeded to scramble up, grasp an ankle, and start hauling. I yelped. "Not going to work!", thinking of poor Winnie the Pooh stuck in Rabbit's hole, and wondering whether I too would have to remain ignominiously wedged until I got skinny enough to escape. Fortunately, with a fair bit of wiggling and some choice words, I managed to reverse direction and eventually found another way to get down.

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Several of the drops did indeed end in deep pools of water; going swimming was inescapable. Thankfully, the day had heated up and we were not unhappy at the prospect. Breaststroke in full clothes, helmet, harness, pack, climbing shoes, and a rope slung over my back proved particularly inelegant and surprisingly strenuous. Alistair did not seem to fare much better. At one point, rather than try and escape the rappel while treading water(which seemed like a fast way to drown yourself), he opted for butt-scooching down the steep slab until he lost control and hurtled into the water to achieve splashdown. Awesome move,  Al!

To avoid the jump into unknown depths, we rappelled to the right. This was where Alistair slid down the slabs.(borrowed photo)

One final drop and one final swim led us to the top of the Lower Yosemite Falls where we basked in the sun trying to warm up.

The last drop into the final pool, with the Upper Falls visible at the rear (borrowed photo)

Looking somewhat bedraggled and cold!

We reversed our steps along the Sunnyside Bench Trail. This time, skipping along was no trouble - it seemed so straightforward after getting down that canyon. By the time we got back to the car at about 4 PM, we were simultaneously damp and dehydrated. Celebration and sustenance were called for and found at the Priest Station restaurant below Big Oak Flat ( highly recommended!). Beer and ribs -mmmmm. As we sated our thirst and hunger, I contemplated the strange fact that the excellent weekend's adventures would not have taken place were it not for a couple of young idiots in a souped up car on a Friday night in Auckland, New Zealand. Ripples of consequence.

Celebrating at the Priest Station. Photo taken, incidentally, by Alex Honnold's mum, Dierdre, with whom we had a lovely conversation. We ended up exchanging details and hope to climb together next summer in Lover's Leap.

Valley adventuring: an autumn oddball odyssey. Day 1.

It's funny how the ripples of a distant event can influence your life in unexpected ways. Alistair and I had long planned a rematch with the Evolution Range to see whether we could break his other ankle so that he could have matched set (see previous blogs if you missed this epic story). Alas, due to a drunk driver in Auckland, New Zealand, this was not to be:  My father, our designated responsible adult (this is debatable) charged with teen corralling in our planned absence, was struck by a couple of irresponsible idiots while driving with my sister and nephew. Miraculously, there were no serious injuries, but the severe shock and bruising postponed his trip, and ultimately nixed our high Sierra plans. What to do instead? Alistair suggested a fast foray to Yosemite Valley to tackle a couple of oddball outings, the existence of which were hinted at murkily in obscure trip reports buried deep in the annals of Supertopo. We threw together some gear and food, hit the road, and dossed down in the dirt outside the park late at night like the good ole days.

Day 1: Rediscovering the Ledge trail to Glacier Point

Many visitors to Yosemite Valley are familiar with the  so-called 'Four mile trail' that leads from the valley floor to Glacier Point 3000 feet above. Most hikers don't realise that the National Park Service has suckered them, as it actually closer to 5 miles. Perhaps because of this, a conga line of hikers snake up and down the hillside daily. Most hikers also don't realise that the remnants of a much shorter trail still exists. Of course, much shorter also means much steeper...and much, much more FUN.

The old trail begins behind TTCCFKACV (The Tent Cabin City Formerly Known As Curry Village), and follows a ledge system along the base and up the side of the Glacier Point Apron. This natural pathway, known as the Ledge Trail was originally used by Indians and improved as part of the public works projects in the 1930s. Because of a number of deaths on the trail, mostly of hikers heading downhill, the trail was closed to downhill travel in 1952, and finally both ways in the 1960s. Knowing its history, we set off cautiously and in dry conditions. It was initially simply enough, steep but quite manageable with terrific views to Half Dome.

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Then we reached this ominous sign (ha - did they seriously think this would be a deterrent?)

and ignored it to continue on up the ledge for another thousand feet or so.

Dunno what they meant about 'Dangerous'

Poor Al on his hands and knees

From time to time, we found remnants of the old trail, marked with orange paint, that had not been obliterated  by rockfall or simply by time.

Could just about be the Four Mile Trail

At the end of the ledge, we took a sharp left turn up a steep gully down which ran a stream which supported an abundant variety of plant life. This was the beginning of the 'Hiram Bingham' portion of the ascent, during which it was easy to imagine that we were archaeologists on the hunt through the jungled precipices of Peru for the Lost City of the Incas. 

'Hiram' is my middle name.

Vestiges of orange paint guided us up an improbable path which at times seemed to burrow straight up through thickets of thimbleberries, and at others led us to old cables up rocky steps.

Very impressed by this marker!

Up up and away

An old cable through the thimbleberries - perhaps to aid in bear evasion?

Apparently, the wildlife enjoyed the thimbleberries more than we did.

A bear had left his calling card

We continued through ferny glens, eventually climbing out of the vegetation to get some great views back down the gully.

The orange paint pointed the way

Jungle warfare from above.

Eventually, we met up with the Four Mile Trail  just short of Glacier Point and came across this dire warning .Hikers may have doubted our sanity on witnessing our hysterical laughter.

After kicking back and enjoying the always spectacular views  from Glacier Point, we headed back down to the Valley floor..... by the Four Mile Trail of course. Neither of us had any desire to go back down the short way! 

There were an alarming number of dead trees everywhere we looked. We estimated perhaps a quarter of all pines were visibly dead from a combination of drought and pine borer beetle. Sobering.

No idea why I am sticking my tongue out. Must have been concentrating.

We ended the day in the relative luxury of the Cedar Lodge in El Portal, my concession to advancing age. But don't think we went completely soft as dinner was cooked up, as in the good ole days, on the backpacking stove on the bathroom counter. All in all, a fine adventure.

All the bread of Albania...Failure on Mt Florence

In the depth of winter, during the slog of work and bearing the various anguishes of the school year, I inevitably turn to the escapism of summer planning, hatching grandiose schemes, filling in every weekend with adventure, and generally basking in the imagined glory of these future experiences. I pick a lofty backcountry goal and throw myself into planning and training, every day, putting that goal in my mind as motivation to strive harder, plumbing the depths of the internet to dredge up ancient trip reports that might hold a skerrick of critical information, obsessively checking and rechecking gear. Eventually summer arrives, and with it adventure and misadventure, as previous blog posts have testified to.

This year was different. For the first time, I planned a summer European vacation. Three June weeks of visiting friends and family in England and Scotland, meeting our sponsored World Vision child in Albania, and exploring the mountains of that country. But as potent a drug as international travel is, it would still not provide my annual Sierra high. So, thinking myself a master of planning, I scheduled a quiet July for recovery and training (and catching up on work), followed by a string of forays to the high peaks, the first being a week in Mammoth Lakes with the family and a couple of hangers on (for mountain training and acclimatization), followed a few days later by the annual solo trip: that transcendental odyssey of self-discovery and rejuvenation, of reflection through exhaustion, of power through struggle...and other high-minded purple prose.

This year, I was captivated by Mt Florence, named for Florence Hutchings, the first European child to be born and grow up in Yosemite Valley. The daughter of James Hutchings who owned a sawmill in the Valley, Florence was a tomboy indulged by her parents and influenced by John Muir himself, who stayed with the family for several years. She was well known for riding out on horseback to the greet the stagecoaches entering the Valley in a great flowing cape, highwayman style, and for wandering off on overnight to explore the towering walls of the area. (http://www.undiscovered-yosemite.com/florence-hutchings.html).

Florence Hutchings

Not at all usual behavior for a 19th century girl. Unfortunately, at age 17, she was killed in a horse-riding accident, but by then her spirit was legendary and prompted the naming of a peak after her. Mt Florence was remote, hidden in the highest range of the park, inaccessible by trail. In other words, a perfect goal.

So it was that I set out from Tuolumne Meadows on a perfect August day, heading in a 'backdoor' trailhead that would eventually lead me cross-country to Mt Florence. I never got there. I never even saw the peak. I staggered back to the car a day early, utterly spent. I achieved none of my goals. I had set the bar high and slid under with the utmost ease. What did I learn from this?

1. A European trip with much travelling, some walking around tourist sites, a couple of hikes, and the regular sampling of culinary delights is not optimal for High Sierra adventures. The bread of Albania was superb to sample three times daily in the Accursed Alps....but not helpful to be carrying to altitude on my butt! The first afternoon, I staggered up to Vogelsang lake, 3 miles short of my goal for the day and collapsed in a heap.

Vogelsang lake from Fletcher Peak

2. Three weeks post-vacation 'training' is insufficient to return to 'peak' fitness. The first night not restorative. My legs still had the strength of limp noodles.

3. A week in Mammoth was undoubtedly helpful for acclimatization, but this was counteracted by the beer and wine...and of course the margaritas at the free Jimi Hendrix tribute band show. The 'ultralight' pack did not 'float effortlessly on my shoulders'. Did I really carry this last year?

4. Packing for a Sierra adventure while simultaneously unpacking from a family trip, getting back-to-school chores done, and binge viewing the first few days of the Olympics does not produce laser focus to the task at hand. I forgot my cup and utensils and had to make do with a tent peg for stirring, the cap off a gas cannister for a spoon, and the tiny container that the stove came in for a miniscule cup - Expresso anyone?

5. Lack of a firm plan will doom you to failure. In the frenzy of other summer planning, the solo trip was shoved to the side; last minute research resulted in changed routes. Instead of that obsessive focus on what needed to be done, I vacillated. Perhaps another peak would suffice? Fletcher Peak looked doable, and it had the added attraction of being 6 miles closer. The psych was just not there.

Fletcher Peak above Vogelsang lake

Scrambling up a wildflower strewn gully to Fletcher Peak

So, inadequately prepared physically (on the way out, the 1500 ft climb over Vogelsang pass seemed pure torture), mentally (the steep west ridge of Mt Simmons, my other goal, looked far too scary to attempt alone, and the endless talus slopes that guarded the route to Mt Florence overwhelmed me) and even emotionally  (wouldn't I rather have company? Wasn't I being a bad mother leaving the kids to their own devices the week before school returned? Shouldn't I be there to share the excitement (or balm the disappointment) of getting the school schedule?), this trip dealt me a huge kick up the posterior loaded with all the bread of Albania.

Gallison Lake and Vogelsang Pass at rear - this had to be climbed from way down in the valley below

As far as I got - Mt Simmons at rear with west ridge.

But the positives? Gorgeous vistas, wildflower meadows, peace and tranquility, the exploration of new areas, successful cross-country navigation, a swim in a deserted high country lake, the evening Sierra light show on rocky peaks. My love affair with the High Sierra has not diminished. But I'm older and wiser. I'll be back next year to visit Mt Florence and pay homage to that lively girl who lived 150 years ago. And you can bet I'll be better prepared.

Can't complain about the view from the shelter

Gallison Lake and the Lewis Creek basin, Mt Simmons at rear

Moonrise over a great looking arete.