Hiking With Nature Alone

When I hike by myself I’m not alone. Nature goes with me.

Nature is a companion who walks at my pace, and hides surprises along the trail, like yellow fungus on the backside of a tree. Sometimes nature talks so loudly that I can’t hear myself think, like when I’m standing at the bottom of a waterfall and feel the earth vibrate from the pounding water. Sometimes it murmurs so quietly that I have to get down on my knees and lean in close to hear what it’s saying.

Hiking in the Rain

Today is a day of rest for my body. The physical exertions of yesterday's dawn-to-dusk hike wore me out. Generally the day after any hike longer than 10 hours is a rest day, or a day of a few short hikes, time to let the body recoup and stretch its muscles. 

So far I detect no serious tightness in my legs or hot spots on my feet. Although my mind wants to go on another long hike and see more mountain scenery, today’s sporadic rain dilutes my drive and encourages me to saunter around slowly and observe the details of nature more closely. 

This is also a good time to catch up on housekeeping chores in the tent, as I tend to dump things in when I return late from one hike, reset my backpack for the next day’s activity, and take off at daybreak.

Old Wawona Stagecoach Road

There are special areas in Yosemite that continue to resonate in me because of what I experienced there. I return to them whenever I can. If you want solitude, there are many old, forgotten trails that are away from the summer crowds. This is the account of one hike I took on the Old Wawona Road.

Mid morning I’m at the Wawona Tunnel parking lot. A dozen cars are here and people are lined up along the stone wall taking pictures of the stunning view over the forests and up the seven-mile-long granite canyon of Yosemite Valley. In front of us are El Capitan, Bridalveil Fall, and Half Dome in the distance.

I go across the parking lot and start up the Pohono Trail. Twenty minutes later I reach the junction with the Old Wawona Stagecoach Road. Normally I would turn left and follow that trail along the southern rim of the valley to Stanford Point, Bridalveil Fall, Taft Point, Sentinel Dome, and on to Glacier Point.

At a Wandering Pace

I remembered a John Muir quote incorrectly. I thought he said that nothing could be seen of nature when we’re moving at 40 miles an hour because everything becomes a bewildering blur. 

When people arrive in Yosemite today, after driving 60-70 miles an hour for four hours across the Central Valley, up through the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and into the valley, they do tend to stagger out of their cars dazed. At those speeds, the landscape has been a blur. Trees flash by the windows as we focus on staying on the winding road. We would be able to see much more if we slowed down to 40, but Muir didn’t think this is enough. 

I thought Muir was berating people who arrived in the valley by stagecoach, zipping over the new dirt roads, or taking the train to El Portal at the breakneck speed of 40 miles an hour instead of taking their time by riding horses over trails. Muir himself took things even slower by taking several weeks to walk the 200 miles from Oakland. (Wendell Berry wrote an insightful essay on adjusting to the pace of the nature in “An Entrance to the Woods.”) Yesterday I ran across this quote again. It doesn’t say 40 miles an hour.

If You Have One Day in Yosemite

Right now, early October, is the best time to hike in Yosemite – day hikes, long hikes, one hour hikes in the morning or afternoon. For the next ten days, temperatures are expected to be in the high 70s during the day and in the mid-50s at night, although both will start sliding a couple of degrees cooler every few days. It will be dry because the rainy season hasn’t yet started, and I’m hoping for a really wet winter because there’s been a long drought. There aren’t many people in the valley now and it’s really quiet.

You could hike for several weeks and not cover all the trails in and around the valley, but if you only have one full day in the valley, and you want to see a lot, this is what I’d recommend. 

Start off before dawn in Leidig Meadow and watch the stars give way to the orange and yellow colors of dawn. You will see deer and probably a few coyotes. Sunrise is at 7 a.m. and sunset at 6:30 p.m. so you have a maximum of 11 ½ hours to hike. As soon as it is light enough to see the trail, maybe 6:30-45 a.m., head for the top of Upper Yosemite Fall, pausing at Columbia Rock halfway up the wall to take in the view, as well as to catch your breath. 

How Not to Die When Hiking

            The most important decision I make when hiking in the wilderness concerns how many risks to take.

            If I stay on the trail, odds are good that I will survive. And I’ll survive if I have enough water for the trip and I’m physically in shape to hike up and down mountains for hours on end, and if the trail is clearly marked even when it goes over bare stone so that I don’t go off in the wrong direction, and the weather doesn’t change and turn beastly hot or frigidly cold, and it doesn’t snow and hide the trail, or freezing rain makes everything so slick that it’s impossible to continue on or go back over the ice. And I’ll survive if I don’t surprise a hungry bear or mountain lion, don’t trip and sprain an ankle, or fall down a ravine and have a boulder pin me down so that I have to cut off my hand in order to survive, like Aron Ralston, the guy portrayed in the movie. These are the common, everyday cautions.

            But I ratchet up the risk by pushing on the limits of my luck and doing things like hiking alone, which the rangers say never to do. Yet I do because I haven’t found anyone willing to get up before dawn, hike for twelve hours, eat fistfuls of nuts and raisins, and come back to camp at dusk. And I’ve discovered that I relish the quiet of a long hike by myself.  Forgotten matters rise to the surface from my subconscious that I think about, and I listen to the woods, the rivers, the birds, and the wind flowing through 200-foot-tall Sugar Pines, making them sing. When I’m in nature’s world, I like to pay attention to it. If someone were hiking with me, we’d talk and I would be thinking about what to say next. We’d be listening to each other, not to the outdoors. While this is valuable, it’s not what I go into nature to find. 

Alone in Nature

We aren’t alone when we hike by ourselves.  If we respect nature, it will be a companion who walks alongside us.  It will share itself with us, sometimes conversing so loudly in a waterfall that we can’t hear ourselves think, and sometimes murmuring so quietly in a creek that we have to get down on our knees to hear what it is saying.

We don’t have to hike very far to feel nature’s presence.  We can sit and let nature come to us.  After half an hour, the birds and animals will set their caution aside and resume what they were doing.  As we watch them go about their daily lives, we discover the many ways that we are kin. And when I am tired and silent, I lean back into nature’s arms and listen to the world we share.

We can also hike on and on without ever stopping until our senses overload from all the beauty and the endless discoveries and we fall mute in ecstasy.

When we begin to hike, we head off on a trail eager to discover what it will show us.  When the trail starts to head up a mountain, we take another trail to stay under the trees, or along the river, or in the meadow, unless, of course, we want the challenge of going up the steep side of the mountain.  We pause when we want to linger in a setting where we feel a presence, then move until we feel drawn to stop again.

Nature meets us where we are and guides us further down the path into our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.  Nature also challenges us by bringing mysteries for us to ponder by the campfire at night.

When we listen to nature, we hear our own wilderness respond.