Last Dance with White Wolf: Day 2

Most people (rightly) think that camping in the wilderness is a great escape from the clatter and clamor of traffic and crowds, and a chance to enjoy the peace and quiet of nature.  But in my case, I’m camping next to a river where the sound of rushing water doesn’t turn off at night.  I’m not complaining, but I hadn’t realized how difficult it can be to get to sleep with that level of white noise. Despite being exhausted, I was still restless throughout the night and never got into a deep sleep.  Another problem was that my thighs never stopped screaming at me, even after the Advil.  The prospect of getting up and walking around was as appealing as rolling naked through a thorn patch, but I knew I needed to get going.

I drank 4 liters of water on the hike down, and I was still burning through a lot. I drank another liter that I filtered the night before and had some breakfast mix. I have to admit, filtering water is my least favorite part of camping. I hate juggling the hoses, water bottle, caps and bags while bending over the river.  I take a camp sink with me, a flexible 10 liter bag that I can fill with river water and bring back to camp. From that I can get water for cooking and washing as well as filter for drinking. This reduces some of the inconvenience, but it’s still a chore I don’t enjoy. But hey, I’m in the Yosemite Wilderness and it’s a beautiful day, so I can’t let little things bother me.

I woke up around 5:30 (dawn), but didn’t get up until about 8:30. I had planned on fishing about 2 miles of the river over the next 3 days, but I wasn’t eager to do a lot of hiking this morning. I did a little housekeeping around camp and dug out my fishing gear. I did some stretching to loosen up my stiff legs and it seemed to help a little, but each step was still painful. The Tuolumne is not dammed in this area, so the flows vary widely throughout the year. This means lots of rocks and wood debris border the river, and you have to be careful to avoid turning an ankle or falling on your face. I didn’t have full confidence in my knee, which meant I needed to be even more cautious when boulder-hopping near the river.

I walked down the trail about half a mile and stopped by the river. I sat down on a log to rest my legs and noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye. In all time I’ve spent outdoors, I’ve never seen a rattlesnake. Before today.  This guy had already claimed the log and was lounging in the sun.  He was only about 3 feet long, and he was a lot more afraid of me than his reputation would suggest. I snapped this picture and then left him alone. I moved about fifty yards down and ate lunch.

I have to admit my heart and head really weren’t in to fishing, which means I must have really been in poor condition.  I was in an area that I had marked on the GPS as a hotspot in a previous trip. The water went from a riffle into a deep pool that bordered a granite wall.  I knew there were fish here, but getting them to bite in the middle of the day was far from a sure thing. I tried a few casts in this area.

I got a few strikes on the surface, but didn’t hook any.  After a few casts, they stopped showing interest so I tied on a nymph and tried dragging the bottom.

It was noon, and the sun was pretty intense. It was sapping my energy quickly.  I decided to move downstream where I could find more shade. It was a spot I had marked as a waypoint during a previous trip.  A house-sized boulder diverted the river into a deep pool and counter current where trout liked to hang out.  The water was clear enough to see fish 9-10 feet deep. Reaching them with a fly was a different challenge.  I switched reels to my sinking line and dragged some streamers through the pool.  It definitely got their attention, and I even got a brief hookup. But he shook it off before I got him landed. Fly fishing can be about reflexes and attention to detail, neither of which was very sharp for me right then. I had only been out for about 2 hours, but I was already tired and hot. I decided to head back to camp, cool off and rest.

The cold water ‘spa’ I discovered the day before felt especially good in the heat of the day. I could feel the heat escape from my back and neck as the water flowed over it.  I washed out my clothes and hung them on a makeshift clothesline to dry.  Then I went into the tent for ‘naked time’. Oh, don’t act so shocked, you have naked time every day you just call it a shower. No showers in the wilderness and my pants stay on in the river ‘spa’.  Conventional camping wisdom suggests you spend some time each day without clothes so your skin has an opportunity to dry out. But nothing can ruin a weekend trip to the wilderness like a middle-aged white guy limping around the woods naked, so for the sake of other hikers I quarantined myself to my tent.   OK, it wasn’t really naked time, just minimal clothing time. And it was really just a nap. (And no, I don’t have any pictures to share.) Some of the best fishing happens at dusk, so I thought if I got some rest and an early dinner maybe I could get back on the river in the evening.  But it felt good to relax, and I wasn’t really feeling a strong urge to do any more hiking after my nap. Instead I gathered up some firewood and decided to leave the fishing until tomorrow.

I tried a new entree for dinner: Mountain House Noodles with Chicken.  It was quite good, right up there with the spaghetti.  I also had some more Hammer recovery drink mix, which I hoped would help with the cramps in my legs. I went to bed early, around 7:00 pm.  Sunset wasn’t until 8:30, but the sun had retreated behind the mountains by 6:30.  The air stayed warm after dark, and I used my sleeping bag for a pillow for most of the night. I also left the rain cover off the tent so I could see the stars. There was little chance of rain, and without the cover the air flows better through the screening.  I use a Mountain Hardwear Lightwedge 2, which I like a lot. It’s marketed as a 2-person tent, but I can’t really think of anyone who would be comfortable in there with me except Gus.  For those who don’t know, Gus is my 10mm Glock 20 pistol.  Gus can bore holes through a 4×4 cleaner than a drill press, and I take him along on these wilderness trips just in case we get bum-rushed by some rabid bear or mountain lion.

As of February, 2010, loaded guns are allowed in national parks.  This reverses a longstanding and strictly enforced policy forbidding firearms in Yosemite.  However, Yosemite still claims a rule that ‘firearms may not be discharged for any reason’.  If you find it difficult to reconcile the right to carry a loaded gun with the prohibition of using it, you are not alone. I can understand why park rangers want to discourage campers from bringing guns to their campsites in crowded Yosemite Valley. It doesn’t take too much imagination to envision a group of liquored up rednecks deciding to avenge Pearl Harbor day by storming the Japanese tourist tents in spots 45-52 in the upper pines campground.  Frankly, I’d rather not be that close to trigger-happy-campers myself. They don’t always make good decisions.  But I don’t think the ‘rule’ forbidding discharge of weapons would keep me from defending myself in a life or death situation, and it’s hard to imagine the park rangers prosecuting someone for such an offense especially in the back-country.   In reality, I stand a much better chance of breaking a leg or drowning than getting attacked by a bear or mountain lion in Yosemite. All the same, it’s easier it is to relax in the tent when Gus is on night watch.

I was in for the night, and day 2 was a wrap. The agenda for the next day included fishing, fishing and fishing, with some fishing in between.