A blue feather caught my eye, so I stooped to pick it up and continued down the trail, twirling it between my fingers. I was temporarily entranced by its simple beauty, which is how I came within striking distance of one extremely unsociable rattlesnake. The hissing of a hyperactive rattle burst into my consciousness, and I jumped back when I saw the diamond-shaped head cocked and ready to strike. As usual, that was too close. The intolerant creature glared balefully at me from the side of the trail, then turned and slinked down into the brush, giving its tail one last violent shake before it disappeared. Well, I didn’t know there were rattlesnakes in Yosemite National Park, but I do now.
I paused near a bend in the trail to collect my wits and take a sip of water. As I rested, a new animal poked its head around the corner to take a look at the backcountry visitor – a baby black bear. The curious cub lifted its nose in my direction a few times before becoming brave enough to venture forward a few steps on its oversized paws. Eventually, it thought better of itself and retreated around the bend. I set down my water bottle and swiftly tip-toed to the corner with my camera, but the cub had already vanished!
Searching failed to determine where the baby bear could have hidden so quickly, but it made me aware of the many features along the trail that could conceal an angry mother. In the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, nearly every tree and boulder was large enough for a bear to hide behind, and there were other cubs I encountered that day which probably had parents foraging nearby.
Despite the dark clouds gathering overhead and the ripped-apart pine cones which spoke of greater dangers, I was thoroughly enjoying my journey up the canyon. Rounded towers of granite rimmed the valley, their faces chipped away by frost and thaw over millennia until the mountains looked like half-finished ice sculptures. Streaks of orange and black minerals dripped down from cracks in the rock. And waterfalls poured their contents into a succession of swimming holes along the valley floor.
Only one other factor was disturbing my enjoyment of Yosemite’s grandiose scenery: the pain emanating from my two big toes. 4,000 feet of descent on the first day of this backpacking trip had jarred my toenails to the point where they felt half-unglued. I failed to notice the problem until the following morning, when the slightest stubbing would leave me practically hopping on one foot. I had to flex my toes sometimes to make sure my toenails were still attached. Bandages helped, but I had to be cautious; I’ve never lost a toenail in all my years of hiking, and I wasn’t about to start now.
A late afternoon thunderstorm caught me before I could find a suitable campsite, and I spent too much time beneath trees and overhangs, getting chillier by the minute. I found a dry spot to pitch my tent, but my reward of a refreshing pre-dinner dip in the closest swimming hole was a disappointing and unbearably frigid chore. Still, when the clouds cleared and my blood rewarmed, I realized that I had stumbled upon a remarkably scenic campsite, complete with my own personal waterfall. It was sweet consolation to a weary hiker with aching feet.
