The Visitor

I have written a short story that I thought would be fun to post so here it is!

The Visitor

By Tema Merback

The warm California sunshine blazes down on the limestone patio that radiates with heat.  Tara climbs out of the blue rectangular pool as beads of water following the curves of her body drip onto the porous stone.  After toweling off she lies on a lounge chair and sips her Pellegrino water that she has spiked with a splash of tequila and a fat slice of lime.  She closes her eyes savoring the sunshine that basks her exposed body.   She listens to the surround sound of speakers echo through the backyard animated with the droning monotone voice of a young Bob Dylan.  In a dreamlike state of mind she contemplates the familiar words that she knows as well as she knows her name, her social security or her driver’s license numbers. 

“Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind

Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves

The haunted frightened trees, out to the windy beach

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves

Let me forget about to day until tomorrow.”[1]

She wonders has she spent her whole life forgetting about today, always putting off her life for a tomorrow that never comes.  As always the minstrel poet’s words disturb her with his hunger for a truth that only he can see.  She assumes that the Bob Dylan that mournfully croons on the CD player no longer exists.  Probably his expectations were long ago relinquished to the realities of an ever changing world that never really changed.  The dreams of the young man long ago turned to fodder, while all that remains is a middle-aged man who like her must wonder where the time has gone. 

                Tara closes her eyes absorbing in equal measure the penetrating rays of earth’s solar star and the words of the musician prophet.  She might have fallen asleep if the phone hadn’t roused her with its relentless ringing.  The voice on the line sounds reassuringly familiar but she can’t make out his identity or words over the too loud volume of the music.  She buzzes whomever it is in through the gate, muting the music, annoyed at the interruption to her solitude and rises to answer the door. 

                Opening the door she squints into the bright sunlight that momentarily blinds her.  Silhouetted in shadow is a solitary figure. The unmistakable curls and dark glasses of the skinny man stun her and she shakes her head clearing away the drowsiness that might be clouding her vision and causing her to hallucinate.  The vision remains true and the unshaven craggy face continues to stare back at her.  Then without hesitation, in long purposeful strides he pushes past her, his words echoing down the corridor behind him,

“Don’t block at the doorway,

Don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt,

Will be he who has stalled

There’s a battle outside

 And it’s ragin’”[2]

Tara follows the stranger as he strides to the bar and pours himself a drink with a generous splash of tequila.  Taking a good long swig, he smiles as if amused at an inside joke.   Acknowledging her with a wink he walks outside with his drink to the pool area and plops down on an empty lounge chair making himself comfortable. 

“What are you doing here and why are you here?” asks Tara who has followed in his footsteps.

                He takes another sip of his drink, resting his head on the cushion as he stares at the sky,

“It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe

It don’t matter, anyhow

An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe

If you don’t know by now”[3]

He looks over at her and raises his sunglasses so that she can better see his eyes and his meaning, then he raises his glass in a gesture of toasting her and motions for her to sit down.

                She stares back in dumbfound silence trying to get a perspective on what is happening.  Sitting beside him she resigns herself to the strangeness of the situation.  She takes a swig of the tequila hoping for clarification. Perhaps this is an opportunity to converse with someone who influenced her youth, someone to address all those long forgotten questions that were never answered.  “So let me get this straight, you’re here because you were driving by and you heard your music playing.  Curiosity got the better of you and you had to know who was playing your old songs and why?  That’s it right?”

“No, and I ain’t looking’ to fight with you

Frighten you or tighten you

Drag you down or drain you down

Chain you down or bring you down

I don’t want to fake you out

Take or shake or forsake you out

I ain’t lookin’ for you to feel like me

See like me or be like me

All I really want to do

Is baby, be friends with you”[4]

 He hums the melody absent mindedly while sipping tequila.  He is clearly enjoying the intrigue while she is fraught with confusion. 

                Tara eyes the icon with suspicion, “Look, I was having a perfectly lovely day relaxing here in the privacy of my home, contemplating my life.  It’s not often that I don’t have my kids interrupting my thoughts with their constant demands.  I’m trying to get a little peace and tranquility.  Surely you know what I am talking about?”

“Come mothers and fathers

Throughout the land

And don’t criticize

What you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters

Are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly agin’

Please get out of the new one

If you can’t lend your hand

For your times they are a-Changin’”[5]

                “You’re really pissing me off.  The least you could do is show some empathy.  Personally this has been a tough year, a lot of what I hoped would come to pass has simply disappeared,” her voice quavering with emotion as she fights back the tears that come unbidden to her eyes.  “I thought that when I saw you at the door that something had changed.  Maybe you were a sign that I could find my way back to the person I once was.  That somehow finding a new friend, who really is an old friend, would change everything?”

  He turns his head toward her and she can feel his eyes burning through the reflective sunglasses perched on his thin aquiline nose.  He reaches over and grabs her hand squeezing it.

“Life is sad

Life is a bust

All ya can do is do what you must

You do what you must do and ya do it well

I’ll do it for you, honey baby can’t you tell?”[6]

Pulling her hand away, “Nice sentiment but I don’t sense an ounce of sincerity from you.  How happy are you anyway with all of these changes that you predicted.  Do you think the world is any closer to all of those ideals that you sang about?  Isn’t it just the constant refrain of youth and their dissatisfaction of the status quo?  Every generation thinks that it must change something, that they can make it better.  Everyone wants to leave their mark, their imprint on the future.”

“In the dime stores and bus stations

People talk of situations

Read books, repeat quotations

Draw conclusions on the wall

Some speak of the future

My love she speaks softly

She knows there’s no success like failure

And that failure’s no success at all”[7]

“It seems like one big failure to me.  Maybe that is the windfall of aging; you see things more clearly without the shading of desires or the stain of exaggerations.  Maybe it is the prism of perspective that delivers clarity?”

“You said you’d never compromise

With the mystery tramp, but now you realize

He’s not sellin’ any alibis, as you stare into the vacuum of his eyes

And say, ‘would you like to make a deal?’

How does it feel?

How does it feel?”[8]

“Well, if you want to know, it feels like crap.”  Tara looks over at the outlaw balladeer beside her their eyes meeting. She watches as a thin veneer of a smile traces across his lips.   Her words uttered in frustration seem to reverberate in the silence.  She sighs embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump my dissatisfaction on you but god it feels really good to unload.  It’s like being reborn, as if some buried primal scream were being released.” 

He nods in understanding,

“In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need

When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed

There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere

Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair”[9]

“Yes, and there is nothing like wallowing in your own pain, as I recall you have made a career of it have you not?”

“I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night

In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintry light

In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space

In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face”[10]

“Don’t count me out Mister Tambourine Man.  I might surprise you.  I might just rise like the ‘Phoenix’ and take this old world on.  Maybe my days of creativity are not over.  Maybe this is just the beginning of a new day and a new page.”  Taking a deep breath of confidence, Tara inhales the sweet scents of the garden where the only interlopers are the bees that follow their encoded destinies flitting from flower to flower in their pursuit of nectar.

“But lately I see her ribbons and her bows

Have fallen from her curls

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does

She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does

And she aches just like a woman

But she breaks just like a little girl”[11]

“That’s right I do, but there is strength in weakness, a power.  The unexpected one’s ability to overcome is something that the naysayers cannot foresee or forestall.   Each one of us has the possibility to take their life into their own hands and reshape it into an instrument of triumph and redemption.  Sometimes I think you have to know the darkness before you can find the light.”

“May God bless and keep you always

May your wishes all come true

May you always do for others

And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung

May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young

May you stay forever young”[12]

“Thanks for the encouragement; I’m really glad you came by.  The emotional rollercoaster has been exhausting but worth it.   Do you mind if I turn the music back on and we just listen for awhile to your music?”  She picks up the remote and without waiting for his reply she turns on the CD player that fills the air with the mournful crying voice of the young minstrel.   Every word still rings true to her.   The poet magician that captivated her youth is still relevant.  Isn’t that what music really does it marks the highlights of a lifetime, the good times and the sad times, forever preserving them in a chronological jukebox of years and events.  She closes her eyes allowing the words to fill the empty spaces within her as the afternoon sun lulls her into a dreamy landscape.

“It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal

Like you never did before

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal

I can’t hear you anymore

I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’all the way down the road

I once loved a woman, a child I’m told

I give her my heart but she wanted my soul

But don’t think twice, it’s all right”[13]

                Tara wakes not knowing how long she has been sleeping.  The iridescent waters of the pool are now draped in shadows and the sun sits just above the rooftop.  Without looking over she senses that her visitor has gone.  She wonders for a moment if he was ever really there or was the entire episode just a fantastic dream.  She looks over expecting to see no vestige of the vanished troubadour.  Instead, right where he left it is the glass now empty of tequila.  It must have been real she muses, he must have been here.  She smiles thinking that it is just like the mysterious vagabond to disappear without a trace leaving her to wonder. 

“Hey Mr. Tambourine Man,

Play a song for me

 I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to. 

Hey Mr. Tambourine Man

 Play a song for me

In the jingle jangle morning,

 I’ll come followin’ you.”[14]

                No one will ever believe her if she says that she spent the day at her pool with Bob Dylan.  Even now she is not sure if it was a dream.  Tara wants to believe that the impossible can happen, that yearning can manifest in reality.  Bob Dylan knocked at her door in her hour of need and someday he might just feel the need to return, or maybe one day she can return the favor.

[1] Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan

[2] The Times They Are A-Changin’ by Bob Dylan

[3] Don’t Think Twice, It’s all Right by Bob Dylan

[4] All I Really Want To Do by Bob Dylan

[5] The Times They Are A-Changin’ by Bob Dylan

[6] Buckets Of Rain by Bob Dylan

[7] Love Minus Zero/No Limit

[8] Like A Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan

[9] Every Grain Of Sand by Bob Dylan

[10] Every Grain Of Sand by Bob Dylan

[11] Just Like A Woman by Bob Dylan

[12] Forever Young by Bob Dylan

[13] Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right by Bob Dylan

[14] My Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan

In the Face of Evil

           I can tell you from experience, as the child of a Holocaust survivor, that when I sat down to write a book about the experiences of my survivor mother it opened a Pandora’s box, releasing into my world demons and heroes whose voices claimed my waking and sleeping hours.  How to tell a story that has been told a thousand times in endless variations.  How to make it new, relevant, and even more daunting, how to get it published? 

           First, in order to live the experience from the inside, if that is at all possible, I had to become the heroine, my mother.  The memoir became a novel, which allowed me to breathe the air of prewar Radom, Poland and recreate the life of an ordinary child whose childhood ends suddenly and utterly with the blitzkrieg that conquers Poland.  After taping my mother day after day with a prepared timeline and a million questions I probed ever deeper into her wealth of memories.   The story that I thought I knew so well reemerged transforming itself into a detailed account of the slow degradation of life under the Nazis and the human spirits resilience in the face of destruction.  A life is so much more than a journey from ghetto to camps and eventual liberation.  Protagonists and antagonists emerged interacting and affecting each other’s lives as the larger picture of war whirled around them. 

             Every Jew during those years faced death a hundred times over.   Each and every Jew should have been murdered as the Nazi plague wreaked havoc across Europe.  Only a miracle and sometimes many miracles saved the few that survived.  Even amid this bleak landscape of death love blossomed among the doomed, and sometimes even among the captors and their prey.  Humanity persevered in the smallest of gestures in the most barren of landscapes the concentration camps.  Amid the memories the story grew out of itself with all of the ingredients of an unforgettable tale.

              Two years later the novel came full circle, a teenager’s miraculous survival of the worst evil to ever be perpetrated against mankind, a love story with a promise to survive.  A year spent in submitting letters, summaries, partial manuscripts, teasers, one line hooks all culminating in rejection and frustration as agent upon agent refused to even read In the Face of Evil.  It is no surprise that the publishing industry is in such disarray. 

A survivor’s daughter is not one to be dissuaded by rejections, after all I wrote this novel for those that perished and for those that managed to survive.  In the Face of Evil will see the light of day next month due to the magic of self-publishing and I hope it will reach a critical mass enough to enlighten those who believe that there have been too many books that shine the spotlight on mankind’s darkest hour.  All too soon the physical living manifestations of that time, the survivors themselves will be gone.  It is our duty as the inheritors of that history to preserve their tales.  Although, there have been many books and films devoted to the Holocaust and World War II each one is different, it is these differences and details and the manner of exposition that makes these experiences worth the telling. 

Much Ado About Nothing--Raising Taxes on the Rich

                I find the discussions and verbiage performed by the pundits in Washington to be exceedingly disingenuous.  How do they come to their nominal pronouncements? 

                The current tax rate for a person living in California for instance, where I live, State and Federal, under the current tax rate is about 44%.  Assuming some creative deductions, mortgage, etc. that leaves approximately $170,000 Net.  Divide that figure by twelve months in the year and you are left with a figure of $14,000 per month. 

                A good living, no doubt, however, RICH, I think not.  I don’t know about you, but, between mortgage, insurances, cars, food, real estate taxes, and necessities, there isn’t much left over.   Certainly, not enough to go on a decent vacation or send my kid to camp, let alone go out once a week for a nice dinner and a movie, heaven forbid.   

                Now I understand what the fools in Washington clearly do not.  On and on the media seekers waste our time and money (taxpayers) debating the Bush tax cuts.  Why can't they please both sides?  Raise the number to $500,000 or $1,000,000 income per year and let’s get on with it!  A bonus for small businesses and the economy by letting the entrepreneurs, the risk takers get on with the job of creating more jobs and economic growth.  Why is this at issue?  $250,000 is clearly the upper middle-class, in most cases the entrepreneurs and risk takers that create jobs for the lower middle-class in most cases, the workers.  Why redistribute the wealth of hard working Americans. 

                The economy is crying for the Bush tax cuts to continue.   $250,000 is not the income of the RICH but the income of hard working people trying to create wealth for their family and the future.  Raise the taxes for people earning $500,000 or $1,000,000 and continue the Bush tax cuts for everyone else.  I feel fairly certain no one will argue with this.  Seems fair to me!  What do you think?

reflectionsofanactivemind: reflectionsofanactivemind: Conquering the Kalalau

reflectionsofanactivemind: reflectionsofanactivemind: Conquering the Kalalau: "reflectionsofanactivemind: Conquering the Kalalau: 'This year Veda and I decided to crank up the hiking expedition and backpack to a more is..."

reflectionsofanactivemind: Conquering the Kalalau

reflectionsofanactivemind: Conquering the Kalalau: "This year Veda and I decided to crank up the hiking expedition and backpack to a more isolated challenging destination than Half Dome, the K..."

Conquering the Kalalau

This year Veda and I decided to crank up the hiking expedition and backpack to a more isolated challenging destination than Half Dome, the Kalalau Trail. Our plan was to set up a tent and spend the night under the stars on the breathtaking Na Pali coastline of Kauai.


A daunting test of our mettle The Kalalau is 11 mile endurance, beginning at literally the end of the road where the pavement ends on the Kuhio Highway at Ke’e Beach. The Na Pali is a rugged coastline of soaring cliffs and hanging valleys carved by rain, surf and exposure to the elements where the landscape morphs from rainforest like jungles to arid desert terrain. Kauai is the oldest of the Hawaiian Islands born from volcanic eruptions and in a perfect circle of life, birth and death; it is slowly eroding and returning to the sea from whence it was born.

Veda and I planned our trip for the middle of August booked our airfare and rented a condo. Our only error was not purchasing our hiking permit (best if done one year in advance). They only issue a small number of permits and they run out quickly. Permits are not required for the first two miles of the hike to Hanakapi’ai Beach which is an easy trek. We were not able to obtain permits (we tried) and decided to chance it without them. What could they possibly do to us, arrest us, fine us, helicopter us out handcuffed? We couldn’t and wouldn’t cancel so….. onward and upward we decided to take our chances.

Naturally, in anticipation, we tossed and turned most of the night leading up to our 4 am wakeup call. The good news is that Starbucks opens at 4 am in Kapa’a which is about one hour from the trailhead. We arrived at 6 am nervous, excited and raring to go. The last bathroom pit-stop is here and we took advantage, we also took our first photo-op at the “Welcome to the Kalalau Trail” sign and we began the climb up the trail. The first two miles are through jungle growth with a well defined trail and no problem for any moderately fit person. We decided to hike down to Hanakapi’ai Beach eat a little breakfast and take some pictures. For our efforts we were rewarded with an awesome rainbow and a deserted pristine beach. The sun was shrouded in heavy clouds that emptied into the Pacific along the horizon. We could see that rain was eminent.

One expects to encounter some rain during the trek and sure enough as we began one of the most strenuous parts of the hike the rain came. Now our resilience would be tested as immediately, after Hanakapi’ai Valley the trail rapidly gains 800 feet climbing into the clouds through treacherously overgrown narrow paths with steep switchbacks that are heavily encumbered with tree roots and rock outcroppings, a machete would have been helpful. The rain provided cooler temperatures which we welcomed, however we soon found as we forged forward up and down the next 4 miles that the trail had turned to mud beneath our feet. We slipped and struggled, thank goodness for our hiking poles which provided a modicum of stability. This grueling part of the hike navigates Hono o Na Pali Natural Area Reserve through two valleys that are suspended high above the sea, Ho’olulu and Waiahuakua where at one time Hawaiian’s grew coffee which fragrantly still perfumes the air. There is a magnificent waterfall and campsite at Hanakoa for those that wish to break up the journey and camp overnight. However, our goal was to make the challenging trek in one day, but we did allow ourselves a half hour sojourn after crossing the Hanakoa Stream to eat our lunch, rest our weary feet and admire the beautiful greenery while listening to the gurgling stream as it rushes to its final destination a precipice before pouring into the sea.

The canopy of trees provided enough cover to shelter us from the rain that reached us only as a drizzle as we proceeded on the next leg of our journey the remaining 5 miles from Hanakoa to Kalalau Beach. Unfortunately, we became disoriented after lunch taking a wrong fork in the trail which is poorly defined in places suddenly disappearing into the jungle. We trudged through thick growth and got lost which cost us about a half hour in time but far more in energy as we had to climb back up over slippery obstacles of trees their roots, mud and wet leaves before finally returning to the stream and returning to the trail. Once assured that we were back on the trail we traversed below the Na Pali. “Pali” means “cliffs” and the trail from here winds out of tropical forest into drier terrain offering stunning glimpses of the Pacific below. As we traversed the twisting trail that snaked its way high above the sea we espied a herd of wild goats that in perfect balance and defying gravity danced across the sheer bluffs. Their dainty hooves were certainly better intended for this terrain than the two footed women who now must attempt to cross the same expanse. This is where the Kalalau Trail tests your psychological fortitude as the trail narrows to a width of mere inches with heart palpitating drop offs into the ocean. Veda and I had read about one particular section graphically christened “crawler’s ledge” and we were on the lookout for it. Bizarrely, from a distance you can’t really ascertain where it begins until suddenly you realize you are on it. Your first thought is “I can’t do this!” Second thought, “No way, I can’t go back!” You prod one step at a time your eyes glued to each step you take, your poles firmly planted in the shifting decomposing ground beneath you. Most importantly, you try not to look down as your body in self-preservation leans in towards the slope and away from the sheer drop. According to what we had read, the worst of this ledge is perhaps twenty feet. Not so, it seemed more like a half mile. By this time we were nine or ten miles into the hike and testing our ability to endure. We had no choice but to continue.

Finally, we reached the welcome sign designating that we had arrived at Kalalau. Below in the distance we could see the sliver of white sand caressed by rolling surf. With a sigh of relief we knew we were in sight of our destination, however, that last half mile felt like ten miles to our weary bodies. We reached the rushing Kalalau Stream where we met a group of young teens hopping barefoot across the rocks and swimming nude in the natural swimming holes. Like gay sprites frolicking they appeared to us. We were in no condition to hop anywhere; in fact, fording that stream was particularly difficult, I felt like an old lady. My equilibrium was encumbered, my feet wouldn’t mind my brain and I slipped twice on rocks scraping my shins and soaking my boots. I was not a happy camper! I kept walking forward towards what I hoped would soon appear, the beach. There were several campsites along the trail with small groups of people relaxing. I couldn’t wait to remove my shoes and sit staring at the blue ocean. The hike had taken us nine hours, including lunch and losing our way. The only thing I wanted was to rest.

Oddly, we had heard about a permanent camp, illegal but existing, called “Base Camp” where a group of free souls (often referred to as hippies) basically live. A friend said to check in and introduce ourselves to the friendly natives and they would be helpful if we needed anything. It was quite amazing they had hanging pots, fires cooking, air mattresses, and awnings and tarps hanging to protect from the rain, hammocks strung, you name it nearly all the comforts of home, even pet dogs. They invited us to partake in a steak and rice dinner (can you imagine), but we gracefully declined. After a short visit in which we delivered to them some gifts of chocolate candy bars and cigarettes (we had heard this was a much appreciated offering and we had stocked up). The gifts were received with great fanfare. Waving goodbye we headed for the sand promising to return later.

Camping on the beach is illegal but we decided the sand would offer a softer base for our tent and our weary bodies. What the heck we were outlaws anyway (no permits), we pitched our tent, or we tried, right smack on the sand. Having only put our tent together once before (big mistake), we found ourselves struggling and our tent looked pretty lopsided when we finished. Fortunately, a nice couple pitched nearby and they had the same tent! Hallelujah, we pleaded for intervention and they kindly helped us re-pitch our tent. We were set! We changed into our bathing suits and headed to the waterfall.

Up against the cliffs flowing into a stream that flows into the Pacific is a cascading waterfall where everyone that makes it to Kalalau Beach bathes. With ingenuity someone has created the use of a PVC pipe to funnel the water into a single stream for a portable shower. You wait your turn, bring your shampoo and voila a delightful refreshing bathing experience is yours free from Mother Nature. The cold water is pure rejuvenation.

Returning to our tent we changed into our “jammies” and opened our cans of turkey chili, what can I say “heaven on earth”! We watched the sun set in a moment of dramatic glory, a fiery ball sinking into the shimmering blue horizon of the Pacific. Life was good!

Since our arrival at Kalalau I had been planting seeds of rebellion in Veda’s ears, complaining that I did not want to hike back out of the Kalalau at dawn which was our initial plan. I was exhausted and it seemed crazy to make this trek with barely a twelve hour turn around. Many, if not most hikers we had learned spend a couple of nights camping before attempting the grueling return hike. I was determined not to hike out at all if I could help it. We had heard that for a small compensation a boat ride out could be secured. That sounded perfect to me, I convinced Veda (which actually wasn’t that hard to do) that we were taking the boat home.

I have never seen more stars in the heavens than can be viewed from the beach at Kalalau. It is beyond spectacular, galaxy upon galaxy, lighting up the sky. We spent the night “Sleepless in Seattle” I mean Kalalau and at dawn we packed up and waited on the beach with a few other fellow travelers who had also determined the wisdom of securing passage on a boat out of Kalalau. We wrapped our belongings in garbage bags and with the help of our hippy friends we swam to the boat. It was breathtaking to view the cliffs of Na Pali from the opposite vantage point where we could see the many sea caves, grottos, remote slivers of beaches and cascading waterfalls that decorate the shoreline. It was perfect and our Captain was so accommodating that he even gave us a tour and took us inside the second largest sea cave in the world. A perfect end to a perfect hike, “bucket list” entry accomplished, check!

Hiking to Half Dome

Life gives you obstacles that you can rarely foresee however it also provides opportunities that lie just beyond the grasp of every day endeavors. Opening the doors need only require a change of heart, a willingness to dare, or a walk through the looking glass. Sometimes it is a journey through the mystical, the mundane, or the corridors of times past, present or future that reveals the path ahead. What started as a road to health and fitness has become a journey into new landscapes and vistas of unexpected beauty that challenge both physically and spiritually.


Veda and I began our wanderings on the trails of Malibu, CA. We were determined to hike as many different trails as the rugged landscape of our home city offered, ever reaching higher into the majestic Santa Monica Mountains. We built endurance by conditioning our bodies to the sometimes grueling terrain, exploring the offered trails but often forging our way up rocky crags and through overgrown brush that obstructed the paths that seemed better suited to four legged creatures than two (dare I say it) middle-aged mothers. Surprises awaited around every bend in the road as we wound our way from the coastal fog drenched trailheads where tendrils of mist fingered our faces to sunbathed panoramas that seemed to materialize out of nowhere revealing rugged wilderness, the habitat of all things wild.

Our end goal would culminate in a yearly challenge that would push our endurance and reward us with an accomplishment of survival. Last year we determined not to wander too far from home and following the path of John Muir and Ansel Adams we made Half Dome Yosemite our holy grail.

The climb was taxing, 14.2 miles round trip with an elevation gain of 4,800 feet to the 8,842 foot granite summit called Half Dome. The climb would test every ounce of our determination. We slept at Curry Camp in a rented tent with two military style beds, however sleep eluded us due to our nervous anticipation of the hike and the brown bears we could hear scouring about the campsite. As dawn glazed the horizon in thin veils of pink and gold we began our ½ mile trek from Curry to the trailhead at Happy Isles following the river to the vexing steps of the “mist trail” up Vernal Falls. The narrow uneven wet rock stairs ascended upward in direct contrast to the rushing cascade of water that plunged 371 feet down converging once more into the Merced River. It was dreamlike as we proceeded up what seemed a stairway to heaven with one eye glued to the treacherous footing and the other to the unimaginable beauty of the falls. The climb was punishing and nearly impossible to train for. After scaling Vernal Falls a couple of miles later we encountered Nevada Falls and its celebrated visage, 594 feet of curving majesty and the longest waterfall in the United States. Following the waterfalls’ source the Merced River as it wound through a fairly flat terrain (thank heavens) because by this time the full heat of the day with its blistering sun beating down was upon us. For the duration of the hike the temperature would hover somewhere above 90 degrees. Our bodies quickly depleted of nourishment but we bore forward living on energy bars and rehydrating with the water that we carried in our camel packs. At times we were passed by the ultra-fit and seasoned expert hikers but we prodded on keeping to a calculated timetable of mile markers that would place us at the sub-dome in a better than average time. When we reached the sub-dome we could see the line of hikers scaling the granite rock face of Half Dome as they slowly snaked their way up the cables. Just seeing this man/woman against mountain struggle will quicken your pulse and fray your nerves. The cables are loose poles that fit in drilled holes in the granite. Strung with wire cords they allow hikers to grasp and pull themselves up to the top. The poles actually can be lifted out of their fittings if one should try, which is a scary thought. Every year they are removed sometime in October to discourage anyone from climbing the Dome until May when they are returned and the final ascent to the Dome is reopened.

Unfortunately, for Veda and I the last 400 foot ascent of the dome was not to be. We were kept from accomplishing the full climb as half way up the sub-dome we heard distant thunder. Nearly everyone on the trail froze. I turned toward the sound and could see lightning across the valley many miles away. The one absolute rule of Half Dome is that you must not climb the granite face when there is any risk of lightning as hikers have been electrocuted. Storms move quickly through this area and what seems fairly distant can be upon you within an instant. Lightning strikes can travel more than twenty miles and the Dome is one gigantic conductor. Nope the risk was too great. Let the daredevils carry on and many did, but Veda and I are mothers and must answer for more than just ourselves. We headed back.

Yosemite more than any other place I have ever seen offers 360 degree postcard views everywhere your eyes alight. The Half Dome hike is nature at its grandest “Far from the Madding Crowd”. Wherever you look it is like seeing through the lens of a view finder on a camera. The views have a faded quality like old photographs much due to the fact that as far as the eye can see there is only wilderness in every direction. Nothing has really changed here since 1871 when John Muir discovered the Yosemite Valley and one cannot help but recall Ansel Adam’s photos documenting its grandeur.

Veda and I did not feel cheated though we were denied the last few hundred feet to the summit. We accomplished most of what we came to do. We returned by way of the Muir Trail which is somewhat longer but allowed us to avoid the return down the “mist trail” of Vernal Falls which would have been slippery and treacherous. We rejuvenated, dangling our tired feet in the soothing water of the icy Merced River. We returned safely to Curry Camp and civilization. It was an amazing journey and who knows, perhaps we will return in the future to conquer the Dome.