Yo!semite

Day 4: Tuesday 23 October

Prior to planning this trip, I can’t say in all truthfulness that Yosemite National Park had registered high on the bucket list. I guess I didn’t know all that much about it outside of it being one of the great American parks.

When I started researching Californ-I-A though, it was perched pretty high on every Google search as one of the must do things. From friends, every recommendation without fail said it was worth slapping in at least a few days, which as someone who’s whole idea of a California road trip centred around desert, more desert and Venice Beach, mountains and valleys weren’t something I had in the frame.

With three weeks to play with though, quite obviously I couldn’t bypass the big hitters in favour of solely eating beef jerky and dehydrating in barren plains, so the first thing I booked was Yosemite. Three nights no less.

Booking Yosemite was the first thing I did after booking the campercar and sweet Jesus, figuring out how to camp, where to stay and what the hell the deal was was almost enough for me to can the whole bloody affair. It was so stressful. Most of the planning was done between the hours of 10pm – 1am over the course of September and was so bloody painful. Google midnight spinouts pinning Costco, Mojave aircraft boneyards and ghost towns galore on my tour map, juggling logistics of having enough time to do what I wanted and not feeling like I was running from pillar to post was utterly exhausting and enough effort to warrant a holiday in itself.

Anyway. I finally cracked the camping code and three nights in Upper Pines Campground on Yosemite Valley Floor we’re LOCKED DOWN. Given I booked in September, I can’t emphasise just how lucky I was to get a spot. To get my three concurrent nights, I have to switch spot each day which isn’t the end of the world but IS a slight faff as you need to decant any stuff that has a scent into a bear locker.

This is principally food or toiletries, and upon arrival yesterday, I realised just how much of both categories I had, spread across Oliver’s length and breadth (ok, he’s a car, but there are a lot of uncategorised bags in there. Rogue Melon flavoured vape fluid nestled deep in one of my handbags in one of the suitcases COULD KILL or at best, attract either a bear’s warm nocturnal embrace or a $5,000 fine from YO!semite).

Bypassing the overpass.

I’ve not mentioned the drive into Yosemite from Tuolumne, and the reason for this is simple: I couldn’t describe it if I tried, photos do it better, and aside from the usual descriptors “phenomenal”, “majestic”, “a tour de force”, or my new favourite, “breathtaking!”, I just don’t know what else I can tell you.

Oh no, thats actually a minor lie. There was a pretty hairy moment about halfway over. Old Priest’s Road / Pass / Undercarriage… not sure exactly but never mind Old Priest, more like Last Rites Lane.

Gulp!

Vom!

Wince,

Hairpin bends anywhere between 35-50° gradient for around five miles. It was HORRIFIC.

I must say that on the whole, I’m a becoming a big fan of the automatic – it’s all a bit stop or go which keeps things nice and simple. But similar to the Escape from somewhere near to Alcatraz, the whole hill stuff without gears and handbrakes is nauseating and ironically, grinding my gears a bit.

AFTER this point, I swear I was in paradise. So much paradise. Finally, I understood the hype.

Why can’t your eyes take photos?

Detour from the post for a moment because the moon is in full wax mode and looking pretty gorgeous right now.

I need a good camera and photography lessons ASAP.

Shin-ay-aghhh Strain.

Another detour. My left shin is fucking killing me. Cockily, and erroneously thought I’d swerved any repercussions of today’s elongated hike. Fool.

Love at first sight.

I need to clock the coordinates of the moment I turned a corner and saw Half Dome for the first time. In terms of falling in love at first sight, I’d put it up there with locking eyes with James Boyle on Easter Sunday in Sol Viva when I was 17. Only taken another 17 years, a wealth of experience and a few thousand miles to get there, but hey, better late than never.

Really never seen anything like it before, or been so humbled by nature. Seeing that, you realise quite swiftly who’s in charge, and it sure as hell ain’t us.

Photos on insta, and will whack ’em in here when I can.

Pining for you.

Upper Pines (and it’s sisters Lower and North) sit cradled under the left armpit of Half Dome. As I drove in up to the ranger’s hut / checkpoint, I needed to pinch myself and also turn the music down. We were back on the Manchester classics and I’m sure the ranger wasn’t going to appreciate Sally Cinnamon quite as much as I.

Checked in, and bear safety disclaimer signed, my first night at Upper Pines was to be at site 162. On the site map online, it said it was next to the toilet block which I wasn’t thrilled about but when I got there, I saw that I wasn’t that close at all. Everything is spaced out: you’re close to your neighbours but have your privacy and lots of room to spread out. I had nothing to spread, but it was nice to have the option.

I felt like I’d made it. On that days journey, as a camping professional, in life. It was quite empowering to see gangs of people all over the place knowing that I’d done everything by myself. Unlike at Thousand Trails, I didn’t feel lonely: being alone here somehow didn’t feel like leprosy, it felt like an achievement.

It was about 4pm when I arrived and you could already smell campfires ablaze all over so after a few moments familiarisation, I drove straight back out of the site to the Village Store to pick up some bits. Bits – meaning FIRE STUFF.

The store was great. 40% of the place was a Yosemite tat paradise: every possible branded mug, shirt, hoodie, beer can holder, apron, tote bag bullshit you could dream of was there for purchase for many dollars plus tax.

I bought a few bits, including my firewood, and after a quick saunter around the village to see what was going on, I drove back to camp.

Cinderella.

I had wood. A big, hard, heavy box of wood. And I had a yearn to burn. Taper matches at the ready, logs in grate, I was fired up and ready to go.

Seemingly that night, campsite art was in the mood to imitate life, as no sooner had I lit my burning torch and wantonly tried to ignite some sparks but my flame died, the match – cindered; the promise of a roaring fire extinguished before anyone even had to call 999.

It was hopeless.

The course to flaming hot nights never did run smooth.

That’s when good neighbours become good friends.

My neighbours, as I was to learn, were a lovely young Californian family. The kid was called River, the dad had cool glasses like you’d see on someone from Hackney who rides a bespoke assembled BMX and wears Lumberjack shirts, and the mum, I was soon to learn, was A PRODUCER. Now, the hardest thing about my job is explaining to people what it is that I actually do. Even I don’t know that. No producer does. We just do stuff and get shit done. So to find myself ‘reaching out’ and finding Someone Who Knows was an improbable yet welcomed delight.

Kelly and I had chats whilst Eric – retired fireman – got to work on crafting me a fire of dreams. It was perfect. I learnt the following things which have meant that tonight, I was able to craft and sustain a fire of my own, all by myself:

• Big logs won’t just set fire, no matter how many taper matches and focus you expend.
• You need to start a baby fire with kindling to get the heat up so that it provides a bed of significant heat for the bigger logs.
• To sustain a fire, you need to make sure that oxygen can circulate, so it’s good to build a triangular structure, almost like a mini-bivvi, with all of the kindling and discarded paper you can gather.
• Wafting is paramount to success.

Not an eternal flame, but long enough for me.

The fire died down just around 10pm which rather conveniently was the time we all had to extinguish our fires anyway.

I was pretty exhausted and overwhelmed by the day so (can’t believe I’m saying this) I didn’t watch a single episode of Californication. I pushed out a very slow stream of photo uploads to kershytenbags and then passed out and slept until…

To be continued