The gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature and poetry and all that is spiritual.
3 August 2010
I was up at just before sunrise when I heard another tenter scream out "BEAR!" and bang on her cookware to shooh away the critter. The noise woke up the entire campground and everyone seemed to be up and out at the same time. I never saw the bear but it would have been nice to claim that I saw at least one, since Yosemite Park Rangers have visitors believing that there's a hungry, vicious black bear lurking behind every tree.
My first goal today was to retrace my steps from last night to see if I could find my missing Komperdell trekking pole. Of all the things I was worried about losing and of all the things that have happened to me while on the trail, it seems rather ironic that I didn't lose anything until after the hike.
I got to meet my site mates who were camped on the other side of the picnic table, Ron and Ryan, a handsome father-son team from San Luis Obispo. Ron, the father, takes his teen son to Yosemite every year for a backpacking trip. Ryan didn't seem too excited but he kept up with his dad while Ron showed me some of the landmark icons. It turns out that the backpacker's campsite was near the famous Yosemite Falls.
"It's barely falling right now" said Ron, "but last year it was huge!" We three decided that waiting on the shuttle bus to the lounge was taking too long, so we walked a half mile to another shuttle stop where it was faster to get on one. I had to be at the lounge at 8:25 to catch my shuttle.
I never did see Falcon.
The lodge was busy. Various tour buses come and go from this location. Next door is an eatery with all kinds of fast foods for the hungry tourist. A good cup of coffee would have been great, but I didn't want to miss my bus.
I never saw Ron and Ryan again. The bus I needed arrived promptly at 8:15am and left at 8:30am with half the seats taken. This wasn't a shuttle bus at all but a full-sized tour bus. The tour guide sat up front with the driver and talked about the history of the park as we drove past several landmarks: the Falls, El Capitan, a large burned-out area on our way to Tuolumne Meadows. I sat in the back, alternately switching from the left to the right side of the bus and back to take pictures of the scenery.
Falcon somehow slipped on and sat in the front. He looked refreshed and barely recognizable.
The bus stopped for ten minutes at the gas station, where several more riders came on. Now the bus was full and I was stuck in a dirty window seat on the left side.
The tour guide was a funny man, cracking silly jokes between historical narrative, although once the additional riders came on board he was harder to hear over their chatter. I was fine with that as I was tired, contemplating what to do with the rest of the day besides locate my trekking pole. He did point out recent locations of where bears had been killed by motorists, which were identified with yellow bear signs along the road. The speed limit on Tioga Pass Road is anywhere from 25 to 45mph, and animals and bears can be killed even when following those speed limits.
Ninety minutes later and back at my van. I was the only one who got off at the Cathedral Lakes trailhead stop. Falcon and the rest of the passengers were going to Tuolumne Lodge. My tire wasn't as flat as it was when left alone for three weeks.
I had a plan for today. I had answered my own "Now what?" question: I was going to play tourist for a change. I drove the van back to Yosemite Valley --there was no tire flat this time--parked it in a day parking lot, and either walked or took the shuttle around this tourist mayhem trying to locate my trekking pole. It was nowhere to be found, from the first shuttle stop to the lost-and-found and the bus garage.
There were people EVERYWHERE. After three weeks of near solitude the masses were overwhelming. It was a cacophony of German, French and a few other languages intermixed with a few Americanisms. Dogs were allowed within the village so I had to mind every species of canine, from the regal German Shepherd Dog to the ugly Chihuahua.
I stopped at all the sites, some which were worthwhile: the Visitor's Center talked about the social/political/geologic history of the park, even honoring the indigenous peoples who were forcibly removed from the area. I meandered around and through various shops in the main store and even had a California beer while watching squirrels try to get food from a German family where the wife never stopped nagging her husband for past misbehaviors. I had to smile while watching her, as she reminded me of my own German mother who never lets me forget that she is German and that I am, too. (What I don't tell her is that I am only 50% German, as my father is Lithuanian and I was raised 100% American.)
I didn't spend much money in this crowded park. How can people who come to Yosemite seeking solitude even enjoy this place? The Valley is designed to lure people into the park, and then park rangers make sure everyone is strictly regulated. Signs reminding people that NO SLEEPING IN VEHICLES VIOLATORS WILL BE CITED AND THE VEHICLE REMOVED were everywhere.
Yikes. These signs aren't posted in the Tuolumne area.
When a park purposely lures people into a small area, sets up vendors that sell aromatic foods, builds campsites and other areas where large groups of people mingle in a former habitat that once was ideal for black bears, it's no wonder that black bears are common in this part of Yosemite. Most of the bear attacks happen in the Valley, in campsites and parking lots. Rangers in Yosemite put the bane on the often ignorant tourist to keep the area bear free. The Parks Service posts weekly data of bear encounters at their ranger stations; Backcountry through hikers see the least bears.
I had plenty of cheese and tortillas so I had no reason to buy anything else besides a beer. I wanted to leave. I stopped to photograph a few angles of Half Dome (which dominates the Valley) and drove east back toward Tuolumune, an area I learned to appreciate more for its solitude.
And then, near the intersection with Tioga Pass Road, went she. It was a lone black bear meandering about 100 feet from the main road. People had stopped, gotten out of their cars and moved toward the shoulder of the road to photograph and watch the bear, much to the chagrin of several very impatient park rangers pacing up and down along the spectacle area with their pistols and stun guns holstered around their hips. They were not happy rangers.
"WE WILL BEGIN TOWING VEHICLES IN FIVE MINUTES!" said one ranger.
Just watching him annoyed me. Although he was just doing his job, he portrayed the typical Yosemite Park Ranger, one that is impatient and impolite. I had seen enough and now just wanted to leave the park for better areas.
The only area left now that I wanted to see, as afternoon slowly turned to evening, was the far eastern area of the park where I could watch the fading sun set over Tuolumne Meadows and light up Lambert Dome. This is such a peaceful area. I found a few very good angles inside the large campground and stayed there past sunset.
By 8pm, with little fanfare, I exited the park. My return trip back to Arizona had now officially begun. There wasn't much I could do now. The Mobil gas station was getting ready to shut down at 9pm and even the town of Lee Vining was quiet. My plan for tomorrow was to get to Bishop first thing in the morning and have a hearty breakfast.
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