Skip to main content

Yosemite Stories

In this episode (179) – Yosemite Stories . . .

Have you ever Googled Yosemite Stories? If so, you will learn how Galen Clark and others lobbied to protect Yosemite Valley from development, ultimately leading to President Abraham Lincoln’s signing of the Yosemite Grant in 1864. How John Muir was instrumental in expanding the park’s boundaries, and many more.

However, I would like to share a “not so famous” story after our recent visit—an experience from the ever-changing landscape of people who visit there and their grand expectations.

When you arrive in Yosemite valley and get settled, the sublime way to enjoy the park is to stroll. Take in the sights, sounds, and smells. For those who refuse to walk (and let me say there are a lot) or there comes a time when you can’t walk anymore - thankfully, they have free shuttles that take you to the most popular destinations: Yosemite Village, El Captain Meadow, Yosemite Falls, Curry Village, among others.

The buses begin at 7:00 a.m. each day during the fall season and run about every 30 minutes. Be patient; according to one driver, after COVID, they went from 69 to 16 full-time drivers.

It was day two of our 2022 adventure. We decided to catch the first shuttle out of Curry Village to Degnan’s Deli for breakfast. Now at that hour, you have the bus to yourself; no one seems to ride that early. After a few stops, the bus driver asks, “Where are you going?”

“Degnan’s Deli.”

So I walk to the front and begin conversing with the driver.

“This bus is quiet this morning; where is everybody?”

“Yes, not many early riders.”

“How long have you driven the Yosemite shuttle?”

“Fifteen years.”

“I’ll bet you’ve seen a few weirdos?”

“Oh, yeah - I could write a book about all the strange requests we get from folks. This time of year, it’s not so bad, but summer tends to wear on your patience.”

“Can you give me an example?”

What follows has to be the all-time zinger; I laughed until I cried.

“Of course - it was summer heat; the park was extremely crowded, with lots of lines of very impatient people. This lady steps up on the bus and approaches me, and as serious as a trip to the emergency room,” she asks,

“Is this the bus that will take me to the top of Half Dome?”

“Now you must understand that as public servants and park employees, we do our best to ensure everyone enjoys their time in Yosemite. And with the best intentions, try to lighten the mood with humor.”

With disgust and a scowl, this woman would have nothing of it.

“Are you making fun of me,” she barked.

“Not all, ma’am; this bus does not go to the top of Half Dome, I’m sorry.”

“Huh, then I’ll just have to wait and take the next bus, young man - let me off!”

Ok, I get it - this is 2022, and yes, in our I want it now, smartphone age of convenience, entitled folks expect you to fulfill their every request. But I’m sorry to get to the top of Half Dome; it’s a full day’s climb (8,842 ft.) and requires plenty of technical expertise. Take a hike, lady!

Of course, the driver did not say that, but it was just one of those memorable Yosemite stories from that driver on our way to breakfast.

The moral of the story; while visiting Yosemite or any National Park, be sure to take time to observe the habits of others. Also, given the opportunity, take the time to chat with your driver. It doesn’t take long to realize some of the crazy expectations people have. And, remember, a little humor goes a long way.

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I’ll see you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

A B+ Kind of Life

Welcome back to this week's On the Fly . Retirement has taught me something unexpected: life gets a lot more enjoyable when you stop chasing perfection. Lately, I've been having an absolute blast playing executive par-3 courses like Rancho Carlsbad . A short iron, a sunny morning, and nowhere to be except the next tee—that's my kind of day. This Thursday, though, I'm raising the stakes. I'm heading to The Links at Lakehouse in San Marcos, a full-size par-71 course with enough water hazards to keep the local fish well-stocked with my golf balls. After shooting a 64 on a par-3 course, I've set myself a new goal: shoot an 89 before my birthday next August. Why 89? Because on a par-71 course, that's bogey golf—one extra stroke per hole. For non-golfers, think of it this way: par is like earning 100% on a final exam. Bogey golf is a solid B+. You got the job done, learned something, and probably had a lot more fun getting there. The older I get, the more I appre...

Resurrecting the '90s Graphite

Let’s face it, there’s a certain danger in reading John Gierach's Trout Bum . His wit, self-deprecation, and sharp, effortless satire are entirely infectious. If you aren't careful, his words will inspire you to drop everything, wade into a freezing river, and try to outsmart a creature with a brain the size of a lentil. In my case, re-reading Gierach recently didn't send me straight to the river. It sent me digging through the dusty, spider-guarded corners of my garage. In the early 1990s, seeking a natural escape from Manhattan's concrete canyons, I decided to learn to cast a fly rod. I bought an Orvis Rocky Mountain —eight-and-a-half feet, three ounces, built for a five-weight line—and had absolutely no idea how to use it. To avoid aimlessly whipping the water like scrambling eggs, I took fly-fishing lessons from Al Cucci, co-author of Hatches , on the Delaware River. With his guidance, I fished renowned waters: the AuSable in New York and Michigan, and New Jersey...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...