The Sierra Nevada Mountains raise up in a cacophony of sharp, jagged stutters or deep, steady inhales. There’s no symmetry, order, peace. Untamed and violent, they dare you to not look in awe. Hubris nowhere in sight, naturally we look at them and think, “Let’s climb ‘em.”
So, here I am, before the last stars have even turned in for the day, driving an hour towards the trailhead of Clouds Rest. Named for its high-elevation, this 14.5-mile hike sits at an elevation of 9,926 feet, offering panoramic views of Yosemite’s most iconic landmarks. The funny thing about the drive to a seven-hour hike is your mind has a lot of time to think of all the ways this could go sideways. As my brother and I pull into the parking lot, the time for worst-case scenarios has passed and pure excitement is buzzing through my veins. Hailing from Ohio, my frame of reference for terrain is tragically flat. Here, I’m looking up at an unfathomably high mountain I’ve decided to conquer.
About a mile and a half into the hike, we hit the hardest part. A thousand-foot-gaining series of switchbacks that leave my leg muscles shaking by the end. It’s the most tempting spot to quit, but the most rewarding to push through. The next several miles of rolling elevation gain lull me into an energized enjoyment, leading up to the final climb summit. The vegetation becomes sparser this high, and the views become increasingly jaw-dropping. The most jaw-dropping of all is the view straight down off of the 20-feet-wide ridge, also known as “the spine section”, that leads to the peak. Any hats or loose ends are at risk of being blown off by a stiff wind.
The thinner air combined with the strenuous climb do nothing to combat the breathtaking view. Miles of rocky terrain stretch ahead in every direction. Looking out at the mountain range, I feel unbelievably accomplished and unimaginably small. It’s moments like these where you put every bit of energy into taking it all in, understanding I probably won’t ever see the world again from that exact viewpoint. It’s ephemeral and formative, knowing you’re experiencing this awe-inspiring view for the first and last time.
Then a niggling voice reminds me I’m only halfway done. Taking one last look around, I start my decent and make a note to look for things I might’ve missed on the way up.
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