Visiting Yosemite was always a dream of mine. Not just a visit to Half Dome or the Yosemite Valley. I wanted to go to places where tourists did not flood the area. It was around 1996. I planned to visit in June after the snow melt was more advanced.

My goal was a 10-mile backcountry solo hike. I would carry everything with me. I spent weeks researching my course, laying out my equipment, and shopping at REI for supplies. Once I had the logistics done, I needed to pick a date. I want to go when there is snow, but the trail would be passable. I prefer a date in mid-June, so I cleared the trip with my boss and set out to buy tickets. Yosemite was my first vacation as an adult. I was 33. It was also where I planned to die.

I worked for a wireless engineering firm, and one of our four biggest clients was just south of Los Angeles in Cerritos. Two events threw my plans into disarray. My friend Bonnie was marrying her long-time beau in San Francisco that May. I was able to change my flights to accommodate the wedding. I was looking forward to seeing her. However, about a week before the trip, my supervisor called me into his office and said I needed to be in LA the week before the wedding. I reminded him about my vacation plans, and he said I needed to work around my personal goals and that he would pay for the tickets to get me out there and back when I wanted to go. Win-win for me.

I attended the wedding. It was terrific, and Bonnie and Don started on a beautiful new life. They adopted a child. It was a fairy tale story until years later when Don suddenly passed away while surfing. RIP brother.

I entered the park at the Hetch Hetchy entrance in the northwest corner. It was earlier than planned, so the snow melt could have been better. The park ranger at the station suggested I hike it with someone. Who, I did not have a hiking partner. I explained to him my hiking experience, including 500 miles of the Appalachian Trail. I had great equipment. I was a former Boy Scout with lots of expertise. I was ready to do it. The first bit of advice I received was from the park ranger. “Why are you going into the bear country alone?” I needed this hike. It was not that many years after the Navy and not after a personal trauma that I still found difficult to process. I wanted to go, and I wanted to litterally go.

I bearproofed myself, gear, and rental car and headed out. I was a bit hungover from the partying at the wedding before, so I wanted to find shelter within a mile of the trailhead to make camp and crash. At least, that was the plan.

As I head on the trail, it is rock, a bit covered with snow, and the temperature is in the 50s, but it looks like an easy, pretty crossing. I wear a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and the weather is brisk in the 50-degree range. I start my trek.

I get about a mile into the hike and feel pretty burned out from the day before, but I push on. I come upon what my map showed me to be a stream. Stream my ass. This stream was far more of a small raging river. I can’t say I was not a little scared. I knew I had no choice but to cross. It was five feet across, and I figured I could quickly jump that. I could not do it with my backpack, so I tossed it over and jumped. No problem. I threw the pack, which landed on the bank and slowly rolled into the stream. I panicked and jumped in after it. I was swept down the creek right behind the pack but was able to grab hold pretty quickly. I then grabbed the long grass hanging over the edge, put my pack closer to the bank where I could grab sturdier roots, and pulled myself and the backpack out of the water. I lost an opportunity.

Once I was in dryland, I changed out of the wet clothes. Thankfully, my boots and pack were waterproof, so there was no problem. I still needed to be a mile from the trailhead, and I figured I was only about half of a mile, so I trudged along. When I hit the one-mile mark, I wanted to pitch the tent, bearproof my food, and crawl into my sleeping bag. I did just that.

Part II is coming soon.

A good night of sleep clears the head. I was 33, single, not dating, and I had just gone to an emotional wedding. My failure in relationships was entirely my fault. I struggled with a traumatic event that happened to me when I was 19. Yosemite allowed me to go through with a plan if I could bring myself to it. I was miserable. I was angry and depressed. I did not want to go on. I knew I should seek outside help, but I was too embarrassed to talk about my problems. I was hoping the solo hike would give me some clarity. So I hiked. I climbed. Up I went to 11500 feet. I was alone most of the time. This older day hiker passed me so fast that he practically knocked me over.
I also ran into a “Glamping” group. They come in on horseback with all their fancy tents set up for them and a chef to cook their meals. How precious. The mountain was on fire, and signs warned not to report it. The views and the air were fabulous. I felt like I was in an element I felt comfortable in. My stressful job was still there, but I was away from it, if ever so briefly. This journey was a 10-day hike. I planned for months. I shopped at REI and a local camping store. I had the boots, the pack, food, water treatment, etc. I was not a novice hiker. I spent years in the Boy Scouts, camping and hiking darn near every weekend. I have also hiked several hundred miles of the Appalachian Trail.
What I should have prepared for was the altitude. I hiked slower each day than I trained for and, therefore, less distance each day. Fortunately, I built in a shortcut/cutoff. That cut my trip short by a day and gave me time to drive to the basin. I am so glad I did not plan that as my vacation spot. It was mobbed with tourists. I tried to get a shower, but the lines were epic. I could drive to some typical must-see places like Half Dome. So I did just that. All in all, I had a fantastic time away.
One morning, I was down by a river, heating some water. I look up, and a bear is across the river. It is not a deep river, perhaps 3-4 inches deep, but relatively broad. I sat there and watched it and remained still, quiet and calm. I don’t think it ever noticed me. It was a stunning sight to watch. Nature was out for me to see the whole trip. Animals, trees, and little creatures were abundant.
Maybe connecting with nature helped me at that time steer away from suicide. I’ve made two attempts since then. I am new to sobriety, so that will help as well. I thank the Veterans Administration for being there for me when I most needed them. They saved my life. They got me sober. I also want to thank Dan, who was there through thick and thin when no one else was. I burned too many bridges and lost too many friends to expect anything else. Being persona non grata is tough. I don’t recommend it.