Yosemite – Paradise Lost

Richard Blair’s essay recounting his 50 years in Yosemite, and why it never will be the paradise it used to be. (hint $)

January 2024

In  my late teens, I was drawn to Yosemite as I loved to backpack, and it seemed a great mountain range to hike in. I had read John Muir, and he was a powerful voice urging me to visit.

The first time I arrived by bus on highway 140, and the increasing cliffs seen from the front of the bus filled me with excitement. My  girlfriend and I got a campsite in camp 4, the climbers’ campsites and we started our Yosemite adventures from there. My first hike in the valley was the Yosemite Falls trail. My second was an early season hike to Tuolumne Meadows, a one day 21 mile trip up Vernal and Nevada Falls, through Little Yosemite Valley, past Merced Lake, over Vogelsang Pass, which was totally snow packed, then down through the trees to Tuolumne Meadows, where we camped. Big fun but a tiring hike!

It’s easy to say that those were the days, because hiking permits did not yet exist, and campsites were plentiful. I was full of love, in love with my girl and Yosemite was there for me. I needed it for its beauty. The joy of being there was so wonderful, like being in heaven. Yosemite did not ask too much of me, still I was careful with how I treated it, picking up litter on the trails, being gentle with my campsites. I didn’t want to ruin heaven in any way. It was cheap living in the park. We had enough money to buy basic food: a can of tune, a Mac and cheese mix, some treats like candy bars and dried fruit. Sometimes car campers would give us  a meal, and once a trail crew deep in Tuolumne canyon offered us a cowboy meal of weiners and beans cooked in a giant cast iron pot carried by their horses! Our eyes bulged at the sight of all this abundance so deep in the wilderness. We spent about 2 months in the park, and hiked many of its trails, perhaps hundreds of miles, before returning to New York City in the late summer.

Two years later my relationship was over; I was heartbroken. I returned to Yosemite, this time with good cameras in my pack to start a new life in California. Yosemite was my first stop in my healing journey. I moved into Camp 4 again, this time alone, and it seemed wilder than the previous time. Climbers had strung hammocks high between two giant pine trees with climbing ropes and were lazing in the sun 80 feet in the air!  Groups of climbers with bulging forearms would practice boulder problems on campground rocks. After they left I would try to see if I could replicate their moves. I could get no more than 5 pounds of upward force gripping the same rocks that they had mantled up. I realized that I was around the best rock climbers in the world.

Things in Yosemite, outside of the climbing community, had gotten wilder too. The hippies were in the park, bringing things that wild kids loved; sex, drugs and parties. Many were looking for spiritual highs in nature and were wandering around the mountains like sages, with long staffs, robes and wide brim hats. I alternated between sleeping in the valley,  and in a campsite in Tuolumne Meadows, in a huge meadow by a wide river with perfect campsites - which during 1969 were free and abundant. 1969 was a year of huge snowfall and I have a memory of a guy in a big RV stranded in a flooded meadow, hopelessly trying to sweep the flood water out of his living room while more water poured in over the transom. One night I lay in my small backpacking tent with a tiny transistor radio listening to voices from the first lunar landing speaking. I looked carefully at the moon through my tent door, looking in vain for a light from their capsule.

It was a stoney time. Climbers would ascend peaks by moonlight and upon summiting, would light a flare at midnight so they could see all of their fellow spirits up and down the range.

One day in the late spring I hiked towards Glen Aulin, a High Sierra camp, sort of a luxury lodge in the wilderness which the Curry Company ran, carting visitors, supplies and lodging on horses and mules. These pack animals created scars on the fragile meadows , sometimes six lanes wide. Not so nice I thought. As I hiked I began to be bothered by a wire a few yards off the trail - it was a telephone wire to the camp and it ruined the sense that I was in a wilderness. I decided to pull it down by yanking it, rolling the loose ends up and hiding the coils off the trail.

Some other hikers appeared, one who has become a friend for life. I explained what I was doing, and why.  He and his companions agreed to help pull the line down! It was the right thing to do, way before eco sabotage was a thing. My friend and assistant was David Vassar, who has had a long career working with Yosemite and the National Park Service, and as an independent film maker.

I was totally broke during my time in Yosemite, but I became friends with a guitar player, Ramon, who would gather a small crowd when he played at the village store. When we met nice people there, we would invite them to our hidden campground in the drainage of Yosemite Falls off the Tioga Road. We would hike about a mile up the Ten Lakes trail and veer off to a series of flat ledges with a snow melt stream. We called it Ramon’s Camp. Many people came and went over the month or so we lived there. People would bring food, which was wonderful but not what we expected - we just wanting to have a great scene. Sometimes we would have goodies like crab, other times we were living on beans and ketchup. Most people were lovely, but a few had problems to work out. Yosemite is a healing place, after all.

In the fall I visited Berkeley to see a girl I had dated at the campsite, Marsha Sanders. She and her friends had rented a flat in Berkeley and I thought that it was a very nice house with her and her roommates. I was lucky to be able to move in, staying in a tiny laundry room where I had a floor to sleep on and room for an enlarger.

Once I was living in Berkeley, Yosemite was still always in my mind. I heard about a riot that occurred during July 4th, 1970. Details were scarce, since it never was reported in the press. Small fights happened between park rangers and groups of hippies lying in the meadows and having parties in campgrounds. The kids were smoking weed and might drum on pots around campfires.  The rangers would arrest some kids, and the fights soon escalated into major violence. The park service, feeling overwhelmed, then deputized cowboys from the stables who rode on horseback clubbing long hairs, who responded with brandishing axes and burning 2 patrol cars. The park was closed and woman and children were told to leave. Fighting went on for 2 days. Many people were injured from being run down or smashed. David Vassar was in the park with a small film crew and they got footage of the riot. It was great that he documented what  happened, before the fog of bureaucratic propaganda paved it over.

Forward to 1971 when I approached Earth Magazine, an offshoot of Rolling Stone to photograph possible violence in Yosemite for the next July 4th. I went to the Valley, but rioting did not erupt again. While I was there, I learned that the director of the park service itself, George Herzog, was staying at the Awahanee hotel. I called him on a pay phone and talked to him directly. I thought that an article should have a photo of him for an article, which was to be written by David Brower, the famous conservationist. Mr Herzog suggested that I come to a meeting at the visitor center to discuss the “hippie problem”. At the visitor center was a large group of park employees and Director Herzog, who ran the meeting. He asked the rangers for their thoughts on dealing with the hippies. One after another they offered solutions involving heavy law enforcement responses. One guy said “they shoot marijuana, they have open sex in the meadows, let’s not allow them into the park” He added an idea: “Their cars always have defects, let’s bar them at the entrance station as unsafe.” At this point Herzog, who was wearing a bolo tie and who talked with a Texas drawl, raised his big hand and declared “Marijuana is a social problem, but it’s not a big law enforcement issue.  If you think there is something wrong with sex in a meadow - you’re the one who’s sick.  None of you have any concept of civil rights. Everyone here is fired!”

I had spoken up earlier during the discussion, suggesting educational programs and building youth campground to isolate the kids from red-state campers. He then pointed at me, the lone long-hair in the room and said “You're going to be in the youth program!”

The article I was assigned to photograph  did not get published, as there was not a dramatic riot to feature. Still, I continued to be connected with the park, perhaps through David Vassar. His film about the riot had become the primary document about it. A fledging staff of creatives met up in Yosemite at the Valley District offices to plan how we could prevent future hostilities and how best to educate kids to be conservationists by connecting with the spiritual nature of the park. We called ourselves the Yosemite Light Brigade, because we would make light shows - kaleidoscopes  of swirling colored light effects used at rock concerts.

Our plan had these parts: Create an outdoor setting where we could teach and entertain kids while keeping them away from conservative tourists and especially liquor stores at Yosemite Village. The combination of alcohol and sedative pills, called “reds” made kids really stupid and prone to violence. We made a deal with park management not to arrest anyone for smoking weed at our shows. Our job was the teach, isolate and reduce confrontation.

Since I and my coworker, Evelyn Cunningham, could silkscreen, we designed and made psychedelic style posters to announce shows at Happy Isles. Sometimes we had 400-600 kids a night.

Team members cut up large tree trucks for round seats - a perfect size for two people, ideal for pairing up - a major need of teens. Some of our group built a 24 foot white screen and a projection platform to house projectors that were filled with my images and the parks nature slide collection as well as a movie projector – to show a film of a volcano erupting as a centerpiece. Kids would flash the slide images waving their hands in front of the projector lenses while cranking the focus in on out. We played rock music through the speakers. The park electrician gave us a plug on a tree truck for power for the lights and amps. The effect was amazing - we called it the wonder wall. At the shows we invited the kids to join us on a park service led skinny dipping hikes up Illilouette Canyon, out of sight of regular visitors. A ranger, Warren White, sometimes in uniform, led the hikes.

Another plan was to have programs that would mix conservative visitors with hippies, so we arranged for square dancing sessions open to all. We hired native American Miwok dancers, but they arrived too drunk to perform. We re-titled the event posters we had made: What mi wok? (walk)

The Yosemite Light Brigade was a success.There were no more riots - but we had problems. The park hired a clueless guy named Harf Windsor to manage us, but he was at a loss to even understand what we were doing. We were young, smart, and very talented communicators with an important job to do, yet we were always stymied by people who thought that they knew better. It takes a strong team to bridge gaps between mistrusting groups of people, and human rarely succeed in any conflict.

Not that we were perfect. We were having a big meeting with the park higher-ups, superintendent included, and a team member showed up nearly naked, his clothes in hand. He asked if we had a bucket so he could boil his clothes to kill his crab infestation!

One night we were supposed to give a ranger talk to a large crowd, and one of our members had gotten ahold of a movie that no-one had previewed. He was told that it was an interesting art film. We decided to run it, as we thought that the old geology movie, Fire and Ice, was a bit of a dated yawner. The movie featured a return of Jesus as a greasy hippie who tours San Francisco’s less holy side. First was Communion with a McDonalds hamburger, then Jesus visits a topless bar in North Beach, complete with nude dancers in full view. The movie was getting more and more offensive as each scene ran, but we thought, well it can’t get much worse - but it did get worse, each scene. In the audience was a person who knew a southern senator, and he complained to him. This senator then asked the U.S. Department of the Interior why Yosemite is showing porno movies. Things rapidly filtered down to our bosses, who had to see the movie for themselves. In the last scene in the film, Jesus is tied to a huge peace symbol and rolled over a cliff toward the ocean. His final line was “There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth next time around.” Many times that summer a ranger would walk behind us and deliver this line to us.  It was a popular movie for park conservatives, who could not believe our bad judgment. Strangely the park didn’t fire us, maybe they thought that we were Director Herzog’s illegitimate sons or they kinda enjoyed the movie and our discomfort.

Our group was accused of stealing projectors and other park equipment. It turned out that a conservative member of the park staff had stolen twenty of them. People would write nasty memos to put in our employment files. In the end the conservative bureaucrats won, they are the lifer employees of the government, in for the long haul, bent on protecting their turf rather than improving the park experience for visitors or the park’s ecology. Despite our mishaps, we did achieve peace with the young park visitors and got a lot of them turned on the nature and wilderness. Most of us were volunteers. It was too bad we were so young and crazy but that was what was needed in Yosemite to stop the violence - but it was not a good fit with park service longevity!

After the summer, I was thinking that my Yosemite future would be longer as Park Photographer, rather than Hippie Ranger and I talked the park administration into using me with that new job title. I was the first one to have that job, and later it became a regular park position. I moved to the administration building into a little room on the top floor. My job was to update the parks photo library with both landscapes and photos of visitors. I was deeply influenced by Ansel Adams while working as a photographer in the park. I read and understood all his books and studied his prints with great admiration.  I worked hard to raise my skills to a level to compete with his vision and technique. Words can only convey so much, please enjoy my photographs that express my true love of Yosemite.

There was a refrigerator in my office for my government issued film, and a grizzled old ranger soon left a frozen bear head in its freezer, After many months it was still wrapped in a plastic bag. He never did anything with it. One night I went to a local Yosemite steakhouse, the Mountain Room Broiler, and slipped the head into a bar ashtray when no one was looking. I left before anyone found it.

My job ended that spring - the park always had budget problems and the need for a park photographer was not urgent; the park was no longer gripped by conflicts. So one nice day in the spring I was no longer on the inside. I walked through the Awanhee meadow looking at the cliffs and flowers and I felt a great sense of relief - I realized that the park and I were both still intact and I could still enjoy it, without all of the baggage of worrying that comes with working in the park. I was free and Yosemite was still there for me – now as a visitor.

Since the time I worked in the park I have made regular visits to Yosemite Valley and the high country. In certain ways the valley is still much the same - the cliffs and rock features seem immutable, but the layout of Yosemite Village and its outlying parking has changed a lot. I used to live in Camp 6, a collection of tent cabins with canvas walls and wooden floors, but that has disappeared. I can’t even find where it was - I think it’s now overflow parking.

One thing has never changed - the concessionaires are always expanding their visitor services - read that as pockets of profit -  one toehold at a time. A gift shop here, a snack bar there. It is unrelenting, and their political contributions ensure that they have support from our legislators.

Yosemite has always been a popular national park. I used to think that its beauty was transformative, that it could inspire and teach visitors to become active environmentalists. I thought that it’s crowding was sacrifice for a knock ‘em, sock ‘em paradise for the education of some of the dingbats who were visiting the park from the red states, people who came because it was “part of their national heritage” or a mandatory stop with their kids to see “the wonders of the world”. Perhaps Yosemite would open their eyes and hearts to love of nature.

Now I think that I was wrong about that. As the level of cars has increased, the opportunities  for contemplation and discovery are diminished by the requirements of traffic attentiveness. As crowding and competition for parking spaces have become part of the Yosemite experience its beauty is now diminished. We are now in a situation where there are many more cars in the Valley than parking spaces. People are forced to drive around since there is no where to stop.  As people are funneled into shopping, restaurants and overcrowded campgrounds the magic of Yosemite is further away. Education and  enlightenment are improbable.

Clearly the answer to this problem is to limit the amount of cars.  This is politically impossible if our representatives are on the de-facto payroll of the park concessionaires.

I have come to believe that national parks attract people who love to drive. It’s a long way between national parks and major cities. Places of extreme natural beauty are in rural areas and the west has vast distances between these natural wonders. Drivers have the will and means to take these trips, and the current cars they drive, capable SUVs and powerful pickups, are ready for the challenge.  Car companies are well aware of this need to escape and promote their vehicles flying along amidst scenes of natural beauty while chaffering lovely models with expressions of ecstasy. This fantasy is not fulfilled when one is stuck in traffic in the valley, and the park’s grandeur is nowhere to be found.

What to do about Yosemite’s problems?

Since the time I worked for the park service in Yosemite over fifty years ago  there has always concern been about overcrowding and urbanization of the park. Rich, powerful citizens formed groups to address the problems of the park, one is the Yosemite Conservancy, and members greenwash, creating bus stops with corporative donations from Chevron for example. They do projects that improve the park without addressing the elephant in the room - the fact that the valley is a total mess. A toxic brew of greed is coupled with a lack of courage to do what’s obvious; to clean up the mess and restore Yosemite as a natural haven. That would mean throwing out the business that fleece the tourists, bulldozing most buildings, severely limiting cars - turning it back to being a paradise like it was when the first explorers stumbled upon it.

I watched and listened when the park recorded public hearing about the future plans for Yosemite. It was set up so two park planners who re-read and summarized comments from concerned citizens. They were extra polite and they mananged to tone down any emotion on the part of the participants. Their answers to concerns with an amazing rendition of double speak. I left thinking that this public meeting was not a meeting of the minds to solve problems but a masterful blurring of reality. I wish I could have heard actual voices of the citizens who tried to give inputs. Every comment was discussed with extreme beating around the bush, avoiding any serious  changes or reforms. The author Tom Wolfe used the term flack-catching to discribe this prices of numbing and defusing.   Here is a link to the park planning event so you can watch it for yourself.                                

Will Yosemite ever clean house and restore the valley?  After fifty years of observing the park and its dynamic, I don’t think that change is possible. As I write this Trump is running for a 2nd term as president, with a possible chance to returning to power. It’s unlikely that a clean sweep of Yosemite is in the offing.

All I can do is offer is these words and photographs of the beauty of the valley. I hope that you who read this will work to restore the valley. Only through an extreme effort can any progress be made.

Sadly, Paradise was lost here.