Saturday, May 23, 2009

Waterfalls, Puddles, and Horse Poop

The Mist Trail and Nevada Falls Challenge

Okay. So we want to take the kids up on Mist Trail. We bundle them up. Pack snacks and extra dry clothes to put on after the falls. Eat a good breakfast. They can do 3.5 miles, we think. No problem. 

Turns out they think differently the first mile of the trail. Hiking up hill without many distractions (other than the beautiful and delicate Illilloutte Falls off in the distance,) is not motivating by any means to three 5-year-olds. We stop. Drink water. Eat apples. But nothing works. Things aren't looking good until we discover a smashed millipede (yes, as flat as a tortilla) on the trail. We look at the hundreds of legs, and very, very flat body. It's a perk, and just interesting enough to make them forget about the pain of hiking up hill. We arrive at the bridge, and the Merced roars beneath us. 

The start of the Mist Trail. Yes, we might actually make it to the top of Vernal. And then maybe, Nevada. Yeah, they can do it (we're very idealistic at this moment, who knows why.) It's fun. Wet. Splashy stairs. I sacrifice my waterproof shirt and hat, and Nova stays dry. Step by step, those kids trudge up the Mist Trail. The waterfall is huge. The mist is a gentle, yet unyielding force. It soaks us clean through. We round each set of stairs, and in front of me I see constant rainbows with each blink. I can't think of anything more beautiful.

 We move up, up, up and with the water and weight of life pulling on our bones, we grace the top. Welcomed by a full and beautiful arc of color. Light and life separating out into the spectrum. I think about each color and wonder if each hue really represents a part of life. Introspective purple. Serenity blue. The yellow of excitement. The fiery heart of red. Orange when I laugh. And green when I come home. Together, those colors are my life. And I find it so odd and so perfect that unless bent, those colors disappear, and become the whole that makes me, me. Maybe I'm delirious. Too many steps. Too many 5-year-old complaints. 

Or maybe I'm just at peace. 

Lunch at the top brings joy. Relaxation. A sense of accomplishment for us all. We decide the kids can definitely do Nevada. It's not THAT much farther, and much easier than Vernal. So we think...

Turns out the trek up to Nevada is steep. Did I say steep? Well, I meant STEEP. The big bursting fall powers off to our right but it's out of reach, and brings no wet, muddy puddles to stomp through. The kids are tired, and with each rocky step, the weight of our decision weighs on us. Can they make it? Do we need to turn back? We make up stories. Take turns introducing characters like pandas lost in mysteries trees in the forest. It's enough to get us almost to the top of Nevada. Juice boxes. Chewing gum. Dried cranberries. Anything to motivate them. Nevada is gorgeous. The granite streaks frame the falls, and I never tire of the view. 

The top is a nice respite. More juice. Cliff bars. Time to replenish these little guys (and a compost toilet...ya-hoo!) Linda and I are perplexed. It says another 4 miles back down. Wasn't the whole loop about 4 miles? Uh-oh. We've goofed. Must make a choice. Back down the steep, rocky steps, or take an easier trail down that's a mile longer. We choose the longer, yet smoother horse trail, and off we go. And go. And go. Gravity tugs us down. We rush by raining waterfalls, smooshy trails, and bits of snow. I feel the pull of the steep decline on my knees. We sing. We watch for "road apples," (we're on a horse trail after all.) And after miles (X4) of "are we there yet?" we make it back to the main "Mist Trail." The bridge. And more millipedes (living this time) crawl along with us to welcome us back. 

It doesn't register in their 5-year-old brains. But they just hiked 8 miles with 2,000 foot elevation gain. We're so proud. Exhausted. Linda and I are happy and exhilarated from hiking all day in such a magic place, with three feisty, strong kids. We did it together 15 years ago, and now the thought of sharing the experience warms us. Passing the love and accomplishment on to our kids is spectacular. 

Off the shuttle, and a stop at Yosemite Village. Mushroom and olive pizza. Ice cream and drinks. A perfect ending to a perfect day. 

Here's a little we learned about motivating three 5-year-olds to hike 8 miles.

What worked:

1.) smashed (and living) millipedes
2.) waterfalls, puddles, and horse poop
3.) snowballs thrown at mom
4.) bubble gum and stories

What didn't work:

1.) The phrase: "You're almost there!" (I think they caught on to that after mile 2)

No comments: