Solo Backpack — Part Two

Even in the 1960s, Yosemite Valley was congested in the summer. I decided to start my big trip in late May to beat the vacation season. That way I’d find a parking spot when I got there. It turned out that put a kink in my careful plan (read on).

Many hikers take a GPS [Global Positioning System] into the wilderness. That would take the edge off the adventure, it seems to me. Using a detailed map may also seem like cheating, but even Louis and Clark used a map on the Voyage of Discovery. It was drawn by David Thompson — perhaps the greatest geographer of all time.

The USGS provides beautifully detailed topographical maps of various scales, including a special one for Yosemite. Camping in National Parks was only allowed in designated campsites in those days. (I do give them credit: They eventually realized the negative effects of that regulation and revised it.)

I used that big USGS map to plan my stops. Being a confirmed map lover, I carried it with me on the trip too. I never thought of it as cheating. It just seemed prudent.

I got to Yosemite Valley in the afternoon. My first stop was the ranger station to get a backcountry permit. The ranger asked how many were in our party. When I told him “one,” I saw disapproval on his face. After a few moments, I saw he resigned himself to the fact that he was required to issue this fool a permit anyway.

I planned to cheat on the rules for the first night. There was no way I could make it to the top of Vernal and Nevada falls, and then hike more than five miles to the first designated campsite at Merced Lake. I would just go off the trail into the woods and lay out my sleeping bag.

The hike up Mist Trail to the top of the falls just about wore me out. It’s more than a 1,500-foot climb from the valley floor. I learned it was much harder than without a pack. Then I went on up the trail a couple of miles and off into the trees. I was in my sleeping bag by the time it was dark.

I woke in the middle of the night and found that a bear was dragging me and my sleeping bag further into the woods. Of course, I was alarmed, but he soon dropped me. But where was I? And how could I find my way back in the dark?

When I got out of my sleeping bag, I found that somehow my other gear was right there with me. How could that be? Then it dawned on me that it was all a dream. It was so real that I had not sensed any transition from dreaming to being awake. It was a hallucination, brought on by exhaustion. I was more amused than frightened by then.

I’ve been up close to several real bears since then, but never felt unduly alarmed. I was concerned when some campground bears visited our camp one night, though. They evidently lived on garbage at that over-used campsite. I built a fire after the third one came nosing around.

I had an easy hike to Merced Lake the next day. One of the delights was drinking from the many little streams that feed the Merced River along that stretch. Since it was May, they were filled with snowmelt. I dipped my cup in each one and enjoyed the ice-cold water.

Merced Lake Campground is heavily overused. I bent the rules a bit there. I found a flat spot on the fringe of the campground where the river enters the lake and set up my modest camp. Then I went fishing. I used my small spinning rod and reel to try a variety of lures. I soon found one the fish liked, and took three nice ones for dinner.

I had a surprise in the morning. The river, which is not much more than a large creek here at the lake, had risen about six inches. There I was on a little hump with water all around me. The bulk of the snowmelt arrives at night after it is melted by the sun during the day. I didn’t know that when I set up camp. Oh well, I just waded through the ice water and sat on a rock to put my boots on. Then I was on my way upstream.