Day 13: Emerging From the Wild
I told Banana Bread on this trip that my best memories all began with an early wake-up: fishing trips, or missions in West Africa to remote villages. When you intentionally get up before the sun, you are going to remember that day.
Somewhere on the Yosemite Creek, Yosemite National Park, CA - July 12, 2025 - . 5:29 am and we were up. Like checking a mousetrap placed the night before, I was curious to see if a bear had attempted to break into our bear can while we slept—and ultimately disappointed (in the forgiving light of day) to learn that it remained undisturbed. Where were these legions of bears that we were said to have to wade through to get to and from our backcountry campsite? Or, maybe all of the tactics we employed, under duress, had worked.
The Ascent
I had no trouble rousing Banana Bread. He was anxious to get to the car again. So we quickly packed up the camp, strapped our backpacks on over hoodies and started our ascent. Typically, hikers will tell you, “be bold, start cold.” The idea being that when you wear extra layers, you’ll eventually work up a sweat and then your clothes will be wet. This can lead to bigger problems. But we kept our hoodies on for the entire hike without issue. They served to protect us from whatever biting, insect-filled cloud engulfed us as we hiked.
Memory is funny. I forgot or didn’t realize that the entire hike the day before was downhill. Banana pointed out that I had been complaining about that the day before. Either way, I shouldn’t have been surprised that the entire trek back was uphill. Not the most strenuous hike I’ve done. But toss in the fact that we hadn’t slept properly in weeks, were carrying a lot of extra weight due to the bear necessities, had over 1,200 feet of elevation gain, and were still not adjusted to the altitude of 8,200 feet, it was a little rougher than a typical strenuous uphill hike.
Despite having taken the exact same trail just hours before, it remained difficult to follow. Torrential dew soaked our feet and we couldn’t stop for a short break without being mauled by mosquitoes. Poor BB was definitely carrying more than the recommended weight for someone of his body size—I would find out later.
As for me, the excitement that we were going to be in Yosemite Valley and my months-long fear that we wouldn’t find parking were strong motivators. I was definitely handling the altitude better than I had in Colorado just a week before. Plus, I didn’t want to look soft in front of any other seasoned backpackers — though we were absolutely alone.
We made excellent time — not being able to rest helps. Our footprints from the previous day assured me that we were on the trail. Sooner than I expected, we were at the first landmark, a gravel road — one that we had debated hitchhiking from the day before. It also meant that we only had a little over half a mile left. So we wrung the dew out of our ankles and quickly finished up the balance of the trail — with Banana Bread taking point.
Success! We made it to the Jeep! And we had plenty of time to get to the Valley before the rest of America piled into our well-earned Valley with their cheap trekking poles, camelbak water bladders, fanny packs, and clean socks.
We looked terrible. BB’s face was so dirty, I couldn’t tell if he had sunburn, new freckles, or Nutella smeared under his eyes like an outfielder who the bears had missed. And me? I just smelled. In truth we hadn’t showered since Colorado almost five days before. And we weren’t going to shower until we eventually reached the Pacific. Despite our relatively basic backpacking experience in Yosemite, we would fit right in at the backpackers camp.
Had we had more time, I would have hiked into the Valley. It was only another few miles ahead by foot from our campsite. By car it was about an hour.
The Jeep was where we left it and so was our cooler and our food bin in the bear locker. I tossed them back into the car with our packs on top and we headed South West toward the Valley.
The Descent
Immediately, the drive was exactly what I wanted. Unfamiliar with the details, I thought every granite protrusion was El Capitan or Glacier Point. Every waterfall was Horsetail. Though now I realize Yosemite Falls is what I meant. I’m still not sure where Horsetail Falls is. There were incredible vistas on the way down. Tunnels and turns—each revealing a new postcard view upon our achieving them.
It was at this point when I realized I didn’t really have a plan beyond, ‘find parking!’. I knew there was a shuttle bus and endless things to see and do. There was an electric construction sign telling us that the Curry Village lot was full. You see, if you have a wilderness permit, you are entitled to park in Curry Village which serves as an overflow lot—regardless of whether or not you are staying there. Also I had a hunch that our backpacker campground was somewhere nearby. However, if the overfill lot was full, I assumed that the main lot was also full.
We pulled into a camp called “Housekeeping” to try to get some directions. The woman who greeted us from reception could only be sure of one thing. This was Housekeeping. She didn’t know where the backpackers camp was. She didn’t know where Curry Village was or where the shuttles stopped. But she was 100 percent, absolutely certain that the place we were standing in right then and there, the place we were asking her questions from was “Housekeeping Camp.”
Yosemite has strange place names like Hetch Hetchy or Dead Giant Tunnel Tree, Zigzag Creek, and Lost Bear Meadow — I mean—if the bear was in that meadow, why was it lost? It’s in Lost Bear Meadow—obviously. So I didn’t even occur to me Housekeeping Camp was a strange name, but I didn’t have time to get into that. I still needed parking and Curry Village lot was closed.
Banana, bored with this pointless conversation, had wandered over to the camp store to find sweets. The cashier at the camp store, though managing a long line of tired campers, was much more helpful. She was able to recommend where we could park and a complicated set of instructions as to how we would eventually get to the backpackers camp. She lost me after the third or fourth bridge. In the GPS age, I’ve lose the ability to retain more than three turns before I run out of RAM.
Armed with a huge bag of Skittles and wad of random bills that he had been squirreling away, Banana made his purchase and we were back in the car. “You let me buy way more candy than Mama does,” he said to my embarrassment. Thus ending his candy buying career — at least for this trip.
Quite shortly thereafter, we found the main parking lot by the Visitor Center, and parked without incident. We would come back to the Jeep several times throughout the day to re-supply or re-apply sunscreen, and there were always spots available. My two biggest fears, parking and bears, were for naught.
Soon we found the entrance to the Visitor Center, picked up some postcards, stamped our passports, debated with the Ranger which granite we had camped under the night before - never did get a clear answer on that, but “there are a lot of granite domes in Yosemite,” he reminded me. I should set him up with the Housekeeping Camp woman.
Yosemite Valley
We found the shuttle stop and waited forever for the bus to arrive. Since it was free, we figured we could enter through the back door. We were wrong. I wager that there is a surly bar one has to surpass to be selected for a shuttle driver. This continued throughout the day. “DO NOT ENTER THROUGH THE BACK DOOR!” It was as though we were back in NYC and people were trying to sneak on without paying.
Like buses everywhere, they had the issue of buses getting stacked up. So the bus we were on was standing room only while the next shuttle was almost completely empty. Eventually, we found some handicap seats and relaxed as the shuttle stopped at all of the various places we couldn’t afford and weren’t staying—until we started the real loop around the Valley. Occasionally, we would offer our seats to older folks who deserved them more than us. But they were all in Yosemite to hike and refused our half-hearted offer. Maybe they just didn’t want to occupy the places where this unclean duo had just been.
Once we cleared the lodgings the Valley really opened up. Waterfalls, granites, and the Merced River (pronounced mer-SED) that bisected the valley floor. Lacking any real idea of what to do, we hopped off and got some iconic photos, and quickly made it back to the shuttle. I had heard of Curry Village through some prep-podcasts I listened to before the trip, and, even though it is named after the two teachers who started it, it made me think of food. It occurred to me that we hadn’t eaten anything at all today.
Chungus
The lot was still full, but the line at the Meadow Grill—which boasts the best burritos in Yosemite—was short. I felt like we earned take out and a big meal. Oddly, there were also tables available where we could gorge on beans and nachos, and sit in the shade for as long as we wanted. Maybe they even had Wi-fi? Yeah, no. We parked on some picnic tables in front of the Yosemite Mountain Shop. As we ate, we watched climbers going in and out with new replacement gear and t-shirts depicting all the ways you can be eaten by these elusive bears.
Over my left shoulder, I heard the strangest sound. When I turned to examine it, I was surprised to see it emanating from what I thought was a crow—later a five year old would correct me. It was a raven. Here I thought they only said, “nevermore.” While the raven distracted us with its recounting of volumes of forgotten lore, the squirrels approached. It reminded me of the night market in Bangkok where over indulged cats would swarm your table for scraps. Though in that case, I was happy because the particular beef I ordered was too tough for a human to chew. Clearly, these animals in Curry Village had been spoiled by tourists, probably for over a century.
I started to notice all the signs about not feeding the wildlife. It was clear to me that these efforts had failed when we both saw ripples in our fountain soda à la Jurassic Park. The planks on the boardwalk beneath us started to creak and the contents of our cup sloshed around the sides as our table dipped under the weight of the biggest squirrel anyone had ever seen. Children were fat shaming this poor creature in English, French, German, and Spanish. It was universal. But Chungus — as Banana Bread would name him - was only interested in nachos that had fallen to the floor. He was so formidable that he didn’t even try to grab his loot and nervously scurry away like most squirrels I know. He just sat there eating with us like he was an honored guest, invited to join the family meal.
This whole animal interaction is something I would have just ignored as an annoying distraction. But for BB, it was central to not only his experience at Yosemite, but this entire trip. When strangers asked him what he liked most about our journey so far, he would start with Chungus. Spiders, prairie dogs, and cave crickets would get an honorable mention, but Chungus was the star of our cross country trip.
Chungus became central to all of our road trip imaginations. He was seen driving trucks as we left Yosemite. He was featured in a story that somehow combined BB’s latest video game with a collection of pipes that, in his mind, looked like rocket launchers. Chungus even featured in Yosemite Valley’s origin. Apparently, he fell off of Half Dome and created the Valley itself.
Probably 37th on his list of sites would be the magnificent waterfalls, or the mindblowing abandoned pueblo villages. Maybe the formations at Monument Valley, the endless caverns at Mammoth, the peaks of Colorado, the 3,000 year old giant sequoias, or the blue mountain lakes of Nevada would be worthy of a footnote.
We would pop into the Curry Village a few more times throughout the day for 8 dollar bags of ice or bathroom breaks. Each time we noticed that a new child was resting in the shade that Chungus provided, fat-shaming him and being more impressed with an extraodinarily-large but, otherwise, run-of-the-mill gray squirrel. And I don’t even have a photograph of him.
The Merced
Unfortunately, when asking for directions to the bathroom, Banana Bread learned that swimming was an option. So back to our Jeep for swimming gear and a shuttle to Sentinel Beach to swim. Scolded by the driver for God-knows-what, we found our seats. This time we sat in proper chairs not stolen from disabled tourists trying to enjoy the Park. I started to notice how hot it really was as we walked from the shuttle stop to the river. Everything in the Valley has an incredible view. Our lunch tables were under Glacier Point. So close, in fact, that a rockslide in 2008 almost killed a bunch of tourists. Fortunately, there were only three injuries—nothing short of a miracle.
Sentinel Beach was no different. Sentinel Rock towers above the river and you get incredible views of Cathedral Rock and a bit of El Cap. BB was already in the river while I set up our chairs in the ever shifting sliver of shade. I waded in, but was less interested in swimming. I just welcomed the chance to stare at the scenery and was, for the first time, grateful that I didn’t have any phone service to distract me. Banana collected driftwood and rocks while other families played nearby. At one point he left my line of sight, only to return carrying large sticks that were converted into weapons both ancient and modern.
We were told that after 3:30 or 4:00, the Curry Village lot would clear out a little and we could move our car closer to the bear lockers and the purple shuttle that would somehow get us to the backpacker campground. So after about an hour, we headed back to the shuttle stop where we huddled with other tourists in the thin strip of shade cast by a small pine tree. It took forever for a shuttle to arrive.
Sure enough, the electric construction sign indicating that the Curry Village lot was full, was no longer illuminated. We made our way to the Jeep and were able to find a prime spot in the lot, right next to the bear lockers. Plenty of signs warned us that it was a 5000 fine not to use the bear lockers. Oddly, our original parking lot made no mention of bears—nor did it have lockers. So I guessed this was the right place.
We grabbed some supplies from Curry Village, reorganized our backpacks—and once again, put our food in the lockers. We’d take the shuttle to North Pine camp and figure it out from there. Unusually, I wasn’t so concerned about not having a verified plan for where we would sleep that night - something that would typically drive me crazy. I figured it would work out fine.
Backpackers’ Paradise
Since the campground was no where near parking, we would have to hike in with our packs. I was fine with this. I liked feeling like one of the adventurers on the shuttle.
At every point where we wanted to ask where the backpacker campsite was, we found a sign full of details. I had pictured this campground to be an open field with tons of crammed-in tents, but when we crossed the bridge and rounded the corner, I realized, it was a regular campsite. There were bathrooms and, of course, bear lockers, and all of it was in the shade of Glacier Point with the breathtaking views that we had been seeing all day. We filled out the registration form and put in 20 bucks (no change) and found a site with a bear locker and a view. I was ecstatic! Everywhere were backpackers and all of the gear I had been reading about. All of them fresh from an adventure or about to start one. Thru-hikers and climbers, loud groups of 10 or silent groups of two sharing stories and advice. It was the Woodstock of hiking. Perhaps a little bit like what Trail Days on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia is like.
We unpacked our packs on the picnic table and started setting up our tent. Immediately a ranger came over and scolded us for not using our bear locker. “But we are right here.” ”It doesn’t matter—in five seconds they can come up and snatch your food.” I think Yosemite put a higher value on our food than we did. I would totally sacrifice our terrible backpacking meals to see a bear and have that story. But I got their point and started to put our food in the locker. And that’s when I noticed that BB’s horrible, unfinished meal from the day before had exploded in our bear can—coating all of our food, toothbrushes, and lip balm with a variety of beans and cheese.
Fortunately, everything in the bear can, save some packets of oatmeal and our tea, was also stored in Ziplocks and we were able to (somewhat unethically) rinse them off in the river. No tea tonight, but our toothpaste was no longer bean-flavored. Our next Readywise meals were just as horrible as the night before— despite some tweaking we tried with water amounts and cook times. Thus confirming that it wasn’t us. I’m not particularly picky about food, so when I say it’s bad, well it’s bad.
The bathrooms in the camp had very squeaky doors. One reminded me of the harmonica piece in “Once Upon a Time in the West.”
We chatted with a couple of brothers who we invited to camp near us. They had been climbing all day and were very knowledgeable about Yosemite. It only made me want to stay longer when I learned about all of the things we still could do.
As the sun set, we were ready for bed well before hiker’s midnight and crashed pretty quickly with Glacier Point watching over us as we slept.
Next: The Grizzly Giant, sushi, and our ultimate goal!
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