Spring in Yosemite

Spring has arrived! At my home in Midpines, my garden is filled with the yellow faces of daffodils, and the crimson-purplish hues of the redbud decorate my commute in the Merced River Canyon. Being a native of New England, where springtime weather (i.e., when one can comfortably don shorts) doesn’t begin until June, I love living in a climate that permits hiking in shorts and a t-shirt in March.

My personal rite of spring is the hike to upper Yosemite Falls. Today, I made my annual trek to the top, accompanied by warm sunshine and a clear blue sky. Every season this hike offers a new perspective. One year a black bear greeted me on the trail, another year I hiked most of the way on snow. This year with the exception of seasonal creeks crossing the way, the trail was completely dry. However, at the top of the ridge, snow still survived in haphazard patches.

For those who have not made the trip to the top of Yosemite Falls, I highly recommend the experience. Leaning on the railing and watching the pure white water tumble over the cliff, while listening to the constant roar of the rushing water lulls me into a meditative state. Nature truly is magnificent in her artistic expressions!

The view from the top also afforded me a chance to check out the snow in the high country. The Clark Range stood proudly in the landscape, decorated with snow, but not completely covered. Half Dome has a thin layer of frosting on its head.

The Four Mile Trail to Glacier Point is still closed, and with good reason as I could see the many parts of the trail still immersed in blankets of snow. Unlike the Falls Trail, the Four Mile Trail is located on a north facing ridge and doesn’t receive the same treatment from the sun. I think this disparate treatment is highly unfair as often the Four Mile Trail isn’t accessible until late May or June and by that time the road is already open and Glacier Point becomes reachable by car. I find that after I’ve hiked four miles and achieved over 3,000 feet of elevation gain, seeing a car at the end of my journey dampens my experience.

Yosemite Falls

I usually initiate the hiking season with a jaunt up the Yosemite Falls trail, which I typically complete in April or May, but April's constant rain disrupted my schedule. Mother Nature can be so inconvenient!

The above average late precipitation, however, made for a robust falls, full of life and roaring at us hikers. Past Columbia Point, at the first view of the upper falls, mist from the vertical waves danced on the air, and cooled my over heated body! With my usual sense of perfect timing, I had picked a 90F day to hike and began my hike at 10:00 am, just in time for the afternoon sun.

For those of you who haven't yet hiked the Yosemite Falls Trail, let me recite some scary statistics. The trail runs 3.3 miles straight up for an elevation gain of 3,000 feet. Do the math and the elevation gain comes out to 1,000 feet per mile. Try that on a stairmaster! Yet despite the strenuous nature of the hike, the opportunity to stand directly over the crest of upper Yosemite Falls and watch it plunge 1,400 feet below makes the effort well worth it.

Once of the best parts about living and working near Yosemite is the chance to observe the park in different seasons. Although I could probably walk the Yosemite Falls Trail in my sleep (having completed it well over two dozen times), some aspect of the hike is always different. One year most of the final switchbacks were covered in snow, and an ice crystal hung down the falls like a holiday ornament. Another year I made the trip in April on a particularly windy day, and the force of the wind tore the falls in two at times. This year the trail was clear of any snow or even water. At the crest of the ridge, two red snowplants peeked out, probably wondering why they had waited to arrive only to greet the hot weather.

The view from the top revealed a saturated valley overrun in places by the gorged Merced River. Faint memories of the flood of 1997 resounded, although the high water was not even close to that year's mark. Yet the meadows were decidely boggy in all directions.

On my descent, I had a once-in-a-lifetime experience. A rainbow stretched from the trail to the cliff below. I was actually able to touch the end of the rainbow, although the legendary pot of gold was not in sight. Except if you count the stunning view of Yosemite Falls at its peak.

Yosemite Falls

First hike of the season! My cross-country skis have been stored away and the hiking boots waterproofed and readied for another year. My strategy has always been to complete the Yosemite Valley hikes in early spring, before the summer crowds. Just last week a snowstorm hit Yosemite (and my home), but today the sun shines and hints at the start of spring. I’ve hiked this trail countless times, and each time it rewards me with a different story of the landscape: the lighting on the granite, the varying path of the water as it crashes down the cliffs, and once, even a black bear ambling down the trail to greet me.

I also have the pleasure of being able share the park with a new partner, which allows me to experience the hike through his perspective. His fresh eyes see things I’ve previously missed. He’s in good shape, but new to high-elevation hikes. I warned him of the 3,000 feet of elevation gain on this trail, but he’s proven himself to be a trooper and he’s not even breathing heavy. We both seem to hike at the same pace and have an affinity for chocolate – perhaps I’ve found the perfect hiking partner!

At the first viewpoint of the falls, a short distance past Columbia Point, we pause for photographs and enjoy the mist from the pounding water as the wind carries it to us. Shad pauses to experiment with f-stops and exposure settings; he just bought a camera and is learning photography. It’s all too technical for me—I prefer the ease of a good point and shoot. At the top of the ridge the landscape blooms with snow patches, and I assembly a snowball that my companion easily dodges. "Don’t interfere with art," he says, using his camera as a shield against a further attack.

After descending the rock staircase, we come to the to the top of the falls. Shad leans precariously over the railing in pursuit of a good photograph, while I stay further back, being a bit chicken of sheer heights. I’m close enough to see the surge of water over the cliff, a rolling motion of whiteness.

On the way down, I add a different picture to my memories of the landscape: the wind has strengthened and it plays with the falls, twisting and turning the stream of water the way the breeze will tease a curtain in an open window.