Sitting in Backpacker Camp in Yosemite Valley the night before
our departure, my son Drew and I are anticipating a trip we cannot
fully comprehend.
Sitting in Backpacker Camp in Yosemite Valley the night before our departure, my son Drew and I are anticipating a trip we cannot fully comprehend. The numbered campsites, flushing toilets, and running water we are enjoying here are luxuries we won’t see again for nearly a month.
Along with the excitement I feel, there is also a sense of nervous anticipation. There are so many questions to be answered that will end up defining this trip. Do we have enough food, toilet paper, moleskin, insect repellent, camp stove fuel? Or, maybe worse, do we have too much? Are we up to the task ahead? Or will we be done in by the heavy load, the altitude, blisters, the lousy food, bad weather, the bugs, crapping in a hole, or just the pain and effort of walking this rugged trail all day every day?
Tomorrow, we will begin to answer these questions. In the morning, we will shoulder our 45-pound packs and begin a 21-day, 220-mile walk over 11 mountain passes reaching as high as 13,600 feet to our goal, the 14,496-foot summit of Mt. Whitney. After weeks of planning, checking and double-checking our gear, we are excited and anxious to get under way.
Yet I know that all the careful planning cannot eliminate the possibility of a trip-shortening problem. In the back country, a small oversight or careless mistake can have huge consequences. I was reminded of this fact today in a powerful way when I jeopardized our entire trip through my own stupidity and carelessness.
This afternoon, at the end of a day of sightseeing in the Valley, we stopped at Bridalveil Falls and walked the short path to a viewpoint below the falls. Despite signs warning of dangerous footing on the rocks below the falls, I chose to scramble over the slippery mist-glazed boulders for a closer look. When I ran into an impasse, I turned around and walked down to search for an alternate route. In an instant, I was falling. I knew I was in trouble because it was the kind of fall where you have time to realize you are falling and wonder when it will stop. The fall is a big jumble in my memory, but I do recall a head-over-heels somersault.
Finally, I stopped, face up with my feet below me, reclining on an inclined rock as though I were sunbathing. I lifted my head to get my bearings and take stock. Amazingly, I appeared to be all right. I sat up and put my head between my legs to fight the onset of shock I was feeling. I had a growing bump on my head, abrasions on my legs and a sore left foot, but that was all.
I was at once amazed at my good fortune and my outrageous carelessness. I should be in the hospital. The trip should be scrubbed. But miraculously, there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with me that would jeopardize the trip.
So, this day is done. The steely dusk-sky is fading to black. After dinner at Curry Village, Renée and Vanessa dropped Drew and I off here at Backpacker Camp. Good-bye kisses and hugs were exchanged with a little more feeling than usual, and I made no progress in assuring away the worry in Renée’s eyes.
They are halfway home by now, while Drew and I, excited and nervous, anticipate tomorrow like some soldier the night before a battle. Drew is clearly excited about the adventure ahead, but I worry about how he will feel after a week on the trail … two weeks … three weeks.
When this is done, I hope Drew and I will warmly remember the experience of a lifetime rather than shake our heads in disgust recalling our agonies, arguments and misadventures. I feel the responsibility. I want this to be good.
