In coming to Yosemite this weekend, our number one target was the mighty Half Dome. To accomplish our objective, we rise at 4:30AM and begin to break camp. Amazing how cold it is this time of morning when you crawl out of the sleeping bag. We pack up, grab a bite, and begin the thirty minute drive to the Yosemite Valley.
By 7:00AM, we are underway on what would become one of the most challenging things I had ever done. We use some stones to make our way across a small stream and to the main trail. With water and rations packed, we begin the long trail which circles around and then ascends the back side of Half Dome.
After a couple of miles of relatively easy hiking, we reach Vernal Falls, which comes jutting out of a sheer cliff like a spear from the hand of the mighty Achilles. At this point the torture begins. A set of steps, hundreds and hundreds of them, have been carved into the adjacent granite face. And so, we begin to climb. My left knee has been weak since a high school soccer injury, and these steps put it to the test.
Finally, we reach an area where the trail seems to level out again, but the damage is done. My knee is already starting to ache and with only four miles traversed. I convince myself to ignore it. A short time later we reach the Nevada Fall, similar in appearance to Vernal, but no less spectacular. We stop to take a short break.
At about seven miles in, we begin to gain elevation at an exhausting rate. My view of the Eastern shoulder of Half Dome is somewhat worrisome, because I can see many more stone steps. I fortify my resolve and push onward, telling myself that I will reach the top at all costs.
My knee continues to be a source of great pain as we reach the cables. At about 55 degrees, the ascent up the side of Half Dome would be impossible without the 800 or so foot span of steel cables to sue as hand grips. A pile of gloves reminds Jason and me to pull ours out of our packs. I believe that each one of the hundred or so people climbing the cables realizes that one false move would surely lead to their death, as the drop-off on either side would prove fatal.
After about 45 minutes of cable-climbing, we reach the top. I head for the edge where I can look down 4,000 feet, nearly a mile, to Yosemite Valley and our starting point. I truly feel as though I have accomplished something by climbing this peak, named for its geometric shape. From the highest point, I look over the edge of a sheer cliff into the valley, a mile below. Even after skydiving, this sends shivers down my spine.
We spend an hour or so at the top, reveling in our accomplishment and then begin the trip back. Coming down the cables is far more frightening than going up them, but we eventually make it. My need progressively gets worse until I decide to tie a ripped t-shirt around it. Jason fashions a walking stick for me along the way, but by the time we reach my truck, I can barely move my leg. I look back up and have no doubt that the pain only makes the experience mean that much more. In total, we hiked 18 miles with an elevation gain of 4,800 feet. This hike is not for the faint of heart, but has reminded me that willpower can overcome any obstacle.
My friend and fellow adventurer, Jason and I set our sights on Yosemite. We had both visited the National Park before, but were determined to conquer it on this campaign.
Before setting up our camp, we took a short hike through the Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. Although I have seen the behemoths before in the Calveras Grove, they never seem to disappoint. The magnitude of these specimens is comparable, but the grove has a unique feel to it.
Many trees catch our attention such as the Fallen Monarch, the Bachelor and Three Graces, which posses the placement of a certain famous painting based upon mythology of the Trojan War, and the California Tunnel Tree, which has been cut in such a way as to allow the trail to pass through its trunk. The patriarch of this grove, however, is the Grizzly Giant. Like something from Tolkien’s mythical Lothlorien, this tree rises from a semi-charred area to cast its giant shadow on the ground below. At a height of about 80 feet up, a large branch splits off from the trunk. This branch, however, has a diameter of nearly seven feet; larger than many giant redwoods . . . surreal!
After our short hike, we return to the Wawona Campsite to set up the tent and prepare dinner. While Jason collects some firewood, I prepare some skewers for our bratwurst. A good campfire is one of those precious memories that we cherish for a lifetime, and this is one of those. The crackling embers, the smoky taste to our meal, the incredibly warmth emanating from the flame all add to the experience.
Later that night, I venture out of the tent into a nearby clearing. A glance skyward reveals a majestic view of the stars, unparalleled in my travels. Their number appears to be endless, as if infinity has been demonstrated. After gazing for a short while longer, I return to the tent and enjoy a peaceful rest.
My friends Matt and Rachel have been trying for years to get me down to Rachel’s family’s beach house. And this year, all of the pieces seemed to fall into place. I decided to take some vacation time and join them there over Labor Day week.
Once I arrived, I could not have been more sorry for not visiting this place sooner. Gulf Shores is a tropical paradise. The house, which I stayed at, ahs an unobstructed view of the white, sandy beach, which it sits no more than a hundred yards away from. The bluish-green waves roll in carrying a warm breeze from the Gulf of Mexico.
Lounging here on the beach is one of the most relaxing experiences of my life. I feel at peace here as I pick up a handful of the plentiful sand and watch as it slowly slips through my fingers. Unlike my experiences in Houston, where the water was brown and murky, the ocean here is very clear and amazingly warm. The gentle sound of the waves crashing into the shore only adds to the serenity I feel in this place.
I’ve always thought of the Las Vegas strip as the locale of the greatest Saturday night public parties. That is until I stepped foot on Bourbon Street for the first time. The only relevant analogy I can think of would be that of a parade of army ants marching to restock the nest’s cupboards. However, the human traffic on this small street in the French Quarter of New Orleans is not marching towards food, but marching to the next place that catches their attention with the promise of a good time.
The street itself is no more than a two-lane street with relatively wide sidewalks. The main area of the constant festival of Bourbon Street is concentrated in one area approximately 8 blocks long, but tends to spill out over onto the cross streets and even the streets running parallel to Bourbon, within the Quarter. This entire area, meaning practically every street, is like something frozen in time. Many buildings are two or three hundred years old and remain original in their outward appearance by city ordinance. Unlike the majority of the shop’s original businesses, nearly all have been converted into eateries, taverns, novelty shops, or clubs.
The French Quarter beats to the rhythm of its own distinct drum. The mix of cultures here is quite startling. From the Voodoo culture of Haiti and Jamaica to remnants of culture from the French courts in Paris, this place is alive.
Food, like every other aspect of this combined culture has elements of each parent culture, but has over time, developed into the harmony of Cajun and Creole cuisines. I have tried dishes like fried alligator, steamed crab claws, beef brisket, Jamaican jerk chicken, Cajun seafood gumbo to name a few. All have a distinctive flavoring and are infused with part of the love that people have for food.
As I have read a number of Ann Rice’s Vampire Chronicles over the years, I was a bit excited to have the opportunity to participate in a “vampire tour” through the French Quarter. Much of her interest and inspiration for her books came from local legends, which are told by the very knowledgeable tour guides as the group looks on at the houses where some of these strange, unexplained murders took place. While the guides do not try to sway your belief in vampires one way or the other, they simply end the tour by telling of how their own beliefs have become a little more open-minded since researching the rich and speculatively-supernatural history of this great city.
