LOS CAMINOS DE LA VIDA
the cables, the panic attack, and the eight miles nobody planned for — yosemite national park, july 2017
some hikes you do for the miles. some you do for the views. half dome you do because something in you needs to know if you can.
this is entry two of los caminos de la vida.
we planned three days in yosemite. the first was the softer one — valley floor, waterfalls, the kind of day that lets your lungs remember what elevation feels like before you ask them to do something serious. bridalveil fall with the mist hitting your face. mirror lake so still you could see half dome reflected in the water — which was the first moment i really understood what we were about to do.
then there was glacier point. if you’ve never stood at glacier point and looked at half dome from across the valley, you need to. and also, i want to warn you. because standing there at golden hour, the valley dropping thousands of feet below you, half dome sitting right there like a statement — it’s either the most motivating thing you’ve ever seen or the most terrifying. probably both.
i stared at it for a long time. i was going to climb that.
the morning of the actual hike, i felt good. genuinely good. i was in that phase of the era where my body knew how to do hard things — the kind of shape where sixteen miles was a long saturday, not a question mark. did i have any idea that 22 miles is what this day would actually come to? absolutely not. but i was very happy i packed extra energy gummies, snacks, and water — because i’d heard enough horror stories that i refused to need something and not have it. una mujer preparada vale por dos. my osprey was so loaded i looked like a turtle. worth it.
i felt good that morning. the kind of good that lives in your body, not just your head.
and then i remembered i’d had a beer or two the day before and was slightly dehydrated. noted.
the group was me and jaci — the same girl i’d gone to chicago with, costa rica, cancun. the one i jumped out of a plane with for my thirtieth birthday. and her other friends, a couple. good people. the kind of people you want next to you when things get interesting.
we started early. the mist trail up past vernal fall, nevada fall — stone steps slick with spray, the waterfall loud enough to make you stop talking and just walk. every turn added elevation. every mile added silence.
by the time we hit the sub-dome, i was still moving. tired, yes. everybody was tired. but moving.
then we got to the cables.
half dome’s cables are exactly what they sound like. two parallel metal cables bolted into the face of the rock, running straight up a granite wall — a near-vertical slab, four hundred feet to the summit. wooden planks spaced out for your feet. gloves help. a permit is required. you get a time window, which means there is a literal line of people behind you and a line coming down toward you and the clock does not stop moving.
i looked up.
and then, halfway up, i looked down.
that was the mistake.
legs buckled. tears started — not dramatic, not sobbing, just the kind that happen when your body has something to say before your brain can edit it. you know how LOL means laugh out loud? well, my brain went no mames and my mouth said it even louder. because in that exact moment, one of the railings shook loose in my hand — just popped right out of the side of the mountain. literally. how were those rails supposed to hold me when they couldn’t even hold themselves. of course my brain immediately decided i probably weighed as much as a dinosaur, which didn’t help.
the wooden planks were slippery. the people behind me needed to move. and so, naturally, i decided this was the moment to be polite and let people pass me. you know, manners. a very reasonable delay tactic. joke was on me — that was not allowed. the line keeps moving or it doesn’t move at all. my excuse went straight out the window.
and somewhere in the middle of all of it, my brain picked that exact moment to ask: why are you doing this? who is this for? couldn’t you have picked a more glamorous hobby?
yeah. no.
and then i heard my mom. the way she’d say it growing up whenever i was being a chillona: quieres llorar — te doy una razón.
you want to cry? i’ll give you a reason.
if i was going to be a chillona on this mountain, i was also going to find the energy to finish the climb. because momma didn’t raise no punk.
three minutes. maybe. felt longer.
one cable grip. one foot. one plank.
i finished the cables.
the summit of half dome is massive — flatter than you expect after everything it took to get there. the sierra nevada spread out in every direction. snow on the distant peaks. clouds moving across a sky that felt closer than it should. the valley floor so far below it looked like a map of somewhere beautiful that had nothing to do with your legs right now.
jaci was already up there, waiting.
we took the most ridiculous photo, and i laughed the kind of laugh that only happens when you’ve just done something hard and survived it.
that photo is the one i keep.
the relief wasn’t just about the summit. it was about knowing what happened on those cables — the buckled legs, the tears, the railing that popped loose, the three minutes of not knowing — and finishing anyway. you don’t have to have the reason figured out before you move. sometimes you just move, and the reason finds you at the top.
the descent was a different person entirely.
we practically jogged down. the fear was gone — replaced by something closer to invincibility. the cables going down felt like nothing. the miles flew.
and then someone had an idea about a shortcut.
i will not name names.
the shortcut was not a shortcut. the shortcut was eight additional miles that appeared out of nowhere, with no water left — we’d run out and i’d shared what i had — and the eventual discovery, when our legs had officially filed formal complaints, that we had been two miles from the trailhead the entire time.
twenty-two miles. a beer the night before. a panic attack on the cables. eight bonus miles courtesy of someone’s navigation confidence.
we got there. we always get there.
the trail: half dome via the mist trail — approximately 14-16 miles round trip from happy isles trailhead in yosemite valley (plan for more). permits required for the sub-dome section — apply through the nps lottery well in advance. start early. bring more water than you think you need, and then more. gloves for the cables. poles for the descent. know yourself before you get to the cables. and hike with someone who will look you in the eye and tell you to keep going when you’ve forgotten how to.
los caminos de la vida — entry two.
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