The Other Guy

This is one of those times when I think I need a breather from the News of the Day, and write about something else instead.  That I've chosen to make it about something a personal experience that was, at the time, terrifying is just a coincidental touch of whimsy.

A short while back, I wrote an article here about Trump insisting he's the world expert on grass and how he wanted to re-sod the National Parks.  (No, I wasn't doing a parody of The Onion, it was real.)  ​I included a lot of photos I'd taken over the years when visiting National Parks.  There was a great story about the second photo from Yosemite I had posted, but that article wasn’t the place to tell it. By way of reminder, this was the photo.  You can see the wide expanse of greenery all ready to be re-sod --

​But this is a better place to tell it. 

The story is that one day in 1978 while camping at Yosemite, I took a hike up to the top of Glacier Point, maybe 3-4,000 feet up, which is where they did the famous “Firefall Drop” (that they eventually stopped for safety purposes).  As I hiked up and up, the path kept getting narrower – because it was early Spring, and the snow – as you can see in the photo – hadn’t melted yet, especially at that high altitude.  And so, snow and ice were making the walkable part of the path much more limited.  And even more limited, the higher I walked.  But I dearly wanted to get to the top, and I knew I was getting so close.  Signs along the path said the peak was maybe about 500 feet away.  And so, I kept determinedly pushing on.  The thing was, however, that instead of the path being six feet across at the Yosemite floor, it was now about only a foot across.  The rest on either side of the now one-foot wide path was snow and ice. 

At this point, with Glacier Point looming up at my right elbow, I looked over to my left and saw the magnificent view in the photo and slowly, very carefully, holding tightly on to trees for support, crept -- one small step at a time -- my way over over the slippery ground to the edge, balanced myself first before removing my hand from a tree so that I could use both hands to steady the camera, and took the photo.  And once again, because it bears repeating and remembering in detail, this was the result –
 

​And it was at this moment that I swear to you with my hand firmly on a Bible that I literally (and honestly) had the thought – “Y’know how we all read about tragic accidents in the woods that happen to ‘The Other Guy’?  Well…right now, I am The Other Guy!!!”  And with that thought in mind, I immediately made the decision to forget getting to the top of Glacier Point, and instead very slowly and extremely carefully crept back to the narrow, ice-covered, slippery path, balancing with a hand on the mountain wall, and carefully made my way back down. 

I've always considered this very moment the insanely stupidest and wisest moments of my life.  Idiotic for creeping over to the edge of the mountain to take a photo, and beyond sage for having the great sense, as much as I knew I was so close to the peak, only 500 feet away, to give up my bulldogged effort to make it to the top, on a path that was getting narrower by the step from the one foot it was then at, soon to be completely covered with ice and now, around which I'd have to somehow eventually spin around to get back down.
 
Eventually, as I made my return, the path widened to two feet, three feet and full, and all was well.  There is also less terror in me writing and others reading this tale since it’s clear that I made it back…
 
You can see from the photo, I really, truly was literally at the ledge.  But I’ve always remembered thinking to myself, “Right now, I’m The Other Guy.”
 ​