Laura and Arend suggested a walk to the top of Vernal Falls, so off we set. We took a shuttle bus to the beginning of the walk, then walked over a bridge which crossed the Merced River where it hurtles along after having plunged down the Vernal Falls.
The track that led along beside the river was as wide as a city street, wheel chair accessible and full of people. So far so good.
Arend pointed out the procedure in case you encounter a bear. Apparently you scare it away by yelling, clapping your hands and “acting aggressive” towards it.
Squirrels scampered fetchingly around us.
We crossed over the river again, which hurtled along, frothing and foaming after plunging down the waterfall, still out of sight at this point.
From here, the track became much steeper, as we began to climb up beside the waterfall.After about an hour of this, Laura mentioned casually, in her typically understated way: “Up a bit further, the waterfall can blow a bit across the track, and you can get a bit damp.”
Damp? As we rounded a bend in the track, it was more like driving rain. By this stage, the track had become steep, roughly-cut steps into the cliff face on one side and a sheer drop into the waterfall on the other (with no hand rail.)
Out of respect for my camera and my life, I didn’t take any pictures during this extreme adventure bit. I had to take my glasses off as they were too wet to see through, so most of my attention was focussed on my feet, occasionally glancing up to check that Pat hadn’t been swept into the abyss.. The track itself had become a waterfall in its own right, as water swept off the waterfall gushed down it. My camera was tucked into my spray jacket (read “spray jacket”, not “deluge jacket”, and I could feel the water penetrating my elasticised wrist bands and coursing down my arms.
After about half an hour of this, the driving deluge abated to a stinging mist and I risked the picture above.
I have since read that since 1924, around 13 people have died being swept away by these falls.
Finally, we hauled ourselves up to the top of the waterfall, from where Laura and Arend had been charting our progress. Can you see the jubilation (and relief) on our faces?
Top of the waterfall, from where the river drops vertically over 100 metres to the valley below.
All of these people were wet too.
Over the edge.
No swimming at the top of the waterfall? Prudent idea.
Pat squeezed the water out of his hat, we hung our jackets in a tree to dry and enjoyed a well-earned lunch at the top of the waterfall.
We went down by a higher and longer – but drier – way, with stunning views all the way.
At one point we could look down on the waterfall we had just scaled, with a great feeling of achievement. See the little wet people at the top.
Fabulous walk. And so very glad you were not swept away, Jan.
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