Hazelnut Hailstones

Last weekend I was in Yosemite. There was all this conversation about what to call my blog post ... "You Talk Too Much ..." was one candidate "That's Gonna Leave a Mark" was another. In all fairness to the events, two things happened that will make this weekend unforgettable. There was a serious thunderstorm on my 15 mile hike Monday, and a 31 year old woman disappeared from the trail we were on about the time we were there. These events have left marks, both literally and figuratively.

About 3:30 P.M. on Monday (May 18, 2009), a 31 year old woman named Katrin Lehmann disappeared near the Vernal Falls foot bridge, presumably having gone into the Merced River. How this might have happened remains a mystery, but there's not much doubt that falling into the Merced River on Monday would result in certain disaster. The earnest start of the thunderstorm was at just about that time, and it may have contributed to the disaster by making everything wet and slippery, and radically altering the visibility by reducing the light, and by repeated flashes of lightning. As if that wasn't already enough, the storm threw down hazelnut sized hailstones, encouraging panic, and causing everyone to run for cover.
Here's the flyer that I saw in the deli on Tuesday.

On Monday, two friends and I started early, eating at the Lodge, and were on the trail to Half Dome™ by 8:30. It's a signifigant hike from the valley to Half Dome and back in a single day, so I immediately encouraged my friends to set their sights for the top of Nevada fallas and then we could have a snack and see how things were, then decide to push on. It started as a really nice day and hot, so we packed light, and travelled quickly up the trail. The misty part of the Mist Trail™ below Vernal Falls was cold but mostly refreshing, and we all changed to a dry shirt after the drenching. My friends and I easily covered the 3.2 miles up to top of Nevada Falls and pushed on to Little Yosemite Valley where we heard the first thunder of the day.

I immediately annouced that that most likely meant we would not be able summit Half Dome, due to the obvious risk of death by lightning. We decided to push on, because we felt good and thought if we could just get to where we could see it -- we could take a picture and earn some bragging rights that way. We climbed the additional miles up the trail, with an objective like -- we turn back at 2:30.

It had clouded over and our hopes for a glorious photo were pretty much crushed. It sprinkled and there was thunder and well ... I had oddly left my rain jacket behind. It was wearing us a bit ... the mountain ... it was kinda steep and we were pushing hard to get to the tree line, which we (I -- to be fair) estimated at 8 miles and 4200 vertical feet from the valley floor. At around 2:00 we were nearing the end of the trees and taking a short break to discuss our remaining time, when it started to actually rain a bit. I tendered that it was looking like a good time to turn back ... since we were near the snow at about 8000 feet elevation in the Sierras in May without a raincoat, or even a jacket, and it was afternoon ... and ... well ... raining.

The trip downhill went quickly. Andrew, our young friend, surged ahead to start for home early, with instructions to leave a message on my cell when he had made it down. At 23, Andrew was a strong capable hiker, and easily left us behind. At about 3 miles from the valley floor, it started to rain in earnest. The trail is steep and it's mostly granite. At this point it's wet granite. It began to hail. Hard. Pea sized hail stones pelted us on the open sections of trail. Pea sized hail doesn't hurt, really. As the storm increased in intensity, hikers on the trail began to gather into groups and move really quickly. I really think that survival instincts began to kick in. We were in a canyon yes, but there were many exposed granite stretches, and it grew ominously dark, and there was frequent lightning. It was around the time that we had gathered into a group of 10 or 12 and began to realize that there was no hope of remaining dry in any way, that the sky opened up and cast hazelnut sized hailstones mixed with interval lightning. It hurt and someone started screaming. The lowering of the light level combined with the wet trail and the confusion induced by both the lightning flashes and the screaming: suddenly the trail itself became hard to identify.

A stranger in the group named Dennis and I stood and clearly looked at the trail signs and found the trail and took it and the group of 8 or 10 tweenagers followed us and raced past us. We had turned onto the pack trail, leaving the Mist Trail and heading uphill in the canyon. My friend Robert was a bit behind so I waited and let Dennis lead ... I was beginning to realize that things were going sideways and I was slipping in to trip leader mode ... I was counting people ... taking notes in my head ... keeping track of the group around me.
Well ... when you're following a river downhill and suddenly you are climbing uphill away from the river ... it doesn't take too long before you realize you going the wrong way. I said to Robert, "This is wrong, we are on the wrong trail ... I know this goes to the valley ... but in this mess, I want to go on a trail I know." I ran ahead to tell Dennis what I thought. Those people ran past in the other direction ... "Wrong way." We all turned around. It became harder as we retraced our steps. I could see my friend lose momentum. For just a moment I worried about him.

Anyway ... once we knew we were on the right trail again, we just hammered it out ... Wet, rainy, treacherous down climb on granite steps, 300 feetabove a vertical drop into a raging torrent of a a river, or just a few feet. One false step equals could equal instant death. One foot in front of another. A few more miles ... miles of wild Yosemite, a stormy vindictive Yosemite.

As we reached the valley floor there were folks lining the river, rescue teams, rangers and firemen. The bridges were covered, the shuttle buses delayed ... wow, what if it's Andrew. Rumours floated about ... "It's a nine old girl," said one. "She fell off the bridge above the falls," said another. "I know someone that saw the body," said another.

Sometimes, mistakes are fatal, accidents are fatal. Andrew made it down. He was wet, but changed into his pajamas in his car. We all went over to have chili at the Ahwahnee lounge.
We went to see the Gods of the mountain and they were kind to us. We lived. We can hike another day. We escaped lightning, hail, a raging river, a slippery trail over tons of granite, and our own weaknesses. Katrin Lehmann wasn't so lucky.

If you're going to go, drowning in the Merced River, just moments after a view of Vernal Falls, isn't that bad of a way to go.

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A Pleasant Day in the Hood

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Point Reyes Hike Saturday

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...

6:30 PM ...

4:30 Archery Range

2:40 PM Lunch

9:30 Library

8:50 Breakfast

7:00 AM Gym

6:00 AM Coffee

Ewwww!

45 yards

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Wow It's Freaky Windy ...

Today was freakishly windy ... You possibly noticed I was talking about the wind when I posted this.

When I shot these, the wind speed was 36-40 and the the gusts were 45-49 at the San Francisco Airport (SFO). Granted, I was in a bit of a sheltered location, because I was in the forest up on skyline at Kings Mountain, which is a bit higher than SFO and the highest thing around. So gusts at the top of the trees might have been hurricane force or higher, when I was shooting those arrows. Based on my crazy wind estimation skills, I think the winds where I was shooting might be about 15 mph, with gusts to 30 mph, since I was in a valley and under the canopy.

The weather today was crazy, and there were gusts as high as 58 mph today at the San Francisco Airport.


These two shots are taken somewhere close to the San Francisco Airport (notice the incoming plane), very near the height of the insanity, at 3:45 or 4:00 P. M. I cruised out there because I decided it was too dangerous to drive on the freeway, and I was wondering what it might be like to kayak in this kind of wind. There were three foot swells in a place that normally is calm, and swimmers, kayakers and windsurfers might be found "playing" around. For me ... it looked scary as hell.

Here's what it might look like in the morning.

On the San Mateo Bridge, about 5 miles south of these photos, there were several newsworthy events in the afternoon. Within a short period of time ... one, a truck turned over heading west on the bridge, two, a commercial fishing boat got pushed by the wind into the bridge causing damage to the bridge, and three, a kayaker (capsized and out of his boat), had to be hoisted up from a position in the water hugging the bridge pillars. Currently the bridge is still closed in the westbound direction, with current estimates for reopening at 4 A. M.

Never mind all this, I shot a bull's eye at 40 yards with an unpredictable gusty wind ...

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Vic's Special

5 Arrows, 40 Yards, Windy

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Cannery Row

Blackflies ...

Well -- I am reading, as is my wont, another book about a an epic journey, and have to admit, I am quite enjoying myself. I feel a bit self-absorbed. Injured foot. Good book. Nothing better to do really. Great weather. It's Bill Bryson's book A Walk in the Woods, which chronicles his effort to hike the Appalachian Trail. It's quite funny and entertaining.

He says:
... It was only nine miles over easy terrain, but the black fly made it a torment. I have never seen a scientific name for these vile, winged specks, so I don't know what they are but a hovering mass that goes with you wherever you go and are forever in your ears, mouth and nostrils. Human sweat transports them to orgasmic ecstasy. They are particularly relentless when you stop to rest, or take a drink -- so relentless that eventually you don't stop to rest and you drink while moving, and then spit out a tongueful of them. It's kind of a living hell. ...

Reading this I burst into laughter and remember sitting in a classroom when the conversation somehow turns to the subject of blackflies biting ... someone or something of that nature. One of my fellow students starts to laugh because she is remembering something funny and I, of course am laughing now because I remember the same thing.

You see we, her and I, had recently been camping together in the Ventana Wilderness on an exceptionally hot summer day. We found this incredible rock bowl just a few yards or so from our camp. It was about 15 yards deep and 20 yards in diameter, just high enough to hide us from any passers by, shady and small enough so we could feel intimate. We spontaneously decided to take off our clothes and play in that rock bowl for a while. Quickly stripping our clothes off and throwing them into a pile, we scaled the side of the bowl. naked, and danced down into the center of the bowl, absolutely prepared for our own orgasmic ecstasy.

Hordes of blackflies immediately descended on us, drinking our sweat and biting the most delicate parts of our bodies repeatedly. We tried desperately to ignore them. They were relentless. Despite our delight, we were immediately compelled to return to our clothes.

Which, we had piled on an anthill.

Oh Crap!.

Well, this is kinda self-inflicted maybe. My foot was really itchy so I scratched it a bit, then it turned into this after a couple of days. I am not sure, but I suspect that the new shoes might have contributed to the problem.

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On Any Sunday

Today, a friend and I went for hike in the Redwoods at Purisima Creek. We hiked a loop totalling 7.1 miles and dropping from 2000 ft to 600 ft, then climbing back to 2000 ft. It wasn't radically steep in any one place, just continually and equally punishing. We did a loop including the Whittemore Gulch Trail and the Harkins Ridge Trail from the North Ridge parking lot.
The map only shows part of the route. You can follow the black dotted line to see the balance of the trail.













Banana Slug





Purisima Creek



Then we went for lunch at Alice's Restaurant.