Welcome to Winter Wonderland

Yosemite at its best minus the huge crowds

by Paul McHugh
San Francisco Chronicle - November 13, 2003

Cathedral Rocks resembled a row of praying Spanish maidens. Their bowed heads were shrouded by mantillas of snow and lichen, draped over tall combs of firs and pines.

El Capitan (left), Cloud's Rest (center) and Half Dome (center, right) provide scenic background from Tunnel View overlook heading toward Glacier Point.

Half Dome, 2,300 feet taller, stood utterly swathed in white. It looked like a cowled Trappist monk, hovering nearby to guide the devotions.

Below these summits, Yosemite Valley lay hushed and still. That was due to the muffling effect of winter's first snowfall, which dropped nearly a foot on the valley floor, and double and triple that amount at higher elevations.

The valley was also quiet because of a seasonal drop in Yosemite National Park visitors. Of its 3.5 million visitors, two-thirds come between May and September. Crowds are thickest by summer's end; 585,787 were recorded in August 2002. They thin out dramatically after the first frost; only 155,554 people came last November.

Wave-like patterns hit the floor in Yosemite Valley as the season's first snowfall starts to melt a week after the storm.

So now, an air of wildness is drifting back down like an ephemeral mist upon one of America's most beautiful and popular parks. Amid winter, activities such as ranger-led walks don't cease. They become less frequent, but much easier to attend and appreciate.

"I can't imagine what this place would even be like, with a lot more people," said one guest last week at an interpretive walk. She was one of 16 visitors attending.

"Yep," beamed ranger Erik Westerlund. "Perfect, isn't it?"

His topic was Rock and Ice, the forming of Yosemite's monumental creche of soaring walls and sculptural spires. Snowbound peaks provided a convincing backdrop, as he explained how the Merced River, aided by the great, crystal cleavers of glaciers, had hewn at the park's granite over the past million years.

But Westerlund, a former biology teacher, could not resist putting the geology topic on "pause," in order to address wildlife sightings, as he led his tiny group on a stroll across a meadow.

Acorn woodpeckers, in their vivid red watchcaps, noisily poked holes in an old black oak snag to store acorns, then retrieved them for snacks. Westerlund told how oaks use "mast" years of high production to satiate predators, helping some seedlings survive.

He used a small mirror to flash beams of sunlight (like an outdoor laser) to point out and identify dark-eyed juncos -- among the many birds that descend from high elevations to winter-over in the valley.

"Those little tail-twitches they do, foraging on the ground, may be meant to confuse predators, like sharp-shinned hawks, that dive on them," Westerlund said.

Flickers, phoebes and yellow-rumped warblers add to the avian mix. Winter darkens feathers, and cold weather causes birds to fluff out their shapes for insulation, making them harder to identify.

But there's no mistaking the "megafauna" -- large mammals.

Deer, which also descend from high country meadows, seem oblivious to humans as they chase each other about at the peak of their rut. Antlered bucks clash, as they try to corral a personal harem of does.

After the crowds thin out of Yosemite Valley with the season's first snow, it may be just you and the bears out on the trail.

Meanwhile, black bears also grow hyperactive. They seek to absorb extra food, in order to put on fat for months of light hibernation in winter. Their hunger -- which puts picnic hampers, dumpsters and cars with visible ice chests or food odors at great risk -- is called hyperphagia.

Some creatures put in a brief, seasonal appearance. Ospreys are rarely seen in the park, except in early fall. Then, they refuel and rest along the Merced River during their southward migration.

Mountain lions are also seldom seen in this valley, except in fall. They follow the deer down. Then, they delight in feasting on raccoons grown fat, dumb and sassy on food scraps tossed to them by tourists. Two weeks ago, unfortunately, a pair of lions had to be killed by officials. The big cats had shifted from gobbling 'coons to exhibiting stalking behavior on human children who were attending fall classes in Camp Curry with the Yosemite Institute.

These slain lions will reappear in a taxidermist's display. One park employee suggested the lions be mounted holding a raccoon that is itself chomping a slice of pizza -- to make a point. That idea, however cogent, isn't likely to pass administrative review.

A panoply of seasonal change is occurring throughout the Sierra. Yosemite simply offers one of the best spots to observe it. The park has extensive, year-round, visitor-serving infrastructure, including lodging and food services, as well as experienced interpretive personnel to help guests understand what they're seeing. Of the park's 1,169 square miles, 94 percent is wilderness. The 6 percent that's developed provides a gateway to all the rest.

Westerlund is enthused about what visitors can see in winter. "Going hiking or cross-country skiing after a fresh snowfall is just great," he said. "After a storm, birds are hungry, and they're a lot more active and visible. And tracking is easy. Many fascinating stories get written in snow."

Taking this advice, Chronicle photographer Mike Maloney, El Portal resident Peter Mayfield and I went bushwhacking from the Chinquapin crossroads (on Highway 41) up the tall ridge that leads toward Badger Pass.

We post-holed through 18 inches of fresh powder as we traipsed about 4 miles through red and white firs, cedars and pines, rising nearly 1,200 feet in elevation to top out at 7,070 feet on a slick granite dome. We strapped snowshoes to our packs, but never used them.

On this particular outing, we did not locate explosive scenes from the snowy storybook -- such as evidence of coyotes swathed in plush winter furs driving their forepaws through the snow, pursuing meadow voles in their burrows, or great grey owls making a similar plunge for prey.

But we did find wilderness wildlife roadways, paths dense with deer tracks, that pointed down to the valley. They always seemed to flow through the landscape along the most logical line. Here also was the fresh track of a large bear who had wandered the slopes, hoping for a final autumn repast. There, a hare hopped through the underbrush, leaving the "V's" of his joined tracks.

Our line of tracks blended with theirs, underscoring this message: There are many ways to enjoy a California winter. You needn't stick entirely to destination resorts. The wild woods also awaits.