"I'm freezing!"
"Just curl up in your sleeping bag and concentrate on being warm."
"Do you feel sick to your stomach?"
"Yeah, do you?"
"I don't think we should have eaten those instant Thai noodles."
"Me either."
We were silent then as we concentrated on being warm, a difficult task as we were camping on the sheer granite face of Buena Vista Pass in temperatures well below zero in sleeping bags that were designed for twenty degree weather. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, and I felt the achy familiarity of a fever coming on. I thought perhaps we had filtered bad water, though the water filter we bought promised to make even sewage safe to drink. At the top of Buena Vista Pass, nearly 10,000 feet above the valley floor, we were especially vulnerable to lower than average temperature, surprise snow storms, or lightning strikes from passing storm fronts. Though it was not the ideal place to camp, the sun was already setting, a storm was brewing, and we had already hiked over 13 miles and climbed 2,500 feet since we had broken camp that morning. Our bodies literally would not go another step. I pulled my sleeping bag over my head, hoping that my breath would provide some warmth, and I wondered for a moment if we would make it through the frigid night.
If we were suffering from the effects of bad water, we would still have to hike more than twenty miles in either direction before we could reach help. (We found out later that we were suffering from a mild case of altitude sickness) Our total isolation suddenly seemed frightening rather than peaceful, and I wondered what would happen if one of us broke an ankle or became seriously ill. We had not seen another person, or signs that people had even recently been camping there in the two days we had been on the trail. I shut my eyes and tried to force the negative images from my mind. That night, I dreamed a mountain lion was chasing me along Buena Vista Pass, when I suddenly noticed a staircase leading down the mountain. I ran towards the staircase and was transported to a roller skating rink filled with all my friends and family, and everyone was standing in line to buy me a hotdog. It was heaven!
Streams of golden sunlight awoke us from our fitful sleep, and we emerged from the tent to find that it was covered in a layer of ice! Even inside wool gloves, our hands felt numb and frozen. As we were still nauseous, we opted to wait a while for breakfast, and we set about laboriously packing up camp, a task that was made more difficult by the stiffness of our fingers.
Despite the freezing temperatures, a feeling of optimism overtook us. The storm had passed, the sun was shining, the air was crisp and clear, and we lived through the night! Early morning sunlight reflected off the sheer granite wall behind Buena Vista Lake, creating a golden crown for the pass's peak. When we filtered water from the clear alpine lake, we marveled at the clarity of the water, and the perfect reflection of the mountain on its mirrorlike surface. We started hiking as soon as possible in order to generate warmth, and didn't stop until we reached a sunny spot near a lake three miles away. By the time we reached the lake, it was already nine and the sun had begun to melt the icy layer leftover from the night before. We sat on a rock overlooking another prisine lake and began to cook a modest breakfast of oatmeal and tea. It was hard to believe that we were the only ones in this vast stretch of wilderness to observe the fall colors and changing beauty of the scene before us! The forest was literally alive with color - the grass was the color of burnt umber, the foliage a mixture of cranberry, gold, and fire red. Walking the twisting narrow path through the fall wilderness was like walking into an enchanted forest: beautiful, mysterious, magical, and alive. The 98% of visitors who only see Yosemite's main valley have no idea what they are missing! As we wandered along in silence, I was again thankful that we have this wilderness to enjoy and that we are healthy and able enough to hike it!
After three days and thirty-five miles, we finally reached the edge of the wilderness and began the trek back to Yosemite valley and then to civilization. As much as I craved a shower and solid food, I was loathe to leave the solitude and simple beauty of the forest, the surprise of bear prints or deer tracks, the straightforward challenge of climbing a towering ridge, the twisting trail, the cool water of the alpine lakes, the solidarity which comes from being alone together with no outside distractions. I hoped I could incorporate the wonder and uncluttered nature of the solitude into the distracting day to day of civilization. But, in the words of Robert Frost:
"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep/but I have promises to keep/ and miles to go before I sleep."
By: Rebecca
Photos By: Ted (Taken in October 2005 at Yosemite)
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