The Way of Wanderlust by Don George Page A

one—on a recent quick business trip to Paris I was content with stumbling upon a wonderful ancient restaurant and a precious new park I’d never known about.
    But sometimes our trips surprise us.
    In the summer of 1999, my family made a five-day excursion to Yosemite. It was supposed to be a little camping lark, but it turned out to be a much grander—and much more terrifying—adventure than I’d ever imagined.
    The trip seemed innocent enough: Our plan was to drive to Yosemite on a Saturday, spend the next three days camping and hiking to the top of Half Dome, then hike back to our car and drive home on the fifth day. This would require three days of four to six hours of hiking. The only moderately troublesome part would be the final ascent of Half Dome, that iconic granite thumb that juts almost 9,000 feet over the meadows and waterfalls and lesser crags of California’s Yosemite Valley. But I had seen pictures of the cable-framed walkway that leads to the top of the mountain, and it didn’t look too difficult. My wife and I felt confident that our eight-year-old son and twelve-year-old daughter could handle it.
    So off we went. We made the winding drive from the San Francisco Bay Area to Yosemite National Park in about four hours. It was a splendid day, all cotton-candy clouds against a county-fair sky. Eating carrots and apple slices in the car, we sped through the suburbs and into parched golden hills, and before we knew it we were off the main highway and passing hand-painted signs advertising red onions, fresh-picked tomatoes, almonds, peaches, and nectarines. Our eyes lingered on the weather-beaten stands, where we could see shiny red mounds of tomatoes and green mountains of watermelons, but we pressed on.
    We reached Yosemite as the sun was setting, picked up our trail permit, pitched our tent, cooked a quick camp supper, and went to bed.
    Our plan was to get up early, hike more than halfway up—to the highest source of water on the Half Dome trail—and camp, thereby minimizing the distance we would have to cover the next day before making our assault on the peak. If you’re young and strong, or old and foolhardy, you can hike from Yosemite Valley to the top of Half Dome and back in a day. In previous trips to Yosemite we had met people who had done just that; they would leave at daybreak and plan to get back around dusk. But we wanted to take it easy on ourselves. We also had built in an extra day so that if for any reason we couldn’t make Half Dome the first time, we would have a second chance, so we weren’t in any hurry.
    The next day took longer than we had planned—as it invariably does. By the time we had gotten the kids rousted and had packed up our tents and ground covers and cooking gear, it was about 10:00 a.m . and the sun was high and hot in the sky.
    We set off along the John Muir Trail, winding into the rocks and pines. The first section of this trail is still a little like Disneyland, and you pass people in flip-flops and even occasionally high heels, sweating and puffing and swigging fresh-off-the-supermarket-shelf bottles of spring water.
    After about a half hour’s stroll you reach a picturesque bridge with a fantastic foaming view of the Merced River cascading over the rocks—and a neat wooden bathroom and a water fountain that is the last source of water that doesn’t have to be filtered. The flip-flops and high heels turn back with a grateful sigh at this point, and the few people you do pass hereafter on the trail exchange friendly nods and greetings and the smug satisfaction of getting into the real Yosemite.
    Then you walk and you walk and you walk, stepping heavily over rocks, kicking up clouds of dirt that settle on your legs and socks and boots. Occasionally you’ll be cooled by a shower of water trickling from high rocks right onto the trail, or by a breeze blowing unexpectedly when you turn a corner. But for the most