Mystery in Yosemite

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You may remember that I write mystery novels set in the High Sierra. And every once in a while, we see something on one of our trips that sets my mind to thinking…

As my wife and I hiked out of Lyell Canyon in Yosemite on Saturday, fleeing morning rainshowers and afternoon thunderstorms, we passed a man down by the river. He was heavy-set, holding two bottles of water, and struggling to put on his pack. He waved at us, we waved back at him and continued on our way.

Five minutes later, my wife decided that her combination of layers of clothing was making her too hot to hike. We stopped for her to shed one layer and adjust her shoes and hiking poles. We drank some water, and we did so, the man passed us. He mentioned that he’d made it to within 500 feet of the top of Donahue pass the previous day, and decided to turn around in the face of the thunderstorms. We said we understood–which we certainly did.

And now he was on his way out. “You wait all year to plan for this, and get your reservation made, and then this happens.” He was visibly tired, limping, and frustrated as he hiked off ahead of us.

Fifteen minutes later we caught up to him, resting in the shade, as we hiked on by. “I didn’t know you were going to run,” he said to me as I passed him. I just smiled and wave. Anyone who describes our hiking pace as running deserves a gesture of consideration. Thru-hikers had been flying by us all morning.

We hiked another two miles before meeting a ranger on horseback, looking concerned. Have you seen a spot device on the trail?” he asked.

We had not.

“Have you seen a heavy-set hiker on the trail?”

Yes, we had, and directed him up the canyon.

And that got us to thinking. It was a mystery. What do you think happened? Our thoughts in the next post–but don’t read them until you’ve had your own cogitation.

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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

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As you recall, our mystery hiker seemed all geared up for a good backpacking trip, and yet he had hiked fewer than two miles up the trail, and had followed us back down towards the lodge at Tuolumne Meadows. It was mid-morning, and he seemed to be lost, wandering almost aimlessly either behind us or in front of us.

And so we began to wonder, while he wandered, what the heck was going on with that guy?

His pack was full, and spotless, even on the bottom. It had never been set on the ground. Was he just testing his gear, feeling what it was like to hike with it? Why then the very slow pace and the seemingly aimless approach?

And then I remembered the ranger up at the junction, asking for permits.

Hmm. If this fellow had thought to set out on a backpacking trip with his lovely new gear, but without a permit, and then he learned (or rather, saw?) a ranger ahead of him on the trail asking for permits, what would he do?

Would he loiter in the area, wondering how to proceed? Would he slowly come to the realization that his hike was in trouble, and step-by-step turned his travel back to Tuolumne Meadows, away from the ranger, and eventually back to the lodge?

I think so. But maybe you have a better explanation?