The artist for the travel guide had illustrated some of the mix of deciduous and coniferous trees we would encounter along the meandering trail but I was certain I could sketch those better from memory. This wasn’t a hike by any hiking definition – this was an effortless walk. The paved loop trail was short and easy just like the attention span of most of the out-of-shape and not-so-intrepid tourists. I recall my first visit with my brother Benjamin when he was nine, and now, a decade later, we were here together again with some of his soccer teammates from college. 

Benji had already commented several times to me why we were even wasting our time on this trail. “We could rent motorized wheelchairs and experience this like the blue-hairs over here,” he said to me about four seconds out of our rented Rav-4. “We won the damn lottery Alex, it is time to go big or go back to the lodge.” 

He was right. We did win the lottery. Well, not that lottery, but the one that made this trip matter to us more than any vacation before. You see, one way to be allowed on the premier route in Yosemite and to get to hike to the top of the most iconic granite dome in the continental United States is to win a preseason lottery with an application in March. It was now July and my little brother was not feeling as nostalgic as I was. Sure, I was ecstatic about the permit and that we were finally going to do Half Dome together but some of my fondest memories were here. Experiencing the park once again through a rekindling of our first hike on the Lower Yosemite Fall Trail was precisely the best way to kick off our adventure – especially with our guests.

Scrambling off any of the trails will ultimately lead to injury for most hikers. Of course, we were going off the trail to “see what we could see” as my brother so aptly put it. He was laughing in that mischievous way that brothers laugh when they have an idea and you know you are heading down a slippery slope with him! In this case that slippery slope came twofold – first in his thinking and second, well, we’d been here before and knew that above the wooded footbridge that crosses Yosemite Creek that the rocks and boulders are slippery even when they are technically dry. We found that out the hard way when I introduced my left shin to a jagged edge of one of the residential rocks on our last trip. 

We were well off trail with our courageous and mildly contemptuous chieftain leading the way as we headed to Lower Yosemite Fall. The water is peak at this time of year so we were in for a truly stunning view of the falls in their omnitude. The “normal” hike was roughly about a mile when you stay to the trail – we were already well over a mile off track with my brother’s mental compass charting the course but I didn’t mind. He was a few steps ahead of me when I saw him stop and stoop down. We had stumbled upon a nest and it was unlike anything we had seen before.

Our elevation was hovering around 4,000 feet and I wasn’t certain what kind of bird or even reptile could build a nest this close to such a high volume trail. It wasn’t the safest of real estate for a “growing” family of wildlife. There were a ton of deer and other fauna nearly omnipresent by the trails awaiting the generosity of the “rugged” city slickers donning all their well-coordinated outdoor swag to truly feel the moment for that braggadocios woodland selfie.

I asked Benji to describe what he was seeing as I couldn’t peer around the now huddled mass of his soccer mates and their backpacks. “Alex, it is a bunch of, well, gold eggs,” he exclaimed. 

Gold eggs? What the what?!?

As I genuflected to also have a closer look, dodging their massively overpacked gear for such a short hike, I saw he was telling the truth. At that moment, one of the golden eggs started to hatch as I was rifling through my Google search app looking for pictures of gold eggs and indigenous birds to California. It was one of the quietest moments I had ever experienced. We were witnessing the miracle of life and we were all awaiting what would happen next with each passing second. 

We were witnessing each fracture and the struggle to escape of the tiny creature trapped safely inside. We didn’t want to take our eyes off of the golden shell, speak a word or even breathe! As the final breach was made, we could see that this poult was relatively small when he was finally hatched. If I had to guess it maybe only weighed a few ounces at best – what a tiny little bird! For such a petite fellow he was quite eager to let the world know of his arrival and I wondered still what kind of bird he was and also where was his Mom. I was sure at that point she may have heard his arrival and was lurking close to where we were hovering over her nest. 
I looked down at the remaining golden eggs and our new found not so feathered friend and wondered still about his species. A number of images were now populated in my phone and I quickly surmised this young fellow was a Rio Grande Wild Turkey (Meleagris gallopavo intermedia). It all made total sense to me now – these turkeys inhabit brush areas near streams and rivers or mesquite, pine and scrub oak forests. As I was scanning the details of the write-up, I realized that they can be found up to 6,000 feet elevation. I still disagreed with the real estate selection as it was far too open of an area for predators (or people) to disrupt their “humble home”. As I read on, it made even more sense to me as these wild turkeys favor areas that are more open than the wooded habitat favored by the ones in our backyard in Connecticut. I could tell the guys were already well-passed the point of waiting around for the next reverential parturition so I looked at my compass, parting the way between them and said, “Time to get to the base of the Lower Falls boys.” We’d get back on track and hopefully back on trail. Benji’s temporary off-trail detour provided us all with a “golden opportunity” to experience a blessed event we had not shared together and it was the first of many more memories that would be made.