Ask anyone living in the Bay Area at the time about Orange Skies Day, and they probably still remember it vividly. It was a day when morning never came: the streets glowed with artificial light leaking from windows, and the sky outside was a flat, rusted orange. It matched the bleakness of the year, another layer in the ongoing apocalypse. Living in a house with almost no natural light, I spent the day in a trance, working by desk lamp and unable to tell whether it was 2 AM or 2 PM.
That eerie morning always sends my mind back to the weekend before, when I went on my first multi-day backpacking trip. Like so many others that year, my roommates and I turned to the outdoors for refuge, looking for responsible ways to spend time outside the house as lockdowns began to ease. We managed to secure permits for a short trip on the Pohono Trail from Glacier Point in Yosemite.
A Slow Start
At the trailhead, we took a few moments to savor the panoramic views of Half Dome and the Valley. I had come to Yosemite only once before as a child, and had probably gazed at these same views in memories long forgotten. I wondered how little this scene might have changed: the streaks of white and black haphazardly stirred into the gray rock and small groves of trees clinging to cracks and scattered soil. Change here was a constant yet slow force, a calming contrast to the chaos of the year.
We were enthralled by our first long outdoor escape, meandering through exposed rock toward Sentinel Dome. As we hiked across the bare granite, wisps of smoke rose from a fire far in the distance, concerning but still remote. At Taft Point, we lingered to watch highliners inch across the chasm over the valley, marveling at their mental fortitude. Golden hour brought a warm serenity as the rock glowed yellow. But the calm shattered as the light began to fade: we had lingered too long and still had to reach our planned campsite before sundown.
We hustled through the forest canopy, savoring the remaining daylight. Darkness encroached almost instantly as the sun dipped below the mountain peaks. Soon we were hiking by headlamp, and every mile felt longer in the dark. Anxiety rose that we were off track. How long had we actually hiked? We were poorly prepared with maps. We were left squinting over offline Google Maps without detailed trail maps to consult. The dotted green and jagged blue lines over a flat background no longer felt connected to the darkness around us.
We trudged on despite the uncertainty, keeping a mental approximation of the distance we had traveled. The bridge over Bridalveil Creek finally appeared, the sole landmark confirming we were on the right track. We breathed a sigh of relief. Past the bridge, we pressed on a little farther before searching for a spot to spend the night. Finding a clear spot while fumbling around in the darkness turned out to be easier than expected. We set up camp, boiled water, and devoured our rehydrated meals. The rush to find camp had made us lose track of just how hungry we were.
Perpetual Sunset
We awoke to blue skies, resolved to fulfill the original objective of our trip: spending time outside with no real agenda. We planned to camp a second night in the same spot and use the day to explore the area. There was no real urgency, so we spent the morning lounging around and eating a slow breakfast.
We started our hike after breakfast. The trail led us to three viewpoints in sequence: Stanford Point, Dewey Point, and Crocker Point. Each viewpoint offered a panoramic view of the tree-filled valley, bounded on both sides by sheer cliffs of bare granite. Blue skies still prevailed at Stanford Point, though a smoky haze obscured the details in the distance. The haze intensified with each stop until the sun disappeared and the skies glowed orange.
Concern grew on the way to Inspiration Point. The air didn’t feel oppressively smoky, yet everything from the trees to the rocks was blanketed in a flat, orange tint. The smoke grabbed hold in the distance, a nebulous claw reaching down from the sky and clutching the bare rock. The air quality might deteriorate, so we decided to turn back rather than descend the brutal switchbacks to Tunnel View.
The rest of the afternoon was spent locked in perpetual sunset, the orange tint permeating the forest with no sign of receding. A few lone day hikers passed us on the way back to camp. Each expressed some unease, but all reassured us that there was no need to evacuate.
Return to the Valley
The next morning, muted orange skies alternated with pale blue haze as we made our way back to the trailhead. A gap on the distant horizon showed where the smoke yielded to clear skies. We reached the car and descended into the valley, where we stopped by the visitor center and confirmed that the air quality was still safe.
We decided to stick to our plan and unwind at the Backpacker’s Campground in the valley, a walk-in campground that allows wilderness permit holders to spend the night before their permit entry date or after their exit date. A short rest and a warm lunch later, we ventured out to Mirror Lake. Late in the season, the name was a misnomer: it was a dry lake bed scattered with gravel and the occasional fragment of driftwood.
A night at the campground seemed to wash away the apocalypse, marking a return to blue skies and clearer air. We spent the morning exploring the valley, hiking the Mist Trail up to Vernal and Nevada Falls before making our way back home. What was meant to be an escape from the chaos of the year had become a fever dream, an endless sunset we thought we had left behind in the mountains. Yet a day later, the same orange light returned.
Looking back on this first backpacking trip, there were so many things that could have gone wrong. Now, I’m much more careful to map out routes in advance on a topographical map, download offline maps, and track hiking progress on a phone or watch. I’ve found Caltopo incredibly useful for interactive route planning, understanding the landscape, and exporting a GPS trace of the planned route. I’ll also stay out of the wilderness if there’s any elevated fire risk, both for safety and for the basic enjoyment of breathing clean air. Wildfires are unpredictable, and when conditions are right, they can spread incredibly fast.
This was the first time I shot E100 slide film, and I was thoroughly impressed by the fine grain and color rendition. The low-contrast lighting helped even out the exposure, and almost every frame was perfectly exposed. Though I shoot slide film less often these days, I’m more inclined to give it another try in overcast conditions. Check out some other photos I’ve taken with E100.