“Quiet hours are from 10 pm to 6 am.”
Yosemite National Park
Generally speaking, visitors to Yosemite National Park act in ways that show respect for the Park’s policies and regulations. This allows for most vacations in Yosemite to be as enjoyable and drama-free as possible. Anything contrary to this would prompt many to speak out and clamor for change in how “their” National Park was being managed (note the “Find Your Park” campaign that promoted visitation to the National Parks).
Occasionally, individuals do behave in ways that incite the ire of others. This includes conduct that defies logic and reason, the kind of behavior that makes Yosemite lovers cry out for immediate adjudication of the injustice. Take, for example, the headline-grabbing antics of the former Vice President of Aramark (Yosemite’s concessionaire). He quickly discovered the reverence Yosemite’s meadows hold in the minds of those who value the role they play in the Park’s ecological diversity. In June 2020, about the time the Park reopened after the COVID pandemic had shuttered it for a few months, the Aramark employee’s wife captured video of her husband hitting golf balls into the Ahwahnee Meadow! She posted the video of him teeing off on social media! Needless to say, the feedback from infuriated viewers calling for his ouster came fast!
One Facebook responder stated “. . . this is disgusting. He is either littering by leaving his balls in the meadow or trampling on a delicate ecosystem to retrieve them.” Another viewer suggested “using Yosemite as his private lawn” does not meet any standard of acceptable behavior. As expected, the concessionaire quickly informed the employee that he had been “let go” by the company. Yosemite’s fans cheered this outcome.
Thankfully, most questionable behavior at the Park requires little intervention and acts merely as an annoyance to those in close proximity to the incident. For example, littering occurs in Yosemite, sometimes intentionally, and sometimes unintentionally. Seeing a plastic bottle bobbing up and down on the surface of the Merced River’s summer flow can be a frustrating reminder of how the human presence intrudes upon the “space” of the Park. So, most of us will simply pick up the human leftovers when we can and try and make use of the labeled trashcans placed throughout the Park to increase recycling and minimize landfill use.
Unfortunately, our own expectations of how others “should” behave do not always coincide with how others think they “get” to behave. When our own expectations become unfulfilled, we, ourselves, then risk exhibiting strange and unusual behaviors!
I can provide an example in which I, regrettably, acted in a way that violated my own expectations about how to properly manage my feelings about the behavior of other Park guests. The event occurred many years ago; so far ago that I am tempted to disavow myself of the egregious error, as if I can plead to some statute of limitations that has run its course and which frees me from the guilt associated with my actions. Yet, that kind of thinking rarely allows a person to learn from such mistakes and to move him/her on to maturity, not to mention gaining greater awareness of how one’s behavior impacts the lives of others. So, I will leave it to you, the reader, to determine the level of disdain I incur as a result of my poor judgment at the time.
It went like this: Another wonderful day in Yosemite neared completion at the Lower River Campground (this Campground was closed to camping after the 1997 winter flood). The embers of the campfire my family and I enjoyed sizzled as I doused them with water. The ten o’clock curfew would soon signal the start of “quiet time” as stated in the campground rules.
The clanging of bear-box doors reverberated in the night as campers packed up their unused marshmallows and other food items for safekeeping from bears. Then the “zieep-zieep-zieep” of tent zippers sounded off as tired Yosemite campers retired to their various nylon abodes.
Ahh, the expectations of a quiet and restful night to be followed by another awesome day in Yosemite brought me comfort as the night prevailed . . . at least, for a short while.
Some family chatter followed, and then the last “zieep” of the evening occurred with my sleeping bag. The fatigue from the day overcame us and our pillows rewarded us with plush pleasantness. The 10:00 pm “quiet time” did not proceed, however, as I expected. A rowdy noise which had been, up to this time, diffused from all of our own activity, suddenly established a prominent space in my consciousness.
Raucous music and loud conversation emanated from a campsite about 60 feet away inhabited by a more youthful group of campers. Giving the younger visitors the benefit of the doubt that their transition to quiet time would take a few more minutes than us more “mature” campers, I waited expectantly for a rapid reduction in the racket nearby.
At about 10:15, I heard someone say, “The fire’s going out, throw another log on!” Not long after, the light from their campfire appeared as an inferno on the yellow-colored ceiling of my tent. Each crack and pop of heated pine got louder and louder as their apparent disregard for “quiet time” progressed.
I could now feel the fire within me start to crack and pop. Still, I waited. Surely, a Ranger would be by soon. I mean, how hard is it to comprehend the words “quiet time”? Ignoring this clear Park guideline had now moved beyond a mere annoyance to an outright disturbance of the peace! Surely, many others in the campground would agree!
As the clock reached 10:45 pm, the fuel of impatience revved my heart, like a jet engine being “spooled” to reach maximum rpms for efficient lift-off. My mind suddenly engaged my body over this injustice. I now abandoned all comfort my pillow afforded me.
I surged forward groping for the two tent zippers that, up to this point, had kept my thoughts private. Disregarding the cumbersome restraint I felt from my sleeping bag, I quickly zipped open each of the tent door zippers. Thrusting my head out of the tent into the smokey night air, I roared as loud as I could with the power of a jet engine, “QUIIIIIEEEEET!”
I ducked back into the confines of my tent and lay down as my heart remained accelerated. The music stopped at the youthful campsite. Only a flashlight shown on my tent from that direction. My demand for quiet likely awakened every camper and person in Yosemite Valley, from climbers spending the night dangling from the face of El Capitan to the “well-heeled” indulging themselves amidst the comforts of the Ahwahnee Hotel.
Clearly, my expectations of how others “should” act did not coincide with how others thought they “got” to act. In trying to solve the problem, not only did I violate the Park’s rules, I also disturbed the rights of virtually every inhabitant of Yosemite Valley to a peaceful night. I even failed to say “Please”! For me, that is strange and unusual behavior!
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