Ghosts in the Land of Adams, Muir and Roosevelt - Part 2

That morning I sipped a cup of coffee and reading while enveloped by trees and teetering on a ridgeline as the sun ascended from the east. The night before, I had driven down past the famous Wawona Hotel and Mariposa Grove so I could find a campsite outside the boundary. Heading back north now, the Yosemite History Center in Wawona caught my eye, so I spun the steering wheel to steer my home towards some open space. Getting out, I inhaled the fresh morning air and appreciated the cool breeze it rode, savoring it while it lasted before the hot July sun peaked over the pines for the day.

Spotting a long shed and a flash of color, I wandered over and was greeted with a lineup of old wagons of all types and sizes. I'd come to learn that they were the predominant form of transportation across the vast park before internal combustion engines took over around 1915. Some were simple wagons with just a wooden bench up front, and others were intricate 5-row behemoths with plush upholstery, painted up brilliant red on top with golden yellow running gear and wheels beneath. Even the axles and chassis had pinstriping with bands of red and black painted on the wheel hubs. The early visitors who made the long trek out to the park were riding in style without a doubt.

Behind the shed lay an unassuming gray barn surrounded by a quaint maze of sturdy paddocks. Upon closer inspection, I learned that the barn was originally a blacksmith shop that repaired wagons and stages for the Yosemite Stage and Turnpike Company. Founded by Henry Washburn in 1877, the company operated nearly a dozen daily stages and maintained a herd of nearly 700 horses to service all the stage lines throughout the park. Visitors coming into the park from Merced would stop overnight at Washburn's Wawona Hotel before making the eight hour trip to Yosemite Valley the next day. Travel to Yosemite used to involve a massive time commitment, but I imagine it made the moments of grandeur that much more epic after having to deal with the hours of bumps and clouds of dust.

Beside the barn, spanning over the south fork of the Merced River, was the largest covered bridge I've ever laid eyes upon. Built in the mid-1800s, Henry Washburn purchased the bridge uncovered and finished a road from Wawona to Yosemite Valley that was sitting incomplete at the time. Around 1880, as traffic increased, Washburn covered the bridge, possibly because he wanted to mimic covered bridges he'd grown up seeing in his home state of Vermont. The bridge remained a vital link for transportation in the park well into the automobile era and was crossed by countless critters and people alike.

Ambling over the bridge, I was greeted with a bit of a ghost town surprise that I was not expecting to see in a national park. An array of historical buildings was laid out in a rough circle, sporting a variety of styles that showcased the craftsmanship and care that their builders put into them. Constructed in 1910, the Yosemite Transportation office was one of the most striking examples of this, with its Tudor-style windows and external log beams. Between the beams, the walls were made up of small saplings arranged in a herringbone pattern of sorts, something I had not seen before among all the ghost towns I've explored. When passengers arrived at the office from afar, they could arrange transportation deeper into the park, as well as various overnight accommodations if they had not done so already.

Yosemite Transportation Office

Another building with a storied past was Degnan's Bakery, originally located in Yosemite Valley connected to the Degnan's home. John and Bridget Degnan originally came to the valley in the mid-1880's from Ireland with their infant son. As the years went on, John and Bridget had seven more children, so Bridget began baking loaves of bread to sell to park visitors off her front porch in order to keep the bills paid and the kids busy. Eventually, Bridget was baking 50 loaves a day, and business was booming. By 1898, the Degnans were able to build a larger home and the bakery pictured below, allowing Bridget to accommodate a large commercial Dutch oven made out of brick. This increased her capacity to 400 loaves a day and cemented the Degnan family as a Yosemite staple. A larger bakery was constructed in 1958 by Bridget's children and still stands today as Degnan's Kitchen in Yosemite Village.

Degnan's Bakery

Another immigrant who fell in love with Yosemite in the early days was Chris Jorgenson. According to the national park service, after visiting for the first time just before the dawn of the 20th century, Jorgenson built a cabin and studio along the banks of the Merced River, near present-day Sentinel Bridge. A painter by trade, he immediately became enamored with the valley and figured he had to stick around and try to translate the vast beauty to canvas. A fan of plein air painting, Jorgenson could be spotted around the park with his easel and umbrella, putting his watercolors on canvas there for the next twenty years.

Jorgenson's wife, Angela, was also a painter, and the couple, along with many others, were a vital part of the early days of the park. Painters and artists of all kinds attempted to be the translators for the natural wonder that is Yosemite, in order to show folks back east who couldn't make the trip just how special and worthy of preservation it was. Others like Harry Cassie Best, Thomas Hill, and Chiura Obata helped to capture the beauty in their own way, and their influence even crossed oceans to draw foreign visitors to the park to experience its splendor.

Jorgenson's Cabin and Studio

On the circle's very edge stood a small cabin, seemingly normal and insignificant, but its owner was anything but. George Anderson was a Scottish immigrant who came to Yosemite before most in 1868. Anderson was a blacksmith and trail builder by trade in the warmer months, and his tenure in the park was right around the time that many famous trails were in the midst of construction, such as the Yosemite Falls trail. One obstacle that had not been conquered was the mighty feat of Half Dome. According to many, including state geologist Josiah Whitney, Half Dome was "perfectly inaccessible," and man would likely never be able to conquer it. In the fall of 1875, with the sport of rock climbing still far in the future, George Anderson proved them all wrong.

Anderson went through a period of trial and error trying to ascend the 975 feet or so to the top of the dome. First trying with his leather boots, he found they would not grip the smooth granite. Trying once more in just his socks, that too failed. Finally removing his footwear altogether, Anderson found that even his bare feet could not be counted on to grip all the way to the top. Eventually, placing sacks on his feet that were smeared with pine tar, Anderson had found a way to stick to the rock face. To further compound the issue, he carried with him a hammer, drill, and countless wooden pins and iron bolts, further enticing gravity to pull him back to earth. Those pins could be driven into the rock to provide some rest and relief from efforts to stick and unstick himself to the rock face over and over all the way to the top.

After making the famous ascent, Anderson did it again with a single rope that he carried on his shoulder to the top. This allowed others to begin climbing Half Dome and set the stage for the method required to do so until Ansel Adams came along in 1919 to help lay Half Dome's cable railings. Anderson also helped to construct some of the trails in the park's early days, including one from Happy Isles to Vernal Falls as well as parts of the Mist Trail to Nevada Falls.

Anderson Cabin

After exploring the village, I was ready to get going and drive up and over Tioga Pass to the far reaches of Yosemite National Park for my last day. Stopping at a gas station, first I had to refuel and top off the camper's tanks to ensure I would be good to go for the next week or so. While getting that done, a couple pulled in with a truck camper similar to mine, and we got to talking, swapping stories of our travels across the USA. They mentioned a few cool camping spots they'd been to and were kind enough to share a few trail names in Arizona and New Mexico that I quickly jotted down. Meeting like-minded folks who carry the same wonder for adventure is always a pleasure.

From Wawona, I headed north past Yosemite Valley towards Tuolumne Grove and onto Tioga Pass Highway. This required me to traverse back on highway 120 like I'd done a few days prior, which included the arched stone tunnels barely tall enough for the camper! Wawona Tunnel, just before the valley, is almost a mile long itself. By the time I reached Tioga Road, it was a little later than I'd planned, so I decided to enjoy the views and try to stop at spots on my way back west later in the day. The first few dozen miles or so were heavily wooded, with tiny meadows popping up here and there along the highway. I kept my eyes peeled for any bears or elk lurking among the trees but eventually surmised they were bedded down to avoid the midday heat. Soon enough I had covered nearly thirty miles and spotted a pullout with a magnificent view along the roadside.

Cloud's Rest (left of center) - Half Dome on the right in the distance

Pulling in, I got out my camera and jogged up and onto a giant slab of granite beside the parking lot. There were groups of people everywhere wanting to document some of the same views, so I hiked up towards the top of the slab where it was a bit more peaceful. From there, at Olmsted Point, one looks upon a view that is surreal and almost hard to believe. The detail of ancient earth that makes up Cloud's Rest is nothing short of remarkable to see in person. Shadows had fallen over Olmsted Point, and so it seemed as if Cloud's Rest was lit up perfectly for viewing from there that day. I took a few photos and then noticed the clouds getting darker and darker overhead, so I got going again.

Continuing up the road headed east, the mist began to settle in on the mountaintops that appeared higher and higher. I was nearing the Sierra crest at that point, which is home to some of the tallest points in California as well as Mount Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states. Less than 85 miles away from Mount Whitney is Badger Basin in Death Valley, which at 282 feet below sea level is the lowest point in the United States. It's a bit surprising that those two extremes are so close together on a continent that spans a width of over 2,800 miles.

Yosemite Falls

As thunder began to boom, I continued on my winding trek through the forest, not seeing many other cars. Rain was falling lightly now, and the temperature plummeted to below 60 degrees after it had been over 90 down in the valley. It was a prime reminder of the whims of the mountains and how fickle it can get up there nearing the edge of the tree line. Soon enough I was at Tuolumne Meadows, one of the largest spans of open grass in the high sierras. I parked the truck and got out to wander a bit. With the overcast sky and the rain still falling ever so slightly, it made me hesitate a bit, not wanting to disturb the perfect meadow ahead of me. There were no others around because of the weather, and again I was thankful that I was experiencing that place as it should be experienced, the full power of earth's wonders laid out before me with no human interruption.

After taking it in for a couple moments more, I stepped back into the cab and continued to the east, getting closer and closer to the park boundary. Another meadow soon appeared on the south side of Tioga Road, with Mount Dana and Mount Gibbs standing strong as solemn stewards watching over a meandering creek. I passed it at first but was kicking myself seconds later, telling myself I would have to stop on my way back after turning at the gate.

Mount Dana on the left with Mount Gibbs on the right

In a few more miles, I was at Yosemite's eastern boundary, marked by a small river rock cabin along the road surrounded by tall evergreens. Mountains rose behind them, some with dots of snow still remaining, reminding everyone entering just how high in elevation it really was at 9,945 feet. Looking at my map, I was surprised to see the amount of trails there were just outside the park. Routes up Mount Dana, Mount Tioga, Saddlebag Lake, and more. I wanted to go explore them, but my three-day reservation expired in a matter of hours, meaning I wouldn't be able to traverse back west using Tioga Road; I would have to go all the way around through the Mojave. I decided those trails would have to wait for another trip all their own.

After checking my maps a final time, I turned around and headed back the way I came, stopping at the meadow above to capture its tranquil beauty before continuing on to try to see some Giant Sequoias before the summer sun dropped its late evening veil across the land. As I headed back, past the meadows and through the trees, the rain returned overhead. It picked up in intensity and began to hammer down upon the high country, filling the creeks and meadows even fuller than normal for the late summer season.

When I got back near Olmsted Point, the sheet of granite uphill to the east that had been sliced through for the roadbed was taking on all the clouds could send down. Water shot off the road like a blast from a firehose, having absolutely nowhere to soak into the earth up on those gargantuan slabs of rock. I tried to fathom the amount of water that was concentrating in the torrent before my eyes; it must've been hundreds of gallons per minute, if not more. The scene made me wonder how the road I was on had not washed away before from the assault of Mother Nature. A steady stream of the accumulated water rushed down the highway, threatening to snag my turning tires if I was not careful.

Coming around the point and glancing at Cloud's Rest a final time, I could see the rain-slicked granite reflecting the rain like a massive wave of scales upon the back of an ancient slumbering dragon. It was such a drastic departure from the sunny heat of summer that I had been a part of that morning to now gloomy, rainy, and thundering with the temperature hovering around 50 degrees. I continued on, back past the meadows and into the trees. Soon I was back near Tuolumne Grove and decided to stop in the parking lot to explore one last wonder of Yosemite National Park.

The Dead Giant

Bounding down the crumbling road to the grove of Giant Sequoias, I wasn't expecting too much. I had seen the Coastal Redwoods in Big Sur and north of San Francisco Bay, and while they are incredible in their own right, they do bear slight relation to other massive cedars and sugar maples I had seen in parts of Oregon. I would shortly discover that Sequoias are in a different class all their own. As I continued down 500 feet or so into the grove, my shoes gripped clods of century-old asphalt that once made up Big Oak Flat Road, the main entrance to Yosemite Valley from the 1850s into the later part of that century.

With the road being closed for over thirty years now, the forest is well on its way to swallowing all traces of human progress beneath the trees. Pine straw and broken dead branches crept in on the edges, and ferns sprouted up all around between the looming trunks. I saw nobody else on my way down, again pleased with the relative emptiness of the park at that spot in the middle of the busy season. The road wound back and forth a few times with historic signs along the way discussing the need for fires to clear the crowded undergrowth of a healthy forest.

Once at the bottom, I quickly spotted the first giant tucked among the pines, Big Red. Glancing at where the trunk met the earth, I immediately felt tiny. The diameter of the trunk alone had to be at least 15 feet, and I would discover that they can get over twice as thick as that behemoth. Unlike pines and redwoods, the girth of the tree remained relatively unchanged all the way to the top. In that way, the trees reminded me of the short, wide acacia trees that I had seen in southern Africa. Even with the massive trunk, the branches far over my head seemed thick enough to be creatures of their own in any normal forest back east. The branches twisted and turned, each giving off hundreds of shoots of their own to create the lush canopy of the forest. It was nearly an ecosystem all its own up there; I even spotted what looked like a pine growing out of a soil patch that had accumulated up there in the crook of a branch.

Walking along, I picked out more and more of the giants between the suddenly pin-like pines all around. The trees were easy to spot like giant roman columns, and I could see what looked like a massive dead trunk a few dozen yards beyond. Walking up to it, the trunk even sideways towered above my head and appeared as if it was the hull of an old naval submarine resting upon a foliated sea floor. It made me wonder what the sound of it falling had been like and if human eardrums had ever heard the sound of one of those titans giving up its millennial grip, crashing into the earth. Continuing on the path through the grove, I stopped at the Dead Giant, where road builders had cut a wagon-sized tunnel through a dead stump well over 100 years ago. The Giant had been a fixture of Big Oak Flat Road, and thousands of early visitors had passed under it on their way to see the wonders of Yosemite Valley.

Having seen the grove, the forest was now darkening around me at a rapid pace. I continued to mull about while absorbing as much Sequoia glory as I could handle. The colossal pillars stood as a reminder of our brief time on this earth; one of those trees could've been standing for nearly one hundred generations. With the sun at my back a few moments later, I was climbing Big Oak Flat Road steadily, knowing I would be making camp long after the sun finished its evening drop from the sky. A smile spread wider and wider across my face as I got closer and closer to my truck, with the realization of just how much I'd managed to pack into the past 60 or so hours in Yosemite National Park, learning about the devoted advocates who've preserved it for us all in perpetuity.

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

The Story of George Anderson...The First Man to Climb Half Dome. Undiscovered Yosemite . (n.d.). http://www.undiscovered-yosemite.com/climb-half-dome.html