From bucking broncos to sweet sopranos: Livermore Rodeo and La Traviata by San Francisco Opera

Some wise old bird once said that variety is the spice of life. If that’s true, these past few days have been very spicy indeed. I started at the Livermore Rodeo, billed as the ‘world’s fastest’ and segued into La Traviata with the San Francisco Opera. Both entertaining, both showcasing people at the top of their game, but it would be difficult to imagine two more contrasting events.

Yee-ha!

As some of you may have gathered, I’m happiest on horseback, and after a lifetime of riding English style, have fallen in love with Western riding. It’s a wonderfully economic, effective way of going, especially when you’re aboard a well-trained quarter horse. They are unbelievably athletic and responsive, polo pony and Grand Prix dressage horse wrapped up in a neat-hooved, bright-eyed bundle of energy. A good cow pony will stand quietly as cattle rampage around him, then spring into action to rope a rampaging bronco, jink and turn to cut out a single steer from a herd and not move a muscle as his rider leaps off to tackle a calf. Aboard a friend’s young quarter horse recently, I learnt to spin, spur on the girth, reins against the neck, and ended up feeling dizzy and exhilarated – and wondering how the horse didn’t fall over with giddiness! I have tremendous admiration for them and the cowboys who make it all look so easy, so I settled in at the annual Livermore Rodeo in high excitement.

Me and Tomahawk - dizzy but exhilarated

First up was the town parade, with gleaming cars, flamboyant costumes and glittering horses – and I mean actually glittering. It’s de rigeur here to have horses’ hooves painted in coloured glitter and their rumps dusted with glitter, for all the world like teenage girls at a disco. I’d love to see the expression on my old Pony Club instructor's face if I turned up like that! More classically splendid were the Mexicans with their silver-embossed saddles and wide-brimmed sombreros, their horses’ manes sweeping their high-stepping knees. Harley Davidsons roared past, vintage fire engines rumbled through, the Wells Fargo stage coach evoked the hair-raising journeys of 100 years ago and endless high school bands and cheerleaders whooped to the crowds. There was a strong military presence, which reminded me of the solemn pageantry of Trooping the Colour, held on the same day back in London. The huge black horses of the Household Cavalry would have made a striking contrast with the palominos of the local sheriff’s posse!

Miss Livermore Rodeo, sporting pink for breast cancer care,

the admirable cause supported by the 2014 rodeo

Yes, those hooves are painted in red glitter.

The Sheriff's posse aboard their beautiful palominos

King of the rodeo? A particularly regal Mexican rider

All he needs is a wide-open desert and a setting sun!

Bringing the fiesta to the rodeo

Horsepower of a different kind

Those were the days: a Wells Fargo stagecoach

It wouldn’t be a proper American day out without a gigantic plate of curly fries, but the foot-long double-plateful defeated even the five of us that made up our party. My tri-tip steak sandwich was tender, and the giant glass of lemon-lime crushed ice was just the thing for the sweltering temperatures. We were lucky: it was only about 90˚F instead of the 104˚F it was last year. Seats in the shade were a godsend, but even better was the stand displaying huge fans that blow chilled water vapour. They’re used for cow barns, sporting events, summer parties and so on, a brilliant idea. But the heat never slowed down the action, and as soon as the Stars and Stripes had been displayed to the full, heads bared for the national anthem and the obligatory prayer said, things kicked off at a furious pace.

Just a wee flag to open proceedings

Me and Scott, getting in the mood. It felt good to wear my cowboy hat again! 

First up was the bareback bronco riding, when cowboys attempt to stay on a madly bucking horse for eight seconds with nothing but a strap round the horse’s middle to hold onto. As the programme laconically puts it: ‘Muscles are stretched to the limit, joints are pulled and pounded mercilessly, and ligaments are strained and frequently rearranged.’ The horses are powerful, athletic and determined, and of surprising quality. One black displayed the most beautiful floating trotting action – once he’d got rid of his rider, that is. I hadn’t realized that it’s about more than just hanging on, but about technique, the position of the rider’s legs. He should start with both spurs touching the horse’s shoulders, pull his knees up as the horse bucks and straighten them when the horse lands. Also surprisingly technical is the saddle bronc event, which evolved from breaking wild horses for ranchwork in the Old West. The cowboy holds onto a thick rein attached to the horse’s halter and is disqualified if he touches any part of his or the horse’s body with his free hand. His spurring action, control of the horse and fluidity are judged and extra points are given, in all bronco events, for the wildness of the ride. The wilder the better!

Up we go!

Eight seconds? Easy!

I believe the phrase is: 'showing a clean pair of heels'

Echoing a technique needed on the range for securing a calf for branding or medical treatment, the tie-down roping event involves the cowboy chasing a calf into the ring, after it’s been given a head start, roping it and leaping off his horse, throwing the calf onto its side (flanking) and tying its legs together. Meanwhile, the horse must stop still and pull back on the rope just enough to take up the slack. It’s a wonderful synergy of man and beast and astonishingly fast. Even faster is the steer wrestling, in which a cowboy, called a bulldogger, must throw himself off his horse and onto a steer, wrestling it to the ground with its horns. It ends only when the steer is on the ground with all four feet pointing in the same direction, and given that the steer is generally going at full gallop when contact is made and weighs an awful lot more than the cowboy, it’s even harder than it sounds. The cattle are bred for this event, so know exactly what’s going to happen and give as good as they get. Another cowboy, called a ‘hazer’, gallops alongside the steer to keep it from veering away from the bulldogger, but many was the time that the steer evaded capture and charged off, tail in the air. The world record for steer wrestling is, astonishingly, just 2.4 seconds.

Team roping - one cowboy must rope the head, the other both hind feet

Success! Two cowboys complete a task that is even harder than it sounds

Got him! Wresting a steer to the floor 

Barrel racing is the female competition, when cowgirls charge flat out around three barrels and gallop to the finish, legs pistoning. The key is to turn as tightly as possible around the barrels, thus taking the shortest route possible, but without tripping over. The horses know exactly what to do and the speeds are terrific. Girls also get a chance to shine carrying sponsors’ flags, opening the rodeo with a smoothly executed formation ride of circles and loops. The bearer of the American flag gets the biggest hand, of course, walking, trotting, then galloping full pelt around the arena with the stars and stripes flying and sequins glittering. Oh, and the Riata Riders gave a fantastic display of trick riding, standing up in the saddle and even displaying a bit of horseback yoga. Men and women may not compete on equal terms here, but no one’s complaining. Cowboys are the toughest people around, and there aren’t many men who can do what they do, let alone women. I couldn’t help thinking of the football World Cup, which I’m currently trying to ignore, and the way footballers tend to burst into tears at the slightest touch. They wouldn’t last two minutes at a rodeo!

Yoga on horseback, as you do

Barrel racing. An impressive lean, but ideally she would need 

to be closer to the barrel for a really fast time

Flat out to the finish

A musical ride rodeo style

Supporting an admirable cause, the banner reads: 

'Are you tough enough to wear pink?' 

It turns out that cowboys sure are!

The maddest event of all has to be the wild cow milking. A cow trots in, followed by a cowboy on horseback, who ropes the cow. Another cowboy, on foot, dashes over to the cow and grabs her around the head, holding her still while the mounted cowboy leaps off his horse and milks the cow, running to the finish line with the precious white liquid in a bottle. All this must be accomplished while a big, strong cow does her best to drag the cowboys in the dirt and buck away from any attempt at milking! It was hilarious, and utterly bonkers.

As one cowboy holds the cow as still as possible, the other leaps

of his horse and dashes over with a bottle

Not today thank you! A stubborn cow shows who's in charge

The last event is the most dangerous of all. Bull riding, ‘intentionally climbing on the back of a 2,000-pound bull, emerged from the fearless and possibly foolhardy nature of the cowboy’, as the programme notes in an understated fashion. It’s not so much about technique, more about hanging on. It demands tremendous nerve and courage to settle yourself on the back of a raging mass of muscle, wrap your hand in the rope around its chest and nod your head to the man on the gate. Because when that gate opens, the bull will explode into the arena, bucking and spinning and kicking and darting with incredible speed. Once the rider is on the ground, it will more often than not take a potshot at the floored cowboy with its horns, which is why colourfully dressed rodeo clowns dance into view to distract it. All the cowboys involved become particularly adept at leaping up railings. Impervious to ropes and circling horses, the massive bulls command the utmost respect. One thing’s for sure, you wouldn’t catch me trying my luck!

Getting ready inside the pen...

Round and round we go: a bull turns into a spinning top

Making a dash for it!

The pick-up riders trying to drive a recalcitrant bull back to the corral

Ride 'em cowboy! (It had to be said)

The closest La Traviata came to the rodeo was with the third-act dance from a Spanish matador, superbly performed by Timo Nuñez. His intensity certainly matched the cowboys’ determination, and the stamping swirl of his performance was a welcome moment of levity in the tragic tale. Giuseppe Verdi’s famous opera of 1853 was intended to be contemporary and daring, portraying sexual prejudices and issues of social class in the clothes of the day. Ironically, the Venetian censors forced him to shift the period back 150 years or so to prevent the opera giving offence; by the time it was performed in the costumes of the date it was written, they were already historical. But La Traviata’s enduring popularity proves that it transcends such concerns, dealing as it does with timeless and eternal concerns of love, sickness, poverty and alienation. The music is wonderful, and the whole was performed beautifully by the San Francisco Opera company, with the 2005 winner of the BBC Singer of the World competition Nicole Cabell as Violetta. I tend to prefer male voices, so, for me, Stephen Costello as Alfredo and Vladimir Stoyanov as Alfredo’s father stood out. I am a relative novice when it comes to opera, and I sometimes had to hide a smile at the thought that it’s the people who aren’t singing who have the hardest job because they have to react to the same line a dozen times. But such thoughts are unworthy, and after this sumptuously produced La Traviata , I hope to listen to many more people sing ‘the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return’ in a thousand soaring cadenzes.

The gorgeous Art Nouveau programme of the San Francisco Opera's La Traviata

City Hall, opposite the opera house on the cultural corridor of San Francisco

Don't forget to book your tickets for the Country Life Fair, at Fulham Palace, London SW6, on September 27th-28th. Bringing the countryside to town! 

Book with promo code OP14 to enter the fantastic prize draw

San Francisco bucket list: from the Conservatory of Flowers to the fantastic Walt Disney Museum

I had never heard the term ‘bucket list’ before I came to America, but we all have one – a list of things to do before we die, turn 30 (uh-oh), have children and so on. My San Francisco bucket list is extremely lengthy, and, although I’ve ticked off a few of the big ones (hiking in Yosemite, visiting Alcatraz, climbing Twin Peaks), there's an awful lot left to go. It’s far too easy to say ‘must do that’ and never get round to going, as I’ve proved too many times with plays and exhibitions, so I decided to spend a few afternoons ticking things off.

The view from Twin Peaks towards the Financial District

First up was a walking tour of Pacific Heights with the brilliant San Francisco City Guides. Established in 1978, the Guides lead tours all over the city, showing visitors the parts that seldom feature in guidebooks and revealing the stories behind the façades. There are tours of Alfred Hitchcock’s San Francisco, Nob Hill, the city’s theatres, the Japanese Tea Garden and the ‘hidden history’ of Fishermen’s Wharf, among others. They’re free, although tips are encouraged. I joined a tour of Pacific Heights to learn more about the spectacular architecture and spectacle-loving owners of the mansions that run east-west along the granite spine of the city. We started in Alta Plaza Park, and wound north and east along Jackson and Pacific, stopping to examine nine-over-one windows, the false-fronted Captain’s House, home to  ferry-boat captain John Leale who made more than 125,000 trips across the Bay, the Italianate Flood Mansion built after the 1906 fire as ‘a house of marble on a hill of granite’ by James Leary Flood for his wife, Maud, and the Spreckels Mansion, now owned by Danielle Steel, where Rodin collector Alma Spreckels would swim naked in the glass-covered pool every morning. When residents of the neighbouring apartments complained of the sight, she said, unarguably: ‘Don’t look.’ These tours are a great way to see hidden San Francisco, but remember to wrap up warm. Much time is spent standing on street corners that, this being America's second windy city, are extremely gusty.

Sumptuous detailing around the Flood Mansion doors. The lower part

was cluttered up with the schoolgirls who currently occupy the building!

Classical detailing and clinker bricks on the Bourn Mansion. Clinker bricks

were cast-offs that had been blackened in the making and snapped up cheap 

by architects wanting to create the illusion of old buildings. They became so

popular that brick companies started to singe new bricks intentionally!

The adorable one-storey Italianate house used as a studio by author Danielle Steel

The former German consulate was built in 1894-96 in Arizona sandstone, which was

incapable of withstanding the Pacific gales. To stop it weathering, it was coated

in a creamy stucco that made the problem worse. The one corner turret that has 

been cleaned and treated cost $1 million to do, so it may be a while before 

the whole thing is returned to its original pink colour

The magnificent Spreckels Mansion, behind the hedge. 

The apartment building on the left gave residents a grandstand view

of Alma Spreckel's morning swim sans bathing suit

Next, taking advantage of free opening on the first Tuesday of the month, I climbed the steps to the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park, a glass palace along the lines of the Palm House in Kew Gardens. Sultry and steamy inside, swing doors lead from the Potted Plants Gallery to Lowland Tropics, Highland Tropics and finally Aquatic Plants, where waterfalls of green and unexpected gleams of red and deep pink spill from raised beds and climb to the glass roof. Misty water vapour drifts from a network of pipes overhead and glistens on velvety mosses. Orchids – astonishingly, one in 10 flowering plants on Earth is an orchid – are everywhere, a profusion of huge petals in delicate colours set off by the dark green of palm leaves and banana trees. The Conservatory itself, gifted to the Golden Gate Park in 1877, is the oldest public glasshouse in America. It survived the 1906 earthquake, but was closed from 1933 to 1946 due to structural instability and again in 1995 after being damaged in a storm. It was placed on the World Monuments Fund’s list of 100 most endangered monuments in 1998, but, after a $25 million restoration campaign, reopened in 2003 in all its former glory. Now, surrounded by mown lawns and bright flowerbeds, it is a favourite with all those who visit the Golden Gate Park. 

The Conservatory of Flowers...

...restored and resplendent in white paint with stained-glass details

Misty air and tropical temperatures inside the glasshouse

One of the many fabulous orchids

San Francisco’s architecture is one of the main reasons I fell in love with the city in the first place. Crammed up against each other are Italianate, mock-Tudor, Spanish, and Arts-and-Crafts confections in glorious profusion, but foremost among the city’s styles is Queen Anne. A far cry from the English image of a neatly proportioned red-brick rectory, the name here denotes a Victorian house choc-a-bloc with witch’s-cap turrets, corner bays, fish-scale shingles, gilded plasterwork, porticos and random Classical details, all bundled together in a riot of light and shade to make a Baroque lover weep. In the Haight, they’re painted every colour of the rainbow, as befits the centre of the flower power movement, and even in 1885 a newspaper accused the new houses of being painted with every colour 'that is loud in fashion'. By contrast, the best preserved Queen Anne, the Haas-Lilienthal House, is an elegant grey-blue. The headquarters of the SF Heritage society, it gives an insight into the daily life of a prominent Victorian family. Built by Peter R. Schmidt for William and Bertha Haas, it sheltered their family, and, after William’s early death, that of their daughter Alice, who married Samuel Lilienthal in 1909. Samuel died in 1957, but Alice, a lover of riding and swimming, lived until 1972. Her heirs donated the house to the Foundation for San Francisco’s Architectural Heritage the following year and it has been open to the public ever since for events and tours.

The south side of the Haas-Lilienthal House. The family bought the

neighbouring plot and knocked down the house that stood there, in order 

to have a bigger garden and show off their house's intricate façade

The witch's cap turret on the south-east corner

The interior is typically Victorian, with dark panelling and heavy furniture, but with some notable pieces, including a handsome long-case clock. The layout is odd for someone used to the English tradition of servants’ quarters downstairs and grand public rooms on the ground floor. Here, the kitchen and butler’s pantry are only steps away from the dining room – convenient, but perhaps a tad noisy? – and the ballroom is in what one could inelegantly term the basement, with a low ceiling and visible pipes. One would imagine Mr Darcy being even less inclined to dance than usual in such a place. But it’s a comfortable, welcoming house, with all the latest mod cons, including a splendid kitchen range with six gas hobs and a bathroom complete with ‘rainwater’ shower. Apparently, such showers were as much in vogue in the late 19^th century as they are now.

The wide hallway, with its panelling and dark walls, would have

been warm and welcoming on a foggy San Francisco day

The dining-room table could be extended with 10 leaves

The state-of-the-art Victorian bathroom

Unexpectedly, as I have never considered myself to have any particular feelings for Disney films beyond nostalgia for the cartoons of my childhood, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and so on, the highlight of my bucket-list week was a visit to the Walt Disney Family Museum in the Presidio. It is one of the best museums I have ever been to, imaginatively curated with an astonishing array of memorabilia laid out with a care to sound as well as image. Many of the displays, often more than one in a room, have soundtracks to them – something that I, being partially deaf, usually struggle with. Here, careful design of ceilings and booths meant I could hear everything easily and focus on the sounds that went with what I was looking at. Drawing from a vast amount of raw material, the curators have created something coherent and consistently fascinating.  

The Walt Disney Family Museum in the Presidio. Don't think the word 

'Family' implies it's only for children, far from it!

As in this room, which shows how sound first enters Disney's films, stands 

are designed with every care for acoustics, a rare and welcome idea

The museum takes you through Walt Disney's whole life, from dressing up as Abraham Lincoln on the late president’s birthday and reciting the Gettysburg Address in front of his class (he did it so well that the teachers asked him to repeat the performance for every class in the school), to drawing cartoons for a newspaper and the trials and triumphs of Hollywood. You feel his delight in the little mouse that made his name – indeed, became a form of himself on screen – the thrill of finding a way to sync music to pictures (by having a metronome link picture and manuscript) and his determination to keep the highest standards of artistic quality. Art schools could learn a thing or two from his belief that one must have the basic skills in order to create something new. He organized life-drawing classes for his staff and brought in animal models to study for films such as Bambi, saying in 1935: ‘I definitely feel that we cannot do the fantastic things, based on the real, unless we first know the real.’

A cleverly executed collage cartoon, one of several illustrating

Walt Disney's childhood, complete with voiceover

Disney illustrators drawing from life, ensuring Bambi and Dumbo were

fantasies with a firm foothold in reality, and thus more believable

Feature-film success, with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, cemented his position at the heart of Hollywood, but a Communist-influenced strike halted production for three weeks and damaged his relationship with a workforce with whom he had always had good relations. It was said that, if the Union leaders had simply consulted him first, he would have agreed to their requests, but such a reasonable approach seemed, then as now, to be inconceivable to Union stalwarts. During the Second World War, he turned to making patriotic films, often using beloved characters such as Mickey Mouse, Pluto and Donald Duck, and operated at cost to do his bit for the war effort, thus emerging in 1945 with coffers severely depleted. Disney insisted no expense was spared in making the best films possible, preferring to risk bankruptcy than allow a production to cut corners. He spent money to make money after the war, fulfilling his lifelong dream to make live-action movies such as the spectacular Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and delved into films about the natural world. No aspect of film-making escaped his insatiable attention.

A Disney cartoonist's desk

Disney's nature films, housed in a striking, glass-walled passageway 

that offers views of the Golden Gate Bridge

Next came one of his most enduring legacies – Disneyland. From not being particularly worried about going there, it has now jumped up my bucket list. As a friend put it, ‘that’s the one that Walt built and walked in’. Having visited other theme parks, dismissed by his wife, Lillian, as dirty, he determined to build a park that was clean and easy to navigate – by the simple expedient of arranging it like the spokes of a wheel, so footsore patrons could return to the centre for a rest. Disney wasn’t just imaginative, he was realistic and thoughtful. His energies touched another cause close to my heart – deaf children. With Spencer and Louise Tracy, he founded and supported the John Tracy Clinic, named after their son, which is still active today. I already knew of the connection between Disney and Spencer Tracy, as they were both followers of the West Hills Hunt, now amalgamated with the Santa Fe, which I visited in January for Horse and Hound. Sadly, although there were some great photographs of Disney playing polo, there were none of him hunting. Political correctness, perhaps?

The saddle used in Zorro, one of Disney's popular forays into television

Room of dreams: how Disneyland came to life

Tears came into my eyes three times in this museum, at a clip from Bambi and a poster of Old Yeller, but especially at the end, which came abruptly and heartbreakingly after a segment on Mary Poppins. I had had no idea how young Walt Disney had died – from lung cancer aged only 65 – and how suddenly the end came for his family, friends and colleagues. A whole wall is given over to the cartoons and quotes that spilled out when news of his death broke, and I couldn’t suppress a lump in my throat at the drawing of a grief-stricken Mickey Mouse. As Eric Sevareid said on CBS: ‘He probably did more to heal – or at least soothe – troubled human spirits than all the psychiatrists in the world…What Disney seemed to know is that while there is very little grown-up in every child, there is a lot of child in every grown-up. To a child, this weary world is brand new, gift-wrapped. Disney tried to keep it that way for adults.’ There are the usual ranks of nay-sayers, who assume that he must have been bad in some way, whether racist, anti-Semitic or whatever, but there is no evidence that he was anything of that kind. He moved beyond the prevailing wisdom – Jews were appallingly treated in 1920s America, for example – to devote his brilliant brain to finding new ways to entertain and comfort. It was not for nothing that he received the Showman of the Year award in 1965 from the National Association of Theatre Owners. Of course he wasn’t perfect, no one is, but he was human, and no one could deny his energy or imagination. He created enduring characters and films that were both technologically brilliant and still entertaining, and built up a Hollywood studio that trained and employed the very best in the business. The loyalty of his brother, Roy, never wavered through all the difficult times, and he earned the respect of everyone in the business. I loved  a quote from him during the making of the ever-more expensive Mary Poppins: ‘I never saw a sad face around the entire studio…No prophets of doom. Even Roy was happy…The horrible thought struck me - suppose the staff had finally conceded that I knew what I was doing?’ He certainly did. As Sevareid put it, he was a ‘happy accident, one of the happiest this century has experienced’. When so many people were embroiled in war and depression, he took them away from it all, and not by denying the troubles existed, but by reminding everyone of the sunny side of life. The Walt Disney Museum is a credit to his memory. 

Hollywood - the land Walt Disney conquered

(and a random visitor!)

Yosemite's natural grandeur triumphs over humans obsessed with #safetyissues

Jumping on the bandwagon is a favourite pastime these days. Just look at how many people weigh in on Twitter as soon as something vaguely controversial is said, whether or not they know the facts or the context. I often find myself reacting against something if enough people say how wonderful it is, even if, as with Game of Thrones,  I become its most fervent advocate when I do finally leap on and snuggle up to fellow bandwagonners. I felt like this with Yosemite, the jewel in California’s gem-encrusted crown, as ever since I arrived in California any mention of the name was succeeded by ‘oh, you MUST go there’. I began to feel that it could never meet up to my expectations, that it would be pretty but nothing special to someone who has been lucky enough to see Mongolia, Arizona and the Scottish Highlands. How wrong I was.

Upper Yosemite Falls glimpsed from the valley

Before reaching the park entrance, however, I drove past a sobering reminder of the terrible Rim Fire that devastated 400 square miles of the Sierra Nevada last summer in the third-largest fire in Californian history. From the vista point at the Rim of the World, which gave the fire its name, could be seen miles of bare slopes and blackened trees. Tracks leading off the road were barred to the public and piles of charcoaled logs were evidence of the nearly $100 million clean-up. Fires are a natural and necessary part of the eco-system, here as on a British grouse moor, and, within the Yosemite wilderness, are usually allowed to burn themselves out. When the Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias first began to be protected, fires were stopped until it was found that such action damaged the eco-system by preventing the natural clearing of undergrowth that gave new seeds space to sprout. But when humans cause more and larger fires than Nature does – the Rim Fire was started by an illegal hunter’s campfire – the cost in monetary, historical and environmental terms can be huge, with Native American artefacts lost, drinking water affected and sensitive fishing grounds damaged, not to mention homes destroyed. With California currently in the grip of a serious drought, fire is on everybody’s mind, and already flames have ripped through parts of San Diego County. Indeed, as I left Yosemite, I could see a pall of smoke to the south, which turned out to be a fire in Hunters Valley that burned 1,300 acres in its first two days. We must all be vigilant this summer and guard against that careless match or dropped glass bottle that could set the dry grasses smouldering.

Bare slopes from the Rim of the World vista point,

from which the Rim Fire took its name

A grove of blackened tree trunks, now made beautiful 

by wildflowers. Nature triumphs in the end

The Hunters Valley fire visible from the road out of Yosemite

California in 2014: a half-empty reservoir and smoke on the horizon

Thankfully, Yosemite Valley escaped the flames last summer and is as rich and green as ever. As I rounded a bend of the winding mountain road, Half Dome appeared in the distance and I swerved into a layby, reaching for my camera. It really is a half dome! From there on, I barely blinked as the road reached the valley and wound on past towering, sheer cliffs of rock to the head of the valley and our campsite. On Saturday, because we had to move camp, we decided against the Four Mile hike to the top of Glacier Point, 3,200ft up, on grounds of time, rather than laziness (honest), and drove up instead. Water at the ready and a few fluffy clouds in place to temper the heat, we set off down the Panorama Trail to Nevada Falls and back down the Mist Trail to the valley. This is where I could bore everyone silly with description, because, my goodness, is this place beautiful! Superlatives such as breathtaking, awe-inspiring, immense, spectacular, magnificent and dozens more breezed through my mind, none of which really do it justice. There was a real sense that all those hordes of ant-like visitors in the valley, with their Jeeps and their bear boxes and their state-of-the-art tents, were as nothing to this ancient landscape. Water thunders over Yosemite Falls just as it has for centuries and noble El Capitan stands oblivious to the climbers tackling the Holy Grail of their sport. The frequent reminders that one foot in a tumbling mountain stream is likely to lead to a messy death at the bottom of a waterfall and the blissful lack of safety barriers was a nod to the fact that whatever we do, this is a dangerous landscape, and it was up to us to take care. (We all decided that, if you’re stupid enough to wade across the top of Bridalveil Falls and get swept over, it’s simply a form of natural selection. For such people were the Darwin Awards invented.) We are so lucky that Abraham Lincoln signed the Yosemite Grant on June 30^th, 1864, to preserve this glorious place from development.

The first glimpse of far-off Half Dome from the road into the valley

At the start of our march: Half Dome and Nevada Falls from the Panorama Trail

A unashamedly graphic sign warning of the dangers of paddling!

Not a place for people with vertigo...

Fear not, I was sitting down safely to take this picture 

at the top of Nevada Falls!

Last surge of the tumbling river before it disappears over Nevada Falls

(taken from the bridge!)

Making our way down the Mist Trail, which is even steeper

than a photograph makes it look

Bailey and I pause for a snap by Vernal Falls

The 150^th anniversary of Yosemite becoming a protected park is being marked in a dozen different ways, from exhibitions to films, but one event seems to be thoroughly in the spirit of good and sensitive stewardship that characterizes how America’s National Parks are run today. Lincoln’s Grant encompassed not only Yosemite, but Mariposa Grove and, in the 20^th century, the centre of the Grove became a car park, so people could drive in to gawk. This patch of concrete does little to enhance the trees’ beauty, so, this summer, a literally ground-breaking ceremony will be held on June 30th to start the three-year process of removing the paving and laying trails. I have been continually impressed by the unobtrusive landscaping of the Parks, making it easy to get around but never impinging on the natural beauty, so it’s good to hear that the natural splendour of Mariposa Grove will be allowed to shine.

Looking up at Cathedral Spires from our Sunday picnic spot

The 3,000ft edifice El Capitan - the Holy Grail of the climbing world

There are climbers in this picture, but they are so far up they're mere dots!

Mark tries his luck...

...is that as far as you're going to get?

Although the Yosemite Grant was prompted by the wish to preserve the park from development, one notable building was skilfully designed to blend in with its surroundings. Before it was built, no truly comfortable hotel existed in Yosemite and, as Stephen T. Mather, the energetic first director of the National Park Service, said: 'Scenery is a hollow enjoyment to a tourist who sets out in the morning after an indigestible breakfast and a fitful sleep on an impossible bed.' He set out to build something appropriate to the setting that would attract the kind of wealthy patrons who would contribute to the continuation of park stewardship. Perhaps he had in mind Nancy Astor, who reputedly left outraged after seeing where she was supposed to sleep in the drafty Sentinel Hotel. Work was well underway when Lady Astor visited, so her disdain was not the reason for the building, but her reaction proved it was necessary. The result of Mather's vision was the Ahwahnee Hotel, begun by Gilbert Stanley Underwood in 1925. The style is known as 'Parkitecture', or more properly National Park Service rustic, and complements the towering cliffs that surround the hotel. In a nod to the dangers of fire, the massive beams that support the stone walls are, in fact, concrete, painted to look like redwood. Inside, it is vast, with a huge vaulted dining room and enormous saloon, designed for grand parties and exalted guests. Queen Elizabeth stayed in 1983, and the table in the bay window at the end of the dining room is known as the Queen's Table. Johhn F. Kennedy's bedroom is now the Presidential Suite, and the Roosevelt Lake in the backcountry is named after First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. Guests who complained about the noise on one memorable evening were silenced when it was realised that it was Judy Garland who was singing in the saloon. Today, if you can get a booking, it is a wonderful place to collapse and feast after a long day of climbing, although, if I may quibble, one cup of milkless black tea with a biscuit does not 'afternoon tea' make!

The Ahwahnee, a classic example of Parkitecture

En masse, I tend to prefer animals to humans, and as the world’s population grows and hideous housing estates impinge on the British countryside, we are forever reminded of Nature’s superiority in the beauty stakes. Even Yosemite isn’t immune. Unfortunately, and unintentionally, we had chosen the busiest time of the year, Memorial Day weekend, to visit, so the roads were clogged with cars and open-mouthed tourists gazing upwards or running after children. Even in 1927, Memorial Day saw 27,000 visitors. It must be extremely trying to work on such a weekend, and no doubt there are dozens of dim-witted campers begging to get eaten by a bear, but is it really necessary for park staff to be quite so inflexible and unsmiling? Late on Friday evening, when our mood was mellow and our campfire was dying down, the stillness of the night was interrupted by a grumpy ranger barking that we had to douse the fire completely and that our bin was ‘just out of arm’s reach’ and therefore a danger. Er, what? We were in the middle of the campsite surrounded by other tents and said bin was within easy reach. Besides, isn’t fire the best defence against animals in the wild? I say all this with the understanding that bears are a real and genuine danger in Yosemite, and we were sticklers for putting everything in the bear locker, as everyone there should be. But the refusal to adapt to circumstances became a continuing annoyance. In the morning, after an errand to Yosemite Village, we were forced to wait behind a dozen cars checking in to our campsite, despite already being checked in. A polite request to use the other lane was denied on the grounds of ‘safety issues’ and that there might be a child in the road. Er, I’d stop?! One girl wasn't allowed to pick up the keys to a site in Curry Village because her boyfriend’s name was on the booking, despite the fact that she had been with him when they made the booking that morning. Of course, rules are there for a reason, but the absolute refusal to apply common sense, not to mention a smidgeon of politeness or even, God forbid, a smile, was widespread. Why is it that when you give someone a tiny bit of power, they turn into a ruthless, inflexible despot? Still, they made the friendlier rangers seem all the nicer and, when you’re in such a glorious place with good friends, it’s easy to laugh and meet every projected expedition with the caveat of ‘#safetyissues’! Ah, what a feast of comedy ’tis the modern world!

A bear trailer - empty, this time 

Careful! #safetyissues

Once upon a time, there was a tradition of launching flaming logs

over Yosemite Falls. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this has now been stopped,

but what a spectacle! It would be rather wonderful to revive it, just once a year...

Thankfully, one of the wonders of Yosemite is that it is vast enough and magnificent enough to swallow up us puny humans. We didn't escape the crowds as much as we would have liked, however, as our wish to camp in the wilderness one night was thwarted by being unable to get the necessary pass – I had been told that if we went along first thing on Saturday morning, we would have no trouble, but when I arrived there was already a queue and the ranger on duty said they didn’t start issuing them until 11am, not exactly ‘first thing’. We couldn’t wait there for two hours, so we gave up. A cancellation in the tented huts of Curry Village gave us comfortable beds, but it would have been infinitely more magical to have woken up to mountain peace than screaming children in tourist central. At least there is a real camaraderie among Yosemite visitors, and everyone was good-humoured. I can also testify to the excellent quality of the pizzas in Curry Village. And, as I have now succumbed to the beauty of Yosemite, I will definitely be back to roam the wilderness proper – I still have to tackle the 15-mile hike and cable climb to the top of the 8,839ft Half Dome, after all!

Sunset on Half Dome

Half Dome from Mirror Lake

Enjoying a well-earned rest on the Panorama Trail