A crisis of the will

2 more miles?! Really? As tiny and unremarkable as that little sign was, it somehow managed to sap every last bit of fight from me. I don't think anyone else in the group was particularly thrilled to see it either. We all sat down around the edge of this open area for a break (an extended one this time), but when I personally sat down, it felt like I was doing so without any intention to get back up - at least not to continue forward. Before that sign, I was still holding out some hope of making it to the end of the hike. But with 2 miles to go, the way I was feeling now, my mind could not conceive of any possible way I could make it all the way and then still have enough to make the final ascent. If I couldn't make it all the way, then what was the point of continuing to put myself through this - especially since I never really had that much desire to do this in the first place. I mean, quiting a mile further up the trail was still quiting, right?

So there I sat, feeling pretty much completely defeated, and with nothing in my body or mind wanting to go forward. I sulked while I ate and drank - not liking the idea of being the first (and maybe only, even though the folks were openly talking about not being able to make it) one to pack it in, but not thinking my pride was worth continuing, especially since I was only postponing the inevitable. After several minutes, my folks decided to go on, but my uncle was planning to rest longer. As my parents left, it was decided that I would wait behind, and if I wanted to continue when my uncle moved on, I would, if not, I wouldn't. In my mind, I was pretty sure what was going to happen, and it was apparently pretty obvious to my parents as well.

There was only one problem - that understanding that I had had since the plane ride on the beginning of the trip that I had an appointment with God somewhere on this hike, and if it had come and gone, I had certainly been unaware. So, God and I had a bit of a chat, that I think went something like this, though in my head, not out loud :):

Me: So God, this was it, right? I'm done now, and I'll understand later where we met - or maybe we'll meet on the way down?
God: You need to go higher.
Me: Are you kidding me? I'm beaten - done. There's no way I can make it all the way, so why would I put myself through this more?
God: I want you to go higher - and I'm telling you you can go higher.
Me: Why? What could possibly be worth continuing this? Tell me where I'm supposed to go.
God: I want you to go higher - isn't that enough for you?

And that's pretty much where the conversation ended. It was obvious I wasn't going to hear what I wanted to hear, so I was left to wrestle internally with what God was asking of me. There was nothing that came from me that wanted to continue - nothing. I felt tears welling up under my sunglasses as I fought - still not sure of what I was going to do when the moment of decision came.

A few minutes later (much, much too soon by my thinking) - my uncle looked over at me and said: "Are you ready?" The answer (the real answer, not what I said), was no - I was not ready. But, my decision was made, I was going to get up anyhow, and so I did - closing my pack back up and preparing to go higher.

A momentary break, and then a turn for the worse

Shortly after passing by the Nevada Falls, the trail really flattens out for a while. There's an initial stretch past the falls that is pretty bumpy and rocky, and in fact you actually go down somewhat for a bit (again, exceedingly frustrating when you know you weren't anywhere near done going up), but overall, this is about a mile or so of the flatest stretch on the trail (at least the part of the trail that I covered). It's very peaceful, you walk by the river that feeds the falls, it's just overall a nice breather after all the climbing. One thing that is a negative about it, or at least was for us, is that it's much more open and out in the sun than most of the trail. I never really got a read on how hot it actually was up there - but it was in the high 90s down on the valley floor the other days we were in the area, so I'm pretty sure it wasn't terribly far from that range where we were hiking most of the time. Now, in that part of the world, it's very, very dry, so without the humidity, the heat is easy to escape when you are shaded, but it does really beat down on you when you're out in it.

This whole segment of the trail is also in the shadow of Half Dome - and by this time we could already see a few people on the cables heading up from the lower dome to the very top, looking like ants on the side of the big rock. We did sit down for a while near the river, and at this point I was still feeling alright, although the toll of all the climbing over the last couple hours was definitely setting in. After getting up from our rest, we made rather quick work of the flatter part of the trail and then turned up into the forest to begin ascending again.

This, unfortunately, is where the story of my ascent takes an unhappy turn. Shortly after we (at this point we was my Mom, Dad, uncle and I - Tim and Megan had pushed on ahead) had headed up into the forest, it was noted that we had missed the last "real" (and I use that term VERY loosely) bathroom on the trail. The reason we had missed it was because it wasn't actually "on" the trail, but was rather at a backpack campsite that was just off to the right of the trail before it made the turn back up into the woods. So, we went back. I'm not sure I particularly remember why I did, cause I didn't really have to go and I really didn't have worries in the event that I wound up needing to go in the woods. But back we went. I suck at estimating distances, but I'm going to guess we went back about a quarter mile or so.

I am not sure totally sure what it was, but after doing that, everything turned in the wrong direction for me. I think my parents would say the same thing. I became much more fatigued, both physically and mentally, and everything became much more of a struggle. Thinking back on what went wrong, it was probably a combination of things:

#1 - I had been very focused on keeping myself hydrated, but I don't think I paid enough attention to how much food I was taking in.

#2 - The lack of sleep from the night before was finally setting in to some degree

#3 - That trek back to the bathroom had been back in that open section that let the sun beat down, and probably didn't help.

#4 - We were getting higher, and the altitude wasn't exactly helpful

#5 - I think going back threw some psychological switch, along with all of the above.

We were climbing again, but it wasn't that bad compared to where we had come from, and yet I was really struggling now. The stops were coming more frequently, and being less helpful. For the first time, I was really doubting whether I was going to be able to do this, and the bigger problem, which I alluded to earlier, was that I had never really WANTED to do this, so it was hard to convince myself that continuing to do this to myself was going to be worth it. I kept going, thinking to myself that, while I knew it would get a lot steeper at the very end, it would probably be okay until then. Of course, then Mom asked my uncle if it got much steeper before the very end, and he said, yeah, right up around there. Great!

And it did get steeper (by the way, you'll notice I've not been posting many pictures in this part of the story - that in itself is evidence to what we were going through, because the photographers definitely weren't in the same mindset that they were earlier), and at this point I think we were all openly questioning whether we could make it - and I was questioning whether it was even worth it to try. I didn't really want to give up, especially not this soon. So, with my original dreams of the trail not getting much steeper until the very end dashed, I consoled myself by looking at the time, thinking about when we had left (I'm thinking we'd been on the trail almost 5 hours by this time), going on my rough estimates of what kind of time we should have been making, and thinking, "It can't be much further". I'm thinking, it's 8 miles to the summit, on flat ground I could do that in 2, 2 1/2 hours, so, double that for the climb, maybe minus a bit. My math led me to believe, without asking of course, that we were within the last mile of the hike.

Then of course, we came out into an open area, where I saw this:

WHAT?!

Scaling the falls

So, like I said, the first segment of the trip was really just a warmup, and the adventure didn't fully begin until we crossed over the bridge and made our turn up the Mist trail.

I need to be clear about something - I didn't go into this hike with any illusions about my capabilities. I knew going in I wasn't in peak physical condition, or anywhere close to it. One thing I was banking on, however, was the fact that I've always had pretty good endurance relative to my overall conditioning - which is to say that when I'm being smart about it, I can usually find a good solid pace that I can maintain for a long time. That was my intended tactic for the hike. The only problem is that setting a consistent pace is REALLY hard to do when the terrain keeps changing on you. As I recall, when we initially made the turn up onto the Mist trail, the hike was basically just a somewhat steeper version of what we had been doing previously. However, as we continued to trek toward the top of the lower (Vernal) falls, we encountered this:

And then this:

Followed by these:

And then... well, you get the picture. All of which provides appropriate context for this picture:

It wasn't all bad, however, as we got to do much of this in full view of this, which was the destination for this leg of the hike:

By now, perhaps you better understand my earlier comment about why you wouldn't come DOWN via the Mist trail unless you had a death wish. Those were very steep stone steps, many sections of which were quite slick due to the mist coming off of the falls. Going up them was difficult, and in fact exceeding such, but coming down them would have been absolutely treacherous. Somewhere on these steps I pulled a groin muscle - which is more significant later in the story. For this part of the climb, it was just an annoyance. But anyhow, we all finally reached the top of Vernal Falls, and took the bridge over the river to begin our ascent to the upper (Nevada) falls.

My recollection is that overall, the hike to Nevada Falls was not quite as steep and strenuous as the steps to Vernal. However, there were a few sections that left me wishing for the steps:

Really though, most of it wasn't that bad, and even that wasn't quite as treacherous as it might seem from the picture. It does, however, represent another reason not to descend via this trail. I remember being pretty pleased with how I was doing physically at this point. Don't get me wrong, it was hard, and overall, the hike was kicking my butt. We'd go for a while, I'd get tired, and the altitude left me pretty winded much of the time, but we were taking plenty of breaks, and usually just a minute or two would leave me feeling fine to go on for a while. I was feeling pretty optimistic about my chances of making it to the top.

Eventually, we made it to the top of the Nevada Falls - and the next restroom -, where we left the falls behind and made the transition to the next part of the hike.

Taking to the trail

So, apparently not even having a ton of good material to work with is enough motivation to keep me blogging regularly. Oh well, here we go again. For background, given that I'm sure you've all forgotten what I wrote 2 weeks ago, please see the last few posts!

So, anyhow, there I was, getting up at about 4:30 in the morning, having slept very, very little, and staring at the prospect of taking to the trail for the hike I laid out in my last post. I'm going to be flatly honest - I think had I not come away from my God appointment on the flight out with a sense that God had something for me on this hike, I might have forgotten the whole idea right then and there, climbed back into bed, and then settled in for a relaxing day at the house with my grandpa. The fact of the matter was that there was nothing in me that really wanted to do this (make a note, that will be important as the story progresses). Tim had gotten this wacky idea while looking at the rock from Glacier Point when he and Megan were out a couple years ago, and then Mom had latched onto it and it had become a family event. I wanted to go on this trip with the family, and this was something everyone else was going to do while we were out there, so I agreed to give it a shot. Don't get me wrong, given that I was doing it, I was hoping to make it all the way, but there was nothing internally really driving me to do it, and the lack of sleep made the whole thing seem all the less pleasant. However, I knew what I had felt God telling me, and I also knew it didn't surprise Him that I hadn't slept, so I stayed the course, did my final packing, and hopped into the van for the drive for the trailhead, or rather for the parking lot which was 3/4 of a mile from the trailhead, as I mentioned before.

So, after a quick breakfast at the van, we were off, walking our way towards the trailhead. Thankfully, this part of the trip was at least mostly flat. After you get to the trailhead itself, the first part of the trail is pretty tame. It's paved, and while you are (mostly) going up hill, it's fairly gradual, more of a rolling kind of climb. In fact, there are several segments where you actually dip back down for a while - and trust me, when you are acutely aware of the fact that you have a lot further up to go, there are few things more frustrating than heading downhill.

That part of the trail, while plenty to test the casual hiker such as myself (I'm not even sure that term captures my level of unpreparedness) - it's really just a tune up. The real adventure doesn't start until you reach the bridge that is just about a mile into the hike. A couple things are significant about this point. First of all, just past it is the first restrooms along the trail (also a place to fill up your water). Secondly, this is where you make the choice between continuing your ascent via the Muir trail or the Mist trail.

These trails diverge before coming back together at the top of the 2nd waterfall shown on the picture I posted previously of the entire hike. The Mist trail is shorter by at least a mile and a half, and conversely much steeper, but it's also more scenic, because it takes you up right beside the falls, such that you get hit with their mist when there's enough water coming over them (there was for us), which is where the trail gets its name. Traditionally hikers will ascend via the Mist trail and descend via the Muir trail, which is much longer, but much more comfortable descent. The reason for this is simple - you don't want to come down the Mist trail unless you have a death wish. I'll explain that in a bit more detail later. Anyhow, we were following the traditional path and turned up alongside the river to ascend the Mist trail, at which point the adventure truly began.

Some opening perspective

I had been debating whether to open with this, or do it after the story of the attempted climb, which is when I got my dose of perspective. For a number of reasons, I decided I'm going to lead with it.

This is what I attempted, along with the rest of my immediate family, to accomplish:

As daunting as Half Dome itself looks in the picture I posted a few blogs ago, if you could walk right up to the base of that rock and then go up it, it wouldn't really be that daunting of a task. As you can see, that's really not an option. There are, I understand some other ways to hike to it that might not be quite as daunting, but this is what people are talking about when they talk about the hike to Half Dome.

You start somewhere towards the bottom right of the picture, probably not even on it, below the lower falls. You then hike out along the water at a steady, managable climb. Eventually, however, that changes and you start climbing up right along the right side of the falls, getting a fair share of mist, on very steep rock steps that are quite slipperly. Eventually, you get up the top of the first set of falls (Vernal Falls), at which point you cross over to the left side of the water. You then hike up a path, less steep than those start, but still plenty steep, doing plenty of switching back, that takes you to the top of the second set of falls. (Nevada Falls)

After you get past the Nevada Falls, the trail flattens out for a mile (and even descends, which trust me, you HATE on a climb like this since you know you're eventually heading back up) or so as you hike along the river and back behind the smaller peak you see on the right side of the picture. This part of the hike is done in the shadow of the dome itself, and you can see people making the final ascent, if there are any at that time, which there typically will be anytime from the later part of the morning on. After that nice little reprieve, you cut left back up into the forest, climbing back around behind Half Dome itself. Eventually you come out to more of a plateau, probably connected to some of the rock you can see there behind Half Dome, where you're standing, basically looking back at the camera, looking at the "lower" dome and the final ascent to the top. You hike through some more woods, and then up a very steep incline via stone steps and all kinds of switch packs, to the top of the lower dome, known "affectionately" as Heartbreak Hill. If you get to that point, the last 400 feet or so is at a 45 (Tim says greater) straight up the rock face, with the aid of cables to hold on each side to keep your balance.

The only modification on the trip back down is that at the top of Nevada Falls, you cross over the falls and take a longer, flater, less scenic hike back out of the mountains. This is longer, but much easier on the body, and much less dangerous than going down those steep, wet stairs I referred to beside Vernal Falls.

The trailhead is at about 4000 feet above sea level, and if you complete the entire hike, you'll walk about 17 miles round trip, and ascend 4800 feet before coming back down. My trip ended, along with my mom, dad, and uncle, on the plateau I spoke of before the final push to the lower dome. Megan made it to the top of Heartbreak Hill (pictures to come) before the heights got to her, and Tim made it to the top. Additionally, in our case, we couldn't park in the lot closest to the trail head, so we wound up having to walking better than 1/2 of a mile from our car to the trailhead in full gear.

This picture was taken the day after the hike at a scenic view place called Glacier Point. As you'll see as I get to the end of my story, I wasn't feeling particularly down on myself for not making it to the top anyhow, but as I saw this view, any lingering feelings of angst about what I hadn't done were totally washed away as I realized what I HAD done.

So, there's the full extent of the challenge - feel free to refer back for context as I elaborate.

The build-up

Okay, sorry for the delay here. As I mentioned in Monday's post, I was not feeling very well. Apparently I picked up a pretty nasty head cold on the flight home that had really laid me out by Tuesday night. It wasn't until Thursday that I was really starting to feel better, and then Friday, I pretty much just slept as my body was begging me for recovery time. Yesterday I had a family wedding, and so here we are.

So, anyhow, I met my Mom and Dad in Seattle and we spent two very enjoyable, though not very restful, days in the city with my cousin who is attending Seattle Pacific University. We did many of the standard tourist things, such as visiting the Space Needle and Pike Street Market. All of these things involved much walking (finding parking is a significant issue in Seattle, at least where we were), which afforded me a good chance to better break in my hiking boots. It also tired me out really good, particularly the first day. As you may have guessed already, relaxation was not really the dominant theme of this particular vacation. I also picked up a minor foot injury that I was concerned might be an issue on the hike, but really wasn't.

So, on Sunday evening we hopped on a plane and flew to Northern California, where we were met by my aunt, uncle, and grandpa at the airport and then rode back to my uncle's to spend the night. Monday was actually a pretty laid back day, as we did some various visiting, picked up some supplies and packed up for our adventure. On Tuesday, we drove up to Yosemite, had a picnic in the park, and then headed over to our home away from home, away from home for the next couple days.

Having settled in, Mom, Dad, Megan, Tim, and I set out to do some "warm-up" hiking to see some of the easier to get to sights of Yosemite. Our first hike was maybe a mile and a half or so round trip (I suck at estimating distances, so take that for what it's worth) to the base of Yosemite Falls:
Next up was an even shorter hike (under 1/2 mile round trip) to the Bridalveil Falls.

To be completely honest, that would have been enough hiking for the trip for me. However, that was obviously not the plan, and we headed back to the house for dinner and final preparations. The plan was to be on the trail by 5:30 am, which would require leaving the house by 5, and getting up no later than 4:30. So, as I got into bed around 10:30, I was already wondering if 6 hours of sleep would be enough to take on this crazy task I was up against. As it turns out, that should have been the least of my concerns. We were staying at about 6000 feet above sea leval, and the altitude, probably coupled with the anticipation of what was to come in the morning, led to an almost sleepless night. I think I might have fallen asleep for about 30 minutes at one point, but I'm not sure, and that was absolutely the most I got. I was not the only one in the house to report the same kind of night.
So, whatever uncertainties I had had about this climb (and whether I even wanted to do it) were magnified as we rounded up everything in the van and drove down to the trailhead.