Back Country Bliss

A yoga-and-backpacking trek in California's High Sierra yields inspiration for asana practice—and a rejuvenated soul.

By Debra Rubin

Awakening in a beautiful forest of 200-year-old Jeffrey pines, I hear the whisper of a solo bansuri flute harmonizing with the deep, healing tones of a Tibetan singing bowl. The sound lures me out of my sleeping bag and into morning yoga class. Breathing in the fresh mountain air, I silently make my way to the yoga "studio": a small clearing of soft, pine needle–covered duff, encircled by towering pines. I lay my sticky mat down amid the granite rocks and breathtaking mountain vistas of one of nature's finest temples, Yosemite National Park.

In the stillness of this sanctuary, I hear my mind's chatter clearly and without judgment. As I move through morning asana practice, my sore calves begin to unwind from yesterday's six-mile hike to this camp, which will be our backcountry home for the weekend. I stand in Vrksasana (Tree Pose), trunk-to-trunk with a grandmother pine, her diameter bigger than my wingspan. So massive and steady, she exudes unwavering core strength and balance. Breathing in the sweet butterscotch scent of her sap, I root more firmly into the soft ground beneath my feet. My mental chatter floats away in the brisk morning air of the High Sierra.

Such are the sensory pleasures and metaphysical possibilities afforded by this yoga backpacking journey with Back to Earth, a Berkeley, California, company. The three-day, three-night trip combines a quad-busting, heart-pumping outdoor adventure that challenged the weekend-warrior in me, with a generous helping of to ground my monkey mind and soothe my soul.

Starting from Tioga Road, which crosses the park's high country (and the ridge of the Sierra Nevada mountains), we had hiked out on Porcupine Creek Trail toward Yosemite Falls. After a full day of trekking though lush woodlands and fern groves, we paused to sit atop Turtle Rock, on the north rim of Yosemite Valley. There we took in a spectacular view of Half Dome and the dramatic 3,000-foot-deep glacial valley yawning before us, as the setting sun cast an ethereal pinkish orange glow onto the surrounding mountains. It's not for nothing that John Muir called this landscape "the range of light."

Inspired by the view, I stood on a flat slab of granite and stretched into Natarajasana (Lord of the Dance Pose). Reaching out across the valley, I felt I could almost touch Half Dome as I coaxed my body to echo the curve of that massive rock. Never before have I felt so at one with nature's majesty.

Sun, Sky, and Studio

When we arrived back in camp, the yoga studio was already set up among the trees. We lined up around a candlelit altar of pine cones, aromatic pine needles, and a sculpture of stacked granite stones. Our yoga teacher, Diego del Sol, led us through a soulful vinyasa routine to soothe our tired bodies and welcome us to our forest home. Later that evening, I practiced Garudasana (Eagle Pose) and glanced up to see a massive bird soaring overhead. What a change, I thought, from the cracked ceiling and fluorescent lights of my local yoga studio. All the phone calls I forgot to return and the unpaid bills piled on my desk seemed but a distant illusion as I surrendered to the quietude of the mountains and lay blissfully in Savasana (Corpse Pose) under the boundless sky.

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