A Different Kind of Cat Herding

Gary Hart Photography: Half Dome Sunset Reflection, Camp Six, Yosemite

Majesty, Half Dome Sunset Reflection, Yosemite
Sony a7R V
Sony 12-24 GM
2 seconds
F/16
ISO 50

With my April Yosemite workshop starting in less than three hours, I was experiencing more than my normal mild pre-workshop anxiety. But after 20 years of photo workshops, I’ve accepted that I will always be a little stressed about the unknown until we start—how will this group of strangers get along, and what kind of photography conditions will we have?

Leading photo workshops always has a cat-herding component, but this was the first time I’ve felt like I was herding cats before the workshop even started. In this case, rather than stressing about conditions and how the group will connect, I was stressing about whether everyone (or anyone) would even make it to the workshop at all.

My concern was the snow forecast threatening to close two of the three routes to Yosemite Valley, combined the weeks-long now-it’s-open/now-it’s-closed status of the third route, thanks to a new rockslide. It didn’t help that, as the workshop approached, I’d already heard from several participants who were experiencing a variety transportation troubles that ranged from a cancelled bus ticket to concern about potential chain requirements. Reminding myself that these kind of inconveniences usually end up making great stories that help bond the group later was little comfort in that moment.

Most years, the go-to stress for my Yosemite spring workshop is whether there would be enough water in Yosemite Falls for us to get a nice moonbow. But that had been resolved when a series of unusually robust April storms had turned a historically low Sierra snowpack into something that at least approached average.

Ironically, my current concerns—the snow forecast and persistent rockslide—were a direct result of ongoing storms that had solved the not-enough-water-in-the-fall problem.

For several reasons—easier drive, better scenery, and (especially) much less chance of snow and ice—Highway 140 is my preferred of the three west-side routes to Yosemite (Tioga Pass, which enters from the east, is closed in winter). Slides on 140 aren’t unusual, but the duration of this closure, measured in days instead of the more typical hours, was. When the road finally reopened a week or so before the workshop, I breathed a sigh of relief, but took note of the fact that only one lane opened, with traffic control—also unusual, and not a great sign.

Turns out my concern was warranted, as the Caltrans engineers who make these closure decisions determined that 140 still wasn’t quite ready for prime time. When, less than a week before the workshop, 140 closed again so they could address the troubling areas, I started sending my April group updates offering alternate routes: from the north, Highway 120 through the Big Oak Flat entrance; from the south, Highway 41 through the Wawona entrance. These alternate routes, though winding through more mountainous terrain, are good roads that add little or no extra time to the trip, and usually aren’t especially challenging for most drivers. But they also ascend 3000 feet higher than Highway 140, making them particularly problematic in stormy weather: when 140 and Yosemite Valley get rain, 41 and 120 usually get snow and ice.

With the next in a series of late-season storm forecast to arrive the day before the workshop, the (literally) chilling prospect of sending Yosemite virgins—some from regions of the country that never see snow, have no mountainous terrain, or both—into a Sierra storm that may bring snow, ice, limited visibility, and chain requirements, seemed very possible.

So imagine my relief to learn that 140 reopened the Friday night before the workshop’s Monday start. I updated my group with the good news, and shared a link to the Caltrans website where they could find reliable and up-to-date road conditions (closures, roadwork, chain requirements, etc.). Because another closure was not impossible, I encouraged everyone to monitor their chosen route’s status before starting their drive into the park—given the forecast, I encouraged them to default to 140 if at all possible to avoid the inevitable snow and ice on the higher roads.

With 140 now open, I started to feel more confident that most of my group would make it to our workshop hotel without trouble. But I did have one person, Jim from California’s Central Coast, who couldn’t drive and was at the mercy of a combination of trains and buses. About a week before the workshop, Jim had been notified by Amtrak, which contracts with YARTS (the Yosemite bus service) for the non-rail portion of its Yosemite route, that due to the 140 closure, his trip was cancelled. With no reasonable alternative, he told me he had to cancel. But a few days later, Jim e-mailed that he was still going to try to make the workshop, though he might be a day or two late (depending on when 140 opened and the buses resumed). Then he went dark.

On Sunday evening (the day before the workshop), I’d heard from one of the workshop’s snow- and mountain-driving rookies (from the Gulf Coast), Barbara, that she had attempted 120 but returned to Groveland for the night after encountering snow, poor visibility, lost cellular (and the GPS map service that requires it), and highway signs threatening chain requirements. I told her that since my Outback and I were planning to enter on 120 (so I could check out the higher elevation dogwood bloom), if the 120 conditions hadn’t improved by morning, I’d meet her in Groveland and she could follow me in.

Waking at home early Monday morning, I immediately checked the road conditions and saw that 120 was R1 (chains not required as long as you have snow tires), and 140 was still open. Yay. While on the road a couple of hours later, I received a text from Barbara saying that rather than attempt 120, she’d backtracked to 140 and no longer needed my assistance. It seemed things were starting to fit into place.

But one immutable truth, pounded into a nature photographer’s brain at every opportunity, is to take nothing for granted. Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when word soon reached me that 140 had just closed again. Sigh. I quickly called and texted Barbara, but she was out of cell range; soon I was off the grid too, so I just had to hope that she’d get my messages in time turn around before driving all the way to the closure.

I stopped in Groveland, a small cell signal island in a gridless sea, to catch up on the latest conditions and wait as long as possible for Barbara in case she needed my help navigating 120. While waiting there, I didn’t hear from Barbara, but did learn that all chain requirements on 120 had been lifted. As I started to get back on the road, my phone rang: not Barbara—this was Jim.

With everything else going on, I hadn’t really thought about Jim since he’d told me he’d be late, if he made it at all. He told me that shortly after 140 had opened Friday night, Amtrak had notified him that his bus trip had been reinstated. So, leaving his home on California’s Central Coast early Sunday, he’d actually made it all the way to Yosemite Valley. Once in the valley he’d booked a room; his plan had been to take that night to recover from his travels, then catch a bus down to the workshop hotel Monday morning. Easy-peasy.

Unfortunately, while walking back to his room after dinner Sunday night, he’d tripped on a rock in the dark and fallen hard enough to eject a hearing aid and bang himself up so much that the hotel staff called an ambulance to rush him to the closest hospital, more than an hour away in Mariposa (which he’d already been through once that day).

The good news was, the hospital found no serious injuries. The not-so-good news was, after patching him up and releasing him in the wee hours of Monday morning, he had no way to get back to his hotel room (containing his suitcase and camera gear) in Yosemite Valley. At least he’d been able to find a generous soul to give him a ride to a nearby hotel. He’d checked in (his second hotel room that night) and managed to get few hours of sleep, then waited for the day’s first bus to return him to Yosemite. Not ideal, but no damage beyond a few cuts and bruises, and the lost hearing aid—and at least he’d make it the workshop in time for our 1:30 p.m. Monday start.

A truly great plan—until 140 re-closed, just a couple of hours before he was to catch his bus. Suddenly, Jim found himself stranded in Mariposa with no car, no public transportation, no local taxi service, and a rock slide between him and all of his stuff in Yosemite.

Which is how I found myself sitting in my car, less than three hours until my workshop, stressing about whether or not I’d even have a group to lead: I had Barbara and ten other workshop participants careening about the Sierra foothills in stormy weather, quite possibly following my directions into a dead-end or a snowstorm (take your pick), plus one person completely marooned in Mariposa. What could be worse?

Right about then my phone rang again—a new number—and I feared I was about to find out. But (spoiler alert) this is where my story takes an about-face. I inhaled and answered, bracing for the next crisis. But this was just Stan and Bonnie from Wisconsin, two of the missing ten (at least they know how to drive in snow), making sure I was aware of the latest 140 closure, and letting me know it had forced them to detour and that they’d probably be late for the orientation.

As I told them that wouldn’t be a problem, I was struck by an uncharacteristic flash of brilliance and asked how far they are from Mariposa. Ten minutes? I quickly summarized Jim’s plight and asked if they’d mind returning to Mariposa to pick him up. When they graciously agreed, I had them sit tight while I called Jim to see if he could be ready in 10 minutes. Jim was thrilled, so I quickly called Stan and Bonnie back, gave them Jim’s number, and told them to negotiate the rendezvous directly with him. A few minutes later I motored out of cellular range and could only hope that all the pieces would fall into place.

I’m happy to report that everyone made it to the workshop—most (including Barbara) before orientation, with Stan, Bonnie, and Jim rolling in shortly before I wrapped up. Many in the group had stories of their own adventures getting to the workshop, and it was clear that having shared travel experiences enabled the group to connect even faster than most groups connect.

It didn’t hurt that the unsettled weather that caused me so much stress hung around for the workshop’s first couple of days, treating the group to beautiful clouds and turbo-charging the falls. The clouds departed just in time for our moonbow shoot on the workshop’s penultimate night, then returned the next afternoon to color the sky for our final sunset.

Oh yeah—it seems that someone found Jim’s lost hearing aid and returned it to the hotel’s lost-and-found. And when we picked it up, the hotel staff was genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, and let him know that they’re reversed the charges for his room on the night he spent in Mariposa.

About this image

Yosemite isn’t known for it’s colorful sunsets, but they do happen. Nevertheless, and despite beautiful cumulous clouds behind Half Dome all afternoon, I couldn’t help being a bit pessimistic them hanging around until the workshop’s final sunset. Usually clouds like this dissipate as the sun drops toward the horizon. But watching from the bank of the Merced River that afternoon, it soon became clear that these clouds weren’t going away.

Since there were so many clouds, all catching the rapidly warming light of the setting sun, I told my April group that, if the light stays on the clouds all the way until sunset, we would be in store for a real treat. And that’s exactly what happened.

I tell all my workshop students to base the sky/landscape ratio of their images on the relative beauty of the two. In this case, both the vivi sky, and its reflection in the Merced River, were so expansive, I quickly switched to my 12-24 lens to capture as much color as possible.

This turned out to be one of the most memorable sunsets I’ve ever experienced in Yosemite, and truly fitting conclusion to a fantastic workshop.