~ Emily “You Can Embroider That Shit on a Toss Pillow” Rohrer
Close your eyes and place yourself in your favorite outdoor setting, be it a state or local park, hiking trail, beach or lakefront cabin, wooded grove, waterfall, even your own back yard. Then…
Open your eyes and contend with a DisneyWorld-esque crowd of tourists who are trying to enjoy the exact same spot with you, stopping to consult their maps right in your path, posing for selfies in front of everything, dealing with children who have obviously just had it, and/or driving with one arm out the window to shoot video that nobody will ever want to look at — because every single one of them spent significant time, effort, and money to get there, and they are going to have the Experience of a Lifetime, dammit, same as you.
Squirrel! This is one of the thinner ones you are likely to encounter if you walk more than a mile on a trail, at which point the human traffic decreases considerably. The squirrels closer to more popular areas are both tame and fat. Quelle surprise.
By 2:00 in the afternoon, it was not hungry bears that park visitors had to worry about. It was me. To quote late comedian John Pinette, “I’d lost my cherub-like demeanor.”
Although I managed to keep most of my words in my head, under my breath, or inside the truck while following others, I did uh, quite a lot of swearing and name-calling. On the plus side, my expletive-filled rants rather seem to have impressed my 19-year-old!
These are bear lockers. You’re supposed to put your food items in there, rather than leaving them in your car for bears to tear apart while you’re gone. By mid-afternoon, I say we take the food out, and put half the tourists in.
We know what summer crowds are, and yes, we know how to avoid them. However, if you’re hiking the John Muir Trail, you have to do it when there’s little or no snow, and if you’re hiking the whole thing, you have to go through Yosemite.
Since Tim (husband) and Dane (our younger son) hiked the northern third of the trail this week, they had to exit there, at the Happy Isles Trailhead, which meant I had to depart our home in Lee Vining by 0530 to get into the park by 0730, in order to get a parking space in the closest lot to their exit point.
Due to jumping a little late into the permitting process, my guys are unable to hike the trail end to end. They had to start their hike inside the yellow circle near Red’s Meadow last weekend and go north. Next week, I’ll drop them off near Red’s Meadow again, and they’ll complete the southern part of the trail. Total mileage: 211
It was awful — awful for me with the hordes of domestic and foreign tourists in the valley, and also awful for Tim and Dane out in the “wilderness.” Tim said that three years ago when he came through while hiking sections of the Pacific Crest Trail, he could go hours and hours without seeing another hiker. This year? Minutes. It has clearly become a thing, and that’s kind of a shame, and it’s difficult to reconcile the happiness of knowing more people are getting out there and enjoying back-country hiking, with the utter dejection of having to share.
Rant over. Sorry. I know I have issues.
But I still got some cool photos, with minimal numbers of people in them. My apologies for not labeling all of them. I have a terrible sense of direction, so even if I were to look at a map to try to figure out what I was looking at, I won’t remember exactly where I was or which direction I was facing, so it’s kind of a lost cause. No pun intended.
Vernal Falls
Upper Yosemite FallsLower Yosemite Falls
Mirror LakeMirror Lake, the other direction
My Guys (Dane refused to smile. Boy might look like a man, but in some ways he’s still 2.) Since it was Tim’s 50th birthday, I hiked in to meet them. They’d put in about 62 miles in 6 days, with the stinkydirty clothing to prove it! But because I’d been exploring the park for a few hours already, and there were some crossed signals about our meeting point (they took the high road, I took the low road), I in fact put in a longer hike than they did that day! Boys: 11 miles. Emily: 12 miles.
Yosemite, we will visit you again, but we’ll shoot for early May or late September next time, mmmkay?
After a lengthy cool down period (like, almost a year), I revisited this post and wrote a somewhat more helpful — and a lot less snarky — version, for those who might be interested in a summer camping trip to Yosemite. It’s here.
About thirty miles from here lies the Bodie State Historic Park, a 19th century gold mining boom town that was abandoned in the 1940’s, and developed into a state park in the 1960’s but left in its state of “arrested decay.”
(Don’t worry. I’ll get to the pants.)
Here’s a shot I took today, capturing almost all of the main part of town.Back in 1879, it looked more like this. There were about 2,000 buildings and close to 10,000 residents. (Photo of handout passed around by park ranger)
There are no re-enactors in period costumes strolling about, and that helps add to the ghostly feel of the place. If you go — and it is well worth the drive and the price of admission — you’ll hear only the wind, the sound of footsteps on dirt streets, a few birds, maybe the buzz of a fly. You’ll also hear gasps, camera clicks, and comments in at least three languages from your fellow tourists (the park packs in about 14,000 every summer), but everyone in the comparatively small crowd there with me on this Monday morning in July was surprisingly quiet and respectful of the surroundings.
You can walk around and up to the buildings at your own pace, and peer inside the glass to see what’s been left behind. I spent about 2.5 hours doing just that. Most of my photos need no explanation. Enjoy the haunting silence.
Barkeep. Shot o’ whiskey, please.
See the two old gas pumps? In the next shot, you’ll see what they look like in the winter.That’s one of them in the left foreground. This place gets 5-10 feet of snow in the winter, and is accessible only by skis, snowshoes, or snowmobile. (Photo of handout passed around by park ranger)
Leave it to molder long enough, and apparently a globe of the earth turns into the Death Star.Creepy. Here’s my thought. If I were a local cardiologist? I’d pay someone to stand inside one of these buildings, and just quietly lean sideways and say “boo” every time a tourist hoods eyes with hands and peers in the window. Because that would cause instantheartattacks, several times a day. Guaranteed stream of additional income, right there.Main Street during the heyday (photo of handout passed around by park ranger)…… and todayWhy do so few buildings remain? This kid. Bodie Bill. In 1932 he played with matches, exactly like you’re not supposed to, and the resulting fire destroyed all but 5-10% of the town. That’s a big accomplishment for a 2 1/2-year-old. (photo of handout passed around by park ranger)
Cemetery gates…And the dead people’s view of townMy favorite shot of the day. You can make out my silhouette in the glass, see the building reflected behind me to the right, and you can see into this room that used to be a gymnasium. Don’t freak. That’s just an old deflated speed bag hanging in the window, looking all sinister and spectral-like.
I was pretty dusty after walking around the ghost town all morning, so I decided to head about 20 miles to Bridgeport, to dip myself into the Travertine Hot Springs. Word has it that clothing is optional here, but everyone I saw was wearing a bathing suit, including the two women coating each other with mineral mud while speaking in what I think was an eastern European language, and I figured if they weren’t naked, nobody else was gonna be either. So I ducked behind some low scrubby bushes and changed into my suit.
(Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about the pants.)
The view from my “dressing room” was breathtaking.Sitting in a hot one!Got into this one too.
Here’s a video of the bubbling source of one of the pools. It’s about the size of a softball, and you really shouldn’t stick your finger in it. Guess how I know.
And now… the story of my traveling pants. A few things to keep in mind:
Our RV park does not allow clotheslines.
When we are in an RV park that does not allow clotheslines, I defiantly use the truck’s grille guard as a drying rack.
Sometimes I forget that I’ve hung an item or two on the grille guard.
And that is how, after driving fifty miles today (mostly highway, maybe ten on dirt roads), and returning to the BFT after my dip in the hot springs, I noticed this “rag” caught in the bars, untangled it, and realized I’d gone all that way with my own damn leggings leading the charge. The cute ones! With the skirt attached! Might as well have been a flag bearing the slogan “Forgetful Laundresses of the World — Unite!” Sheesus, Emily.
Lessons of the day, which I learned when I was two, but clearly needed reminding of at age 47:
