Thank you to those of you who offered me suggestions as to what do do with a group in in a full size coach in Yosemite. That was a big help.
By Gregory Thomas, Travel & Outdoors Editor July 6, 2025 - San Francisco Chronicle
I'd just hiked the grueling 7.5 miles from Yosemite Valley up to the base of the storied Half Dome cables, and though I'd researched the trek plenty, my first reaction to seeing the cables up close was, Whoa, steeper than I'd thought.
The steel hand lines mark the final 400-foot pitch up Half Dome's sloping eastern shoulder and are anchored to the crag like a piece of gleaming jewelry. The National Park Service describes them as the “most famous — or infamous — part of the journey" because they add a significant element of risk: on both sides, the granite plunges to unseen depths.
An estimated 50,000 hikers attempt Half Dome annually, but recently the cable system has come under public scrutiny. Last summer, a young woman who was climbing the cables in a rainstorm fell to her death after slipping on wet granite. The story uncorked a controversy over whether the cables should somehow be made safer. Some argue that they should be removed altogether – a change that would essentially pinch off the main route to Half Dome's famous summit.
Gazing up at the cables in the afternoon heat, I pulled on a pair of grippy rubber gloves and mentally committed to turning back – bailing altogether – if I grew uncomfortable. These moments of mettle-testing heighten the thrill of adventuring in the mountains. But they can also dial up the pressure people feel to conquer an obstacle or achieve a goal, making it tougher to make clear-eyed assessments of personal safety and risk.
I sucked in a breath and began climbing.
The scariest part of Yosemite’s famous Half Dome cables isn't the climb itself
Quick and Dirty
The scariest part of Yosemite’s famous Half Dome cables isn't the climb itself
By Gregory Thomas, Travel & Outdoors EditorJuly 6, 2025
Half Dome attracts an estimated 50,000 hikers who attempt to summit the crag via the famed cable route.
Carlos Avila Gonzalez/The Chronicle
I'd just hiked the grueling 7.5 miles from Yosemite Valley up to the base of the storied Half Dome cables, and though I'd researched the trek plenty, my first reaction to seeing the cables up close was, Whoa, steeper than I'd thought.
The steel hand lines mark the final 400-foot pitch up Half Dome's sloping eastern shoulder and are anchored to the crag like a piece of gleaming jewelry. The National Park Service describes them as the “most famous — or infamous — part of the journey" because they add a significant element of risk: on both sides, the granite plunges to unseen depths.
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An estimated 50,000 hikers attempt Half Dome annually, but recently the cable system has come under public scrutiny. Last summer, a young woman who was climbing the cables in a rainstorm fell to her death after slipping on wet granite. The story uncorked a controversy over whether the cables should somehow be made safer. Some argue that they should be removed altogether – a change that would essentially pinch off the main route to Half Dome's famous summit.
Gazing up at the cables in the afternoon heat, I pulled on a pair of grippy rubber gloves and mentally committed to turning back – bailing altogether – if I grew uncomfortable. These moments of mettle-testing heighten the thrill of adventuring in the mountains. But they can also dial up the pressure people feel to conquer an obstacle or achieve a goal, making it tougher to make clear-eyed assessments of personal safety and risk.
I sucked in a breath and began climbing.
The cable route is fairly narrow and appears super steep from the base of Half Dome's sloping eastern shoulder.
Gregory Thomas / The Chronicle
It was a cloudless fall afternoon and the cables, which can become clogged with climbers during busy periods, were supporting just a few late-day stragglers like myself. I felt solid and steady – that is, until I caught up to the hikers above me.
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It was a husband-wife couple in their 30s, and they were obviously way out of their comfort zones. After each laborious step, they paused to curse the cables or the slope or the rock itself, their arms shaking from strain or nerves or both.
I instantly felt tense. I'd be square in the path of any mishap. The only thing I could safely do was trail them at a distance, moving at their glacial pace.
Thankfully they managed to force themselves to the top. When I hauled myself up, I found the husband doubled over, hands on knees, panting heavily.
"That. Was. So. Irresponsible," he gasped.
As I stepped past him I nodded reflexively, wishing he'd understood that before he'd committed the three of us – himself, his wife and I – to his decision.
I'd hoped to find that these hikers were outliers among a more prepared cohort of Half Dome climbers, but they weren't. Several more appeared to be on the verge of outright panic.
The cables can become clogged with dozens of climbers going up and down simultaneously during peak periods. But catch them on an afternoon during shoulder season and you might have them nearly to yourself.
Gregory Thomas / The Chronicle
On my way down the cables after summiting, I caught up to a woman, probably in her 40s, clutching a cable and frozen with fear. Her partner, positioned below her, used his hands to guide her feet and place her steps, one at a time. She was terrified. It was excruciating to watch.
A bit further down, I neared another couple clumsily ascending. These two, perhaps in their 20s, clipped their way along the cables on carabiners rigged to waist harnesses – an extra bit of protection that some hikers bring to safeguard against a slip. But one of them was visibly flustered, fumbling with the gear and repeatedly telling her partner she wanted to turn back. But he pressed her to continue upwards: "C'mon, babe, just focus!"
The most bizarre moment of my time on the cables came when, during my descent, I pulled aside to let a climber heading up pass me. As she pulled past – wham! – a bulky object strapped to her pack swung across and walloped my face, nearly knocking off my sunglasses and skewing my hat. I turned to see she was carrying a huge orange teddy bear lashed to her pack – the kind of foam-filled prize you'd score at a carnival.
It was a harrowing moment. I'm not sure the other climber even noticed; she didn't stop. I took a moment to straighten my eyewear, shook my head in astonishment and continued down carefully.
Climbing among these strangers was one of the sketchiest experiences I've had in the mountains.
In most places, a hiker struggling with, say, heat or altitude or exhaustion can step aside to rest and regroup without endangering the people around them. But the Half Dome cables are unique. Climbers are effectively entwined on a high-consequence balance beam. Each person's decisions have the potential to ripple out and impact others above and below.
The views from the "diving board" feature on Half Dome's summit are great, but not worth putting yourself or others in jeopardy during the climb.
Gregory Thomas / The Chronicle
I'll remember my Half Dome hike as amazing but tainted. I came away rattled – not by the quality of the cables, the exposure or the difficulty of the climb. What scared me were the people.
Part of the fun of adventuring outdoors is testing ourselves in new environments, exploring the limits of our abilities. But there's no good reason to push past your threshold for personal safety in a place as precarious as the cables, where a misstep can be fatal.
Yosemite National Park posts some great top-level information about hiking Half Dome on its website while acknowledging that "for a few (hikers), it becomes more of an adventure than they wanted."
I wish it also explained the dynamic of summit fever – that hikers who make the long trek to the cables might understandably feel pressured to go for the top, particularly given how tough it can be to win a hiking permit. I'd urge anyone thinking about going up to please take a minute to make an honest appraisal of your ability at that moment.
Some hikers look up at the dizzying verticality of that final pitch and opt out on the spot. Others press partway up before changing their minds and turning back. Those are not weak moves. Those are decisions a hiker can feel good about. Don't put pressure on yourself or your hiking partners to make the ascent.
Climbing Half Dome should be a fun challenge, not a terrifying ordeal.
Greg