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What’s the use of a fine house if you haven’t got a tolerable planet to put it on?

- Henry David Thoreau

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Environment

Jul 03, 2018

Yosemite Origins: How a National Park Was Born

With its steep granite walls and extensive valleys, Yosemite National Park is a mecca for climbers and all people who love nature.

WRITTEN BY

Madhuri Chowdhury

Once filled in ancient ice fields, this is the story of how Yosemite got its name, and helped pave the way for the US National Park system.

We skipped watching a sunset over iconic Half Dome to watch climbers attempt El Cap instead. Binoculars in hand, we sat on folding deck chairs at the base of the giant slab of exposed granite, squinting up at the humans who were just dots on rock. Yosemite Valley is a mecca for climbers that has long attracted the best of the best, from famous athletes to dirtbags, as well as their enthusiastic supporters. Once likened to Eden by Nineteenth century travelers, the National Park holds the same draw for travelers today. It’s steep granite cliffs, tumbling waterfalls, and extensive meadows evoking a sense of our own minisculity in the grander scheme of the landscape.

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Yosemite’s steep granite cliffs, tumbling waterfalls, and extensive meadows are the culmination of millions of years of glaciation. In the Ice Age, the National Park was filled with ice as high as the now famous Dome, as these glacial rivers melted, they cut out the unique landscape we see today. Image: Madhuri Chowdhury

It’s strange, but one of America’s great wildernesses was discovered because of man’s love for treasure. After gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill in 1848, marking the beginning of the California Gold Rush, thousands of people arrived in search of fortune to Northern California. The Native Americans, who were already living there, were soon being displaced from their homes by miners. They retaliated by burning mining settlements during a period that’s now called the Mariposa War. One such conflict was between the Ahwahneechee tribe and a US Army Major named Jim Savage. Led by their Chief, Tenaya, the Ahwahneechee had burned down Savage’s trading post near the Fresno River. Angered by this, Savage led a group of men to what is now Yosemite Valley, seeking revenge. Savage and his men were warned not to go looking for the Ahwahneechee by other Miwoki tribesmen, who feared the Ahwahneechee people. They gestured towards the Valley repeating the same Miwoki phrase over and over again: ‘Yo he miti’, meaning ‘they are killers’. Savage’s mob misunderstood, and thought ‘Yosemite’ was the name of the valley.

Amongst Savage’s men was an Army surgeon named Lafayette Bunnell, who wrote a book called Discovery of the Yosemite, detailing his experiences during this time. He raved about the splendor of the valley. No gold was ever found in the area, but tales of Yosemite’s natural beauty spread far and wide, attracting the first tourists from around the country. Years later, Yosemite National Park also attracted a young Scotsman who had come to California in search of the natural world, after being almost blinded by a machine while working in a factory in Indianapolis. John Muir spent some time wandering amongst Yosemite’s granite walls and flower meadows, and like many before him, fell in love with the landscape. Muir took many influential people into Yosemite, including Robert Underwood Johnson, who was the editor of Century Magazine. Under Muir’s influence, Johnson published an article about how livestock was damaging the land – leading to the creation of Yosemite National Park in 1980. At the time, Yellowstone was the only other National Park in the world.

Muir’s passion also convinced Theodore Roosevelt, who became President of the United States in 1901, to visit him in Yosemite. Muir and Roosevelt became friends when the President spent a few days camping together in 1903. They were both outdoors men, though they had different opinions about what that meant (Roosevelt was a hunter, Muir was not.) Sometime, while camping in a cave near Glacier Point, Muir persuaded Roosevelt to draw up the legislation for Yosemite Valley to become a part of Yosemite National Park. Roosevelt went on to create five US National Parks during his tenure, and Muir went down in history as the conservationist who helped preserve Yosemite National Park.

Visiting Yosemite National Park today: Once the permanent home of dirtbag climbers, humans are now only allowed to remain inside Yosemite National Park for a week (mountain lions and other wildlife may stay all year, but the climbers have now taken to camping just outside the Park, and re-entering to attempt its granite.) Multi-day visitors will need reservations for backpacking and camping, but day visitors do not require a permit to enter the park.

Feature Image by Madhuri Chowdhury 

 

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Features

Feb 20, 2019

The Death Zone

World champion free-diver Pierre Frolla sinks without air to depths unreachable by most scuba divers. One day he nearly didn't make it back to the surface.

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WRITTEN BY

Pierre Frolla

This story originally featured in print, in the fall 2015 issue of The Outdoor Journal

Deep down under the sea, so far away from where you live, I have been through the last seconds of my life.

In 2005 or 2006 (oddly I don’t remember), I had the worst accident of my freediving career. After being world champion in variable weight apnea with a dive at 123 metres, where I used a weighted sled for descent and returned to the surface by pulling myself along a line and using my fins, I was training to go deeper.

“No matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.”

In my sport, risks are quite important. Imagine you’re running a 400-m race. You start way too fast, and after a few hundred meters you’re out of breath and you just can’t go anymore. What do you do? You just stop, walk a bit and slowly catch your breath again. When you’re free diving, no matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.

The basis of my sport is quite simple. Going beyond 100 meters is mythic. Only a few hardcore specialists, including the “no limit” guys can go beyond that. Athletes use a weighted sled to dive down and an inflatable bag to return to the surface. This means that the free diver reduces his energy loss to the max, and that’s exactly why he is able to go so deep. The world record is held by Austrian Herbert Nitsch: 249.5 metres on June 6, 2012, in Santorini, Greece. The problem is that at those depths, water pressure is unbelievable! At 100 m, for example, the pressure is about 11 kg per square centimeter of your skin. Consequently, the volume of air inside the human body is pressured and reduced too. Take an empty but sealed plastic bottle: If you get to this kind of depth, it’ll greatly deform. That plastic bottle is a metaphor for your body. This also means that if water manages to seep somewhere inside you through your mouth or nose, it will do so with such force that it’ll destroy everything in its path. Drowning is inevitable, and no Apneist can be saved in such case, even if experienced help quickly intervenes.

At great depths, nitrogen becomes narcotic and leads to what is called nitrogen narcosis. This kind of intoxication from staying in great depths for too long is the same as when you drink too much. In other words, you lose total control of your body and mind, and you become unaware of potential dangers. Acting like that underwater can kill you, as the slightest mistake will have incredible consequences. In my personal training, I mix apnea in variable weight and other constant weight dives, where I dive only with the force of my arms and legs.

Today, my team and I decide to put the weight to 118 m. I know I can go down 115 m, but we want to push a little, as it’s part of training. Once down, I’ll have no choice but to go back on my own. I also know there will be a small parachute and an oxygen tank hooked to the sled, but neither will be for me. The bottle empties very slowly and inflates the balloon. Both serve only to return equipment back to the surface. It’s easier for us to work like that rather than starting a counterweight system.

If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water?

I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material.

I begin my descent. I pass my midterm diver. Very soon, it gets dark. I do not have glasses because they would serve me for nothing in this environment. So I stand, with my eyes closed. I’m relaxed and sinking slowly in the water like I’m used to. I feel the pressure now, but I also suddenly feel the sledge slowing. Then it stops, softly. Usually it stops dead. When I realize that something is wrong, I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material. It is almost as if moving sands are closing in on me at 112 meters below the surface. It is actually a mixture of clay and silt, a mound a few meters higher than the sonar onboard the boat. It wasn’t identified even though it stood in the stack axis of the descent of my sledge. It’s nobody’s fault; sonar is not so precise.

In no time, I understand what’s happening to me. I’m stuck. I cannot get my feet outside the box, and I know there’s no exit door. I simply do not have enough oxygen to both work my way out of this with strength and go up as I have expected, swimming, with my hands and fins. If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stopped, stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water? I’m dying; that’s it. Today is the day. In 15 seconds, I will have consumed all the remaining air I was keeping for my ascent. I am also a few seconds away from being caught by nitrogen narcosis. I will go crazy right before dying.

“Did I become a vegetable?”

Suddenly, I have an idea. The parachute. Yes! I trigger the opening of the small air valve, which then rushes into the parachute. It’s working but it’s slow and long. So I wait, very still, with my eyes closed. I have no other choice. I try to relax. Everything at 112 m is multiplied by 10. One consumed oxygen molecule at the surface is equal to 10 or 12 molecules consumed at that kind of depth. One second is equivalent to 10 seconds. Time and life are both very cruel at the bottom of an ocean. I am now barely conscious. Finally, I remember feeling the chute tearing me away from my trap like a champagne cork. The ascent back to the surface, back to life, is way too long. When I reach the surface, I have strangely not entirely lost consciousness, but my body no longer responds to my brain. Did I become a vegetable? My team, frightened, retrieves and saves me. If I had not been so well-trained, I would not have survived this scary adventure. Instead of the planned 2 minutes and 40 seconds that I went down under water for, I stayed 3 minutes and 50 seconds. In the boat, I gradually recover and quickly regain all my abilities.

Pierre Frolla reascending to the surface, following the guideline with the sled and parachute attached to it.

A few years later, I’m on a movie set doing 60-m free diving over and over all day long, and an air bubble is created in my brain on one of these repetitive dives. But instead of being redirected into my lungs, it remains stuck in my head. When ascending, inevitably, this tiny compressed air bubble suddenly decompresses and its size gets multiplied by six. I immediately lose consciousness. Later, I wake up in a hyperbaric chamber. I stay there for eight and a half hours. But when I wake up in that box, I cannot feel my body. I’m unable to move. For hours, I do not know if I will stay quadriplegic or not. This awakening in the box is one of my worst-ever memories of free diving. I do not understand what is happening to me. It takes me 30 minutes to remember that I was free diving and to deduce that I certainly had a bad accident.

Apnea is an extreme sport. I’ll remember it always. Yesterday I dived to 113 meters. I’ll do it again tomorrow.

Photos by Franck Seguin

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