Last Night in Yosemite
YOSEMITE TEN LAKES
The Ten Lakes area is a less traveled part of Yosemite National Park, as were many of the places I had explored in the last week. But unlike other places I had been, I left a little piece of my heart in a mountainside campsite with a Canadian girl I met barely a day before.
I snapped awake once again and fumbled for the light on my watch. The soft green glow from my marred Casio burned my eyes in the remote darkness of the backcountry; it read five past midnight. I did the calculation in my head for the tenth time that night and put my head back down on my balled up jacket-pillow. I could make the road some six miles away in two hours if I pushed hard. Even if I made it to the road, the fate of the next day and a half depended on the kindness of a stranger to take me into town so I could catch the bus. As I contemplated the coming hours, I shut my eyes again, letting the haze of the Milky Way imprint my eyelids.
There I was in the backpackers campground in Yosemite Valley trying to decide how to spend the next day and a half waiting for my bus to leave the Valley. As I mulled about, patching 70 some odd miles of blisters and taking stock of my remaining food, three other groups of backpackers setup camp nearby. We were all close in age and it was not long before we were gathered around a picnic table swapping stories and sharing laughs in the Valley’s thick darkness. All the others were just beginning their trips in the park, which made me the odd man out. That is until Mathilde and Marion said that I should come with them because they brought too much food. The next morning I was in line boarding a bus bound for the trailhead.
Two hours later Tonya, the spunky bus driver, dumped us on the side of Tioga Road at the trailhead to Lukens Lake. The three of us plodded along under the weight of our packs. The morning passed as we bumbled through conversation in pieces of mixed french and english. The five years of french I half-heartedly studied in high school made a slow return. Regardless, we contemplated the shape of flowers, how many forest animals were watching us and what it truly means to be in love. They were both strong hikers but the altitude was doing its best to slow them. I appreciated their companionship after being so remote for the past week. Their native french rolling off their tongues like the endless swell of the ocean. It was nice. By mid afternoon we crested the barren flat known as Ten Lakes Pass and found ourselves looking over a massive range of mountains and the compact lake basin known as the Ten Lakes region.
We crashed down the much steeper face of the pass and found a campsite. I pitched my trusty green tent on the spongy ground beneath a big pine tree. Quickly, I went about my well established evening routine of stripping crusty socks from my feet, patching blisters and popping ibuprofen. Just down the hill from our encampment, the lake beckoned, promising emerald water to dive into. We tip-toed barefoot through pinecone minefields to a small peninsula jutting into the lake. Mathilde was the first to test the waters with a big toe and a bright “il fait froid!” Before I had time to think about how ‘froid’ I tossed my shirt off and took a dive.
I broke the surface for air greeted by jovial teeth chattering and giggles from Marion and Mathilde. Mathilde pointed expectantly toward a set of cliffs across the lake. Sorry mom. The rest of the afternoon was spent jumping from the rocks into the frigid water and climbing back out on the rocks until we were warm enough to jump again. I think any sane person can see the appeal of being at a high mountain lake on a bluebird day with two stunning girls from another country. Just let that sink in. The sun reluctantly started to slip behind the mountain above us signaling dinner time.
Now, Marion and Mathilde invited me along on their adventure with the stipulation that I would help them eat their extra food. I was expecting a ration of freeze-dried flavorless backpacker slog. As I went about the business of lighting a fire, out of Mathilde’s bear canister came a bell pepper, a tomato, mozzarella, marinara sauce, wine, and every kitchen tool but a farmhouse sink. No wonder the two girls had huffed and puffed all day long! On my miserable excuse of a fire, Marion proceeded to make the best wood fired camp calzone a mooch like me could ever imagine. Gordon Ramsey would have been impressed with her skill. With full bellies and wine-pink cheeks we were undoubtedly the happiest trio on earth.
Alpine glow filled the spaces between the trees and we remembered there was still a sunset to chase! We scrambled over granite boulders and boulder sized mosquitos to a big slab of rock that opened wide enough to see into a valley that caught the glowing colors of the evening. We did not say many words for a while; we let the wind in the trees do the talking. I finally broke the silence “lets grab our sleeping bags and pads from the tents and just cowboy it right here tonight.” The two girls looked at me like I had two heads for a moment until they realized we would be able to see the Milky Way and the Perseid meteor shower from that spot. Sometime later that night I snapped awake and fumbled for the light on my old watch. Five past midnight.
If you are curious..
Somewhere around 3am I pulled myself from my sleeping bag, packed my stuff and bid farewell to my two new friends. I walked by headlamp over Ten Lakes Pass, half guided by the milky way and often surprised by meteors still falling from the sky. Sang ridiculous songs and made admittedly strange noises to scare away any foraging bears. I made it to the road just at sunlight and a woman in a yellow VW bug took me to the bus terminal. I made the bus, three trains, a plane and avoided any trouble with important people back home.
