Life lessons from my highest hike: May Lake and Mount Hoffmann in Yosemite National Park
I'm referring to altitude, people, not marijuana
Huzzah! My long-awaited, once-cancelled, and much-anticipated Yosemite trip finally happened! I was able to confirm that Yosemite National Park is indeed a real place and that there aren’t enough adjectives to describe it.
I spent a lot of time on this trip wandering on the Valley floor with jaw dropped, murmuring variations of “wow” as I craned my neck to see where the granite cliffs finally stopped rising toward the sky and actually touched it. I also did a great deal of gazing out over spectacularly gorgeous vistas. With just a bit (ok, maybe a lot) of pride, I can say that most of those vistas were the rewards of some fairly significant hikes.
There’s this view, for example, achieved during a 13-mile-trek that had nearly 5000 feet of elevation gain and left my legs so tired that they literally vibrated like wires toward the end.
This hike linked Vernal and Nevada Falls with the Panorama Point Trail and took us ultimately to the famous Glacier Point, after which we climbed 3000 feet down Four Mile Trail as the sun set. This one was my travel partner Shawn’s brainchild, and it was fantastic. Not to say I didn’t ponder, and even suggest aloud, turning back at 5 miles as I struggled through the uphills (and there were many), but we made it through and it was so worth it.
Other epic views came from another hike – May Lake and Mount Hoffmann. This one I picked, and I had multiple goals.
First, I wanted to do a hike outside of the Valley, along Tioga Road, in a lesser traveled part of the park, just to do something different.
Two, I wanted a hike that Shawn hadn’t done (he’s visited Yosemite many times).
Three, it was a 6ish mile out and back with about 2000 feet of elevation gained over 3 miles, which I figured would be entirely doable and not that hard (I was wrong about that last bit).
Four, I’d read a couple of reviews that said the views of the lake and mountains were awesome.
And five, the hike had two parts: an easy ramble to the lake and a harder climb to the top of Mount Hoffmann. I figured we could bail early and skip the mountain if we weren’t feeling it.
Mount Hoffmann is, it turns out, the geological center of Yosemite National Park. It rises to 10,850 feet, and offers 360 degree views of basically the entire park and then some. May Lake, nestled below Mount Hoffmann, is one of those gorgeous mountain lakes, and even has an alpine camp there.
So this hike starts out easy - a nice gentle climb from the parking lot to the lake. As you hike it, a couple of rocky peaks loom up on your left, and I wondered if we’d be climbing them. They were intimidating. Along the way, we encountered a couple of ladies – in tutus – who were part of a birthday celebration; apparently the 4-year-old being feted had done this hike every year since she was born. Adorable, and also fuel for the fact that no way were we not going to do the harder section.
After reaching the lake, the 2nd half of the adventure continued with an uphill section that took us around the lake and up into the rocky slopes behind it. There were a few big rocks to climb over and some bushes to slither into and out of, but nothing major. Then we hit a lovely flat section that wound through some trees; boy do I love me some flat hiking on those rare occasions when I get it!
As we started the hike, I suggested a loose game plan to Shawn; we’d stick together on the easier stuff, and once it got harder, we could race to the top, which is laughable since Shawn is so much faster than me on uphills (and downhills too, if we’re being honest).
So, as we came out of the forested flatland, Shawn looked up and said “I think this might be where we start our race.” What we saw was a nightmarish looking slope of loose rocks and pebbles, leading up to one of those intimidating peaks we’d seen from the lake. We had about 1200 feet of elevation to get up in just over a mile.
Shawn started ahead, but it was soon evident that this was going to be a pretty unpleasant climb; there were cairns scattered about but we figured out pretty quickly that they weren’t “official”, which meant finding “the trail” was going to be challenging. Shawn decided it would be less unpleasant to stick together, so he’d climb on ahead a bit and then wait for me as I slogged up. This was steep and scramblish enough that I put my poles away for portions of it; using my hands felt safer. Shawn used his the whole way up, so it’s just a matter of your comfort level in sloping slippery rock as to how best to get this section done.
Up we slogged. I gave a little whoop as I hit 10,000 feet exactly – I’d never actually hiked at this altitude before. Breathing was definitely harder, but then again, pretty much anything above 7000 feet that is uphill is hard for me. Eventually we finished the hellscape section, and, it turns out, not heading for the top of either of big intimidating peaks we’d been in the shadow of. The actual summit of Mount Hoffmann was higher, off to the left, an antenna planted on what looked like, to me, just a heap of rocks.
A heap of rocks we had to climb. Gulp.
So, here’s where things get a little dicey. Shawn, as readers of this blog will remember, is basically part mountain goat, and completely fearless when it comes to scrambling and climbing. I am neither part mountain goat nor fearless, and those rocks…yeah, they scared me.
Shawn went up without hesitation, basically just making his way up the right side of the rocks as you see in the photo. I noticed cairns, and followed them more to the left in the hope of taking an actual trail, but eventually found myself veering back toward Shawn. I also found myself in some scramble territory that scared the heck out of me.
I picked my way carefully upward, but the further up I got, the harder it got, and I had to reroute and backtrack several times to find boulders I actually could get over. I looked up and Shawn was already at the antennae, ready for lunch, and though it was probably less than 100 feet away, it started to seem unachievable. I ran my hands along the rock, looking for holds, finding none, and picturing vividly what it would look and feel like if I fell. And I felt it happening; my breath, already coming hard thanks to the altitude, started to catch. My eyes got hot and started to fill; my hands shook. Shawn was nearby, taking pictures of me and asking how I was doing, and all I could squeak out was “I don’t know why this scares me so much.” Saying those words opened the floods, and I found myself full-out gasping and crying amid the rocks at about 10,700 feet. It was that familiar combination: fear of falling, fear of embarrassing myself, fear of being unable to do what others did so easily. Fear of failure. Shawn climbed down and quietly stood by to help when I was ready to accept it. Once I got myself under control we found a way up. He danced lightly over one set of rocks, urging me to come that way; I couldn’t make myself believe my feet would stick as his did. So we found another way, and with a little assist in the form of him holding my foot on a slippery bit, I finally made it up.
NOTE: As I’ve mulled over this climb in the aftermath, I did some more reading on it, and realized that there was an easier way to get to the top. Apparently there is a path that heads much further left and then doubles back and is never more than a class 2 scramble. However, the way we wound up going is more severe, getting into class 3/4 territory. One review specifically said to avoid that route; sure wish I’d read it before the hike! :)
Anyway, as it became clear that I wasn’t going to die the hike reached that stage where it’s impossible to describe the feeling of being up there. At the top, at the antenna, we were treated to an unbelievable panorama of mountains and valleys and lakes stretching literally as far as the eye could see. I took a few greedy visual gulps of the view, then flopped onto the rock and lay there gulping for actual air for a few minutes. I was shaking and chattering non-stop; all signs of the adrenaline I’d no doubt been riding on for a while.
Eventually, we settled in to lunch and picture taking and that dreamy glory of achieving something hard. Shawn, to his credit, seemed to take as much joy in my making it up as in being there himself. We took tons of pictures, ate our lunch, and dragged out our departure time as much as we could; this was one of those places you don’t ever want to leave.
As we wrapped up photos and I got the requisite summit selfie, I couldn’t help but dread trying to get down what we’d just come up. But it wasn’t all that bad; I used the “slide-down-on-your-butt” tactic often, which proved successful even it it did rip a hole in my pants (it’s ok, they were old and needed to be retired anyway). Then it was a long slow slog down the hellscape of rocks back down to the lake, gorgeous in the setting sun, and then back to the car.
So I did say I’d offer a few life lessons from this one, didn’t I? Here they are, in no particular order.
You don’t always have to follow the leader.
On the scramble at the end, I was feeling pressure (self-inflicted) to follow Shawn even though I know he’s a stronger climber than me. I should have slowed down and looked harder for options more suited to my skill level. Had I done that I might have found a less harrowing way to the top.
Do your research
The thing about researching hikes is that you don’t know the skill level of the writer who’s review you are reading. For example, if Shawn had written a review of this hike, it would have been very different from mine. I could have benefitted from reading a few more descriptions of this hike; it might have made the steepness less of a surprise.
Do what’s hard for you
I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog working on my own body image and confidence issues, and I won’t go into all of that here. But I think it’s worth pointing out that, while on this trip to Yosemite, I pushed myself to higher heights and climbed more elevation than I ever have before. And I did all of this after not losing my COVID 19 pounds, after not being able to train much on elevation beforehand. I had to gasp and claw and cry my way through it, but I did it. And it feels great. There is something about pushing yourself beyond what you can do comfortably; it’s in the uncomfortable moments that you often learn the most.
Oh, and 3.5 - if you’re a woman of a middle age like me and you haven’t started strength training, please, please, do it. Even amid all of the struggle of this trip, I was able to haul myself up over rocks and down boulders with a sense of capability and strength, and that’s entirely due to lifting and stretching things at the gym.
Ask for and accept help
Boy, do I struggle with this. As we were making our way down, we hit one spot where Shawn’s long legs made easy work of a rock; my shorter legs couldn’t do it. We looked for other options, until finally Shawn said “it’ll just be faster and easier if I help you.” So he found good footing, cupped his hands and let me step down onto them. I must have asked him 3 times if he was sure this was ok, and of course it was. Most people are not assholes and want to help; we just have to let them.
So there you have it folks. Another adventure in the books, and what an adventure it was. Hope I didn’t bore you with my ramblings, and that, if you ever make it to Yosemite, you’ll think of me as you climb whatever trail is hard for you.
You have such amazing adventures. Thank you for sharing all the beautiful and difficult aspects.
So proud of you. I was right there with you…even the tears. Thank you. Love your adventures!