Yosemite Day 3 - Awe

 Day 3 – Awe

This morning unfolded with a kind of calm I always hope for on a backpacking trip. There was no rush. No alarms. Just the gradual stirring of people emerging from sleep as the sun warmed the granite. After the bear chaos of Day 2, our gear was spread across several locations—a well-intentioned precaution we’d later learn was exactly not how you’re supposed to store food in Yosemite.

We packed up slowly. What started as improvisation the day before had become a new rhythm: a quick snack in the morning and a warm “lunch” at our first real stop. Today’s plan was to spend some time at Sunrise Lakes before continuing on to the base of Clouds Rest. The cool morning air made for ideal hiking conditions, and the routine felt good.

As we hiked deeper into the backcountry, Yosemite continued to astonish. Every new ridge revealed another spectacular view. The day’s climb had some bite to it, but compared to the brutality of Day 1, most of us tackled the switchbacks with confidence and a bit of swagger. We passed a few backpackers wrapping up their trips and some ambitious day hikers heading to Clouds Rest.

At the top of the switchbacks, the trail split: one fork led to Sunrise High Sierra Camp, the other to Clouds Rest. Months earlier, a friend had told me Upper Sunrise Lake was not to be missed. Lower Sunrise Lake, where we first stopped, was already gorgeous—peaceful and ringed by granite walls—and some of the boys were less than thrilled to climb nearly 400 feet more just to “see another lake.” But we pressed on.

Lower Sunrise Lake

The final climb, while modest in distance, felt steep in the growing afternoon heat. Still, the moment we arrived at Upper Sunrise Lake, we knew the effort had been worth it. Crystal water shimmered under the alpine sun. We dropped our packs at the shore and immediately set about filtering water and preparing lunch.

Upper Sunrise Lake

As the boys ate and rested, I wandered the lake’s perimeter. Along the edge, I spotted a family of yellow-bellied marmots darting in and out of boulders. I stood in awe of the stillness—the color, the light, the utter peace of it all. I hollered across the lake, calling the boys to join me. My voice echoed, a joyful sound bouncing back like a gift. I yelled again, just to hear it.

Eventually, the group rallied and hiked around the lake to where I stood. We snapped pictures in front of the impossibly vivid backdrop, everyone grinning wide, sun-kissed and slightly worn.

While preparing to head out, we filtered extra water—15 liters total—just in case our next site lacked a good source. It was then that we realized one of the Jetboils had been left behind at our last campsite. Of the three we had, it was the least critical to lose—but it had been borrowed, and replacing it wouldn’t be cheap. Still, we packed up and loaded the extra water into the fastest boys’ packs—and mine and Edgar’s—and headed back toward the trail junction near Sunrise Camp.

The extra weight slowed me down, and my mind drifted as I hiked. Then a satellite message came through. Edgar’s mother-in-law—also the grandmother of two of the boys on our trip—had taken a sharp turn in her health. We had known her health was fragile, that this trip’s timing was precarious. Now, two and a half days in, the message we’d hoped wouldn’t come had arrived.

At the junction, we regrouped. The boys continued on as Edgar and I processed the news. We agreed: let’s get to base camp, then figure out next steps. My mind was elsewhere, but even in that fog, the trail still stunned. A meandering series of ridges and dips revealed ponds, brooks, granite shelves. No trail in Yosemite, I’d learned, is ever just “up” or “down.” There’s always another surprise.

Another gorgeous pond amid our hike

When we reached the base of Clouds Rest, we got right to work—tents up, water filtered, dinner underway. The plan was to summit for sunset. As everyone ate, Edgar quietly decided that he and the boys would hike out that evening. A brother would pick them up the next day. We helped them re-pack, handed over spare snacks, and gave them hugs as they headed down the trail.

Hugs goodbye

The remaining crew readied for the climb. This time, no packs—just headlamps, water, and a snack. Clouds Rest tops out just shy of 10,000 feet, nearly 6,000 feet above the valley floor. We left camp with energy, carrying a bittersweet weight. Part of our crew was gone, but that old, familiar nervous energy—like on Day 1—returned.

The climb to the top

The trail wasted no time. The elevation gain was sharper than we expected, and we hiked with urgency, hoping not to miss the show. After about 30 minutes, we reached the summit—and the moment we stepped onto the spine of Clouds Rest, everything changed.

The view wasn’t just beautiful—it was transcendent.

Clouds Rest

Silence overtook the group. The once-chatty boys sat on boulders and stared into the distance, each wrapped in their own quiet reflection. It reminded me of the first time I saw the Grand Canyon, or the stillness of standing beneath a giant sequoia. This wasn’t just nature—it was something holy.

Eventually, conversation returned—playful, curious, full of awe. With surprisingly strong cell service at the summit, the boys FaceTimed friends, called their parents, texted loved ones. But for long stretches, we had the place entirely to ourselves.

As the sun began to sink behind the western peaks, I sat watching Half Dome glow in gold and listened as the boys talked about life. There’s something about walking for days, carrying all you need, reaching places only reachable by foot—it opens you up. They spoke about feeling small, and lucky, and connected. How could anyone own this place? How could anyone not protect it?

Each of them, whether religious or not, felt it: this space was sacred. At 10,000 feet, far from city lights and buzzing phones, something in the soul quiets. As God’s most perfect paintbrush lit the sky in streaks of fire and violet, we sat in collective stillness—humbled, honored, full.

When the last light faded, we donned our headlamps and walked down slowly, each of us turning inward to process what we’d seen. Words failed. But we knew what we felt. The memory of that summit, of that moment, would stay with us—rooted deep in our bones.

Day 3 Stats - 9.8 Miles hiked 3014 feet of elevation gained