This is the second part of a two-part trip report from this month's visit to Yosemite National Park.

Hetch Hetchy

Saturday morning, after a quick breakfast from Degnan's (Deg muffins!), we drove for an hour to the Hetch Hetchy region of Yosemite. It was my first time visiting this part of the park and I was eager to explore.

We parked at the end of Hetch Hetchy road, which terminates in a loop bordering the O'Shaugnessy Dam -- a giant wall of concrete holding in a massive body of water. Halfway down the dam face, a spectacular stream of water plunged into the Poopenaut Valley¹ and Tuolumne River below. It was a sight to behold.

We crossed the dam and entered a tunnel, which seemed cool for the first hundred feet until it became so dark, I couldn't see where I was stepping. But as everyone knows, when one sense is hampered, the other senses compensate. With my loss of sight came enhanced hearing, and my ears quickly told me exactly where I was stepping: in giant water puddles. A few hundred feet later, I emerged from the tunnel, wet boots and all.

Waterfalls

Two-and-a-half-miles later, we were at Wapama Falls. It was an easy, yet stressful hike. The trail had only a slight incline and required little effort to travel, which is why so many people were traveling it. It felt more like a pilgrimage than a hike -- not as bad as the herd of people that shuffle to Yosemite Falls or Vernal Falls, but bad enough to be annoying.

Wapama Falls was powerful and beautiful. The water thundered down, crashed on the rocks, and soaked everybody crossing the wood-planked bridges near its base.

At this point, M, whose leg had been bothering her again, returned to the car while I continued towards Rancheria Falls, 3.75 miles beyond Wapama. Since most people seemed satisfied to end their visit at the first waterfall, this length of trail was empty.

After ten minutes of brisk walking, I encountered six hikers halted in the middle of the trail, looking at something through the trees, towards the reservoir.

"Bear," said one of the hikers.

I peered through the branches and leaves and barely made out something furry and bear-shaped huddled near a tree trunk.

"It's best we stick together," said another of the hikers. Since this was my first bear spotting, this sounded like a good idea. I waited for somebody to take the first step, but everybody seemed paralyzed, so I took the lead, trying to slow my pace so the others wouldn't fall too far behind.

This worked for five minutes. Every minute after that, the others began to drift further behind. Fifteen minutes later, nobody was behind me. I dawdled -- stopping to drink water, eat snacks, check my bootlaces, photograph the reservoir, but it did no good. The others were gone.

On a day with better weather, I might have waited for them, but the skies were gray and growing grayer, and I wasn't keen on hiking in the rain, so after checking my bootlaces for the sixth time, I decided to keep going.

I soon came upon the wide cascades of Rancheria Falls.

I was looking for a way to get closer to the waterfall when it began drizzling. I took this as a sign to start my return hike.

Half a mile from Rancheria, I encountered the hikers who had mysteriously disappeared.

"We were worried about you," said yet another of the hikers. Before I could speak, they were already around the bend, which leads me to believe they weren't as worried about me as they claimed to be.

On the way back to the valley, M and I stopped by the Evergreen Lodge for a bathroom break and some coffee. As we were leaving, the light rain became a heavy downpour, making the drive back pure misery.

Helicopters

Safely back at Housekeeping Camp, we showered and had our Mountain House meals for dinner (re-hydrated gourmet!). The sound of raindrops on our canvas roof soon let up, but was quickly replaced by the sound of spinning propellers. For the next few hours, it seemed as though there was a helicopter constantly in the air.

On our way over to Yosemite Village, we stopped by the Ahwahnee Meadow to photograph Half Dome.

That's when we saw the helicopter and Yosemite Search & Rescue on the edge of the meadow. We didn't know what was going on at the time, but when we got home, we learned that what we had seen was the rescue operation for the hikers stranded on Half Dome after a man had slipped from the cables and fallen to his death earlier that afternoon.

A Good Night

We ended the day on a high note at Degnan's Loft, where we met up with Theresa and Tom, whom I met on Twitter (@simplytheresa and @tomagain, respectively), and who live in and work in/from Yosemite. I dread calling it a tweet-up, so I won't. Instead, I'll just say it was a blast meeting them in person and hanging out that evening.

A Mosquito

The next morning, after another quick Deg muffin breakfast, we made our usual stop at the Ahwahnee, where I managed to get my first and last mosquito bite of the trip. The mosquito, by the way, immediately spit out my blood when it discovered I wasn't a registered guest at the four-star hotel.

After dragging our feet for as long as we could, we reluctantly left the park for home.

You can see more photos from the trip on Flickr.

¹ Yes, I snicker every time I say or type Poopenaut Valley because I have the maturity of a eight-year-old (an eight-year-old who uses footnotes and parentheses).

The other day, I happened to catch the beginning of an old episode of The Drew Carey Show that tickled my brain so badly, it got the hiccups. The only cure was to search the web for the video. With a bit of luck, I found it. I'm embedding it here for easy access (and any future cases of brain hiccups).

It's from "In Ramada Da Vida", the second episode of season four (during the show's creative peak). The song playing in the background is Leo Kottke's version of Fleetwood Mac's "World Turning".

This is the first part of a two-part trip report from last weekend's visit to Yosemite.

A Change of Plans

Last Monday, the plan for the weekend was to stay home and sit still. It was a simple plan. It was a good plan. It was also a plan doomed to fail.

Later that day, I was online and thought it would be fun "just to see" if there was anything available in Yosemite. As expected, recreation.gov came up empty and yosemitepark.com came up with a room at the Ahwahnee, which is an expensive equivalent to empty.

A person truly intent on staying home and sitting still would have quit at that point, and I was that person for another fifteen minutes or so. But then it dawned on me that what I wanted wasn't to stay home and sit still. What I really wanted was to visit Yosemite. As soon as I accepted that, the search for a place to stay for the weekend began in earnest.

With persistence bordering on obsession, I was able to snag a spot in Housekeeping Camp for Friday night. It took another day of constant checking (and a bit of luck) to secure a second night.

With both reservations printed and placed in the safety of my backpack, all there was left to do was pack and think about potential hikes.

The Valley

We arrived in the valley just after noon on Friday. Our first stop was camp, to see if any sites were ready. There were a few, but we were told to come back between three and five to officially check in.

Not wanting to wander off too far, we decided to stay in the valley and see how differently everything looked compared to when we were last in the park, on New Year's Day.

The snow-covered meadows were now lush and green.



Flowers and plants buried by snow or dormant for the season were in bloom.



The waterfalls, which were little more than a spray, were booming.



And the quiet Merced River was once again a thoroughfare for rafts and kayaks.



Our last stop, before returning to camp, was the Yosemite Chapel. It recently celebrated its 130th birthday, but looks good for its age.



An Anniversary

One of the main reasons I went from wanting to stay home to wanting to make Yosemite happen was M. Last week was our fifth anniversary, and while I was initially set on taking her out for a nice dinner, I quickly realized I wanted to do something more for her. That ended up being Yosemite. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but it's where we went for our first "official" date¹.

To mark the occasion, we had dinner at the Mountain Room Lounge, which is part of the Yosemite Lodge, and across from the Mountain Room Restaurant. We initially planned to dine at the restaurant, but after seeing the line of people waiting to be seated, we chose to eat at the unusually empty lounge.

While the lounge has a smaller menu than the restaurant (just three entrees), the quality of the food is still high. If I'm not mistaken, the same chef prepares the dishes for both places. (For the record, I had the roasted chicken with a glass of Chateau St. Michelle Riesling.)



A Show

After dinner, we returned to camp, showered, and ventured across Southside Drive to the LeConte Memorial Lodge, a small granite and wood building that is home to the Sierra Club. The lodge has several educational displays and a collection of books about Yosemite, the Sierra Nevada, John Muir, Joseph LeConte, and more. It's a beautiful place, outside and inside.



That night, the lodge was showing "The John Muir Trail", a video by Lee Turkelson, who was on hand to narrate and answer questions. The film followed Turkelson and his companions as they hiked the JMT from Mt. Whitney to Happy Isles.

What was most striking about the video was the way it blended two trips (one in early summer, one in late summer) to give a broader picture of the trail. The most memorable moments of the film were the interviews Turkelson conducted with thru-hikers he met along the way. My favorite was the artist who used watercolors to paint the view from his tent (and where he was headed) every morning.

¹ Not only was it a three-day first date, but was also a climb-to-the-top-of-Half-Dome first date.

I have a confession, and since I can't think of a clever or funny way to reveal it, I'll just blurt it out...

I have a late night talk show host crush on Craig Ferguson, who hosts The Late Late Show on CBS.

Wow. That felt good. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

David, Conan, Jimmy, the other Jimmy? They're all funny (somewhat), but Craig is Funny. The others make me chuckle (Conan more than the rest), but Craig makes me laugh.

Okay, his humor is lowbrow, risque, and vulgar, but it's also fresh, dynamic, and spontaneous, and the second trio of traits almost always trumps the first trio.

Like the other hosts, he does a topical monologue every night, but unlike the other hosts, he delivers it with a flow and a degree of unpredictability. He may be reading from a teleprompter or from cue cards like everybody else, but it feels like he's winging it.

I think his interviews are better and more natural than anybody else's in late night. I love how he rips up the blue cards with the prepared questions on them and simply chats with his guests -- being chummy with the guys, being charming with the girls. It isn't an interview; it's a banter session.

I could go on and on, but I will limit myself to a short list of other things I love about the "Scottish Conan O'Brien guy":

• I love the way he rebels against his producers.
• I love that he does the prep work (mostly), but then throws it out in favor of entertaining his audience.
• I love how he complains about the show's small set (with its leaky roof) and lack of a band.
• I love that he plays dumb, but plays it so smartly.

Most of all, I love his show's openings, especially the ones featuring him lip-synching a catchy tune, with one or two assistants and an ensemble of puppets backing him up. It sounds ridiculous on paper, but it's absolutely hilarious on screen.

For your viewing pleasure (and to brighten your day), here are two of my favorite openings. The first is "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" by They Might Be Giants. The second is "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz.

Mon Ami Gabi (Or, We'll Always Have Faux Paris)

Upon our return from Valley of Fire State Park, we wandered the Strip in search of food and came upon Mon Ami Gabi, a full-scale restaurant at the base of the half-scale Eiffel Tower of Paris Las Vegas.




I was in the mood for breakfast and they were still serving brunch, so we gave it a try. They sat us on the veranda with a view of the Bellagio fountains and the traffic crawling along Las Vegas Boulevard.

Every thirty minutes, the fountains came to life and the water danced to music by artists like Celine Dion and Frank Sinatra. Every ten minutes, a billboard truck drove by, advertising showgirls, who also dance to music by Celine and Frank-caliber artists (I can only assume).

As for the meal itself, I had the Eggs Benedict and a glass of Riesling. Both arrived promptly and both were quite good. Service was fine until the couple at the next table started monopolizing our server's time with small talk. Between the time we asked for the check and received it, the billboard truck had circled the block once. Other than that, our dining experience was excellent, and I would highly recommend the restaurant.

After lunch, we took a relaxing stroll through Faux Paris. If we ever return to Vegas, this is the place I want to stay.




Gondola Ride (Or, Going, Going, Gondola)

From Paris, we walked down the block and visited Venice. (Only in Vegas!) We followed the canal in The Venetian until we found the ticket office for the gondola rides. Tickets are $64 for a private gondola or $16 per person for a shared gondola.

We only had to wait a few minutes before boarding. Our gondolier was a young olive-skinned man with black hair and what conventional wisdom would call boyish enthusiasm. Before our ride began, a professional photographer took our photos, which made me think, "What a small world."

The ride began with get-to-know-you chatting, which was nice. We then glided quietly along the canal for a minute or two; the only sound coming from the water as the oar passed through it. The ride would have been more than enjoyable if it had continued that way, but most people expect more, which is why the gondolier broke the spell and asked if there was an Italian song he could sing for us.

With eagerness, the woman across from us said, "That's Amore". A second later, people on the waterfront and on the bridges were stopping and staring at our gondolier as his rich voice echoed off the Venetian sky with, "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie. That's amore!"

I smiled meekly the whole time and avoided eye contact whenever possible. It's amazing the architectural detail one notices when one is focused on nothing else. Any thought of taking photos during the ride vanished in a wave of self-consciousness and paralysis.

After he finished singing, our gondolier asked for another song title. The woman across from us looked at me expectantly. The only song I could think of was "Con Te Partiro", but that seemed so cliched, I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Unfazed by the silence, our gondolier cleared his throat and began singing "Speak Softly Love" from The Godfather. His voice was melodious and he sang every note with the passion of somebody whose dream stretched beyond the canals of The Venetian. When the last note faded, he took a breath and launched right into "Belle Notte" from The Lady and The Tramp. It was during this song when we ran into trouble.

We were waiting our turn to dock when our gondolier inexplicably started paddling in reverse. The gondola slid backwards and under a metal lion head protruding from the canal wall. This would have been fine except for the steady stream of water pouring from the lion's mouth.

By the time the gondolier realized his error and maneuvered the gondola away from the wall, it was too late. Our feet were wet, our seat was wet, and M's lower half was soaked. Luckily, she had grabbed her camera bag before the water could reach it.

The gondolier apologized profusely and repeatedly. The Venetian then witnessed the fastest gondola docking in hotel history. We were hurried off the boat, which was promptly taken out of service to be dried. After a brief, but stern talk with the manager, we received a full refund and more apologies.

It wasn't exactly how I wanted our gondola ride to go, but it certainly made for a memorable experience.

Our trip to Las Vegas was three weeks ago. Some might say it's too late to write about it. I say now is the perfect time. It isn't so long past that I've forgotten the important details, but it's long enough ago to attribute any inaccuracies to a fuzzy memory. Let's get to it, shall we?

Arriving (Or, We'll Get There When We Get There!)

When we arrived at San Francisco International Airport, Friday evening, we already knew our flight had been delayed thirty minutes. Instead of being annoyed, I was relieved. The delay gave us plenty of time to get through security, which we needed since TSA seemed keenly interested in my backpack this time around. After an intense three-minute x-ray examination, the agents determined the allergy medicine in my bag posed no threat to national security and let it through.

This gave me just enough time to grab a bowl of clam chowder for dinner before we boarded the plane. I was nearly done drowning myself with soup when an airline representative announced the flight would be delayed an additional thirty minutes.

Our plane landed at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas around ten. By the time we reached the Excalibur, our "castle" for the weekend, the clock was closing in on midnight. At this point, most tourists would have dumped their luggage in their rooms and hit the bars and casinos. I did nothing of the sort. As soon as we unloaded our luggage, I hit McDonald's for a salad (the healthiest food I could find within walking distance), the shower, and then the sack. Yes, I was a dullard, but at least I was a clean, well-rested dullard.

Whole Foods (Or, The Most Expensive Bargains. Ever.)

Friday night, after registering, we decided to buy bottled water from one of the hotel's "convenience" kiosks. M worried we'd be thirsty during the night and didn't trust the tap water. We ended up buying three 20-ounce bottles of Aquafina at more than three dollars a pop. I drank a good eight ounces of water before dozing off just to feel the purchase wasn't a total waste of money.

The next morning, after B and J (M's sister and brother-in-law) picked us up, we stopped at the Whole Foods at the end of the Strip to buy water, juice, and snacks. For the same amount we spent the night before, we were able to get a 24-bottle flat of water. Only on the Vegas Strip would a specialty supermarket like Whole Foods be considered a bargain.

Valley of Fire (Or, I Fell Into a Burning Valley of Fire)

We were soon on our way to Valley of Fire State Park. From the Vegas Strip, one takes I-15 north and Highway 169 east to reach the park. On a good day, the drive takes roughly an hour and I assume that's how long it took since I was asleep the whole way there.

"But wait," you might exclaim. "Didn't you just claim you were a well-rested dullard?" And I would say, "Yes." And then we would sit here in awkward hypothetical silence.

Anyway, it's true. I was well-rested, but what you don't know is that three of us were seated in the back row of a minivan -- a cramped and uncomfortable back row. It didn't take long for the road to lull me into unconsciousness; my mind finding the fastest escape route. In a way, I was reliving my childhood, when I had the whole back row of our family's minivan to myself and would inevitably fall asleep on the late night drive home from our weekly visits to my grandparents; my dad skillfully steering us safely over the Santa Cruz mountains.

After paying the six-dollar entry fee, we proceeded to our first (and longest) stop: Beehives. Here, the reddish-orange sandstone formations were in sharp contrast with the blackish mountains in the distance.



After taking a few photos from the ground, I couldn't resist the temptation to climb to the top of a formation and survey the surrounding landscape. The scramble up the rock was short, but sweet. There were natural handholds and footholds everywhere and my sandals had surprisingly good grip on the slopes. I was only thirty or forty feet off the ground, hardly enough elevation to improve the views, but from where I stood, the vistas just seemed better.





From Beehives, we made a leave-the-engine-running stop at the Petrified Logs. J jumped out to take a photograph on behalf of everyone in the van and then we sped to Rainbow Vista. Here, the multicolored rock formations lived up to their name.



We then made a quick detour to Fire Canyon.



From there, we backtracked and made a brief visit to Arch Rock, one of the few formations where climbing is forbidden. Were one able to climb it, one would discover the arch is, in truth, tiny. I believe one could squeeze a head and arm through it before becoming wedged.



I should explain that a lot of our rushing around was out of consideration for B and J's two kids. The older one is 36 months old. The younger one is 9 months old. It only made sense that our schedule would depend on their comfort and needs, which meant we simply couldn't sit in one spot for too long or wander off for an hour or two. This trip gave me new respect for folks who travel with little ones. To me, traveling and raising children are challenging enough on their own. Combining the two seems almost insane, and yet people do it and do it successfully. They're amazing.

Anyway, after a fast bathroom break at the main entrance, we returned to Vegas. And yes, I slept the whole way back.

You can see more photos from Valley of Fire State Park on Flickr.

This weekend was my second to last unscheduled weekend of the summer. To be honest, it was only partially unscheduled. And to be even more honest, it isn't summer yet. I only said it was because all of my official summer weekends are booked with one event or another (trips, visits, gatherings) and I wanted to be able to claim at least one weekend was free from running around. Don't get me wrong. Running around can be fun, exciting, and rewarding, but it can also be be chaotic, tiring, and anxiety-inducing, especially if all one wants to do is sit still. And right now, sitting still sounds extremely enticing. I suppose I will have to cram as much of it as I can into this coming weekend. In fact, I'm putting it on my calendar.

Anyway, as a writing warm-up exercise, I thought I'd share a few highlights from what was mostly a mellow weekend. This weekend, I:

> attended a birthday party in Burlingame. It was for a newly minted three-year-old and was held at the extremely popular Washington Park, which is tucked between the railroad tracks and Highway 101. The picnic tables were decked out with Handy Manny table clothes and the birthday boy was wearing a felt tool belt stocked with plastic screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers. He also received a wagon-load of gifts. I was so envious. I never get to wear a tool belt on my birthday.

The weather was strange that day. It was a tug-of-war between sunshine and overcast. One minute it was t-shirt and shorts weather; the next minute it was jacket and jeans weather. Sunshine eventually won out, but only after the day had worked its way firmly into afternoon.

> watched Expedition Africa. It's a new eight-part series on the History channel that documents the journey of four modern day explorers (a navigator, wildlife expert, survivalist, and journalist) as they retrace the steps H.M. Stanley took in his search for Dr. David Livingstone. The show had me hooked immediately. It's essentially a series about hiking, albeit extreme hiking, with treacherous terrain, deadly animals, clashing personalities, and an inhospitable climate. Happily, it's everything my hikes are not. Though, I must admit, the explorers' spirit of adventure is quite contagious.

> finally finished the rocks in the backyard. Putting down rocks for a path is easy as long as the rocks are actually available at the hardware store. Whenever I visited the garden center, the Bermuda Green rocks I desired were never in stock. By some stroke of luck, I was able to nab the two bags I needed to finish the project. The next big backyard task involves tackling the overgrown weeds. I'm bowled over with anticipation.

> got a haircut. After several weeks of letting my hair mushroom out of control, I went to one of the local barber shops for a trim. Five minutes of furious razor and scissor action resulted in this:

I'm actually not embarrassed by the outcome. Of course, at the time, I was scared stiff, fearing even the slightest bobble or tilt would result in the loss of an ear or a stab wound to the skull. For an idea of what my hair looked like before, just imagine the upper half of the photo in black. That's right. Before my haircut, mops bowed before me and cried, "We're not worthy!"