"If You Go Over the Falls, You Will Die"

 A good many years ago now, we were camping with Christy's sister's family in Yosemite.  A day or two before we were to leave, our brother in law Greg suggested that he and I "run" up Half Dome.  Due to schedules and and a complete lack of planning, only one day would be available.  In addition, since this was around the end of September/first of October, the cable rails on the backside of the Dome were down, hanging loose down the massif's back side.  In this scenario, you climb hand over hand.  Many people do this every year but yes, it is dangerous.

As an example of our flexibility-as-substitute-for-planning approach, we didn't have gloves but we did have socks, so we gave ourselves extra socks to use as gloves in order to help avoid getting steel cuts from any cable fray. And fortunately, we did have enough water bottles to support the effort.

We set off well before dawn.  Again, due to a truly insane lack of planning, we wound up starting about 2 miles from the trail head...because 16 miles and about 4000 vertical feet (8000 if you count up and down) apparently just wasn't enough work for a day. 

As is often the case, once we got on the trail everything seemed pretty reasonable.  We were taking what's commonly referred to as The Mist Trail.  It starts from the valley floor and climbs the right hand side (facing) of Vernal and Nevada Falls. 

At the base of Nevada Falls, I discovered a sign that literally burned itself in my mind.  The sign showed a stick figure being swept off the top of water fall.  The only words on the sign (albeit in half a dozen or more languages) were these:  "If you go over the falls, you will die."  I can't think of ever experiencing a more immediate and direct communication.

In recent years, talking to Yosemite employees I've discovered that there is a Yosemite Book of Death.  It is informally maintained by both Park Service and concession employees.  It chronicles accidental deaths in the park.  New entries are made, literally every year.  They include everything from lightning strikes, to exposure to drowning to, presumably, being swept over waterfalls.  You can read an example of this latter sort of tragedy here.

After passing the sign, Greg and I passed Vernal falls and eventually began to plan a break at the top of Nevada.  At the top of Nevada falls, you cross a foot bridge probably about 20 feet back from the edge of the face. 

There are many pictures of this on the web.  All of them that I've seen show the Merced river in full flow.  Since we were there in early fall after a fairly dry summer, the top of the falls was defined by a completely clear pool that exited over the cliff through a keyhole of granite.  Due mostly to it's clarity, the pool looked dead still, but every now and then a stick would float by on it's way to the valley floor at surprising speed.

Greg and I discovered a spot on the other side of the bridge, on a cliff with a bench and a fence that loomed out over the valley, that gave a view back toward the falls.  As we sat there sucking air, gulping water and shoveling down cookies, a father/daughter backpack team came down the trail, presumably after having spent the night in Little Yosemite Valley.  They crossed the bridge.  Even at ebb flow, the water made it impossible to hear their conversation but apparently the little girl wanted to go closer to the water.  Her dad stood at the top of the pool while she inched downward toward the water.

The small family I grew up in spent most of our leisure time in the mountains.  I hiked, learned trail craft, learned to navigate and take care of myself and somewhere along the way learned the difference between fearing the wilderness and respecting it.  In the moment I saw that little girl, and to this day when I think of it, I knew fear as I've only known one other time in the outdoors (the subject of a future post no doubt).  The steep granite slope down to the pool was completely coated with glacial polish.  Short version:  Glacial polish is usually granite that's been polished smooth with a combination of glaciation (the crucial component) and water erosion.  If you add an amount of water approximately equal to what you can hold in one hand, it acts exactly like ice.

As I watched that little girl edge toward the clear, fast moving water, I became physically ill and had to look away. I couldn't be heard over the river and even if I could have been, yelling could have quite possibly scared that little girl into the slight loss of balance that would have taken her life. 

She eventually had her fill of whatever she was seeking and backed slowly off the slope.  No one died there that day.  However this is true:  If she'd have slipped even the least bit, she'd have been beyond hope.  If you go over those falls you will die.

We encounter thresholds like this in our lives from time to time.  Sometimes we recognize them and sometimes, either through ignorance or intentional blindness we can't recognize the dangerous ground on which we stand.  Often the only thing that saves us is that grace abounds even when it's not requested. 

I have learned to look for thresholds and at the nature of the ground under my feet.  I have learned that there are lines that if transgressed, will bring death either immediate or lingering. In the face of this reality I try to walk thoughtfully, openly and open to the possibility of my own ignorance and error.