Yosemite NP 2025: Mist Trail Focused
Yosemite National Park is the definition of jaw-dropping. You could point your camera in any direction and end up with a postcard. But Yosemite isn’t just pretty—it’s historic. In 1864, President Lincoln signed the Yosemite Grant, the first time the U.S. set aside land to protect it for future generations. John Muir later became Yosemite’s biggest hype man, dragging President Teddy Roosevelt out to camp under the stars, and by 1906 Yosemite became part of the official National Park System. It wasn’t the first park, but it was the spark—the place that proved America needed to preserve its wild wonders.
Alan had been here twice in college (translation: camping with more beer than food), so it was on our must-do list for our 2024 Wild West road trip. Last year, we barely squeaked in one night at the historic Wawona Hotel and mostly stuck to scenic overlooks because, let’s face it, when you’re road-tripping, your arrival date is a moving target. This year we swore we’d “do Yosemite right,” even if that meant sleeping outside the park gates.
Easier said than done. Yosemite gets 20,000 visitors in a single weekend. Translation: lodging and parking are blood sport. Coming down from Lassen, I was frantically refreshing my phone like I was trying to score Taylor Swift tickets. Inside the park? Zero. Nada. The best I could do was Lee Vining, a scrappy little town on the east side of Tioga Pass. Not glamorous, but it worked. We grabbed dinner, rolled in at sunset, and caught the alpenglow hitting the peaks. Not bad for Plan B.
Then fate intervened. At the Tuolumne Meadows Visitor Center, the ranger casually dropped: “We’ve got some campsites open tonight.” Um, excuse me? Sign me up. Within minutes I had canceled Lee Vining, hopped on Recreation.gov, and snagged a site under the pines. To sweeten the deal, the ranger tipped me off that Yosemite Valley Lodge had two nights available. A unicorn! I pounced, dialed reservations, and somehow snagged them. Just like that, we had the best of both worlds—one night under the stars, two nights in the valley.
That first night, it drizzled. Normally that’s a bummer when you’re camping, but honestly? It was dreamy. The sound of rain on the van, the smell of pine and woodsmoke curling through the meadow—it felt like the forest was tucking us in. By morning, the mist hung low and El Capitan looked like it was wearing a halo. We got those moody, mystical photos Instagram eats up.
Hiking Yosemite-Style: The Mist Trail
I came to Yosemite this time with a mission: tackle the Mist Trail. It’s the park’s signature hike, part stairmaster, part car wash, and all legendary. But because wet granite is a recipe for disaster, I started with warm-ups: Tuolumne Meadows, Bridalveil Fall, and even a giant sequoia walk-through (yes, you literally walk through the trunk—it’s like a natural tree tunnel).
By the time we moved into Yosemite Valley Lodge, I was ready. “If I don’t start Mist Trail by 7:30 a.m., it’ll be like a conga line of tourists,” I told Alan. He and Kodi set up basecamp in the van at Curry Village, and I took off like a kid headed for the front row of a concert.
The first mile lulled me in—pretty overlooks, babbling Merced River, all very Instagram-chic. Then came the granite staircase: 600 steps, each one slick with spray from Vernal Fall. My legs screamed, my lungs screamed louder, but I kept pushing because that view? Worth it. Standing at the lip of Vernal, water roaring past me in a white blur, I felt like I’d leveled up in some epic video game.
And I wasn’t done. Nevada Fall was next, towering at 594 feet. I dragged myself up, dreaming of seeing the Half Dome cables (lottery denied me the permit, thanks very much). Spoiler: even if I’d had one, there’s no way I would’ve made that 4.5-mile push. By the time I hit Nevada’s summit, I was toast. Happy toast, but toast.
The descent was its own adventure. Normally you’d go down the John Muir Trail, but sections were closed for repair. Luckily, I could pick it up partway down, which meant I avoided retracing all 600 of those granite steps. When I finally stumbled back to Alan, he said, “You know you’ve been gone seven hours, right?” I blinked at him. Seven hours? Felt like three. That’s how you know a hike got into your bones.
Was it hard? Absolutely. Did I question my sanity? Repeatedly. But here’s the thing: I wasn’t on vacation. I was on an adventure. Vacations are for fruity drinks and naps. Adventures are about seeing what you’re made of.
The Grand Finale
The next day we drove the park loop, hitting every overlook like we were on a scavenger hunt. Tunnel View (Ansel Adams’ money shot), Glacier Point (the Half Dome selfie spot), Valley View (where the Merced River makes everything look like a Bob Ross painting). Every stop was another “is this even real?” moment.
Yosemite didn’t just live up to the hype—it crushed it. From misty mornings to muscle-burning trails, it gave me exactly what I came for: challenge, beauty, and a story worth telling.