Lunch stop at June Lake.
Rachel hits the laundromat while I go back to Death Valley to take pics of the last stretch, which I’d thought so photogenic the day before but had been unable to snap because of the battery problem.
I return to pick up R and we drive through wonderful snowy mountains, which close around us. We hadn’t been expecting the whole snow and mountains thing to continue, let alone grow in scale, and we stop to take a photo at a frozen lake.
Packed lunch at a deserted picnic site at June Lake.
Good fun to be listening out for the sound of bears padding across the frosty snow. When we try to walk to the lake (we fail, too much snow) I see large tracks – including toe marks. Exciting.
But semi-disaster strikes later when our attempt to take a road into Yosemite is thwarted by a road closure (snow). Come on guys, this is meant to be California – I saw CHIPS and Dirty Harry growing up: it was all parched highways and dusty hills. And besides, it’s hot today – it can’t be hot and snowy, that’s science.
We drive another 30 miles and the next entrance road is closed, too. CHIPS? Dirty Harry? Anyone? And the next one, another 30 miles on. He-llo? This wouldn’t have happened under Schwarzenegger. He’d have gone back in time and terminated the snowfall without stopping his goddamned motorbike.
We pull over at the next town – Topaz Lake, just into Nevada – to call the tent reservation people at Curry Village, Yosemite, which Rachel manages to do after a stressful the-money-keeps-running-out phone call. The woman in the petrol station is then extremely helpful in telling us which route will be open the next day. We check in to a Best Western there at Topaz Lake and go out for a meal at a deserted, slightly down-at-heel casino-cum-restaurant. Two or three other vehicles in the Best Western car park when we go to bed that night. Quiet. So, unexpectedly in Nevada again. Just.
Day 24
Head off (again) for Yosemite. By now we are singing “Yosemite” to the tune of Yo-Diggedy, which at least helps to pass the time. We head even deeper into the mountains on winding and deserted roads where snow banks rise above the car on either side of the road for miles on end. Lunch stop at Jackson, California, another of those lucky accidents.
Great sandwiches at deli in historic district of a town which wears its Old West connections on its sleeve, plus a plaque marking where the hangman’s tree used to stand.
Onwards, through lush countryside, across bridges spanning sparkling blue lakes and then around hairpin bends in ear-popping mountains. We enter Yosemite and the journey becomes even more incredible as we gawp at distant waterfalls playing out in slow motion, and the famous El Capitan, a mighty slab of rock on which you can apparently often see tiny specks – climbers.
El Capitan.
We eventually reach Curry Village and experience equal parts excitement, amusement and anxiety as we see rows of white tents lined up in the formidable shade (ie near darkness) of one of the mountains. We check in and receive the first of many bear warnings (we must keep all food, drink and toiletries in the locker outside our tent).
Our moment of expectation is dulled somewhat as the key to our tent fails. An apologetic member of staff soon lets us in and we make our elaborate bed with half a dozen blankets. Then we’re asked to move to another tent. Grrr. Oh well, it’s not bad as it gets us away from the two middle-aged Welsh sisters who had also just arrived and were obviously intent on standing outside, fagging it 24/7.
Here is our new home, number 24. Aaaahhhh. Note the high banks of snow er, insulating, it. Oh, and it's unheated.
We unpack, make the bed again and go out for a pizza – our tent may be unheated and free of electricity points but the facilities in Curry Village are superb, and the staff the most efficient and helpful of the whole trip.
Hey look, I've got a ridiculous brown paper bag for my shopping! I'm an American! (sorry Americans, but they are ridiculous).
We eat the pizza on the food court’s patio and have a couple of drinks. We later move inside to the pavilion but however warm it is in here, it’s a bit busy and we’re very tired so we head back to the tent, where we put on multiple layers of clothing including hoodies and hats, to go to bed.
We turn out lights – sorry, light – out at 8.45pm. Thoughts racing through my mind (well, not exactly racing, there was no need to rush): Will there be worrying sounds? Will we wake ridiculously early? How cold will it be in the dead of night? And what is “the dead of night” anyway? It’s very peaceful anyway, as there’s a stfu rule applying from 10-6, which is observed impeccably. No sound except that of a big waterfall about a quarter of a mile anyway.
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