Yosemite is Doomed

I have always had an obsession with Yosemite. Even before I’d ever been there, I was writing about how glorious the place is, in my 6^th grade “newspaper” travel column to be exact. When I was much younger, my family took me there on one of our long camping trips, but I wanted to explore Yosemite further, like John Muir did. When Ryan and I were planning the road trip then, Yosemite became the destination I was looking forward to the most, and we reserved backcountry permits so we could experience the wilderness of the cliffs above the valley.

The reality when we got there though, nearly broke my heart. A large part of the problem was that Ryan and I arrived in the park on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Big mistake. The valley was in complete gridlock as tour buses, private vehicles, and giant rental RVs competed for insufficient parking at trailheads, restaurants, and campgrounds. Wildlife, clearly used to being fed, made the problem worse, enticing tourists to step out of their cars within feet of baby deer for the “perfect” picture.

By the time Ryan and I got our permit, drove into the valley, and finally parked, it was already 5:00. It had taken us nearly five hours to get from the east side of the park to our parking space. We then had to try and unload as much smelly stuff as possible from the car, in compliance with Yosemite park regulations, and put it communal bear lockers by the trailhead. Bears have become so accustomed to humans that they can recognize food in cars, even the shape of coolers will entice them to break in.

We finally headed up trail, one of the most popular in the park, towards our camp, but the trail felt more like a super highway of people than a trail. Trash lined the walkway and it was all Ryan and I could do sometimes to move past big tour groups with our packs.

Finally, once in the backcountry, there was some reprieve from all the people, but even then, the footprint of everyone who had come before us was evident. Toilet paper pieces dotted trail junctions, especially at Half Dome, and two rangers we encountered said they’d already picked up two bags full. A bear was apparently terrorizing one of the camps we were headed to, so dependent on human food apparently he was bullying campers into surrendering their provisions to him.

Water was sparse, though this was certainly more nature’s fault than humans’, but it meant that people congregated around the few water sources on trail, increasing damage to those areas. The land was brittle and dry, with dust filling our noses and covering our skin and a fire burned a few ridges over – controlled or wild we still don’t know.

Luckily, the views did not disappoint, and I found solace in reading Muir at the top of Clouds Rest, a beautiful spot I’m sure he admired and mentioned in his writings about the valley. One night we even found ourselves alone at a high sierra lake, the middle of the three Sunrise Lakes beyond the High Sierra camp (basically a backcountry resort for rich people who’d prefer not to get dirty). That night was a blessed experience, the kind I was hoping for in Yosemite, though I still found myself upset and mourning for everything we’d see thus far. Muir complained of the loss of beauty Yosemite was facing in his own writings, “I had told the beauty of Shadow Lake only to a few friends, fearing it might come to be trampled and ‘improved’ like Yosemite,” and I definitely shed a tear thinking of how he would think of the park now.

Our last backpacking day, we summited the famous Half Dome before making the long trip down to the car. The Half Dome summit requires cables to reach, the smooth granite face is steep enough that without them, hikers would simply slide or tumble down a few thousand feet. Here’s what the route looked like.

Ryan was definitely a tad nervous (he’s a bit fearful of heights) and it was by no means an easy trek upwards for me either, but the summit was well worth it.

Even up here though, the impact of people is astounding. Five of the six trees that once grew on the top of the otherwise bald peak had been destroyed for firewood, even though camping at the top is strictly prohibited. In addition, there were several very entitled squirrels, who were so fat and domesticated they showed no fear of humans whatsoever, and some were losing their hair due to their unnatural diet of human food. One came just a bit too close to resist while Ryan and I ate our snack at the top, and spazzed out when my glove smacked him right on the head after I threw it full force at him. He didn’t bother us after that.

Fortunately when we descended back into the Valley, the crowds had dispersed significantly, though campgrounds were still chock full. Fortunately our car had been spared by bears and we splurged on ice cream sandwiches from a snack vendor to celebrate our trek and safe return. A huge crow begged for crumbs while we munched. We had completed a trek I thought was worthy of Muir, climbing over 8,000 vertical feet in about 32 miles over the four days. It was the kind of trip I’d always wanted to experience in Yosemite, but nonetheless, I’m very worried for that park.

The National Parks are the best invention the U.S. Government could have thought of, and there’s no doubt everyone today agrees places like Yosemite need to be protected. Yet, because places like Yosemite are so famous in the National Park System, they are becoming overrun to the point that the protection they were awarded is becoming impossible. Especially Yosemite, one of the oldest of the national parks and certainly one of the most beautiful, is most at risk. The beauty that attracts the overwhelming crowds Ryan and I witnessed could be its undoing, as it becomes more and more “trampled” to quote Muir.

I’m a stubborn person, so Yosemite is still my number one favorite national park, but it’s almost becoming a pitiful landmark of the National Park System. If we don’t find a way to manage the traffic gridlock, the toilet paper litter, the entitled squirrels, I worry Yosemite is doomed to become the “once” most beautiful valley on Earth.