Camping With Kids in Yosemite's Tuolumne Meadows: A Cautionary Tale

One of the many fallouts of parenting a baby happened to us while camping. Katie’s diaper wedged and leaked; Mike and I were both peed on. Not even the blow-up mattress was spared. We didn’t have the luxury of a wardrobe change. We wore our pee stained jeans for the next few days, reveling in our ruggedness, our ability to endure, like our pioneer ancestors before us.

Katie at Tenaya Lake, where we heard the fishing might be good. (Nope.  Too windy.)

At least we thought we smelled better than the backpackers who we mingled with at the Tuolumne store and grill the next morning. The young men with their wild hair and five day stubble, the hairy-legged women, their overstuffed backpacks towering over their heads like El Capitan itself. Walking sticks in hand, they were first in line for coffee--COFFEE-- as the grill opened, casually, a little after 8:00 am.

Mike and I breathed in the piney, high altitude air and the smell of backpackers’ sweat, knowing that our pee-scented clothing was about as close as we were going to get to their hiking and climbing machismo. With two kids, there was no way we were going to get a serious hike in. We could pretend to be hardcore in the backpackers’ midst, and we were, in the way only parents-- who’ve tossed and turned all night in a tent with a baby in 30 degree weather-- can be.

Do we look cold?  We were.

95% of visitors don’t leave Yosemite Valley, so why did we choose to be among the 5% who ventured to explore, and shiver, in the higher altitudes beyond? Campsites in the valley fill up fast  (no spaces left!) Tuolumne’s roads had only recently opened up for the season, leaving many of its campsites up for grabs. Tuolumne is wild, spacious and uncrowded. We thought we’d brave it. (“Brave”, I’ve noticed, is a euphemism for “crazy”).

First arriving at area C, mosquitoes dove and danced on Katie’s ripe, baby plump skin. Mike drove back to check-in, and rangers suggested moving to Area A, where the river breezes deter some of the blood-thirsty bugs. Since Tuolumne’s reservations aren’t tied to a particular site, the move to “A-59” ended up being a welcome reprieve. Our campsite backed into a forest, with a short trail to the bathrooms, and a water spigot at the spot next door. We didn’t get a single mosquito bite. Best of all, Mike and Andy could walk to the granite boulder strewn Tuolumne River for some fishing while Katie peed on napped with me in the tent.

The grounds were quiet during the day and also at night; we didn’t hear a thing after 9 pm. We were warned about and expected to hear bears rummaging through the campsite--goodness knows I was awake enough at night to hear them--but the only noises I heard were from Katie herself, who cried and whimpered throughout the bitterly cold night. We woke the next morning to frost on our car windshield, the honey frozen solid in the bear locker. Andy fared the warmest as the only member of the family who could bury himself in his mummy bag.

As beautiful and uncrowded as Tuolumne is, I recommend leaving it for the serious backpackers and the RV-set with heaters. It’s just too damn cold!

During those two freezing nights, I was reminded of the Buddhist monk Pema Chodron’s statement: “There is no cure for hot or cold”. I could devise a million ways to make myself more comfortable (and I had those fantasies, frequently, such as jumping in the car and turning the heater on.) Or I could accept-- and actually live in-- the moment. Andy said as much to me when I was scheming about what we’d do differently on our next Yosemite adventure. I was talking of camping in the lower elevations of Yosemite Valley, renting bikes, and actually staying warm at night (imagine!).

“MOM, stop talking about things that aren’t here yet!” He sighed.

My kids are fantastic at bringing me back to the present moment.

 “Oh, OK. What should we talk about, then?”

 “FISHING!”

Tenaya Lake

Seven year olds are a delightful age to take camping. There’s the obsession interest in fishing, as well as fascination for wildlife. There’s the newfound ability to hike several miles without complaining. This is huge. They can also alert their parents when their baby sister is about to choke on a rock or some pine needles.  Really handy!

10 month old babies, while generally a delight, are not a delightful age to take camping. They have no problem eating fistfuls of dirt. They are not potty trained, as mentioned above. And as much as you try to explain to them, babies have no concept of what you mean by “roughing it”. They need to be held, often, leaving no free hands for setting up the tent, making the fire, or cooking. (Mike and I divided our labor along traditional gender lines: mostly I held Katie while he did everything else.)

Seven year olds, on the other hand, can entertain themselves for several hours with Yosemite’s Junior Ranger program! We recommend purchasing the workbook for a few dollars from any of the park stores. With a little help from us, Andy completed five of the activities needed to earn a Junior Ranger Badge. He learned about wildlife conservation and was encouraged to pick up litter, which is actually one of his favored school recess activities. The rangers made such a big, ceremonious deal when Andy turned in his workbook for completion, that visitors in the Tuolumne Visitors Center applauded. An older man later came up to Andy, asking to “shake the hand of the newest Junior Ranger”! I don’t think Andy would have received this VIP treatment in the more crowded Valley Visitors’ Center.

Although crowded, our trip to Yosemite wouldn’t have felt complete without a visit to the Valley. We endured the masses of humanity from all over the planet in order to wander for an afternoon in the valley that Ansel Adams described as “ always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. “

After stuck in stop and go traffic, we parked on the road. I strapped on the Ergo, and we walked several miles with the kids to Yosemite Falls. The walk is an easy, paved stroll. The reward for adults is a close up view--and roar-- of the falls. The reward for kids is a scramble on rocks big and small with hordes of other children. Katie and I parked ourselves on a bench and looked at the waterfall, but mostly at the dogs and other babies.

I expect and enjoy a humming, diverse chorus of people in a busy city. In nature, I resent the sight of recently pedicured women applying foundational powder with their compacts on the walk up to the falls. If I'm looking like Grisly Adams,  I don't want to see you primping for a "Miss Yosemite Falls" contest.  A visit to Yosemite is a chance to leave the trappings of civilization behind!  I’d rather see a hairy armpit than a lipsticked mouth.  I’d much rather smell sweat than perfume.

I’d rather smell baby pee.

Maybe I prefer camping in the wilds of Tuolumne Meadows to the crowds of Yosemite Valley, after all.

We had to strap a few things to the roof...