Yosemite Sam

One of the least-visited areas in Yosemite National Park is also one of the most vital to Californians' way of life: Hetch Hetchy Valley, which since 1923 has been dammed for use as a source of drinking water and hydroelectric power.  An aqueduct 175 miles long, comprising multiple 6'+ diameter pipes, brings the water to local storage facilities, and then ultimately to the tap in my house.  And because of the characteristics of the drainage basin where the water is collected, it is so clean no filtration is required either federally or by the state of California¹ (#nofilter).  But this use of the valley has long been the subject of public debate.  Preservationists then and now want the valley maintained in its natural state - that of a diverse, self-sufficient ecosystem.  Supporters of the reservoir gained public sympathy for their political cause following the earthquake of 1906 that leveled - and then burned - much of San Francisco, and today, now that the dam is in place, the mere economic ramifications² of its removal are unappealing at best.  In 2012, San Francisco voters roundly rejected a measure to study draining the reservoir and supplanting it with alternate water sources.

I've wanted to see Hetch Hetchy firsthand for some time, so this Memorial Day weekend, from a base of operations near the park's western entrance, I made a pair of incursions: one to Wapama Falls, along the reservoir's northern perimeter, and one to May Lake, in central Yosemite's high country.

A busy loop road cuts through and around Ahwahnee Meadow in Yosemite Valley, and even past midnight experiences a steady installment of cars and headlights.  Hodgdon Meadow (hodge-don), some 25 miles from the bustle of that part of the park, is roadless - and mostly trail-less.  I'm situated here for a couple nights, and since it's the busiest weekend of the year in Yosemite, even this campground is full.  The namesake meadow is accessed by a short walk along a narrow, leafy path.  In the late afternoon hours, a chorus of birds is at full throat.  Several very modest creeks run through the center of the clearing; in the waist-high grass sprout up patches of wetland lilies.  A stripe of white irises seems to enjoy an alley between the trees where low sun falls; they grow no place else in the meadow.

Though the park continues to wear scars from the massive fire of the previous year, spring is also on display, with all its healing qualities.  And spring in Yosemite is nice for looking at waterfalls - or at bodies of water in motion in general.

A relatively flat hike from the O'Shaughnessy Dam will bring you to Wapama Falls.  These falls are fed by a lake several miles to their north before they tumble violently down a series of drops, terminating with brutal force in a variety of conditions alongside a footbridge that, at times due to the spray, is unpassable.  If there is another waterfall in the park whose sheer power can be experienced in such a way, at so close a distance, I have yet to find it.

Back at the campground, there's a group of eight or so and their cluster of tents in the site next to mine.  As I start making dinner, one of the lads in the group breaks out his guitar, and quickly proves himself to be pretty good on the instrument.  The trouble is, he soon begins singing as well.  It's grotesque enough to make me uncomfortable.  His companions, while making a strong symbolic gesture by not participating, nonetheless enable this development to continue, in what amounts to a sort of bored resignation.  I'm beginning to worry that I didn't buy enough 2009 Sierra Cuvee at the Crane Flat general store to account for this.

Some time passes and the ranger visits.  He has a young golden retriever on a leash, and is making the rounds to inform us that a bear has been seen in the area today.  He instructs the group beside me on the basic procedures to chase bears away, but I know he is wasting his breath; no creature so noble and majestic as a California black bear would subject itself to the one-man, off-key Garden State soundtrack originating in these parts.  Sure enough, we are safe through the night.

The next morning I brew some wonderfully strong coffee and drive along the Tioga Road, in the direction of Tuolumne Meadows, until I reach the trailhead for May Lake.  This lake is overlooked by Mount Hoffman, the geographic center of the park, and the starting point for what John Muir once identified as his favorite two-day excursion in the Sierras.

Big elevation change here compared with Hetch Hetchy.  There was snowfall in these parts as recently as a week ago.  I convince myself that it is too cold for both bears and snakes (I'd almost stepped on a rattlesnake the previous morning, which would have sucked, because then I wouldn't have gotten to see Wapama Falls).  On the early part of the climb, Snow Creek³ ambles along beside, gliding and swirling over bouldered terraces.

The final part of the ascent propels me over the ridge of the basin where the lake sits, and all at once presents views of Cathedral Peak^{3, again}, Tenaya Peak, and Half Dome that are: sublime, sensational, staggering - pick a word, and come up short.

And then there was the lake, still half-covered in snow and ice, fringed on its eastern shores with lodgepole and Jeffrey pines, and the mountain peak topping out another 1,500 feet above on the opposite side.

Another day ends and nightfall reaches the meadow.  In the dark, the trail to the clearing is a little tougher to follow.  Two bats fly by overhead, their echolocation squeaks crescendoing and then fading away. A nice complement of stars unfolds as the trail opens up and the forest ends.  I get the feeling that stars in the meadow like to be watched, and before long they are whispering hints of their names.    

¹ This remarkable point is referenced here, among many other places.
² $3b-$10b according to this study (page 4), which, to AB,I, still seems too low a range.
³ Part of the joy of return trips to Yosemite is the way in which the park's map begins to take shape and interconnect through your own experiences.  Earlier this year, for example, I sweated my way up through the canyon where Snow Creek empties, near Half Dome.  And last fall I joined a group in hiking to the pair of lakes at the base of Cathedral Peak.