Memoirs of a Ventura nature lover in Yosemite
By Alex Wilson 08/28/2008
My wife and I, along with a core group of backpacking friends, chose Yosemite for our annual journey and as a backdrop for our one-year wedding anniversary. I’m known as “Orange Ranger,” my wife Dawn is “Blue Bunny,” and all together we’re “The Orange Ranger Posse.”
Our mission began in the Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias. My wife and I gazed up romantically at intertwined redwoods soaring into the sky from one fused trunk. They’re named “The Faithful Couple.”
Hiking into wilderness from Tuolumne Meadows through granite spires and shimmering alpine lakes, we found summertime snow that melted under our hats for cool refreshment. Camping on top of a hill under a pitch-black sky, we agreed none of us had ever seen so many stars.
We awoke facing a bloodthirsty pack of mosquitoes staring at us through the screen of our tent, waiting to feast on us. I treated Blue Bunny to breakfast in bed while the bugs ate my blood for breakfast.
Before hiking we covered up with long clothing and insect repellent. My wife wore rain gear, a hat and mosquito netting that earned her a new nickname, “The Beekeeper.”
Thankfully, the afternoon was serene while passing lush forest, bubbling brooks and hopping deer along the John Muir Trail.
That night, a friend who shuns tents to sleep under the stars, reinforced the dangers of failing to carefully hide our bear-resistant canisters filled with scented items like food and garbage.
She then woke everyone up at 6:30 a.m. yelling, “Bear o’ clock!” We watched the hungry bear carry off an empty milk carton from a trash bag she’d left out.
The previous nights, my wife couldn’t sleep because she was afraid of bear attacks. Once she saw the brown shaggy bear, she said, “What a cute bear.”
Summiting Half Dome proved a rewarding challenge. We climbed dozens of switchbacks and steep steel cables on the slick granite monolith. There’s no room for error. A friendly marmot known as “Lucy” greeted Orange Ranger Posse at the summit as we soaked in panoramic views of glacier-carved mountains.
A long hike down to Yosemite Valley loomed ahead. We were running out of daylight and energy. I slipped and fell off the trail but, luckily, landed backward in a bush. My heavy backpack made me feel like a helpless, immobilized turtle waving its limbs.
It grew darker and spooky on the aptly named Mist Trail near roaring Vernal Falls. Carefully stepping down soaking-wet steep granite steps made our tired legs burn. We held hands to stem the fear of slipping.
Delay thwarted our dream of steaming pizza and cold draft beer at Curry Village. The pizzeria closes at 10 p.m. We arrived at 10:02. I managed to sneak into the closed general store through the exit in time for refrigerated sandwiches and unusually tasty bottled beer.
For our anniversary the next day, Dawn and I slept late and lounged by the swimming pool. We started an anniversary tradition, massaging each other’s sore legs and feet.
Trout and steak dinner under the high-beamed ceiling of the historic Ahwahnee Hotel was magical. The pianist played The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun” to remind us of our wedding.
On our final day, we rafted down gentle rapids on the Merced River, surrounded by soaring waterfalls and massive cliffs. It finally felt more like a second honeymoon than a strenuous excursion.
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