Looking down on Half Dome, from the top of Mt. Hoffman
This marmot was expecting a lunch delivery. . .not!Copyright 2008 Lydia Hinshaw
YOSEMITE, CA -- Prince Charming had to work and couldn't come along on Monday's hike. A good thing, too. He would have tried to stop me from scrambling over the giant granite boulders to the top of Mt. Hoffman.
Jen, my hiking partner for the day, opted out of the final climb too, so I went alone. It was one of those hikes where you have to do a lot of calculating: If I put this foot here, and that foot there, and then grab onto this big rock, will I be able to pull myself up onto it? And if I can, what will my next move be? It's a giant, three-dimensional puzzle.
With patience and concentration, I made it to the 10,845-foot summit. We'd started the hike at 8,800 feet, which meant I was breathing hard in the first steps, although my body seemed to adjust to the thin air very quickly. (I've been living at 4,000 feet for nearly eight weeks now.)
A group of four had passed us on a lower slope and they were picnicking on top when I arrived. One of them had left his backpack about 10 yards away from where he was sitting.
So my first move after arriving at the top was to alert these folks to the fact that a marmot was trying his best to get into this semi-abandoned back. Its owner rushed over to rescue his property.
While I sat down to eat my own peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two marmots lurked nearby, daring me to turn my back on my own backpack.
Clearly they believed I should share my lunch with them. I love marmots, but they will get no meals from me!
Since the climb had been a tad challenging, I was particularly worried about the descent, which is always more scary because you have such an excellent view of where you'll fall if you screw up.
But from on top I could see an easier route, one I hadn't been able to spot from below.
I was soon safely through the pile of boulders, and back onto more manageable terrain, where I met up with Jen and we explored some more before heading back to the trailhead.
We made a stop for lemonade at the high camp at May Lake (below). Yosemite has a series of high camps with bunkhouse-style tents for backpackers who hike from camp to camp. The camps, which are resupplied by pack mules, provide meals for their guests. It sounds like a great adventure -- but from what I hear, it's so popular that it's nearly impossible to get reservations.
Jen, my hiking partner for the day, opted out of the final climb too, so I went alone. It was one of those hikes where you have to do a lot of calculating: If I put this foot here, and that foot there, and then grab onto this big rock, will I be able to pull myself up onto it? And if I can, what will my next move be? It's a giant, three-dimensional puzzle.
With patience and concentration, I made it to the 10,845-foot summit. We'd started the hike at 8,800 feet, which meant I was breathing hard in the first steps, although my body seemed to adjust to the thin air very quickly. (I've been living at 4,000 feet for nearly eight weeks now.)
A group of four had passed us on a lower slope and they were picnicking on top when I arrived. One of them had left his backpack about 10 yards away from where he was sitting.
So my first move after arriving at the top was to alert these folks to the fact that a marmot was trying his best to get into this semi-abandoned back. Its owner rushed over to rescue his property.
While I sat down to eat my own peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two marmots lurked nearby, daring me to turn my back on my own backpack.
Clearly they believed I should share my lunch with them. I love marmots, but they will get no meals from me!
Since the climb had been a tad challenging, I was particularly worried about the descent, which is always more scary because you have such an excellent view of where you'll fall if you screw up.
But from on top I could see an easier route, one I hadn't been able to spot from below.
I was soon safely through the pile of boulders, and back onto more manageable terrain, where I met up with Jen and we explored some more before heading back to the trailhead.
We made a stop for lemonade at the high camp at May Lake (below). Yosemite has a series of high camps with bunkhouse-style tents for backpackers who hike from camp to camp. The camps, which are resupplied by pack mules, provide meals for their guests. It sounds like a great adventure -- but from what I hear, it's so popular that it's nearly impossible to get reservations.
May Lake, from the Mt. Hoffman trail
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