Back in the last decade, I hiked up Half Dome in Yosemite. The experience was so unforgettable, I wrote a journal entry to myself so I wouldn’t forget it. Unfortunately, I had lost the journal entry amidst several laptop upgrades since that time…until now!
My Half Dome experience inspired me to create this blog where I’ll post some of my most memorable travel experiences, as well as other musings…Here goes with post #1…
Yesterday Jack and I were at Yosemite where we planned to hike up Half Dome. I thought it would be like the trail at Torrey Pines, but just longer. Boy, was I wrong. I had no idea it was going to be hardest thing I was ever going to do in my life. I later liked reading how YosemiteHikes.com characterized it:
“Half Dome is the ultimate Yosemite day hike – the one you can’t die without doing, and the one you’re most likely to die while doing.”
“Difficulty: Extreme. It’s long, steep at the beginning and end, and more dangerous than most Yosemite hikes. It’s probably the most difficult of all Yosemite day hikes. On the traditional 1 to 10 scale, this one rates an 11.”
“Insanity Factor: 9 out of 10. Wait ’til you get to the cables, and you’ll see.”
And this site sums it up well: “It makes every “Top 10 Hikes That Will Make You Feel Like a Badass” list, but it really lives up to its hype.”
Jack and I started out at the “valley floor” starting point (which would require about a 9-10 hour hike) on a pretty flat trail for about a mile, and then it started inclining like I expected. About 10% into the hike, we hit a series of steps that really started to challenge us. I had never seen a trail like this before: this section had one-foot high blocks that were stacked on top of each other for what seemed like a mile-long stretch. I could understand how steps like these would be at the end of a trail, but this was just the beginning! My heart was pounding, and I had to concentrate on each step because I was using muscles I hadn’t used much before, and I didn’t want to hurt myself by falling.
Since Jack had done this hike before, he said there were 2 or 3 other parts of the trail that were more difficult than these steps: one being the steps before you approach the actual “Half Dome,” and then the famous cables you have to pull yourself up the side of Half Dome.
As we continued up the incline, it kept getting tougher, especially with the altitude (8,000 feet). Even though I was in decent shape, I was surprised that two teen-aged girls hiked past us on one stretch of the trail. I joked with Jack they must have grown up in the Swiss Alps because they looked European, so they were used to hiking at this kind of altitude. Later on, Jack ran into them and asked them where they were from, and he laughed because they lived in the German Alps!
We were progressing fairly well compared to a lot of other groups that were hiking. Many times we were able to put a longer distance between us when we heard people coming up on our tails. I had too much pride to be passed up by anyone else!
Jack was really an inspiration to me. I don’t think I would have kept hiking if he hadn’t been there. There were many times I would have wanted to quit, or take longer breaks, but Jack is a machine! He’s in a lot better shape than I thought he was. He’s a really good tennis player, and his taller height and longer legs served him well, too. Tall people get all the breaks (haha).
When we got to the steps before you hit the famous Half Dome, I thought I was going to die once again. These steps were steeper than anything I had ever climbed. On top of being 8-12 inch steps, they took forever to climb, and I had to take breaks every minute or so. I was breathing harder than I had ever done in any workout in my life, and for the longest period of time, probably because of the altitude. There was no let-up. My hamstrings and quadriceps were being used like they had never been used before. I knew I was going to feel it for a couple of days afterwards. It reminded me of how heavy my dad was breathing when we went biking in Vail a couple of years ago.
As physically demanding as it was, I think this entire hike was 80-90% mental. Because Jack was setting a high bar, and I had pushed myself in high school marching band in the hot Texas sun, marathon training, the marathon itself, I had hit these kinds of physical limits before. But never for this length of time.
When I finally finished the steps and reached the base of the cables from which you pull yourself up to the top of Half Dome, I had to take my longest break (about 10 minutes). I have to admit looking at the cables and the incline up Half Dome, it looked a lot tougher than I thought it would be. This thing looked steep! But I thought it might be a little easier since I would be using my arms more to pull myself up the mountain, instead of my legs.
I was amazed at just how many people had reached this point, but later I realized there were different ways people could get up to this vantage point, like taking a bus to Glacier Point, and then you walk down some, then scale the dome. I was a little mad thinking to myself, “This isn’t fair!” since they had to expend a lot less energy than we did.
There were a ton of people on the cables, and it required a lot of resting, which was okay with me, although Jack was angry that all these people were slowing him down so much. When I got near the top of the cables, it opened up more with less people in the way. But that’s when I was really hurting since you couldn’t use the excuse that too many people were in the way that allowed you to stop. I felt like I was on an episode of Fear Factor combined with Survivor. I was tortured by heavy breathing again, and I just couldn’t catch my breath. And then I started cramping up in my quadriceps again. I had never worked out so hard where I got to the point of having cramps.
When I reached the top where Jack was, I was wiped out, and had to lay down and crash. I had Jack take a few pictures of me, including myself on the “diving board,” which is the scariest place on the entire Half Dome. I wondered if people were too wiped out to hike down, what was done to rescue them? Jack said that one set of hikers had to pay $10,000 for a helicopter rescue!
We soon started the descent down the cables, which was a lot easier going down. I was so thankful it was going to be relatively easy to hike down. I was able to get a good glimpse of people’s faces who were still climbing up, and it was very interesting to see them pushing themselves to their limits. You rarely get to see people under such extreme pain. One kid who was about 10-years old was crying with his dad pushing him. I couldn’t believe some of the out-of-shape people who were just standing on the side of the face along the cables, and holding up everyone. They had no business being there, and they should make everyone depart from the same place, not give them the easy Glacier Point starting point option.
It was great to coast down the parts of the hike that weren’t too difficult, but then another problem arose to add to my fatigue, sore ankles, legs and mental state: I started developing blisters on my feet. This was having an effect on almost every step I was taking, especially those steps that required a big step down. I had to make an effort to not take a step like I naturally would, but one that would have the least impact on the blister. I think my problem was that I had worn cotton socks instead of socks that looked like what other people were wearing, like hiking socks.
So when I had to go back down the areas with large steps, not only was I in pain on every step, but I was having to use muscles I hadn’t used much on the climb up so I could stabilize myself going down. These steps were also mentally fatiguing because they were so treacherous. One bad step or slip, and you were going to fall and hurt yourself. These steps were so relentless. They just never seemed to end, and I wanted them to.
A lot of people I heard along the way were saying it reminded them of the Greek ruins and/or Parthenon. I’ll have to check those out someday. That was one of the great things about this hike—you saw people from all over the world, and who were in great shape. I could tell a lot of Europeans are in better shape than Americans—probably because they do so much walking, and it’s in their culture to do more hiking because mountain ranges are so close.
As each new series of steps came up, I was dreading it mentally, but I had to do it if I was going to get home. So my mind pushed me yet again.
I wonder how many people slip and fall on these steps that make them incapacitated to where they can’t make it down? Or in general, those people who just give up and can’t make it down and need a $10,000 helicopter rescue? Or the people who get lost because they don’t calculate when they should be heading back, and get caught in darkness.
The great thing about Yosemite is there isn’t a lot of guidance. You’re on your own. There’s no park ranger presence, no signs that recommend you should turn back at a particular point because you’ll get caught in darkness. With California being such a highly regulated state where there’s so much emphasis on safety, this felt like a throw-back to the 1960’s and before. It was refreshing.
When we finished the last series of steps and declines, we had one more mile of flat walking to go. I didn’t even want to do that because my feet were hurting so much. Jack was right when he said that the first time he hiked up Half Dome, he felt every pain he had ever had because it brings it all out. That’s the way I felt. Every joint and muscle in my lower body was hurting.
The whole time during this hike I was trying to figure out ways to describe this experience. Here are some of them:
- This was the most difficult (or hardest) thing I’ve ever done in my life. More than running a marathon, more than preparing for a marathon, and more than getting into a great MBA program.
- This was the most excrutiating, physically demanding thing I’ve ever done.
- Even though it’s impossible for me to deliver a baby, I’ve got to think this is the closest pain a person can have to having one.
- This hike is so difficult, you can’t prepare for it 100%. You can try to run and get in general shape, but there’s a mental aspect of it that’s impossible to replicate in the gym, the altitude is impossible to simulate, and no one would climb the number of steps that are on this hike on a StairMaster.
I felt just about the same way I felt after I had run my marathon, but this was much tougher than that. I breathed a lot harder and pushed myself into an oxygen deprivation state more than I had ever had during the marathon, and climbing is a lot tougher than just running on flat land. I also had a backpack on me, which added more difficulty to it. Although a marathon is 26.2 miles and this was a 16.4 mile round-trip, the climb and descent are much more challenging. You have to think about almost every step, and you’re losing oxygen in higher altitude. With a marathon, you can just kind of cruise and put yourself into a hypnotic state. You can’t do that with Half Dome. You have to be on your A-Game.
This hike kicked my ass, and I realize I need to get to get in better shape. This hike sets a standard on which I can gauge myself over time, so I vow to do more hiking. Hiking sets an objective standard—you can either get to the top, or you can’t.
I later found the video below that does a pretty good job of showing how tough, but beautiful, the Half Dome hike is.