Post by balzaccom on Jul 15, 2024 13:47:34 GMT -8
Mystery #2
On our recent trip up Lyell Canyon in Yosemite, we met four smartly and officially clad rangers on the trail on our hike out. The first two were wildlife management rangers, asking about bears, and reinforcing the messaging that Yosemite has in place for what to do when it comes to bears:
> Store food (and all other smelly items) properly at all times. That means a bear canister in Yosemite.
> If you see a bear that approaches you within fifty feet, yell at it and make as much noise as possible. Scare it away. We want to keep them wild.
> Report all bear sightings.
Following this conversation, we had to admit to ourselves that we were disappointed that we hadn't seen a bear in Lyell Canyon.
The next ranger arrived on horseback, and asked about a spot device and a heavy-set man, But if you read this blog, you know all about that one.
The last ranger was on the trail near a key junction, and was very cheerfully asking everyone for their backpacking permits. We had one, and presented it promptly. He was happy, so were we. Nice guy.
And then as we hiked farther down the trail, we came upon a single hiker. He was standing slightly off the trail, and seemed lost in thought. He was thin, with what seemed to us to be appropriate but clean hiking clothing--hat that covered both his head and neck, long sleeved shirt and pants that looked lightweight and ready for anything. And he was holding what looked like new and shining hiking poles across his behind between his hands in what almost looked like a thoughtful, monastic pose. His head was down and slightly shielded by his hat. And, of course, he had a backpack. But he was going nowhere. It looked as if he were waiting for someone.
We passed him by with a quiet greeting, which he returned rather shyly, without making eye contact.
We continued hiking down the trail towards Tuolumne Meadows, and were surprised to see that he had followed behind. Somehow, given his outfit. I had thought he was on his way up the trail, not down.
We hiked along a bit more, and despite taking things slowly, we never left the fellow far behind. At the bridges over the Tuolumne River, we paused to take photos and a rest. He slowly and quietly passed us by. I noticed now that his pack was a brand new Osprey, eggplant color, and without a speck of dust on it. It was perfectly packed full and tight.
We packed up and hiked on, hiking about a hundred feet behind him. For a solo hiker in good condition, he seemed to be wandering more than hiking. And as we approached the Tuolumne Meadows Lodge, he left the trail and even more slowly began to slowly trudge up toward the lodge.
And I began to think. What was this guy doing? His pack seemed to indicate he was ready and outfitted for a major adventure. But he had apparently made it fewer than two miles from the trailhead at Tuolumne Meadows. His pack was jammed full of gear, but apparently never set on the ground.
What the heck?
My solution to follow in a while
On our recent trip up Lyell Canyon in Yosemite, we met four smartly and officially clad rangers on the trail on our hike out. The first two were wildlife management rangers, asking about bears, and reinforcing the messaging that Yosemite has in place for what to do when it comes to bears:
> Store food (and all other smelly items) properly at all times. That means a bear canister in Yosemite.
> If you see a bear that approaches you within fifty feet, yell at it and make as much noise as possible. Scare it away. We want to keep them wild.
> Report all bear sightings.
Following this conversation, we had to admit to ourselves that we were disappointed that we hadn't seen a bear in Lyell Canyon.
The next ranger arrived on horseback, and asked about a spot device and a heavy-set man, But if you read this blog, you know all about that one.
The last ranger was on the trail near a key junction, and was very cheerfully asking everyone for their backpacking permits. We had one, and presented it promptly. He was happy, so were we. Nice guy.
And then as we hiked farther down the trail, we came upon a single hiker. He was standing slightly off the trail, and seemed lost in thought. He was thin, with what seemed to us to be appropriate but clean hiking clothing--hat that covered both his head and neck, long sleeved shirt and pants that looked lightweight and ready for anything. And he was holding what looked like new and shining hiking poles across his behind between his hands in what almost looked like a thoughtful, monastic pose. His head was down and slightly shielded by his hat. And, of course, he had a backpack. But he was going nowhere. It looked as if he were waiting for someone.
We passed him by with a quiet greeting, which he returned rather shyly, without making eye contact.
We continued hiking down the trail towards Tuolumne Meadows, and were surprised to see that he had followed behind. Somehow, given his outfit. I had thought he was on his way up the trail, not down.
We hiked along a bit more, and despite taking things slowly, we never left the fellow far behind. At the bridges over the Tuolumne River, we paused to take photos and a rest. He slowly and quietly passed us by. I noticed now that his pack was a brand new Osprey, eggplant color, and without a speck of dust on it. It was perfectly packed full and tight.
We packed up and hiked on, hiking about a hundred feet behind him. For a solo hiker in good condition, he seemed to be wandering more than hiking. And as we approached the Tuolumne Meadows Lodge, he left the trail and even more slowly began to slowly trudge up toward the lodge.
And I began to think. What was this guy doing? His pack seemed to indicate he was ready and outfitted for a major adventure. But he had apparently made it fewer than two miles from the trailhead at Tuolumne Meadows. His pack was jammed full of gear, but apparently never set on the ground.
What the heck?
My solution to follow in a while
