A Spring Weekend in Yosemite (And Why I Should’ve Listened to Kenny Rogers)
I’m a bit of a Yosemite addict. I first visited the park as a kid, and I was immediately hooked. In 2021, I made a whopping total of ten visits to the park. It might surprise you to learn that I had never visited the park in the spring. That is, until April. I had always wanted to visit in springtime, but for one reason or another I never found the chance to do so. A few factors finally compelled me to make the trip. My friend Blake Johnston, who lives and works in the park, kept me updated on the state of the dogwood blooms in the valley, and encouraged me to visit. He also generously gifted me a huge batch of expired Velvia 50 from the mid-2000s, and I wanted to test out a roll or two in a familiar location and see the results. I decided to go for it, and scheduled a weekend trip for late April. I had several objectives in mind:
1. Test out the expired Velvia 50
2. Photograph Vernal Fall
3. Do a side-by-side comparison of Provia 100F and Ektachrome 100
I drove into the Valley late on a Friday evening after work and woke up for sunrise the next day. Since I arrived just after a snowstorm had blanketed higher elevations with snow, some ice still lingered on Yosemite Falls. The frost paired nicely with the greenery on the valley floor. It showed a Yosemite in transition, as winter gave way to spring. I parked my car along the side of the road and went for a snapshot of the scene.
It was a fine composition, but I thought I could do something a bit more creative, so I began walking around to see what other elements I could incorporate into the picture. A line of trees along the river caught my eye, so I made my way there and used some of the branches to frame up the falls.
At this point, the park was incredibly quiet, and I enjoyed the solitude as I walked around soaking in what a spring day looked like in the valley. That feeling disappeared quickly once I started seeing a steady trickle of cars driving into the valley. By mid-morning, that trickle had become a flood. Cars clogged the roads within the valley as they scrambled for space in every turnout and parking lot. The rest of the day became an exercise in patience as I drove around in a vain attempt to find something less crowded. Later that morning, I tried to find a place to park and hike to Mirror Lake, but the crowds of hikers and snarled traffic convinced me to turn back around. I then drove towards the other end of the valley, only to find that the parking lot for Gates of the Valley had already filled up before I pulled in. Finally, I headed for Tunnel View. Here the congestion was even worse. There are two parking lots at that viewpoint, one for each direction of traffic. I encountered pandemonium before I even reached the viewpoint. Once there I saw throngs of tourists all crowded along the viewing area, the parking lots chock full of tour buses and SUVs. I gave up on my quixotic search for parking, found a rare parking spot in the valley, and just hung around the visitor’s center that afternoon.
After the mad rush of people subsided a bit in the late afternoon, Blake and I spent a few hours driving along the Merced River looking to photograph the dogwood blooms. Both of us felt inspired by William Neill’s work, and we wanted to try our hand at photographing some more intimate landscapes.
Unfortunately, this year’s dogwoods were quite sparse due to cold temperatures and a lack of rainfall, and we didn’t manage to find any memorable scenes.
On Sunday morning, I revisited a small pond in Cook’s Meadow that I had seen from the day before and decided to wait for sunrise there. I framed the scene with Three Brothers in the background. If all went well, the peaks would catch the first rays of sunlight while the valley remained in shade. As the light warmed up, I switched between two cameras, one loaded with the expired Velvia, and another that had Provia 100F. I used a 3-stop graduated neutral density filter on both sets of photos and metered accordingly. The highlights on the Provia shots turned out a bit too bright, while Velvia surprisingly managed to keep the sky within the dynamic range of the film.
I then revisited a spot along the Merced River that I had photographed repeatedly without success. On this morning, I finally figured out the right composition and exposure. I captured the scene (see below) on both Provia 100F and Ektachrome 100 respectively, so that I could compare them side-by-side.
Next, I made another stop at Swinging Bridge. I have photographed this area many times before, but I was still blown away by the scenery. I made it a habit to photograph here during my winter visits, but the electric green meadow and roaring falls I saw this time around made for a completely different scene.
I also hiked up to the footbridge at Lower Yosemite Fall and saw a rainbow forming as the morning sun hit the mist.
Blake and I went out again in the afternoon, and this time I got a bit luckier with my compositions. We found some interesting scenes along the Merced River, and a few prominent dogwood trees.
My most rewarding photographs came on Monday, my last day in the park, when I hiked the Mist Trail, which ascends about 2,000 feet above the valley floor past Vernal and Nevada Falls. Before the trip, I had wanted to photograph Vernal Fall in the morning, as I thought the morning sun would provide the most flattering light. However, on Sunday night, I decided instead to photograph an afternoon rainbow positioned directly beneath Vernal Fall. Rainbows form in a 42-degree arc around the anti-solar point, an imaginary point directly opposite of the sun. Because of the spray from the waterfall, there would be a perpetual rainbow at the base of the fall as long as sunlight reached it. However, its position changes as the sun moves across the sky. For a rainbow to appear at the spot I wanted, I knew that I would need to be at the right place in the mid to late afternoon. I used a phone app (TPE) and some rudimentary trigonometry to calculate the optimal time, which I guesstimated to be around 3:30 or 4 PM. After a big breakfast and a warm-up hike around Mirror Lake, I set off towards the trailhead.
I had hiked the Mist Trail once before, in the summer of 2019 with some friends. On that occasion, I was so unprepared for the steep uphill climb that I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath, and I learned from experience that the Mist Trail deservedly earns its name from the sheer volume of water it dumps upon those who attempt to hike it. This time, I arrived a bit more prepared. I packed a rain jacket, trekking poles, and my usual loadout of two camera bodies and a few lenses.
I will be honest; I do not particularly enjoy shooting in the rain (whether it comes from the sky or from a waterfall). It’s wet, it’s irritating, and it gets everywhere. Using decades-old film cameras with questionable weather sealing in rainy environments probably ranks as one of the riskier photographic decisions I make on a regular basis. Keeping the lenses dry becomes an exercise in futility as water droplets coat everything within seconds.
For the hike up to Vernal I kept my camera gear zipped up in my backpack so that it would stay nice and dry until I needed to use it. I did not anticipate that I would need to bring out my camera on the ascent, but I spotted a well-positioned rainbow above the trail and thought it would make for an interesting picture. Despite being shaded from the spray by a large overhanging boulder, a fine mist coated my camera, lenses, and filters, forcing me to wipe everything down between shots. The contrast between the shaded trail and the sunlit river in the canyon necessitated using a graduated neutral density filter to keep the exposure for both within the dynamic range of Ektachrome 100. However, the lack of a clear horizon made it difficult to use the filter effectively.
I made it to the top Vernal Fall feeling surprisingly energetic, a far cry from the exhaustion I felt a few years ago. I arrived about an hour before the light would be perfect. Since I had some time to spare before the sun would be in position for my previsualized rainbow shot, I decided to continue hiking and explore the area. I made it about a third of the way up to Nevada Fall, found a viewpoint, and hiked back down to Vernal.
I lucked out; the rainbow moved into just the right position, resting neatly beneath the waterfall. I took my camera out of my backpack and began snapping away, wiping my lens between shots and using my rain jacket for cover while changing lenses (I do not recommend this!).
After trying a few different angles and focal lengths, I felt satisfied at the results and patted myself on the back. Then, like a poker player who doesn’t know when to hold up and when to fold up, I decided to go all in on the day’s hike and push on to the top of Nevada Fall. Sure, it was an additional 1.5 miles and 1,200 feet of elevation gain. Yes, I would have to climb back up the same waterfall I just descended half an hour ago. Okay, I probably should have brought food and extra water or at least a water filter. But I thought, “darn it, I already made it this far, I might as well keep going!” So, I hiked back up the steep, acrophobia-inducing staircase past Vernal Fall, arrived at the viewpoint I saw earlier below Nevada, and set up my camera and tripod. I noticed a rainbow forming at the base of the waterfall, slowly inching up as the sun dipped lower in the sky. As with many of the scenes from the trip, I exposed several frames on both Ektachrome and Provia, both with and without warming filters.
After making the pictures and enjoying the view, I packed up my gear and hustled up the trail. At this point, I felt a little rushed, but still confident. The hike up until now had felt tantalizingly easy, and with just a mile or so left, I thought the rest of it would be a breeze as well. Then I reached the base of Nevada Fall, where the trail started to wind its way up through a series of switchbacks. As I rounded each corner, I finally started to feel out of breath. At every break, I glanced at the map on my phone, thinking I was maybe ten more minutes from the top of the waterfall, only to realize that I already told myself that fifteen minutes ago. At this point, I was getting pretty hungry and I eyed my dwindling water supply with some concern. I should’ve brought snacks and a water filter. As I stood there rethinking my life choices, I figured I might as well finish the hike since it would have been virtually the same distance either way. I pushed on in the hope that the view at the top would be worth it.
I finally arrived at the top of Nevada Fall about an hour before sunset, as the late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow. As I crossed the footbridge across the creek, my jaw dropped as I saw Liberty Cap towering above the waterfall. At that same time, a hiker walked right into view, lending a nice sense of scale to the scene. I scrambled to throw down my backpack, pull out my camera, change lenses, frame up the scene, and fire to fire off a few frames before he walked away.
Now that I had finally reached the very top of the trail, I had one more scene I wanted to photograph. I knew of a viewpoint along the John Muir Trail that would be perfect for sunset, so instead of returning the way I came, I decided to descend via the JMT. I reached the spot after a quick hike and saw the light get better and better.
After I had gotten the photographs I wanted, I packed up my gear and hustled down the trail as quickly as I could. The last light of the day faded fast, and I hiked back to the valley floor in darkness, with only the light from my headlamp for illumination.
I arrived back at the car tired, hungry, and thirsty. Though I hadn’t seen my photos yet, I knew it was a successful trip.
Reflections
I learned a few things from that weekend. For one thing, I will make sure to pack more food and water than I think I will need on my next hike. I also felt relieved to see that the expired Velvia yielded decent results. I probably won’t take it with me backpacking and subject the fragile film to heat and humidity, but it will definitely have a place in my camera bag. My Provia and Ektachrome comparison came in handy. As I wrote last month, I enjoyed using Ektachrome again after neglecting it in favor of my main film stocks: Provia and Velvia. However, I did not do a direct comparison at the time between Ektachrome and any of the other two films. On this trip, I finally had the opportunity to do so. I thought the results looked relatively similar, especially when I shot Ektachrome with a warming filter. I’m looking forward to using it more in the months to come.
However, my biggest takeaway from this trip came from something unrelated to photography, at least not directly. The weekend raised important questions about the current state of our national parks system and how to manage tourism. The scale of the crowds and traffic I encountered gave me pause. I expected that sort of mayhem on the busiest summer days, but I was surprised to see it happen on a regular weekend in the spring.
It made me wonder how we ought to manage the problem of overcrowding. This problem is not limited to Yosemite. Last summer, Arches National Park in Utah regularly closed its entrances to visitors at 8 AM because the park reached its capacity. Grand Canyon National Park tells visitors to expect up to two hour wait times at its South Rim entry station. Visitation at Zion National Park has almost doubled in the last decade. Meanwhile, budgetary and staffing shortfalls have compounded the crunch, leaving existing infrastructure unable to cope with the influx of visitors.
These issues are not new either. A New York Times article from August 1980 stated that “Many of [the national parks], particularly the older, bigger parks such as Yosemite, Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon, are plagued by excessive use and deteriorating facilities to the point that some National Park Service officials are wondering if they may soon have to restrict access to certain parks.” It went on to quote a park ranger remarking that, “Sometimes the traffic jams you see in the valley are worse than anything you will find in Los Angeles at rush hour.”
Though overcrowding is not new, the dynamics have certainly changed since that New York Times article four decades ago. Social media has supercharged the problem by allowing once-obscure places or scenes to become almost universally known. In Yosemite, we see this most clearly with the rush every February to photograph Horsetail Fall (or the “firefall”). This phenomenon, relatively unknown a few decades ago, has snowballed into a cultural phenomenon that gains media coverage every year. Thousands of photographers (admittedly, including myself) descend upon the park and wait several hours in the cold to witness the spectacle. Then, the roads within Yosemite Valley seize up with bumper-to-bumper traffic and pedestrians once the light show ends. In short, the “firefall” has become the landscape photographer’s version of Coachella.
Parks have attempted to address overcrowding in various ways. Some have tried their hand at capping the number of visitors. Last year, Rocky Mountain National Park required permits for visitors to enter most areas of the park during the daytime. Yosemite went further and mandated permits for all access to the entire park. This year, Yosemite reimplemented that system with some modifications. Yet this solution presents several issues. Most obviously, it diminishes people’s ability to visit these places on spontaneous trips. The popularity of some areas means that visitors must book their permits up to six months beforehand. Permitting also raises questions of equity. Reliance on an online-based permits can disadvantage certain groups: those without access to high-speed internet (for instance, many living in rural communities) or lacking digital literacy skills (disproportionately the elderly). One study, conducted by researchers at the University of Montana, suggested that reservation systems can exclude minorities and those with lower incomes, many of whom do not have jobs that allow them the flexibility to schedule vacation time months in advance. The paper also noted that these disparities will likely increase as more places implement such limits.
Where does photography fit into all this? It can be a force for good or ill. It played a key role in the mid-20th century conservation movement. Ansel Adams’s photographs of the Sierra Nevada helped spur Congress to create what is now known as Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. His pictures of Yosemite and the Sierra inspired thousands, if not millions, of Americans to visit, cementing the national parks as a cornerstone of American culture and securing a constituency that would advocate for their continued protection. Yet today, it appears that photography has brought about the opposite effect. This is the difficult dilemma at the heart of landscape photography. What obligations do we have as photographers to encourage people to respect their environment, to leave no trace? How do we share pictures of beautiful places with people without encouraging irresponsible people to leave their mark there? There are no easy or simple answers to these ethical questions, but we ought to have those conversations.