Tour Diary: Santa Cruz, CA & Yosemite National Park
Tour Diary: Santa Cruz, CA & Yosemite National Park
The tour continues to the home of my dear friends in Santa Cruz, and my mother arrives to share some time on the road with me.
Saturday morning at the Geary Parkway Hotel in San Francisco found me in an upbeat mood before I made the short drive to Santa Cruz. I had highlighted Santa Cruz early on in the planning for this trip as I have some dear friends there that I have not seen in more than eight years. I first got to know Nels and Faith through mutual friends when they were living in East Lansing and pursuing advanced degrees at Michigan State University.
Nels became a regular fixture at our boys only cabin weekends, and I spent time with him fishing, attending shows, and patronizing craft beer establishments across the state together. When Nels, Faith, and their daughter Mirabelle moved in 2016, it was a bit of a blow.
Booking a gig in Santa Cruz on a Saturday night for an out of state performer with little name recognition proved to be too daunting to overcome, despite myriad best efforts and the help of a number of folks assisting. Still, even without a gig, Santa Cruz had to be a stop for me if only to see my friends.
Aretha and I rolled into the neighborhood where Faith and Nels have a home just outside of the city. The subdivision in which they live was originally purchased in the 1920s by the San Jose Masonic Lodge as a vacant stretch of land intended for camping lots. The area is a dense redwood forest that looms peacefully high above. The streets feel silent and serene. One can hear the warblers, the pileated woodpeckers, and the chickadees while walking from the car to the house.
Over time, those lots designed for tents began to gradually accommodate pop-up-campers and small trailers until after World War Two when folks began to build permanent cottages. Now the entire area is filled with small houses and cabins all nestled into the Redwoods like some real-life Smurf Village. I wound my way through the narrow, twisting streets until I came to Nels and Faith’s house on St. Augustine Drive.
Faith greeted me at the door with a big hug, and reintroduced to Mirabelle who I had not seen since she was a toddler. Soon, Nels was bouncing up the basement steps for a hearty hello and embrace. I toured their lovely little home and its gorgeous patio area that looks directly out at the redwood forest. The patio also features an apple tree that is close enough to simply pick the fruit without ever leaving the patio. Nels turned the Tiger playoff game on the television, and we chatted while watching their improbable appearance in Game 5 of the ALDS.
Nels and I caught up on life in the living room while Mirabelle and Faith headed out for brunch and a bit of thrift shopping with some friends. At a crucial moment in the middle of the baseball game, Tigers’ ace Tarik Skubal gave up a grand slam to a Cleveland hitter essentially sealing Detroit’s fate. Neither Nels nor I felt compelled to sit there and watch the Tigers suffer this defeat with a beautiful Santa Cruz day just outside the window. We clicked off the TV and headed to the car so Nels could give me a taste of Santa Cruz.
We tooled down near the water and drove around a bit to give me a sense of the city near the sea. After drifting through town, Nels drove us over to the wharf area to find parking. Leaving the car, we hoofed it back to the shoreline to a party store for a four pack of IPA tall boys. Beers in hand, we then strolled up the beach to the boardwalk area which is littered with amusements, arcades, bars, and thousands of tourists and day drinkers.
Surprisingly, we found an open park bench fairly quickly and sat ourselves down to enjoy the beer before it became too warm to drink in the afternoon sun. The boardwalk area in Santa Cruz is prime time people watching, and I soaked in the sights and sounds. I watched families play in the surf, young couples on a day out, and bros playing beach volleyball. All the while, Nels and I chatted about his admin job in advanced education and the ups and downs of my tour thus far. Hanging in the sun with a beer, chatting with my old friend felt like falling into a warm bath after a long day. It was such a relief to see Nels and just be there with him.
Downing our beers, we hopped in the car and headed back to the house to hang out for a bit and then grab the ladies for dinner. We returned to the wharf after picking up Mirabelle and Faith and eventually found ourselves at a wharf side restaurant overlooking the bay as the sun dropped into the sea. I ordered a bowl of clam chowder and crab cakes and was treated to my first really good meal of the trip. To that point, I’d either eaten from groceries I had packed in the car, or I’d suffered through a series of meals ranging from mediocre to tolerable. Okay, I’ll give a pass to the solid steak sandwich I had in Bozeman, but the rest has been mostly just okay.
With a full belly and still a bit of a buzz from the beers at the beach, I rode shotgun as we returned home to Nels and Faith’s to chat some more while watching the 50th season premiere of Saturday Night Live. I struggled to keep my eyes open as we talked. Within a few minutes I confessed I was done for the day and headed down to my room for the night. I was asleep before I knew it.
The next morning I was up very early while my hosts all slept. I made myself a workstation at the desk in Nels’ office near my bedroom in the basement and got a bunch of WAIM business attended to. I finished a pair of posts, and formulated a theme for a forthcoming radio show and then headed out for a morning walk.
Other than a handful of kids out for early morning shenanigans, I saw just two other walkers with their dogs on an early Sunday morning in Santa Cruz. I walked slowly and deliberately amongst the redwoods, inhaling deeply to gather in a scent that conjured tones of cedar, jasmine, spruce, and moss. The morning air was refreshingly cool, and the birds, who had yet to hit their morning crescendo, were chirping timidly amongst the mighty trees. Once back at Nels and Faith’s, I joined them for a bit of coffee and conversation, before my planned exit at 10:30.
The hour finally came for me to made my way to the car. Hugs were doled out all around and I promised to not wait eight years to get back to see them all again. I found myself charmed by Santa Cruz in the brief time I had spent there, largely because I was so very happy to see my friends in such a glorious setting. As Santa Cruz disappeared in the rearview, I made my way to Mineta International Airport in San Jose to pick up a traveling companion for the next few days; my mother.
Ama, the nickname our daughters’s endowed my mother with - which also translates to “she loves” in Spanish, arrived perfectly on time in San Jose as I waited curbside to whisk her off to the first stop on our adventure. Packing quite judiciously, Ama had manage to cram all of her necessities in a carry-on bag so we wouldn’t have to wait for her to claim luggage. As I peered through the crowd trying to catch a glimpse of her as passengers flowed from the airport, Mom texted and said, “I don’t see you.”
I looked up to find that I had accidentally waited at the wrong terminal. Easy enough to solve. I hopped back in Aretha and pulled a loop around the airport to wind up back at the proper terminal to find Ama standing, smiling on the sidewalk. We tossed her minuscule gear into the car, she hopped into the front seat and we were off toward Yosemite National Park.
On the drive to Yosemite, we talked about my shows, the terrain I had witnessed and the people I had been able to spend time with. We gawked at the glorious California countryside as we drove southeastward to get to the park. Yosemite has a strict schedule to limit the number of visitors inside park boundaries at a given time. On weekends and holidays, a reservation or a campsite is required to access the park between 5 am and 3 pm. With Ama’s arrival time, the drive over and a stop for lunch, we looked to get to Yosemite at just about 3:00. We hoped to take in a bit of the park before heading off to find a room.
We entered Yosemite through the Arch Rock entrance on the southwest side of the grounds. With Sunday as a bit of a bonus day, we didn’t really have much planned, we just hoped to see some of what Yosemite had to offer. Without GPS, we relied on the park map, which was a fine way to get our bearings, but it made it difficult to grasp the sheer size and immensity of Yosemite. We drove along the road on the western edge of the park and stopped at a number of sites to get out and walk around.
Our plan was to spend as much time on Monday as we could getting to Yosemite Valley and Toulumne Meadows, so we opted to stay in the western end of the park and sent ourselves on a bit of a goose chase. Thinking, I could head across the park using the road we were on, we simply began driving eastward on the slow-going mountain roads. The scenery was gorgeous, but we left behind a gorgeous hike and vista at Hetch Hetchy, had we gone north instead of east.
Eventually, we realized that even if we did make it all the way across the park, with our hotel on the south side of the area, we’d be way out of way by the time we eventually did make it, which could have been God knows when. Doubling back, we took the same rout in as we had out This meant that we had not maximized our first day in Yosemite. However, we had a wonderful day together in the car, and any scenery at Yosemite is sublime. After stopping for a disappointing Mexican meal, Ama and I found our hotel for the first two nights of our time together at the Oakhurst Inn in Oakhurst, CA.
We were both up quite early the next morning. I made a bit of coffee in the hotel room with the one cup at a time coffeemaker provided by the hotel and then I wrote for a bit while mom read. Before 9:00 we were both ready to hit the road. However, we would have to wait before heading to the park.
When we scheduled days that my mother would be with me on the trip, I had planned Yosemite for Monday and Tuesday due to their reservation system, knowing we could get into the park. However, I had not accounted for the fact that the Monday that we had planned to visit was Indigenous People’s Day.
Several days before the days we planned to be in Yosemite, I called to confirm that the reservation system would be in effect for Monday, Oct. 13th in honor of Indigenous People’s Day. She informed that yes, we could enter the park before 5:00 am or after 3:00 pm that day. So, with a morning to kill, Ama and I set out to explore the area around Oakhurst before we could get into Yosemite that afternoon.
The kind young lady at our hotel desk recommended that we go over to Bass Lake and explore. Bass is a long, narrow lake littered with vacation homes, a few seasonal restaurants and bars, a swimming area, and small marina. We drove around the western edge of the lake stopping occasionally to get out and explore the area on foot. The trees around the lake are a combination of pines and cedar that encircle the lake with a ring of evergreen glory.
Making our way around Bass, we followed a narrow road toward a small body of water called Lake Manzanita. As we arrived, the area was deserted except for a huge collection of ducks and geese. They swam and bathed quietly in the California morning sunshine. The lake’s surface was alive with flecks of light bouncing back form the bright sunlight. I walked out to a small sand cropping on the edge of the lake to get some better vantage points for photos.
After a brief walk and some deep breathing by the lake, Ama and I hopped back in the car to find a spot of lunch before we entered the interior of Yosemite and headed for the valley. With minimal options in the California countryside, we opted for another Mexican meal and hoped for better results than the night prior. Once again, the service was terrific, the restaurant was welcoming, but the food was bland.
As we waited for our check, I did a quick Google search to see if the terrific noir film, Leave Her To Heaven was filmed at Yosemite. There was one scene in particular that I was sure was fined at the falls, but wanted to check. The film is a lessor known noir gem filmed in lurid technicolor, and is led by a brilliantly chilling performance by Gene Tierney.
Almost immediately upon getting the results for my search, I learned that a couple of scenes were indeed filmed at Yosemite, but the majority of the location filming for the movie, including the harrowing apex of the film were shot at Bass Lake. I gasped, and Ama said, “What did you find?”
Leave Her To Heaven is a favorite film for both of us and we refer to it every so often, mostly because of how great the cinematography is and the brilliance of Tierney’s cruel femme fatale. Ama and I were thrilled and shocked to learn that we had just toured the lake where a genuinely iconic film and scene were shot.
Sufficiently sated, I suggested we head towards Yosemite to see if they might let us in a couple of hours earlier than 3:00. I figured it was worth a shot. We arrived at the Yosemite gate just after 1:00 pm and waited behind a couple of cars to speak with a ranger. As I pulled the car up to the ranger station, I extended my National Park Annual Pass and asked if we might get in a bit before the 3:00 bell. The young ranger smiled and said, “Oh yeah, we stopped the reservation system yesterday at 3:00 pm.”
I chuckled, knowing that we could have hit Yosemite at 8:00 or even earlier for a full day in the park. For just a moment, I felt a wave of disappointment. Then I quickly remembered that because we waited to enter the park, we’d explored Bass and Manzanita and happened upon the filming location of one our favorite scenes. The ranger hands me a map and returned my pass to me. We rolled through the gates and made our way towards the valley.
Along the drive to the valley and before we caught our first glimpses of El Capitan and Half Dome, we took advantages of several turn-out spots and picnic areas to leave Aretha and explore the mountainous forest in which we found ourselves. Virtually all of the riverbeds and streams were dry during our October visit, but the vistas were still beautiful. We continued down the road toward the valley until we reached a bend with heavy foot traffic and a parking lot teeming with vehicles. I pulled Aretha into a spot in the elevated lot above the road and we got out to catch a glimpse of the view that had so many folks gawking.
As we turned away from Aretha and headed toward the crowd I lifted my head and stared straight at what’s known as Tunnel View, a direct look down the pith the Yosemite Valley with El Capitan towering over the left side and Half Dome standing high further down to the right. I felt myself gasp aloud ever so slightly as we neared the railing. The grey rock shot skyward into the blue from the lush green of the pine forest floor and left me at a loss for words.
The road toward the valley thickened with cars but remained passable as onlookers galore stared upward as they drove slowly down the mountain switchbacks. Every so often, the valley and attendant mountains would come into view form the roadway to offer another breathtaking vista. We continued to make regular stops for exploration on foot and even traipsed a couple of shorter trails to get a bit deeper into the forest.
The sun was just beginning to an afternoon orange as it slowly descended toward the Pacific. Ama and I found a parking spot at the very busy, but well organized Park Store in the center of the valley. We availed ourselves of the restrooms and I hopped inside to grab a couple of beers for an afternoon toddy at Yosemite. I grabbed a red for Ama and an IPA for myself and we set off to find a spot in the sunshine to enjoy our afternoon drink.
Toddy time is a sacred hour in the Carlson house. It began as a way for my parents to share their day with each other before dinner and has evolved into an expansive daily ritual in the later afternoon that welcomes old friends and newcomers. It is a tradition dedicated to personal connection and continual conversation. The topics might be heavy or inconsequential, heated or nonchalant, all that is required is your presence and a dash of curiosity.
My Dad, a recovering alcoholic, would have two non-alcoholic beers at nearly every toddy he would attend. He almost never had a third unless it was a special occasion. To have toddy time is to continue a tradition for which Steven was a central hub. We have shared toddy time with friends, relatives, new members of our family through marriage, and we have passed it down to the generations that have continued to come. Now, I was sitting with my Mother while on tour at one of the most sacred natural spaces in the country.
We found a carved log bench near the dry Yosemite Falls and plopped ourselves in the sun to savor our 16 ounce cans of deliciousness. As we sipped, I marveled at the surroundings, the company and the reason for being in that space at all. I felt grateful and thrilled to have had the courage and support to make this journey. I felt thrilled to share it with my Mom. I also felt as though my Dad lingered close at hand.
Finishing our beers, we strolled the path down toward the foot of the falls where water would come rolling down in the spring, but now sat an empty gulch. Standing on the foot bridge, we noticed a pair of climbers ascending up the rock on two different sides. One climber had rope, gear and a buddy at the bottom of the rock. The other climber appeared to be free climbing, or at the very least maneuvering up the mountain without assistance.
As the sun dappled the meadow in the valley I found a recycling can and dropped in our empty cans. Back inside Aretha we rolled the front windows all the way down and let the sunshine roll in as we tooled our way out of the valley and back towards the exit and the Oakhurst Inn.
On the way out of the park, we hope to find a spot for a second toddy. Expecting to find a dive bar or roadside tavern, we navigated the path to the exit until we came to the Wawona Inn, a beautifully preserved lodge within the boundaries of Yosemite. The Wawona is a classic from another era. It features a pair of large hotel style buildings and a series of cabins spread around the grounds.
The main hotel was under renovations but open for business. While they had no rooms for the remainder of the season, they had a lovely lobby and a bar open to all comers. Ama ordered a Riesling, which she claimed was truly delicious, while I opted for a Lagunitas IPA on tap. We grabbed our drinks and wandered the historic hotel until we found a pair of hogback chairs set up next to a chess table.
Over our drink, the California night descended and the warmth of the Wawona radiators pulsed into the more than hundred year old lobby. We took in the oil paintings from 1921, and scoured the vintage photos on the lobby walls that told sections of the hotel, and the park’s history. Finishing our drinks we ducked out back for a peek at the grounds behind the hotel and then we made our way to Aretha and the final stretch home for the night.
While we had left behind so much unseen territory in Yosemite, I had seen the valley and walked in the steps of John Muir. My mom and I had shared a toddy at the base of the falls in the afternoon sunshine while Half Dome provided our backdrop. A surprise stop at an historic hotel led to another brilliant toddy experience, for a two hit day. As we descended the mountains back towards Oakhurst a brilliant moon rose in the sky like some lighted ornament leading the way home.
Cheers,
Matty C