#59. Yosemite and the Eastern Sierra: 21-26 Sept 2025

In the previous two years, my best friend from second grade Charlotte Stetson and I had hiked in Chile and Montenegro/Croatia. This year, with Candelaria‘s health somewhat precarious, I opted for a week of hiking closer to home. Knowing that I’d be in Bishop, CA, in mid-September for the Highpointers Convention, Charlotte proposed flying out from Maine to do our hiking there. I knew very little about Yosemite National Park and certainly had never been there, but this plan seemed like an excellent alternative.

We booked an Airbnb in June Lake off Highway 395 several months in advance, and even then, it was one of the few spots available. On Sunday, friends from the convention drove me 45 minutes north to Mammoth Lakes, where I met Charlotte in the parking lot of Vons, the major grocery chain in the region. We stocked up on supplies and left them in cooler bags that we brought for this purpose, since we couldn’t check into our Airbnb until 4 PM. Time for a hike!

The June Lake Loop looked promising and would bring us back to where we needed to be. The map showed the trailhead to be directly across from Perched Boulder, and when we arrived, we understood the reason for the name. We parked in the shade, changed into our hiking clothes, and took off for what promised to be a 3-4 hour hike.

The first half confirmed why we had wanted to hike in this region of California. Within minutes from the trailhead, we began to have stunning vistas of crystal-blue lakes surrounded by pine groves with the Eastern Sierra mountains dotting the horizon. The remains of dead trees along the trail served as an outdoor art exhibit.

Our AllTrails map confirmed that we were moving in the right direction as we crossed the ski slope under the chairlift (non-operational in the season). From there, we headed down a one-mile gravel road, hard on the shins, where utility trucks were repairing the lines. This was not why we had come to California.

By 4 PM, we were able to check into our Airbnb, a full 30 minutes before the Kansas City Chiefs would play the New York Giants. Patrick Mahomes was already down two games for the season, so this match-up was Required Viewing. Alas, the instructions for using the TV were not detailed. In response to our frantic messages, our Airbnb host was remarkably responsive, offering to walk us through the steps as she drove her son north to college. By the second quarter, we had mastered the remote for the Roku TV, and the Chiefs handily won the game. The week was off to a good start.

As on our previous two trips, Charlotte had done most of the research. She strongly advised that we stay on the east side of Yosemite National Park, which is far less traveled and still offers superb hiking options. As she explained, "I have no interest in getting caught up in the traffic of Yosemite Valley." Fine by me; I was just happy to be along for the ride.

On Monday, we opted for a long hike: the Cathedral Lakes Trail, 45 minutes from our Airbnb. It would be some 8 miles, with an estimated time of 4–4.5 hours. The AllTrails map showed us that we’d have 2.3 miles before reaching a fork in the road: the choice between the Lower and Upper Cathedral Lakes Trail. We quickly decided that our senior status entitled us to opt for the shorter one (Lower). True to our pattern on previous trips, I was faster on the uphill, Charlotte on the downhill. We were sporting matching knee braces. 

As we came over the final slabs of granite, we were rewarded with spectacular views of Lower Cathedral Lake, circled by pine trees, with dramatic rock formations jutting out on the horizon. Most impressive was Cathedral Peak itself. The hike had checked the box for our first hike in Yosemite: a reasonable distance with some elevation.

Tuesday took us back to Yosemite to the Dog Lake Trail and Lembert Dome, a five-mile hike with even less elevation than the previous day. There was a certain irony that below the sign at the trailhead to Dog Lake was the icon indicating "no dogs."

As we started toward Dog Lake, I marveled at the quality of the trail. In contrast to the rocky, gnarly trails I'd experienced the previous month on Mount Katahdin in Maine, these seemed almost carpet-like: wide paths of soft dirt covered by pine needles, winding through a forest of trees providing welcome shade, with the occasional root or rock that looked almost ornamental. Had Mother Nature or the National Park Service created this idyllic setting?

Within an hour, we arrived at Dog Lake, another beautifully secluded spot encircled by pine trees, with granite domes dotting the horizon. This one was small enough to circle before we continued to the second part of the hike: Lembert Dome.

As Charlotte ooh-d and aah-d over the scenery (she being far more vocal in her appreciation of Nature than I), I had to stifle a nagging thought. This scenery was beyond spectacular, but the hike itself seemed pretty tame.

I need not have worried.

As we rounded a corner on the trail toward Lembert Done, we came upon a very chatty, silver-haired woman in a Rangers jacket, with watercolors in hand. No, the staff in this part of the park had not been affected by the cuts to the National Park Service, since they were seasonal workers. She quickly clarified that she was a volunteer, lest we pass judgment on her painting on the job. It was a fortuitous meeting, because she explained the best approach to Lembert Dome. We would take the well-marked trail for a half mile through the wooded forest to the base of the dome. From there, we'd see the "stairs" that Mother Nature had created on the bottom layers of the dome. They would take us over the large slabs of granite to the base of the dome. And "for those who feel comfortable walking over granite on the incline," there was a path up the back side to the top of the dome.

We stopped for a water and snack break in the shade, as we approached the base of the dome. We navigated Nature's stairs without difficulty to a section that flattened out. There, we could admire the view and snap photos of ourselves and fellow hikers on solid ground.

We could now see the route that the volunteer ranger had explained to us. We should walk toward the left and gradually ascend the massive sloping slides of the dome. Charlotte was already making good progress in that direction, seemingly oblivious to the fact that just one misstep could result in a very nasty fall.

As I approached this dicey section, I could hear my friend Julie in one of my ears: "Lean into the mountain." I heard my daughter Katy in my other: "No heroics." I took a deep breath, lunged forward, and advanced a few yards - only to retreat. I gingerly worked my way back down to solid footing.

Then in my third ear I heard the line from the Doors Light my Fire: "The time for hesitating gone, there's no time to wallow in the mire..." And up I went, following in Charlotte's steps.

She was clearly more comfortable on this granite rock hiking than I, exclaiming that the rough surface provided far better footing than a smooth granite surface would. Soon, Charlotte was out of sight, having circled to the back side of the dome. I managed another 50 yards upward before deciding I'd had enough fun on this adventure. Charlotte could easily have made it to the top of the dome, but satisfied her desire to see the top with a selfie.

As I began the delicate descent, I quickly realized that I needed to favor my good knee, and with that self-correction, I made it back down to a relatively level portion. I had caught a shot of Charlotte from her perch near the top, and she returned the favor. As she was adjusting her camera, she became distracted by a particularly interesting bug that crossed her path. "Charlotte, take the damn picture!"

Any criticism that this hike was too tame vanished on Lembert Dome.

On Day 4, Wednesday, we headed to Lundy Canyon in the Inyo Forest, just north of Yosemite. Our Toyota Corolla rental car was hardly the vehicle of choice to cover the dirt road leading to the trailhead. I silently acknowledged that AAA would not be offering service if we got a flat tire on that remote road. But with Charlotte's excellent driving skills, we managed to get there.

We'd been told that with luck, we might see some autumn foliage. This became Charlotte‘s obsession. As we approached the canyon, we could see patches of yellow, red, and burnt orange on a distant ridge. Yet alas, we were a few weeks early to catch the canyon in its full autumnal glory. Still, the scenery was spellbinding, and Charlotte alternated between exclamations that "this scenery is amazing“ and "if only we were here two weeks later.“ We found the spot with the most brilliant foliage to snap a photo of Charlotte, harboring her unspoken wish that the entire canyon were as colorful.

Again, I had done no research on Lundy Canyon and was happily following Charlotte‘s lead. I downloaded the map from AllTrails, which diagramed the hike we'd be taking as a near-perfect normal curve: a slow incline at the start through the bottom of the canyon, followed by steeply elevated sections, the further we got into the canyon. The hike out and back would be six miles, but we had agreed beforehand that we probably wouldn't make it the full way, as the trail became increasingly steep.

Early into the hike, we encountered gnarly roots that crisscrossed the trail and jagged pieces of rock that jutted through the ground. Still, there was only a gentle elevation in the early section, and we enjoyed regular intervals of shade, thanks to the canopy of foliage covering portions of the trail. And we could hardly complain about the weather: perfect temperatures for hiking with bluebird skies.

Midway up the canyon, we experienced the first challenge: making our way across a bridge of sorts, constructed by dead logs. We successfully managed to get to the other side. I had Charlotte take my photo on the pile of logs so I could send it to my PT instructor; at every session, he has me repeat a balance exercise intended to prepare me for this very eventuality in nature. Shortly thereafter, we reached a near-identical set of logs. As I prepared to cross it, Charlotte pointed out that the riverbed was entirely dry. No log hopping needed.

As the morning progressed, so did the steepness of the trail. By now, I had discovered the feature of AllTrails that showed the degree of incline at any given point along the trail. We were still only at 13 degrees, but we soon found ourselves at 23, then 33. (Had we stayed on it, it would have reached 69 degrees). Although the trail would go all the way up the mountainside to Lake Helen, we knew beforehand that it would exceed our appetite for adventure.

As the trail wound up the side of the mountain, it changed from dirt to scree (stones that have fallen from the mountaintop and come to rest on the trail), which makes for precarious footing. We exchanged views on how much further to go, reminding ourselves of the sign at the trailhead: "You are solely responsible for your own safety." Indeed, we had seen no one else on the trail.

We caught a glimpse of a waterfall descending on a hill far above us, which caused Charlotte momentary inspiration to keep going. But our appetite for adventure (a.k.a. tolerance for fear) was well matched, and we simultaneously decided we had reached the point after which we needed to go no further. If we had wanted physical challenge, the steep trail heading toward Lake Helen had delivered. With difficulty, we found a level place to stop for a quick lunch before heading down.

By the afternoon, we crossed paths with 5-6 different hikers. They were not intending to hike as high as we'd been, we smugly assumed. The return seemed far faster than going out, and five hours after we'd started, we were back at the trailhead. Another sensational day of hiking, and one so different from what we'd experienced in Yosemite.

As we discussed the plan for the final two days of hiking, I again thought about going back into the Park to see El Capitan (the site of the movie Free Solo, in which Alex Honnold scales the nearly 3,000-foot rock face without a rope or safety gear, while his crew and the millions who watched it had their stomach in their mouth). Charlotte had initially eschewed the idea of getting entangled in the tourist traffic of Yosemite Valley. Yet I couldn’t rid myself of the gnawing desire to see El Capitan in the Yosemite Valley. I went back to view the trailer of the documentary in which Honnock inches up this mammoth wall, facing sure death at any moment, should he fall. I couldn't even bear to watch the trailer. Apparently, Jimmy Chin, the Oscar-winning director of the film, had the same reaction, even as he was filming it. I was hooked.

“Charlotte, I’m happy to leave all the research to you for the places to hike. But if you expect any input from me, it would be to bite the bullet and visit El Capitan.” Apparently, she’d gotten her fix of Nature and Scenery, because her reply was a surprised yet positive, “Oh really?” Immediately, she considered the reasons to do so. “We HAVE come all this way…” Within minutes, the program for Thursday was set..

Visiting El Capitan would require retracing our route from Monday and Tuesday into the Park, then continuing another hour along the Tioga Road, which connects with the main highway from the West. By now, we realized that the traffic was much less congested than we’d feared. It was September, school was back in session, and we were there on a weekday. The worst of it was waiting in line behind six other cars at the entrance gate. The extra miles took us to a part of the park that we’d yet to see, and the vistas took on a different allure. For the first time since we’d begun hiking, rain threatened. But it held off long enough for us to park and ogle El Capitan.

How could it occur to ANYONE to want to scale this mammoth structure? We learned from Google that 30 people have died on El Capitan, 23 from falls, the others from hypothermia, rockfalls, and gear failure. To our disappointment, no one was attempting to climb on the day of our visit. (As a postscript, two weeks later, a well-known 23-year-old rock climber fell to his death attempting this feat. If it had to happen, we were thankful we hadn't witnessed it.)

We crossed the highway and took a short hike to see Bridal Veil Falls, also impressive for the height of the waterfall.

Our next stop was Mirror Lake, one of the most popular trails in the park. This two-mile hike on nearly flat ground was easygoing after three days of five-hour hikes each day, two of which scared us out of our wits. We were rewarded by a clear view of Half Dome, a giant granite structure so named because one side of the rock is a sheer cliff face, whereas the other three sides are round, giving it the appearance of a dome cut in half. Two days earlier, we’d seen it in the distance from Olmsted Point. Mirror Lake has all but dried up, allowing visitors to walk across it as they snap photos of this towering rock structure.

Our final stop was the Ansel Adams Gallery. We misread the instructions for traffic patterns and had to retrace our steps along the route that circles Yosemite Village. As the skies darkened, we questioned if it was worth the trip back. Again, the philosophy of “since we’re already here” prevailed, and we walked between the raindrops from the parking lot to our destination. Far more a gift shop than an art gallery, it nonetheless gave us the welcome opportunity to view Ansel Adams’ iconic photos of the landmarks we’d just seen in recent days.

Friday was our final day of hiking. We checked out of our Airbnb in June Lake and headed north on Hwy 395 for one final time. Our destination was Mono Lake, a large saline, alkaline lake that we’d passed numerous times on previous days. We were introduced to “tufa,” curiously shaped limestone structures that shoot out of the ground and lake, the result of centuries of calcium-rich spring water mixing with the alkaline lake water. After three days of vigorous hiking and a fourth day of intense tourism, we were ready for a relaxed day consisting of two short hikes around Mono Lake. 

By early afternoon, we headed north toward Reno, where we’d spend the night at an airport hotel before my departure on Saturday. Reno’s REI was two blocks from our hotel, and I walked out with new hiking pants and boots (an unspoken commitment to future hiking?). Charlotte’s sister Eleanor arrived late on Friday to join her for a second week of hiking to the north of Reno. We enjoyed breakfast together on Saturday before they left for their own week of adventure.

Given that Charlotte and I had hiked in Chile and Montenegro/Croatia in the two previous years, I feared that hiking in the U.S. might not live up to the earlier excursions. I needn’t have worried. These six days had delivered an unforgettable experience in one of the most spectacular national parks in the country. We had tested our limits (and equanimity) on two very different types of terrain. We shared our enjoyment of day hikes, defined by coming home to a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a comfortable bed. And we never tired of telling strangers that we were best friends in second grade.

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