29 March 2002, (Not-So-) Good Friday
Rolling Across Northern Calif.
A most unpleasant day. Woke up not-so-early, hungover & humiliated & hamstrung. (No, you don't get to know the details.) Wearily loaded another carfull of stuff (books & furniture) for storage at the new homesite near Volcano. Drove painfully from Santa Rosa, across the North Bay and Central Valley with a tedious & unsettling stop in Lodi, into the Sierra foothills, etc. Ah, Amador County.
We decanted the goodies, then drove as fast as possible (not very) to the outskirts of Yosemite, thru Gold Rush towns we hadn't time for, across blasted hillsides that burnt merrily not long ago. We pulled into the Yosemite Bug Hostel in time for our first sample of their mostly fine cooking. Then we collapsed. Nice way to start a mini-vacation, eh?
Saturday 30 March 2002
Up the Merced River Valley
We rose early, left BugHouse around 8 am, viewed the Merced River canyon in earlyish light, and reached Yosemite valley around 9 am, hoping to beat the expected crush of visitors. But for a holiday weekend, Yosemite valley is strangely uncrowded. Record high temperatures throughout Central California. Odd.
After cruising the valley's splendors we poked around Yosemite Village, had some fine sandwiches from surly employees; handled almost all the indian pots in the Ansel Adams Gallery (including a 'Frogwoman' bowl by Joy Navasie) but found none fine & reasonable enough to purchase; closely inspected the fine baskets etc in the museum; toured the reconstructed Ahwahnee indian village; wandered around a pleasant NPS residence compound; then hiked up a steep grade and traversed the trail to the tourist zone below Yosemite Falls.
The Yosemite Falls viewing areas and creeksides were thronged, with USAnians looking the shabbiest, Indian tourists the most colorful, and Japanese the most expensively dressed. Kids were happy; dogs looked stunned by the noise; suicidals scrambled on the slick rocks. The noise of the falls is a primal force here.
We inspected the Yosemite Lodge zone. Eck. We thought of driving up the Tioga Road as far as possible but it's totally closed, so we cruised the Valley some more, probing yet more vistas, subtle-to-gorgeous. How much stinking beauty can one take? Finally, a drive in the dark to the BugHaus & its bountiful feed.
A note on the Bug Hostel/Lodge, Midpines CA. This is a quite delightful reasonable-to-cheap place to stay, an hour from Yosemite Valley on Hwy 140. Rooms in new duplex cabins were $65 midweek, $85 weekends; tent-cabins and dorms (single- or mixed-sex) are much less. The food is plentiful, cheap, organic and mostly great. The lounge is eclectic; beer is cheap; guests are a wide mix of nationality & ages & gender & fitness. Such a deal.
Sunday 31 March 2002 - Easter
Greater Metropolitan Yosemite
Left BugHouse around 9 am, viewed the Merced River canyon in midmorning light, river wide & tranquil in places, furiously churning & cascading in others. Whisked along Yosemite valley floor to the Ahwanhee hotel, poked around gift shop handling all the indian pots (including a non-Frogwoman-style, Nampeyo-style bowl seed jar by Dawn Navasie) and bought two Navajo pine-pitch pots: a smallish bowl and a medium wedding vase.
In the enormous dining hall we had the best table in the room, at the westmost window witha a spectacular view of Upper Yosemite Falls. We spent a fine hour feasting on the usual delicasies. We then strolled around the fantastic Ahwanhee Hotel, noting its mixture of Southwestern and Mideastern design features, then retired to our automobile.
We cruised around the valley floor, hopping out every here-and-there to observe various of the natural spectacles, then took Hwy 41 south to Wawona. We stomped around the grounds of the elegant old Wawona Hotel & toured the old rustic structures of the Pioneer Yosemite History Center exhibit, noting especially the covered bridge, the arsenal/jail, and the Wells Fargo office built like a rough Swiss chalet.
While driving back to Yosemite valley we inspected several clusters of rental housing at Wawona Village and Yosemite West, then drove the road to the Badger Pass ski area. En route we encountered a white-bearded Sikh in orange turban driving his bombed-out old Japanese sedan down the wrong side o the road. In the parking lot we saw a pinch-faced ELVIS in white cape & jumpsuit ( who performed a GUITAR MOVE for us as we drove by) walking with a full-fledged Rasta Dude. Skiers were packing out on this, the last day of the season. Snow still abounded at that elevation but daytime temps were increasing and a big melt-off is imminent.
Back in Yosemite valley we cruised around some more, inspected Camp Curry & found it much improved, then returned in the dark to BugHouse and a fine organic dinner. G'nite.
1 April: Fool's Monday, 2002
The BugHouse, MidPines, CA
Slept in at the BugHaus, consumed granola & fruit & chai, headed late towards Yosemite, viewed the Merced's valley in late-morning light. (Tomorrow we'll stop everywhere.) Yesterday we tarried at Wawona on the South Fork, Merced River. Today we stopped at Savage's Trading Post & Lodge where the South Fork joins the main stream. A wonderful small gallery of indian art is there, Sisochi, run by Letty Berry, a little old pistol-packin' mama with a fine art sense and many tales to tell -- like how after her house was taken away in the last flood, she dug thru the muck and unearthed her revolver (status unreported) and her Maria Martinez bowl (quite undamaged). We handled many pots & baskets but purchased none. But we'll be back, with a larger budget...
We hit Yosemite valley late, thinking we'd have it all to ourselves, but the Monday seemed even more crowded than the Easter holiday weekend. Strange. We rolled past the usual beauty, pizza'd at Curry Village, again fondled the indian pots at the Ansel Adams Gallery, then decided to take the shuttle bus to Yosemite Falls. Oops, wrong direction.
We eventually drove to the Lower Yosemite Falls parking lot after a tedious bus-ride around the east valley. We walked up the tourist trail that must be one of the planet's most staggeringly overwhelming pathways, and bathed in the wind and spray. The observation platform was windier and sprayier than two days before; and it was amusing to see how various folk approached their exposure to wind, water droplets, noise, positive negative ions. Reluctance, stoicism, bravado, adventure, nonchalence, everything. Being there sure felt good.
We cruised the valley some more, stopping for more waterfalls, more spray, more ions. Then out to the Tunnel View for that grand vista of the Valley's outline, where the most fun was to observe those who were there to photograph each other. Ah, the interactions of friends & families & strangers & traffic & nature, a chaos of purpose & exposure.
April Fool's Afternoon
Down Foresta Road
The day was getting late, the sun low, and I determined to take an alternate foute from the Valley. We headed toward Crane Flat and turned down Foresta Road. After threading the almost-a-village of Foresta, which may be destined to become a motel city or giant parking lot, we came upon the signs: ROAD CLOSED. STEEP AND DANGEROUS ROAD. ONE WAY ROAD. FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY.
So I downshifted and proceeded onto it.
The road started off good. Then it got bad. And worse. But never quite anus-clenchingly frightening. So bad in places, it was merely tedious. Narrow & rocky & rutted & chopped & sandy, but there were never less than 4 of our 1998 Ford Explorer's wheels on the ground at any one time. Along the way were a number of glorious waterfalls and cascades. Next time we'll go slowly & take pictures. Rather earlier in the day, too.
After dusk, halfway down, we encountered a mountain biker, ascending. Yes, the gate above is open, I answered his question.
Then we bumped on thru the increasing gloom. I managed to attain my goals: Don't squash us. Don't squash the car. Don't break anything. Don't bounce the passenger off the roof. Don't get too near the edge, or over it. Don't be here after total darkness falls. Down we rolled, back to the highway at El Portal.
Back to the Bug, where although the lady at Sisochi told us they served the best food in the county, tonight we ate something less than their best. Bother. I think there's a Brussel Sprout conspiracy up here, those were served at the Ahwanhee's brunch too. Well, tomorrow we'll pack up and head back to Sonoma County, and I'll get to cook again. Then everything will be fine. G'night.
Tuesday 2 April 2002
Return to the Cave
Rose early & pleasurably at the BugHaus, breakfasted well, then headed out. Viewed the Merced River valley in early-mid-morning light, paying especial attention to geology & botany. Scanned the farside road below El Portal, then cruised Yosemite valley for one last round. We eventually bid farewell to what one of the spectacle signboards called the greatest concentration of spectacular waterfalls on the planet, and returned via Gold Rush towns, the Central Valley, the usual.
We poked around Jamestown and Angels Camp a bit -- handled many unsuitable indian pots, tourist junk or damaged goods -- but Sonora was just too traffic-congested to risk walking & inhaling. We may be back in the southern Mother Lode in a few weeks: the annual Frog Jump occurs at Angels Camp on the last weekend of our next vacation. But the weather may be too hot by then, we may be driven to higher & cooler locales. Stay tuned.
Footnote: On that next vacation we found that Angels Camp was absolutely jammed with traffic, zillions of excursionists heading for the Frog Jump. Only bikers made it through the clogged roads. Bother.
SONG: I Ain't No Cowboy -- 2 April 2002 -- Santa Rosa, CA
I ain't a cowboy, I never been one
That ain't a real horse; this ain't a real gun
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That ain't real bullshit you're steppin' in now
This ain't no real bull; that ain't no real cow
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There's nothin' peaceful 'bout home on the range
It's never homely, it's only strange
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Only a moron sings "Yippee-ki-yi-yo!"
Only a moron with nowhere to go
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I ain't a cowboy, I never been one
That ain't a real horse; this ain't a real gun
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