Where the Trail Begins and the Noise Ends

We didn’t turn it on but we can’t turn it off, off, off

Sometimes I wonder how did we get here

Seems like all we ever hear is Noise                                                                                                                          

-Kenny Chesney

The excitement is building. There’s something special about the weekend before a backpacking trip. My mind starts to spin with possibilities: What gear should I bring? What’s the meal plan? Should I refresh my playlist? Download a movie or TV show for the tent? Will I get a hotel the night before, stealth camp in the back of my Bronco, or just wake up early and hit the road straight to the trailhead?

I can feel the dopamine already—this is what excitement looks like for me. So many decisions, yet not a single wrong answer. Whatever I choose, it’s all part of the adventure.

“Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountain passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, and set you free.”

—John Muir

Lately, life has felt heavy. There are things happening around me that are beyond my control. Someone I know said something the other day that really stuck with me—she told me I lack sympathy. And while that was hard to hear, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. The truth is, I do sympathize. But 28 years in law enforcement has also hardened me.  I’m not afraid to admit that.  I’ve seen a lot and heard a lot of stories, which inevitably has encroached into my own life and lacking sympathy is probably a coping mechanism I developed to help me endure what I saw throughout my career.  But I also believe that, in many cases, there are answers—we just have to choose to act on them. I struggle to feel sympathy when people knowingly neglect basic needs or well-being, especially when they have the tools and ability to take care of themselves. That said, I know this is an area I need to keep exploring. Stepping away, unplugging, and immersing myself in the stillness of the Yosemite backcountry isn’t just a getaway—it’s therapy. Going to the mountains is not only a return home; it’s how I stay grounded and protect my peace of mind.

Enough of the heavy stuff…  As always, I’m aiming to keep my load light. I’ve been experimenting with ways to shave ounces from my pack, and for this trip, I’m testing a new water filtration system. I’m leaving my four-liter gravity filter at home and replacing it with a Sawyer Squeeze coupler I snagged for four bucks from Garage Grown Gear. It’ll let me filter directly into a 28mm bottle—light, simple, and efficient.

A few weeks ago, I did a shakedown hike to Stanford Point in Yosemite. It was flawless. My gear is tuned, and I’m ready to step up from an overnight to a two-night, three-day solo trek—back in the heart of Yosemite.  I will build on each trip, adding nights as I go.

This route will blend the familiar with the unknown. I checked the CalTopo satellite imagery, and aside from a little snow on Horse Ridge, the trail should be clear.

My route on CalTopo

Sattelite image of the same area two days ago.

I’ll start by sleeping in my car along Highway 140, just outside the park. The plan: wake up early, beat the rush, grab a quick breakfast and coffee at Yosemite Lodge, finalize my pack, and be at the ranger station in Yosemite Valley by 8:00 a.m. to pick up my permit and get any last-minute beta from the backcountry rangers.

From there, I’ll head up Glacier Point Road, park, and begin Day One with a hike to Ostrander Lake. I camped there about 20 years ago after climbing an unnamed peak west of the lake. It’s a stunning area—Horse Ridge’s granite cliffs guard the lake’s western edge, while the rest is surrounded by forest. It’s a popular spot, so I’ll find a quiet site tucked away from the crowds.

Day Two takes me into uncharted ground. I’ll be off-trail for most of the day, heading toward the rarely visited Hart Lakes. There’s no official trail—just dense manzanita and a steep climb if approaching from the south. I’ll be coming in from the north, crossing Horse Ridge, following a route I pieced together on CalTopo using others’ GPS tracks.

Once I arrive at Hart Lakes, I’ll eat lunch and decide where to head next depending on how I feel. Edson Lakes lies due east—remote and untouched based on the topography. I may try to reach it, then loop down to the lesser-used Buena Vista Trail. If not, I’ll descend the steep, brushy slope directly from Hart Lakes and meet up with Buena Vista Creek. Either way, the second half of the day will be mostly downhill until I find a campsite along the creek.

Day Three is the climb out. I’ll regain all the elevation I lost the day before, eventually meeting up with the Mono Meadow Trail and following it back to Glacier Point Road. From there, it’s just a short road walk—maybe a couple of miles—back to my car.

And just like that, trip #2 will be in the books. As the snow continues to melt, I’ll continue to push higher in elevation. Trip #3 is already on the calendar—just two weeks away and one night longer.

Happy Trails!