Half Dome
At the beginning of the year, I took it upon myself to go out to Yosemite, in the middle of Winter, to discover the Valley and what I thought I needed at that time. I loved it; I unlocked a new version of myself.
A few months later, in the same valley, I found myself surrounded by friends, walking in the rain before sunrise, facing the most monumental thing any of us had done before. It seems the words adventure and expedition are thrown around, but for Peter and I, 2017 is about chasing bigger and more thrilling experiences. Together or alone, it did not matter. Personally, I have wanted to more expedition-style trips.
Expedition — A journey or voyage undertaken by a group of people with a particular purpose, especially that of exploration, scientific research, or war.
I’ll leave the research and war for when I gain more experience, but during my last hike in February, I stood in a large pile of scree at the base of Half Dome, looked up, and thought: “How can I get up there?” Four months later, I was about to answer my own question as dawn broke over the valley.
Our journey started at 3 a.m. as I woke up from the hotel room floor in a light sleeping bag and a folded towel as my pillow; I could have used more sleep that night. By 5 a.m., we had set off and by 5:20 a.m., we had commenced the trail head. It was gloomy and rainy, the first few hills seemed difficult. One hour in, we hit what I thought was a breathtaking experience: a staircase of rocks, which seemed to rise into the heavens. The entire space around us was overtaken by floating water particles from the falls. The sheer power, just from that passage, set a tone for me and how I wanted to document this trip. I was soaked from hat to toe, including my camera and lens, but I was thriving.
My next special moment was staring at the opposing hills and rock formations, which were wet, but also draped with a cloth of fog as the first rays of sunlight painted themselves on the rock. Fascinating; I did not want to leave. The atmosphere shifted as we entered the wooded terrain. This left us in conversation, watching a young deer dance by, and simple breaks. I think at that point, half of the group started to feel the burn. They also were determined, which was the best part about them.
As the day progressed, the sun made its appearance, even though rain was the main contestant of our weather forecast. Rain was my biggest fear because making it to the sub-dome and not being able to climb to the summit would have been a failure. A failure for what we had planned on accomplishing. Some things cannot be controlled though so we kept hoping for the best. On a predetermined ten-hour hike, I anticipated that things would become dull, but persistence was fueled by glimpses of higher grounds while we played leapfrog with other groups.
As we continued our never-ending ascent, the group dynamic transitioned: quiet moments, secluded individuals, and alternating group leaders. I thought it was almost like a social experiment. I don’t believe I have ever seen such a willing group of individuals keep a smile and determination as they were hurting.
My personal goal, on the documenting side, was not to collect a gallery of landscapes, but to capture the lifestyle and adventure during the expedition. To tell the story through a set of images that could communicate each moment’s impact. This mindset allowed me to capture without the burden of being concerned with how the images turned out. There was no real review until well after we had left. First and foremost, I was there to enjoy the company of my friends.
As granite started to emerge, we could tell we were getting close to the Dome. Paths turned steeper and rocky as the Valley’s surroundings shone, reflecting the face of the midday sun. At that moment, Freddy, who had previously decided to not climb the Dome, made his farewell. We were incomplete and started to feel the pressure of this final section. I think most people have seen pictures of the cables, but nothing does it true justice until you perceive with your own eyes the magnitude of it all while rising over the sub-dome.
It’s windy, very windy, cold, and the clouds are barreling through the little rock left for us to walk on. I looked back at the group to watch their reaction: absurdity and thrill. My first question to Peter was: “Are we still doing this?!” with a hesitant voice. The fact that we were so close, but the very few people climbing up resembled ants on what I could only describe as a vertical face of death, muddled my emotions. I say death because if you were to fall, that would be your fate.
I enjoy taking risks, but here I stood, divided between taking my heavy backpack full of camera gear or leaving it behind knowing that it could make the climb a lot easier. It took me a few minutes to make up my mind. Then, I watched an older man preparing his bag to climb with no apparent nervousness; I fed off that confidence. Half of us left our bags behind, while I kept mine knowing I’d regret not taking it once I was at the top. The very short walk between the the sub-dome and the cables felt like standing in line for the front row seats on a rollercoaster: you felt pulled in and couldn’t escape it. We looked down at the pile of leftover gloves, each picked a pair, and took a group picture just in case one of us died. Just a simple way to keep our atmosphere light…
Joe led the group followed by me, Peter, and Bri. No one else was on the cables because the clouds were so dense and the rock had just finished drying. As you pulled yourself up, the poles rattled inside the granite holes. Joe stopped and asked me: “How far do you think these poles actually go?” lacking confidence in the setup, I answered: “Probably not far enough…” As we moved forward, the percentage grade of the dome increased and my bag grew heavier. We all followed each other closely which wasn’t smart because once one person stopped, the others had to as well. The only comfortable place to break was on the brittle-bolted-to-the-poles-rattling-around 2x4’s that had decayed over time. If you stopped on the granite instead, your grip wasn’t as good. We then decided to give each other some space, and while Joe climbed away, I remember being nervous as I looked over to my left and saw the thick fog mask the void that could make any pair of knees shake. Once I started moving, my nervousness subsided. We all cheered each other on as we gained momentum. This climb confronted you with adaptability: cable switches, random ledges appearing, people coming down the same way you were going up, and wind. I’d say climbing around others is an experience of its own because it involves the trust of complete strangers.
“The hardest is done” I think to myself as the grade starts evening out and walking on a different axis feels right again. I quickly ran to the end of the cables to capture the feeling of this immense emotion of summiting Half Dome. We walked together toward the edge of the face on the other side. I remember feeling and thinking: “This is the happiest I’ve been”, warmth was rushing through my body via my blood even though the cold wind was present. I was so proud of myself and that isn’t a feeling I’ve experienced many times. Peter tells me to turn around and captures a portrait at the top of this majestic rock. I then carefully look over the edge to see where I looked up a few months prior. Smiles were all around, and the fact that I could share this with others amplified my emotions.
I see the Valley, but only for seconds at a time as curtains made of cloud attempt to protect it as if it were sacred. Walking around on the only remaining ice patch, we take as many photos possible, hoping to make up for the loss of any memories in years to come. I wanted to stay up there forever, almost like this was the end of my story; I couldn’t envision the rest. And then I knew this was like a green light for more of these trips.
All good things come to an end. It was surreal that the way up was so nerve-wracking while looking down was so calming. Peter later told me that it was the opposite for him, which amazes me more how the brain functions. I took one last look at what we had attained, and our petiteness among the vast and grand scenery that surrounded us. As we came down, I was so relaxed and saw a large group of people making their way up. We had missed rush hour. Being the last one to come down, I stopped midway, propped myself up and tried to capture what I was experiencing. As I caught up with the group, we watched the nervous and fearful gazes pass us. I’d give them a boost to get by me and wished them “good luck” or “it’s worth it”. Once they had all gone by, we met at the bottom and were all buzzing.
I had met my goal, so from there it was pure enjoyment and no anxiety. Once Freddy rejoined, we were whole again. After providing him with a few insights of our experience, he happily locked in his decision to not come, and told us about the folks he had met while waiting. I’m not going to lie, I was tired and it was only mid-day. It felt like we had been doing this for multiple days. All together, we walked down the switchback trail through the woods, telling one another our take on the climb and other personal stories. In a few hours, we were closer than most people just because of our journey together. We had decided to take John Muir Trail on our way back to make it easier on our sore knees and to see different views. That is where the group started separating. As we passed through waterfalls, I made the decision to put my camera away since I was content with what I had collected. Peter, Freddy, and I were now making our way through the crowded trail. Tired legs, dirt and rock filled shoes, and lack of nutrition were becoming the stars of this story. On my last break to empty my shoes, I realized that the little pebble bothering the ball of my foot was the start of a large blister. Shoes back on, I wanted to make it back before the ten-hour mark as a final challenge. I kept increasing my speed as I was now both literally and figuratively racing the clock. I don’t usually enjoy going slow, which made me look insane as I traversed thick crowds of tourists who seemed to be doing the bare minimum on the trail and made Yosemite look like Disney World. I didn’t care though. I just wanted to get to the trailhead and lay down on a bench.
Nine hours and forty-six minutes later, I had made my way up and down Half Dome, let my family know I was still part of this world, and laid down on a bench next to an older lady who seemed unimpressed, whether she knew about my morning or not. I stared straight up at the sky and the dancing trees, forever grateful for these experiences. One after another, the group rejoined at the bench, filled with wanderlust and sore muscles.
That is the story of how a group of friends one Friday morning, went to the summit of Half Dome.
