Ghosts in the Land of Adams, Muir, and Roosevelt - Part 1

That morning my legs moved slowly, twisting and stretching a bit in recovery from trekking in the footsteps of countless others in that magical place. As the morning sun beamed upon my face, my pen darted back and forth across the pages, trying to record it all while I was perched upon a ridge among the Sierra Nevada. I'd been in the park a couple days at that point and had hiked nearly two dozen miles scrambling over and towards some of the most humbling sites that my eyes had ever seen. My trusty pair of half-cab Vans had been getting me through so far, and I was confident they'd get me through my last day of revered exploring just as well.

On my first day, I'd sat out near the edge of Nevada Falls with my notebook looking down upon the valley. The wind was shifting around me every few moments up there so high, and with it often came the spray from the falls on my left, even though they'd managed to etch their way below, wearing down into the rocky faults one year at a time. Half Dome loomed over my opposite shoulder, watching over the valley like a turret tower that was part of the grandest castle on earth. The slabs of granite seemed so complete in that place, like broad brushstrokes of a classical painter. They were nearly unbroken for long spans, with only the occasional rift where a piece of stone had broken perhaps dozens of millennia before. The sun shone overhead, lighting everything spread out before me nearly perfectly, as if it were a priceless painting hanging in the Louvre.

The top of Nevada Falls

Half Dome taunted me a bit, a full four miles further up the valley. I wanted to climb its famous trail with the cables to the top, but a permit was required. My friend Patrick told me about his experience climbing it years earlier, and I had pondered undertaking the task ever since. Looking around then, I realized I'd need all my energy to take in the grandeur from that point at the top of the falls alone. If I'm blessed enough to return to Yosemite Valley one day, I'll be doing those cables with a partner.

On my way back down, I only then noticed just how massive a slab of granite along the trail really was, veiled with its sheet of water that made up the entirety of the Merced River at that point. The granite was smooth and wide for over ten yards, and even with the arid late summer weather, water ran fast and tight along half its width like a clear ribbon rippling down into a big pool of fresh water below. The ripples from it spread out in a nearly perfect semicircle, distributing everything evenly to continue its journey to the Merced River "lowlands." It was such a seemingly controlled flow of water on a scale that I'd never seen.

Half Dome peeking through the trees

Another thing I noticed on the way down was the fact that the trail had taken me along the route of the water much of the way, allowing me to observe how it had carved its own path through the various terrain, always finding a way. The drop of water off the falls was a bit more pronounced from the trail's perspective compared to other falls I would see in the park. The mist at its bottom transformed the life around it, leaving vibrant mosses on rocks and plants growing out of seemingly nothing but the rock itself. Green grass covered much of the space between rocks, even though more and more of the substrate, which it grasped, washed down into the valley below season after season. It made me elated to see the sheer volume of water sliding over Nevada Falls, and I hoped it was a sign of more water to come for California.

Cruising around the valley once and then heading out with the setting sun, I passed a spot with a sign about some presidential happenings in the valley. At that spot near Bridalveil Fall, President Theodore Roosevelt and naturalist John Muir camped there in 1903 and had spent a night up in a snowstorm on Glacier Point the previous evening. The trip had been arranged with no secret service and only two accompanying packers, giving the President and Muir three intimate days together to discuss the future of that great expanse of Mother Nature. Roosevelt was thrilled with his trip, telling reporters and park guests at a hotel that "We were in a snowstorm last night and it was just what I wanted" when asked about Glacier Point.

Teddy saw the beauty of that gem among the Sierra in many ways and was a driving force behind the incorporation Mariposa Grove and Yosemite Valley itself into the parks new boundaries to preserve the Giant Sequoias and granite grandeur for generations to come. Unfortunately, other forces were at work behind the scenes vying for timber, mineral, and agricultural interests, and they were able to get other park boundaries redrawn in at the same time the grove was added in 1906. This led to the exclusion of over 500 square miles that had previously been a part of the park.

Roosevelt and Muir riding along a road in the valley near Camp 19

The next day I was able to see Yosemite Valley itself from another vantage point. I parked in Yosemite Village and walked towards the trailhead, passing the famous Camp 4 near the edge of the valley floor. It was in that tent-only campsite that modern rock climbing was born after World War Two. Plenty of climbers cut their teeth in the little pine grove, sharing ideas and testing new gear designs. These days it looked much like it always had, I reckoned, with scattered campsites and accompanying gear strewn about, including tents, long ropes, and various metal tackle and cookware lying about.

Soon I was at the trail to the tallest waterfall on the continent, and I earnestly began the ascent through the pines, to the scrub brush, then the boulders and beyond. I covered a surprising array of terrain on the way up, and I was testing myself at the same time to see how I moved the 2,800 feet or so to the top. The beginning and end of the trail were smattered with switchbacks that had been there for the better part of 150 years. At one point, a "staircase" of rock was laid out before, me made up of tumbling boulders, looking almost like something the Romans could have left behind a long time before. It made me wonder what it had been like for those early visitors to the park without hiking shoes, water bottles, sunscreen, or convenient snacks that we now all utilize without a second thought most of the time. Trudging up there in the thick cotton or wool clothing of the day would have been an undertaking totally different from the one I was attempting that afternoon.

I arrived near the top about two hours later, after picking my way through a final array of boulders and faults that characterize the rugged high country around the valley rim. There was a sign that directed hikers to the falls overlook, Yosemite Point itself, and other trails that headed even higher still. I headed towards the overlook, eager to see the exact point where the water left the rock to drop 2,425 feet down to the bottom of the valley. I had to do a bit of searching to get down to the overlook itself since there was a surprising lack of people around for an afternoon in late July and the trail was hard to make out on account of the lack of any sediment or pathways around to show where folks had trodden before. It was all boulders and bare rock up there, besides the hardiest plants and pine trees with the strongest roots.

The view from Yosemite Falls overlook

In a few moments my sleuthing had paid off. I was down on a large stone platform right on the east side of the falls. The water was rushing in my ears, and only a small pine tree and a pipe railing lay between it and myself. As I glanced over, I could see that the water cascaded into a series of pools deep in the rock, as if someone had carved terraced hot tubs into it before the water shot out and off the ledge. It was evidence of the immense power of that water over the years, carving itself deeper and deeper down into the face of the rock. This was even more impressive when one takes into account the fact that Yosemite Falls is supplied completely from snowmelt runoff. By late summer, it often slows to a trickle or stops flowing completely.

I spent the better part of an hour out there on the secluded ledge, and in that span of time, not a single other person came down to the overlook. It was hard to finally peel myself away, knowing that moment up there was special, one that I'll likely never get again in this life. I appreciated how the mountains box in the small valley, isolating it just a bit from the busy world around us these days. It made me smile ear to ear knowing that such a place still exists as wild as it is, with its vibrant meadows and mighty river slowly meandering through the trees. Yosemite is a grand reminder of just how minuscule we really are on Mother Nature's timeline.

Getting ready to head back, I went over to the railing and glanced down at where water met sky one last time. It tumbled out of the last pool at the rocks edge and then slid down the face for a few feet before taking flight out over the valley. There in the mist, I could make out a small rainbow that hovered along the rock face below the falls, reflecting the sun's beams in colors of red, orange, green, and blue, just barely visible among the tranquil backdrop of Yosemite Valley.

I scrambled back up from the overlook and attempted to go stand on Yosemite Point to the west but reluctantly hesitated to go further when a couple coming from the opposite direction reported a bear up ahead. I deliberated for a bit before turning back around. On the way back, I crossed a timbered bridge above Yosemite Creek with Half Dome right in front of my face. Built with big natural beams, the bridge was a picturesque little thing perched over the creek and framed Half Dome well from the right perspective. From there I took one last look and then headed down the mountain, determined to go see the Ansel Adams gallery before it closed for the day.

The Tetons and the Snake River photographed by Ansel Adams

The Ansel Adams Gallery is a staple of Yosemite Village, and I had intended it to be the only man-made thing I was intent on exploring in Yosemite National Park. It showcases the work of one of the most important photographers of the twentieth century, and I was determined to pay homage to the man who had worked so tirelessly to preserve these wild places for the generations coming after him.

Yosemite captivated Ansel Adams from a young age, and when his parents gifted him a camera at the age of 14 in 1916, it began a lifelong love affair with the medium as well as the park itself. He began working in the park soon after and helped place Half Dome's famous cable system for the first time in 1919. In 1927, Adam's photo entitled Monolith, the Face of Half Dome put him on the map as a landscape photographer, and he received praise from many critics worldwide.

The next year, Adams married Virginia Best, the daughter of landscape painter Harry Cassie Best, who had a studio in the heart of the valley. Best had been a mentor for Adams and let him practice on his piano when Adams was still trying to become a classical pianist between photography assignments. Virginia inherited the studio a few years later, and it became a place for Adams to display his own work. The Adams lived in Yosemite for years and raised their children Michael and Ann there, who went on to keep the gallery running and kept it in the family to this day.

Ansel went on to dive headfirst into commercial landscape photography and photographed many national parks nationwide, even helping to make the case for the formation of Kings Canyon National Park in the 1930's. His images were shown to Congress and helped demonstrate the need for the preservation of the immaculate canyon. Additionally, Adams took assignments from large companies as well, including IBM, Kodak, and Life magazine. While being mostly known for his photographs of grand landcapes, Adams also took many transformative photos of people and normal life as well, many of which have been overlooked until recent years.

In 1943, Adams accepted an assignment to document the Manzanar War Relocation Center on the arid eastern side of the Sierra Nevada mountains. One of Adam's parents longtime employees, Harry Oye, a man of Japanese descent, was picked up by the authorities when in poor health and sent to a camp in Missouri. This hit Adams hard, so he jumped at the chance to photograph the camp and even included an essay about the place and people he photographed. His work from the Center was eventually incorporated into a book by U.S. Camera that made the San Francisco Chronicle's bestseller list in the spring of 1945.

The Ansel Adams Gallery as it stands today

In the gallery, prints of Adam's work were displayed all around in an array of sizes, along with some art from other modern local artists. The place was packed, and I was surprised to see some original works on the walls available for sale. I picked up a few small things and thumbed through some of the books available. During my time there, I realized that I've often placed historical value mostly on the words of the great minds who've come before us, but the visual arts matter just as much. In a time when travel took weeks or longer, many influential people in Washington, DC, and beyond simply didn't have enough time available to be able to travel and see these things for themselves. The work of countless artists and photographers is what was able to turn the tide towards preservation for many of these amazing places we have under public ownership in the United States.

After seeing the gallery, I wandered around Yosemite Valley for a bit before heading back to find a site outside the park. As the sun began its descent, people pulled in their tubes from the Merced River, a calm meandering body of water down among the pines and meadows compared to its violent 2,500-foot drop less than a mile away. Deer crept out from the edges of the forest to munch on the green grasses and gave no care to the throngs of tourists packing up for the day. The contrast between that perfect lush valley and the stark granite cliffs all around was a remarkable clash of titanic beauty, and not something I shall soon forget.

Yosemite Valley

The grandeur of the falls and the impossibility of my surroundings left a smile on my face for hours that day after the fact. I got back to my camper and packed up inside, securing anything that I had left out before the hike to Yosemite Falls. Then I began my trek south, winding through a quiet, empty part of the park between the valley and Wawona. The earth fell away to the west, giving me a grand view of the sun as it set over the Sierra Nevada. So far I had done a decent job of maximizing my time in the park those days and was looking forward to doing so again the following day. It would be my last on account of the reservation system now in place, but I was glad it was at least a bit regulated to give those who were exploring all the trails a better experience overall. It was quiet that evening, with nothing but the sun and me cruising down the highway, Joe Walsh blasting over the speakers, and the occasional squirrel scampering up a tree.

Sources:

Runte, A. (n.d.). Yosemite — The Embattled Wilderness (Chapter 6). National Parks Service. https://www.nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/rusticarch/chap6.htm

Photographer, S. P. (1903). President Theodore Roosevelt and John Muir riding down Yosemite Valley near Camp 19, followed by Archie Leonard (behind John Muir) and Charles Leidig (behind T. R.), rangers. Original taen by Southern Pacific Photographer. photograph.

Alinder, M. S. (n.d.). Ansel Adams. National Parks Service. https://www.nps.gov/yose/learn/historyculture/ansel-adams.htm

Congress.gov. (n.d.). Collection: Ansel Adams’s Photographs of Japanese-American Internment at Manzanar. The Library of Congress. https://www.loc.gov/collections/ansel-adams-manzanar/about-this-collection/

U.S. Department of the Interior. (n.d.). Yosemite History Center. National Parks Service. https://www.nps.gov/yose/learn/historyculture/historycenter.htm