It’s not always how you get there.

It’s North American’s highest waterfall, Yosemite at over 2400 feet. The hike is only assents in 2700 feet in elevation. Only is a fairly weak work. Strenuous, taxing exhausting, not for the feeble should be the trail name. The guidebook claims the hike is 6-8 hours long.

We start early in the morning full of vigor, energy and zest. The trail starts deceptively easy. It’s flat and littered with Ponderosa pine leaves as it meanders along the valley floor. We come across a sign about the trail; it was the first trail in Yosemite built in 1887. Serious? Didn’t the pioneer have a hard enough life as they spent the day not farming, hunting and baking bread to hike up a mountain?? Anyways.

The switch backs are gentle. The rocks are merely pebbles, not grown into boulders yet. The trees are tulip tress (it takes two looks to see it all) and the ascent nothing. Oh my, how quickly that changes. The ascent becomes a full out climb, up. The grade and the slope step enough it makes the weak at heart and knees turn back. The trees turn into mere bushes providing no relief from the sweltering sun. We push on.

We stumble (this is not a figure of speech) upon trail workers. A half dozen. I did read in the guide book the trails are maintained. And here they are; making the boulders fit like a jigsaw puzzle for the ease of a climb and numerous of visitors to step on. I ask where the beer was. They told me I was supposed to bring it up to them; didn’t I get memo?

We trudge on. About two hours later we stumble (yes, and I have the bruises to prove it) upon a spectacular view of Yosemite Waterfall. The water cascades over the shear granite mountain to hit with extreme velocity to create mist for weary hikers. And a breeze. I stand in the mist and the breeze to experience sheer joy and euphoria. Quickly, those feels are ripped apart and stomped on after one quick 90 degree switchback. We are on the granite side of the mountain climb. I now feel like a climber, not a hiker. It’s hot, dirty and straight up. Adjectives cannot describe how awful, horrid, hellish this hike has turned into be. My daughter is part goat, she moves swiftly up. I baby step it up as I struggle to catch my breath. My sweet rolls into my eyes, causing stinging and blurry vision. I cannot rest. I am apprehensive about stopping and the fear of not being able to continue on. Hikers on their way down pass me. I quiz each one; how much longer to the top? And have you seen my daughter? All reply the same; 10 minutes and yes she is a gazelle. Ten minutes turns into 20, 30 even 40. I then I hear, “Marco” “Polo”. Marco, POLO. Marco, Polo! “MOM, you can do it.” It can’t be God, he wouldn’t have me climb the mountain of death to play a water game with me; no it’s my daughter from a high. She’ at the top and I’m 20 steps away.

Victory.

Me at the top of North American's highest waterfall

We sit near, no, next to the river and 10 feet from the drop off point. If I wasn’t exhausted I would be afraid of the rapids, the gigantic waterfall. At this point I don’t care as I inhale my turkey & cheese sandwich and I promise myself I won’t complain one bit on the way down.