Sunday, August 23, 2026

Sierra Mountain High

It's been far too long since I've used these tags on this blog! I recently returned from a very special backpacking trip in the High Sierras with my dad. This is my first backpacking outing since 2019! COVID paused all my plans for a while, and since then I've had (good) lifestyle changes that have made it a bit more convoluted to plan a week-long off-the-grid outing. My dad recently suggested planning some sort of outing, and after some discussion we zoomed in on the idea of a multi-day backpacking expedition leveraging huts/camps at one of the great national parks. I had three on my list: Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, and Glacier. I had previously backpacked Yosemite and the Grand Canyon with my tent, and had been thinking for a while about making use of the wilderness lodges they provide. I hadn't backpacked in Glacier and was intrigued by that as well. We resolved to enter all of the various lotteries as they opened up until we eventually won one, and then do whatever trip that ended up being. We lucked out and were able to grab some slots from cancellations of Yosemite for 2026; that is, people who had entered the lottery in 2025 for 2026 stays, and subsequently canceled their plans. I was really happy by this: all three parks would have been exciting, but Yosemite is my favorite, and I had been particularly interested in the High Sierra Camps.

 


As a side note, I'm a little astonished to realize that I apparently don't have a blog post for my 2010 backpacking trip in Yosemite, especially since I usually think of that as my favorite wilderness trip. I think that at the time I had published a lengthy PicasaWeb photo series with tons of captioned photos that laid out the entire trip, and also a shorter Facebook post with lots of pictures. Ah, how transient the Internet has proved to be! Google has continued its terrible track record of destroying its services that I used to use and love; it's probably only a matter of time until Blogger itself shuts down. And I closed my Facebook account for good in 2024 after ghosting on it much earlier. I still have the actual photos, and I think the captions are part of the metadata, so perhaps one day I will reconstruct that particular journey.

Back to 2026! In my time of backpacking, I came to realize that the physical act of carrying a heavy load is not appealing to me: rather, I love backpacking because it gives me ground-level access to amazingly beautiful, remote, special, wild places. The heavy backpack is just the price of admission to reach those places. Which is why the High Sierra Camps sounded so appealing: these remote camps provide basic sleeping accommodations, along with a hot breakfast and supper each day. This significantly reduces the amount of gear you need to bring: you still want a sleeping bag and snacks, but don't need to carry a tent, camp stove, or nearly as much food. The High Sierra Camps are each about a day's hike apart, and you can chain them together into a large loop. This ended up being somewhat like my experience with the Hiking Huts in the New Zealand Great Walks

 


 

I didn't just feel lucky that we got the cancellation, I felt lucky that they were open at all. While the camps have operated almost uninterrupted since they opened in the 1920s, including through World War II, they have only been opened four times in the last ten years. Some of those closures have seemed reasonable - most particularly, the COVID-19 pandemic, and also a particularly heavy snow year that significantly damaged the camps. However, as we learned while chatting with more fellow hikers on this trip, the most significant factor is their current management. While the National Park Service oversees the actual park, collecting entrance fees and managing wilderness permits, all of the commercial operations within the park are handled through a single franchise agreement. For many years this was granted to the private company Delaware North, who built a fantastic reputation for high quality, service and value. In recent years, though, the contract has been taken over by publicly traded Aramark, a multinational conglomerate. As one hiker observed, Aramark makes most of its money feeding prisoners and elementary school kids, so that's the standard they're used to providing. The High Sierra Camps are very special, but given their extremely limited size, very short season (usually only open from June through early September), remote location and unique requirements, Aramark doesn't really want anything to do with them so will take any excuse they can find to keep them closed. This has had a particularly rough impact on the staff - in one year, they only learned on June 1st that the camps would be closed and they would all need to find new jobs. Many of the old hands who had spent years or decades running the camps understandably left for new jobs, and so when the camps have reopened they have had an inexperienced (though enthusiastic) staff.

That sounds like a lot of complaining, so I should note here that my personal experience on this trip was fantastic - I loved the accommodations, the settings, the staff and the meals. But at the same time the hikers who had done the loop before Aramark took over said that it used to be even better.

On to the trip itself! I was able to use almost all of my existing gear from my last trips.  I did finally replace the Aqua Mira water treatment kit that I've had since 2008; there's still some left, but I figured a fresh kit would probably be safer. I also got some new bug repellent to replace a much older one. Fortunately, I never needed to use either thing - I had enough water for each leg of the journey without needing any refills in the wild, and we were blessedly free of mosquitoes through the entire trip.

 


 

I have a standard checklist in Google Sheets that I use to pack. It's a sort of "master sheet", and I won't bring everything on every trip, based on what I expect to encounter. On this one I was able to forego my cooking supplies and stuff; but I did pack a paperback book, notebook and pen, which I often omit for my solo trips.

My dad flew out to the Bay Area and we had a few good days here, meeting up with cousins and exploring the area. We left on a Thursday morning. I was planning to take 120 all the way into the park, and was aware that 140 might be a better alternative depending on traffic. Traffic was great, though, and we reached the park itself within 4 hours as opposed to the 5+ I'd been planning on.

 


 

We entered the park in the early afternoon and drove down through the tunnels into Yosemite Valley. It was really hot this day, with a high of over 100 degrees. We ate lunch in the shade near the Merced River, watching some other families and couples wade and swim in the water, and got some great views of El Capitan. We then drove to the east side of the park and did a little hike up through Happy Isles. I'd imagined this as a short out-and-back, but we ended up going up a mule trail to the Mist Trailhead, then down to Vernal Falls and back down the John Muir Trail to the valley. It was a hot hike, but we had good shade for almost the whole way, and it felt good to move our bodies.

 


 

We then left the valley and drove up Tioga Road to the Tuolumne Meadows Lodge, which took a little under two hours. There was fantastic scenery for most of the drive up, great forests and mountains all around. At the lodge we checked in and were assigned the first of many tent cabins we would stay at during our trip. Each cabin is built over a concrete slab; in the winter, they are able to disassemble the entire tent so it isn't crushed by the snow, then reassemble it in the spring. Instead of walls, they have thick canvas, held up by sturdy metal beams. They have a couple of simple rope-pulled "windows" built into the "walls" that you can open to let air and light through - but no bugs, thanks to the screen.  Each cabin has a wood-burning stove with firewood, matches and kindling. It was so hot the whole time we were up there that the idea of lighting the stove sounded ludicrous. You also get a little closet-type space with a couple of hangers and two low shelves; the later tent cabins in the High Sierra Camps had one of these per bed, but the cabins in the Lodge only had a single one per cabin. The beds were simple but good, elevated with springs, a mattress, a coarse wool blanket, a soft comforter, pillow and pillowcase. The beds at the lodge had a sheet, the ones at the camps did not, hence the use of a sleeping bag. The cabins also come with a simple card table, a folding chair, and some rechargeable LED lanterns.

Bear safety is very important through Yosemite, particularly the storage of food and other scented items. At all of the sleeping areas, trailheads and major pullouts, you'll see large bear bins. These are sturdy metal contraptions that keep bears out. They're large enough to hold a good-sized cooler. Most of them are first-come first-served, and I never had trouble finding room for stuff. At the Lodge, there are also smaller cubbies for each cabin near the restrooms, intended for toiletries but also fine for smaller quantities of food.

 


 

After settling into the cabin, we munched on some homemade sandwiches near a pleasant creek running past the lodge, and then took off on a short hike along the John Muir Trail. This crossed the Dana Fork of the Tuolumne River before reaching Twin Bridges, which spans what I believe is the "main" Tuolumne River. This was a really pretty area, with a nice babbling creek, peaceful meadow and views of mounains. We lingered for a bit, and headed back to the cabin as dusk fell.

 


 

I'd assumed that I could keep my car parked at the Lodge since we were both starting and ending the trip there, but parking is actually very limited and only overnight guests are allowed in the lot. Fortunately there's lots of other parking nearby, and the desk clerk helpfully provided a sheet with a list of options. They recommended the Lembert Dome parking area since it's the shortest distance to Glen Aulin; after consulting my map, I opted instead for Parsons Lodge. It's about the same distance from Glen Aulin, but would be a slightly shorter return on our last day. It would also take us directly through Tuolumne Meadow and through the Soda Spring, which I hadn't previously seen. There was plenty of parking at this trailhead, along with plenty of bear box space, so we ditched the now-empty cooler in there, hoisted our packs, and started hiking!

 


 

Immediately we were confused. There was massive construction along the north edge of Tioga Road. We would learn later that they were replacing the water system, but in the meantime the main trails were inaccessible. Fortunately, we saw another hiker walking along a berm, so we were able to follow him until we got to the main trail.

The walk across the Meadows itself was lovely. Nice and flat, perfect for getting acclimated to the elevation and our packs. We could see forest above us, and when we looked back we could see large mountains. It was going to be a warm day, but so far it was nice and cool in the morning.

 


 

We reached Parsons Lodge, a historic site. There's a visitor's center there that doesn't open until 9am, but we were able to check out the structures and historical markers. The most interesting thing here is Soda Springs, a natural spring that emits fizzy carbonated water, like La Croix from the ground. According to the nearby plaque, scientists still aren't 100% certain what causes it, but it seems likely that alkalis enter the ground from a great distance, react with minerals in the water and produce pressure that pushes the bubbly water up and out. This water is apparently perfectly fine to drink, and a favorite of thru-hikers. 

 


 

Continuing on to the edge of the meadow, we picked up the Tuolumne River and followed it into the rockier areas to the north and west. We walked through some forest and increasingly along rock, getting periodic views of the nice blue water.

 


 

One of the appealing aspects of starting the trip with the Glen Aulin leg is that it's a net descent, dropping from 8700 feet to about 7900. But, while downhill can be less tiring than uphill, it can also be more challenging. There are downward slopes, stone stairs, mixes of pebbles and gravel, and some particularly tricky stretches that are like rounded cobblestones. I found that my mountain-goat tendencies came back to me pretty easily and I was able to hop along without too much trouble. My dad, hailing from the flatlands and with no previous backpacking experience, didn't fare as well, and over a couple of particularly steep stretches found myself tugged down by his backpack. Later on we realized that a set of straps were too loose, causing the top of his pack to sag back behind him and pulling back his center of gravity even more; after tightening those, the pack sat closer to his neck and the overall balance was way better. I felt bad about not doing a thorough inspection or anything before we headed out; I've always been a solo backpacker, and don't even consciously think now about how I'm walking, so I ended up doing the unhelpful "Oh, you should have done that" instead of the proactive "Oh, you should do this."

 


 

We paused for a nice lunch near a powerful waterfall through the granite east of Glen Aulin, finishing the last of our sandwiches. We had some more steep descent into Glen Aulin, crossed several cool bridges and entered the camp.

 


 

I checked in with Tony, the very tall and friendly camp manager. He told us that we'd probably have a tent cabin to ourselves this night, which was a pleasant surprise. We unpacked all of our stuff and changed out of our hiking shoes into comfy camp footgear. I have a small day-light pack that clips on to my main pack, and whenever we got to a camp I would detach that so I'd have an easy way to carry my water bottle, book, and anything else I wanted. 

Glen Aulin was super-pretty, and may have been our favorite camp of the entire trip. It's right next to a waterfall, and we had that really pleasant white noise throughout the entire stay. The waterfall plunges into a crystal-clear pool right next to the camp, and people enjoyed swimming and wading in the pool. While we didn't do any long day hikes from the camp, a short way down the trail to Waterwheel Falls you see a lovely side canyon with a series of waterfalls and dramatic peaks rising to either side.

All of the camps have running water and have historically offered showers, although we'd been warned that due to maintenance issues not all showers were operating. I wasn't planning on taking any showers during this trip, mostly because I've never had the opportunity on previous backpacking trips and it seemed superfluous; but since we had plenty of time and I was curious, I ended up giving it a try. The facilities don't look at all fancy, but it's an engineering miracle to get water at all out there, and I was glad to have the opportunity to wash the trail dirt off me.

I was expecting the meals to be similar to the ones I'd had at the Phantom Ranch canteen, and that proved to be pretty accurate. Everything is served family-style, with people choosing their own seats and big containers of food coming out to share. At Glen Aulin the cook had baked some homemade bread, which was really delicious; it had raisins in it and was soft, dense and just a little moist. There were also some really nice roasted vegetables, including some really delicious sweet potatoes. The entree was pork chops, and we had some chocolate cake for dessert.

While I've historically enjoyed the solitude of wilderness backpacking, in my more recent trips I've conversely come to enjoy the loose camaraderie that comes with getting to know people in the back-country. You're sharing trails, meals and sleeping space with people, and it does feel fun to strike up conversations and get to know people. Folks come from all sorts of places and walks of life, but pretty much everyone is here because they love the outdoors, and it feels good to know we have that in common. On our first night, we sat with an older pair of men from Orange County who had been hiking in this area for decades. We learned that they like to spend two nights at Glen Aulin and then two nights at May Lake, which I now think is a fantastic idea: after the heavy weight of hiking in with a full backpack, you can just grab a lighter daypack and do day hikes for the next day while you recuperate. It's also inspiring to see and hear how many people keep coming back to these hikes despite knee or ankle problems. Despite the discomfort, they find ways to adapt and continue doing the things they love instead of stopping altogether.

After the meal, Tony gave a few words to all of us; he was pretty funny. He introduced the cook, a relative old-timer who has been working in Yosemite since 2015. Apparently this was the first time he had baked the bread, and he was pleased to hear it had turned out well. He gave us a history of the High Sierra Camps, noting in particular that Glen Aulin will turn 100 years old in 2027. He then pulled out a ukulele and played and sang "You're Welcome" from Moana - a funny thematic choice so far away from the ocean, but also a super fun experience!

The staff let us know of a good nearby spot to watch the sunset, along that same path to Waterwheel Falls. It was beautiful, with a really nice orangey color. Tired, we returned to the cabin and fell asleep to the sound of the waterfall.

 


 

Breakfast the next morning was a bit more casual. I think they set out coffee around 7:00 and started serving around 7:30. We each got a bowl of oatmeal as we came in, and I think got bacon and pancakes as well. It was yummy food, and I made myself eat it. I know from experience that my appetite tends to wane as I do more physical activity, and I also know that I really need to make myself eat a lot more calories than usual when I'm backpacking. We sat next to a young couple from Reno Nevada and had a great chat with them, swapping some hiking experiences but also just chatting about our lives and interests.

Packing back up was pretty easy; it's an advantage to having such simple accommodations and carrying literally everything in one backpack. We hiked out and on our way to May Lake. This day would see a larger rise in elevation, but overall it felt much more comfortable than our first day. I think a lot of things were going well for us. The biomes were very varied, including a lot of nice forested dirt paths, which were easier on our feet and kept us cool. It was a bit less warm overall, and would continue to cool more with each day. We had also been at elevation for several days now, and our lungs had grown better acclimated to the thin atmosphere. We were more dialed in to our packs, noticing when things were off and straps needed adjusting. Dad had gotten more used to his walking sticks, using them more for balance and not pushing off them. And we had had a nice hearty breakfast with a lot of good fuel to start off the day.

 


 

So we were feeling well and moving well throughout the day's journey. We agreed early on to make ourselves stop and rest every hour to keep up our energy; we made more frequent breaks when going up steep inclines, finding shady spots to sip water. Fortunately we got some good cool breezes throughout the day, which significantly increased our comfort and mood.

 


 

There's often a tradeoff when hiking through areas like this. When walking through a shaded forest, the actual hike is very comfortable, but there usually isn't much of a view other than the trees. When walking through rocks, the hike tends to be steeper and less comfortable, but you can also get amazing views of the surroundings: there, that included mountain ridgelines, rivers, distant lakes and winding trails. I loved the variety we got through all four days of hiking; it never felt like we were doing one thing all day long, instead we would duck in and out of various biomes as we made our way towards each new camp.

 


 

The hardest part of this day was a climb up an exposed mountain face. Once we made it through there, we re-entered a forest and made our way to May Lake. There's a slightly misleading sign that reads something like "May Lake: 0.2 Miles". While that makes it sound like you're almost there, the actual May Lake Camp is quite a bit further ahead: not a huge deal, but for people with nearly depleted stamina, it can mean a lot!

 


 

We walked past the titular May Lake on our way into the camp. It's absolutely beautiful, another snow-fed alpine lake with a striking peak rising behind it. The wind was very calm this day, so we got to enjoy the mirror-like reflection of the peak in the water.

 


 

We checked in, and got placed into a six-person tent cabin. Coincidentally, we were placed with the men we had eaten dinner with and the couple we had eaten breakfast with at Glen Aulin! That was a fun coincidence. It started to rain just a little after we checked in, and it felt really peaceful to lay on our beds and hear the raindrops splat against the canvas roof. Throughout the afternoon there was very little rain, but some pretty dramatic sounds of thunder. We spent a good amount of the afternoon inside the main office/dining/recreation area. I believe that back in the Delaware North days this space would operate as a canteen like Phantom Ranch does, open to campers and backpackers and thru-hikers to buy a beer or candy bar or postcard or just sit at a table to play some cards, journal or whatever. Anyways, we found a Scrabble box here, and played a couple of fun games; we realized after the first round that it was missing "Q", "Z" and a blank tile.

 


 

Supper this night came with some brocolini, mashed potatoes, and "Shepherds Pie": this was a single big stainless-steel pot with layers of ground beef, cheese and mashed potatoes. It was super-yummy, maybe one of my favorite things I ate for the whole trip. Dessert was some kind of a cranberry biscuit thing. 

After dinner the staff made a campfire in a firepit near the lake. This hadn't been allowed in Glen Aulin, due to park regulations forbidding fires below 8000 feet. It was nice to sit and chat with some of the staff and fellow hikers. The cook came out to join us for a bit; I forget his name, he had cool and interesting looped hair. People discussed the conditions of the other camps, including Lake Merced and Vogelsang which still have not reopened since the pandemic. We also heard about yoga at Lembert Dome, and complaints about frozen meatballs that were served in previous years. It was all relaxed and nice. 

The next morning we got to see... not the literal sunrise, but the beautiful effects of the sunrise on May Lake and the mountain behind it, which turned such a wonderful series of colors with the passing minutes. After coffee and breakfast, we packed up to head out. The young couple had already taken off, getting an early start to maximize the cool part of the day. The older gentlemen were going to spend another day at May Lake, and in the meantime would get a better position within the tent cabin.

 


 

We'd been warned that this third day, from May Lake to Sunrise, would be the most difficult: while you start and end at around the same elevation, there's a big descent to Lake Tenaya and Tioga Road before another big ascent back up to Sunrise. But this day still felt better to us than the first day did. It started with a short mile-and-a-half hike to the trailhead. May Lake is "famous" for having the shortest required hike of the High Sierra Camps, making it also one of the most popular: it can be a good choice for a single night in-and-out for more casual hikers, as well as for people who need to get a later start in the day. After a brief confusion in the trailhead parking lot, we found the right trail just past the mule staging area. Or I should say "trail"; this was actually the old Tioga Road, originally built in the 1880s, largely by Chinese laborers, to improve access to a silver mine that promptly went defunct. Yet another interesting hiking surface, this had some stretches of blacktop but was mostly eroded down to dirt. There was another stumble here in the uneven road, which felt a bit humbling to me: on a multi-day long journey, we are taking hundreds of thousands of steps, over countless roots and patches of scree and uneven steps and loose pebbles and who knows what else, and all it takes is a single bad step to put us at risk of toppling.

 


 

The rest of the path down was quite and uneventful, and came with periodic pretty views of Lake Tenaya, which we had passed on our initial drive up Tioga Road. It felt odd to come into range of the road and begin to hear the sound of traffic again after several days without it. We scooched across the road, and then came to a sign puzzlingly labeled "TRAIL JUNCTION". That was it: no description of what trail went where. (It was even more baffling on first sight, when I thought it read "TRAIN JUNCTION".) After consulting my handy map, we figured it out and pressed on.

 


 

We had a brief stay at Lake Tenaya, enjoying the pretty blue of the water, and the sight of people enjoying watersports on it; there were a few inflatable rafts and boogie boards and things in there. We headed back to the trail and pressed onward: there was going to be a lot more climbing on our way to Sunrise Camp. 

The way up was pretty steep, but again we were good about taking frequent short rests for shade and oxygen on our ascent. It was around lunchtime when we reached the intersection with the trail towards Cloud's Rest continuing south and our path to Sunrise to the east. We ducked a little to the west and nibbled on our sack lunches. Each of the camps offers a lunch that you can order the night before. We had been told that these would be offered for $20, and everyone was surprised to learn that they were actually provided for free. There were a few different options each day. I think that the first day I got a turkey wrap (in a flour tortilla), the second day was a pastrami sandwich with jack cheese, and the third day I got a PB&J. Anyways, it felt good to once again remove our packs and relax while refueling and enjoying the scenery.

 


 

I scouted a bit ahead in this western direction, along an unmarked but fairly prominent social trail. The gentlemen we had previously shared a cabin with had told us that this led to a really striking view of Yosemite Valley, and I determined that they were correct: after just a few minutes down the informal trail, you can see a straight shot down Tenaya Canyon to Yosemite Valley, including a particularly cool view of Half Dome. I snapped some shots, returned to my dad, and we went down for some more selfie action.

 


 

Back on the trail, we passed the Sunrise Lakes. I had learned the previous night that, unlike May, the Sunrise Camp isn't near its titular lakes, so we spent a little extra time enjoying looking at the water, and Dad got to dip his feet in one. Apparently all the lakes were fairly warm, as the snow had melted some time ago and, being relatively shallow, they are well-warmed by the sun.

 


 

We had a bit more climbing past the lakes, passing through yet another entirely new biome: deeply sandy, this stretch looked a bit like a dessert. I am very curious about how these areas turn out the way they do: what combination of elevation, geological age, sun exposure, rainfall patterns, and flora cause different parts of the trail to turn out so differently?

 


 

The final approach into Sunrise was mostly a descent. Each of the camps we stayed at had its own unique character; we had learned previously that each camp's staff lives there for the summer, so they kind of develop their own culture. An early striking thing about Sunrise was the colorful hand-drawn signage, pointing the way to fresh water, to toilets, and so on. We hiked through the backpacker's camp and past the spread-out tents before finally reaching the main office. This was a bit different as well: while it seems like Glen Aulin planned room assignments in advance, at Sunrise it seems like we got assigned upon checkin.

 


 

We turned out to have a pretty fantastic assignment: Cabin 3 was on the eastern edge of the camp, and just past a boulder to a fantastic outcropping that oversaw a sweeping view of a meadow and the surrounding mountains. We were soon joined by our cabin-mates, a pair of ladies from the San Diego area. They had come in on a grueling hike from the Cathedral Lakes trailhead, but like many other hikers were going to spend two nights in this camp before heading back.

 


 

Sunrise also had the nicest showers of any of the camps we stayed at: large, clean, and blissfully warm. We later learned that they have large black water bladders on the roof of the bathroom, which soaks up sun throughout the day and warms the water. Conversely, this was the one place we stayed at that did not have flush toilets, instead an elevated solar-composting toilet. This was smelly, but perfectly fine.

 


 

Supper was a nicely-seasoned trout, which was my second-favorite entree of the trip. We had the same cook as at Glen Aulin: apparently one of the cooks had gotten sick, so the remaining cooks needed to stretch themselves thin to cover them. He gave another great little talk to the guests after dinner. It was fun to recognize how many of us had been on this three-day journey together, and to see him connecting with new folks as well. Our roommates were delighted to realize that he had been their cook at Vogelsang in 2018, one of the last times before that camp closed.

 


 

After supper, pretty much everyone came out to that rocky overcrop to watch the sunset while we chatted. It was once again beautiful, with a pinky glow gradually suffusing the mountains. We woke up early enough the next day to watch the sunrise, coming up over the mountains as we watched. We had thought we might see some wildlife in the vast meadow during dusk or dawn, but it stayed quiet. In general there were fewer animals around than I would have thought. My dad saw a mule deer on our drive up, we didn't see many animals at all for our first day or so, then eventually saw a few cute little birds, an osprey, some marmots and chipmunks, and finally some deer near the end.

 


 

Our last breakfast was biscuits and gravy, along with oatmeal and, hm, maybe toast. My dad jokingly asked when they would bring us some carbs. Interestingly we didn't have any eggs during any of our breakfasts; I'm curious if this is a cost thing, or if they're too fragile to carry up the trails, or if they don't work well for the large servings they provide.

We'd been warned that the leg out would be long, but fortunately it was mostly a descent for us, starting at 9400 feet and ending around 8700. The hike out of Sunrise is glorious, along that beautiful large meadow. We steadily drew closer to the Cathedral Peaks, which I think were my favorite feature from my 2010 backpacking trip. It was so cool to get various looks at them as we approached and eventually passed them.

 


 

We paused for a nice long stay at Upper Cathedral Lake, yet another stunningly beautiful lake. The water was perfectly clear, and we got to see a trout happily swimming around and around a rock. We hiked further down, then took a side trail to Lower Cathedral Lake. That was my favorite camping spot in 2010, and it felt so special to be back there 16 years later with my dad. We ate lunch there, and my dad got to go for a proper (short) swim.

 


 

As we hiked further back, we passed more and more people: we were back within range of day-hiking, but also chatted with some people who were on weeks-long treks along the John Muir Trail or other very long expeditions.

 


 

Eventually we got back to the trailhead, picking up the JMT to bypass Tioga for the last bit. Along the way we were passed by a mule train, which was pretty fun: mules supply all of the camps, and we had been very grateful for their hard work.

Actually getting back to the Parsons Lodge trailhead was mildly deflating, as the water-pipe construction project was in full force, so we hear lots of CLANG THUD POW BAM CLANG sounds, instead of the peaceful nature sounds we'd been accustomed to over the previous days. But it was fine. We got back to our car, and I was pleased to see everything still intact, just slightly more dust than usual. In a few minutes, we were back at the Lodge and checked in for our final night!

This ended up being slightly different. When I initially got our cancellation, I was able to get the camps and the lodge for the day after our trip, but at the time there were no openings for the day before. I'd been keeping an eye open for availability, since they recommend spending the night before the trip at the higher elevation to give your body more time to acclimate. I was eventually able to get that cabin; but it was considered a "regular" reservation and not part of the High Sierra Camp loop. But our return night was part of that itinerary. This meant that as with the camps we would be sharing a cabin; but it also meant that we would get a free meal as part of our stay.

At the cabin, we were happy to see that we had been placed with the two gentlemen we had previously lodged with at May Lake. It was fun to swap stories with them; they were pleased to hear we had followed their instructions for the "secret" view of the Valley, and we enjoyed heading about the hiking they had done near May Lake on their second day.

At dinner, we were seated with a couple who were just about to head out on the same loop themselves. They were a really fun couple, great story-tellers, and we were able to bond over some shared family experiences.

Later that night, we attended a ranger talk at the fire pit outside the Lodge dining room. This was a free-flowing chat, where people would ask any random questions they had and the ranger would do her best to answer. We talked a lot about bats, which reminded me of a long-ago trip to Mammoth where I first learned that bats eat mosquitoes, at which point I decided that bats are awesome. I still feel that way! There were also chats about bighorn sheep, bears, ranger lodgings, winter hiking, and much more.

After that, many people drove up to Lembert Dome, where the same ranger gave a star talk. The Perseids were active, and it seemed like a larger-than-usual turnout as many people were hoping to see some of them. The ranger had a green laser pointer that she could use to point out constellations. It had been clear earlier, but partly clouded over around this time, so we could only see a few constellations. Still, we got to see the Big Dipper, Scorpio, Cassiopeia, and I think one or two others. I got to see a shooting star, so that was pretty fun!

This was definitely the latest night we stayed up; it still wasn't super-late, but most days we were in our cabins shortly after the sun went down. We slept pretty well. The next day we woke up a little early, and retraced the same hike as our first day, down the John Muir Trail to Twin Bridges. Here we got to watch the sunrise, which once again felt magical: next to a babbling brook, looking at a wide open meadow with mountains rising in the distance. It's such a beautiful place.

 


 

Back at the lodge, we ordered breakfast and ate with a couple from Munich who had come to the States specifically to hike in Yosemite. They weren't doing the High Sierra Camps but had already done a lot of great hikes in the valley floor and were looking forward to more in the Tuolumne area. They were going to visit San Francisco before flying home, and I enjoyed getting to share a few suggestions for fun ways to spend their time there.

Heading out, we stopped by Olmsted Point on our way out of the park. This is a fantastic scenic overlook right off of Tioga Road that has commanding views down into Yosemite Valley and out at the many mountains in the higher Sierras. I learned that Frederick Law Olmsted was one of the first commissioners of Yosemite Park after it was established by Abraham Lincoln; he also designed New York's Central Park. And, I learned from my dad, he also was instrumental in in designing Chicago's Lakeshore park! It's cool to see such a range of wild and urban lands thoughtfully considered by this one man, and so great to have grown up in a world where earlier planners thoughtfully set aside these green spaces for us to enjoy.

 


 

There's a short but rocky descent from the parking lot that brings you to an even nicer viewpoint, so we spent a little more time there, snapping a couple of final selfies. And then, up and out of the park!

 


 

This was such a great trip, and a fantastic return to backpacking after my seven-year hiatus.  Nicely challenging but never scary or painful, it lived up to my hopes of a slightly more comfortable hiking experience that also let me fully inhabit these beautiful, remote, wild spaces. It was also really special to have my first-ever experience backpacking with someone else, swapping solitude for good conversation and company. I hope that the High Sierra Camps continue to operate and improve, and that others get to experience this really special opportunity.

Saturday, August 22, 2026

This Is Your Brain On Money

I've been poking away at a reading list of Boglehead-adjacent people writing on financial topics. My most recent entry is "Your Money & Your Brain" by Jason Zweig. I was interested in the topic, and even more interested in reading Zweig - he is highly regarded in the circles I frequent, with his columns often quoted as gospel in relation to current economic trends and investment fads to beware. I don't subscribe to the Wall Street Journal so I haven't directly read his columns, but I've been impressed by the guest pieces I've seen from him elsewhere and from a few appearances at Bogleheads conferences.

 



As you can guess from the title, the book is about the psychology of investing, adjacent to behavioral economics. I loathe the subtitle of the book: "How The New Science of Neuroeconomics Can Help Make You Rich." I strongly suspect that subtitle was driven by the publisher and not the author, as this is not a get-rich-quick book and in fact warns against that kind of mindset. This was a rare book that I bought as a physical paperback rather than checking out from the library, and I was kind of embarrassed to show the cover while reading in public lest onlookers believe I am some sort of greedy fool.

The actual book is great, though! It's much more science-based than I imagined. Somewhat like The Wisdom of Crowds, it's mostly directly based on published academic research and interviews with leading scientists, supplemented by some of Zweig's own reporting and experience as a personal finance journalist. By far the most frequently quoted source is Daniel Kahneman, the author of the fantastic book Thinking Fast and Slow. I found there to be a great deal of overlap between the two books: TF&S is a lot longer, but does spend a surprising amount of time on discussing investments, and I don't think there's a whole lot of actionable information in YM&YB that you wouldn't find in TF&S.

Interestingly, while Kahneman was a psychologist and Zweig a journalist, YM&YB goes much more into the biology of psychology than TF&S does: it describes major areas of the brain, like the amygdala, including what it looks like, where it's located, what function it serves and how it has behaved in different experiments. This sort of in-depth biological analysis continues throughout the book. It's kind of cool, but at the same time felt somewhat useless to me; I can't really do anything with that knowledge. The overarching idea is that the way we think about money is rooted in biological processes that evolved over millennia, which is helpful for us to keep in mind, so we don't overly moralize others' decisions or excessively criticize our own, and so we can recognize and respect why these forces in our brain are so powerful and hard to overcome. This additional level of detail builds credibility for this perspective of seeing our brains as fundamentally suspect organs built for a different world than the one we deploy them in; but personally I already believed that perspective.

The prose in this book is really punchy. I can tell that Zweig is a columnist: he uses lots of striking metaphors, pop-culture references, and surprising sentence constructions. In small doses I found this really engaging, but for me it could feel like a lot at book length, and I started kind of glazing over some of the subject matter introductions after I'd been reading for a while.

Many parts of the book seem at first to be contradictory. One section writes about how we're attracted to new and novel things, so we tend to naturally be drawn to flashy, buzzy products like internet stocks over boring things like utility bonds. Another section writes about how we tend to trust things we're familiar with, so people tend to invest in the company they work for instead of ones they're less familiar with. Those two observations seem contradictory (preferring novelty vs. preferring familiarity), but both are true, and I think it's helpful to recognize both forces at work. Some sections write about how we're drawn to risk and the promise of a big payday, others how we're risk-averse and fear losses. Again, both are true, and can be true of the same person of the same stock, at different points in that stock's trajectory: we're overly elated when buying a new stock that we believe will keep soaring up, and overly distraught when that stock takes a plunge. Taken as a whole, things like this explain why most people have a natural tendency to buy high and sell low.

Most of this book seems to be geared towards people who buy and sell individual stocks. I've never been one of those people, and I wonder how many of them are out there. I know that was a huge thing during the late-90s and early-2000 tech bubble, which Zweig was present for. My impression is that these days most investors use mutual funds, primarily index funds, possibly with tilts for various factors (US versus international, small cap versus large cap, value versus growth, perhaps some sector concentrations, etc.). But I don't know if that's actually true; maybe I've been in the Boglehead bubble for too long! Wall Street Bets definitely proves that there's a big group who likes investing in individual stocks (with leverage!), so maybe there's still a big group of stock-pickers out there, just one I don't think about much.

My favorite part of this book was the late chapter on Happiness. I don't think I necessarily learned anything new from it, but it might be the best-written piece I've read on the topic of money and happiness. People always want more money, no matter how wealthy they are. If you're destitute, more money does increase happiness, but the effect quickly wanes beyond a fairly low point. The anticipation of getting something (money, a car, a home improvement) is greater than the pleasure of actually getting it; and the pleasure of getting it is much better than the pleasure of having it. But experiences tend to get better over time: we remember a vacation more fondly than we actually felt while on that vacation, for example.

As with Thinking Fast And Slow, Zweig highlights the importance of optimism. It helps everything in life: it makes our moment-to-moment and day-to-day experiences more pleasant, but it also tends to lead to stronger relationships, business success and other external markers of improvement. One new thing that I did learn from this chapter is that older people tend to be happier than younger people, and based on research, it appears that this is because older people are better at blocking unpleasant thoughts and images from their mind: even if they experience the same distressing thing as a younger person, it tends not to be as activating for them. 

Like some other books I've liked, including The Wisdom of Crowds and Battle for the Soul of Capitalism, this book was written during the years after the dot-com bust and before the 2008 financial crisis. It always feels so weird to me to revisit financial writing from that period, as it inhabits a very specific mindset that doesn't feel like anything before or after. There's some hard-won world-weary wisdom coming out of the Internet bubble crash, and as readers we know about this other big wave that's coming but the authors are oblivious. 

All in all, I think Your Money & Your Brain is a really helpful book, presenting the findings of behavioral economists in a really direct and digestible manner; the lessons and advice it gives are far more helpful than, say, tips on sector tilts or bond maturities. That said, I think for someone like me who has already immersed themselves into writing in this space, there isn't a whole lot of brand-new information. But as with most things in investing, it's always helpful to re-center ourselves and recommit to the actions that we know will lead us to success, even when our lizard brains are insisting we go another way.

Monday, July 20, 2026

The Dawn of Everything

I've just wrapped up a particularly fascinating, meaty, and provocative book: The Dawn of Everything, by David Wengrow and the late David Graeber, is a very ambitious book about the history of, well, us: the society of human beings. My friend Dan recommended it, and it dovetails in some ways with Nexus, a similarly fascinating historical/anthropological/psychological exploration. This book covers a lot of ground and it's hard to do justice to it, but I'll give it a shot!

 


As background: human beings as a species have existed for about 200,000 years, and for basically that entire time we've lived in communities: so-called "bands" or "tribes" that extend beyond the immediate family unit. However, we only have written history for about 5,000 years. So the question is, what were we doing for the 195,000 years before we started writing about what we were doing? And that in turn dovetails with a question that philosophers and sociologists have been asking for the last three or four centuries: what is Mankind like in a "state of nature"? That is, what is our default, "pure" form like, before we invented agriculture, cities, kings and all the other trappings of what we now call civilization?

They identify two main answers to that question. The first, which they attribute to Jean-Jacques Rousseau, is that originally humans were egalitarian bands of hunter-gatherers. Being nomadic, we didn't have any need to "own" land, and didn't have any possessions beyond what we carried. This was an idyllic time, cooperating with one another to hunt woolly mammoths or to pick acorns to eat. When we invented agriculture, we "ran towards our chains", giving up our freedom and shackling ourselves to specific pieces of land, at which point we needed ownership and defense and laws. These permanent settlements gave rise to compounds and cities, at which point we could start accumulating more property, which needed "protection", and we ended up with the hierarchical system we have today. This school of thought has tended to be associated with leftist thinkers.

The alternative explanation is associated with Hobbes, with the infamous idea that in a state of nature the life of Man is "nasty, brutish and short." Mankind practice pure dominance, might-makes-right, with the strong taking whatever they can from the weak: their food, their tools, their women and children. In this view, we willingly subordinate ourselves to authority (chieftains, police, etc.) in order to protect ourselves from our brutal fellow men. In this telling we exchange our freedom for safety, instead of for property, and civilization is a clearly superior progression, while the Rousseauian view is more ambivalent about the change. This Hobbesian school of thought is associated more with conservative, right-leaning thinkers.

But neither Roueasseu nor Hobbes were arguing from any sort of evidence: they said at the time that these were thought experiments, illustrative tales of how things might have happened. Now we have a lot more knowledge. The authors are an archeologist and an anthropologist, taking a very broad look at the actual discoveries we have made that shed real light on what we actually used to be like and how we changed. Unlike most practitioners who are extremely granular in their research and don't connect the dots, these two recognize larger trends (or contradictions) in the evidence and present a higher-level view, backed up by evidence, that is very very different from how we thought things were. The book does sometimes have a bit of a speculative flavor, but they are careful to call out what evidence they have; and, they remind us, the conventional wisdom is itself rarely evidence-based, so at a minimum we should think about why we believe certain things to be true.

So, were Hobbes or Rousseau correct? Neither one, and the actual picture is far more complicated and multi-faceted. To grossly summarize, there is no one "state of nature", and throughout history and around the world, there have been all sorts of different societies and civilizations observed. There's no linear progression from foraging to farming to civilization, and no progression from anarchy to dominance. One of the most remarkable findings is that even within a given year bands would move back and forth between different modes. One tribe might spend their summers in a village, leisurely trading and crafting, and then spend their winters in tighter hunting bands under the authority of a leader. Another tribe might do the opposite: part-time village life with police and chieftains, then during the hunting season cooperating in more egalitarian bands. That turns into one of the biggest questions of this book: how did we lose this flexibility that we used to have to move between different modes of political and cultural organization? We seem to have "gotten stuck" in history, where we are now permanently locked into systems of dominance and exploitation: capitalism, patriarchy, nationalism.

We do still feel some echoes of those ancient rhythms in our modern lives. For 11 months out of the year we are all told to work hard and to consume; but around Christmas time, suddenly all of the brands are advertising that it's better to give than to receive, that it's important to spend time with family and loved ones for the holiday. And in Europe it's common to take a month in the summer to leave the city and spend that time in the countryside. Both of these feel like faint remnants of the sort of flexibility we once had. Travel itself is an ancient practice for us: around the time of the last Ice Age people would roam around entire continents; it's been far more recent for us to stay stationary in our river valleys and coastal settlements.

Archeological records indicate that many pre-historical groups were able to supply all of their food needs with about two days' worth of work a week, which left all of the remaining time for other activities like dancing, conversation, artwork, long travel for fun, and so on. This is opposite the view that was actively promulgated during the Victoria era, which said that in ancient times people had to toil long hours merely to subsist. As we have "advanced" as a species, we have tended to work more hours, not less, which is the opposite of what we are promised. This has only very recently begun to shift back towards leisure (specifically in Europe in the last 80 years or so), and is still far beyond what our ancient ancestors apparently enjoyed.

Agriculture and farming is usually depicted as an ineluctable force: once we discovered farming, its advantages were so great that it out-competed all other modes of subsistence. But again, the actual record says otherwise. Tons of societies around the world were aware of farming and had neighbors who practiced it, and could have successfully raised crops in their own land, but they chose not to do it, instead pursuing foraging or hunting or fishing or other modes. They weighed the pros and cons and decided, "Nah."

This is one thing I really like about this book: it emphasizes human choice and agency, much more in line with Thomas Piketty than with Karl Marx. Technologies and ecologies can open possibilities, but we as humans decide what to do, we aren't driven by physical forces to always do one thing. As the authors repeatedly point out, politics and culture are huge. As a sidebar, think of all the dumb self-destructive things we do in the US: eat food that we know will make us sick, use a confusing measurement system instead of a simple one, drive cars that are expensive to fuel and hard to park. In most cases, we do those things to differentiate ourselves from another group: at least we aren't the French or the Canadians or the Californians or whatever. The Dawn of Everything includes copious examples, such as native Californians versus Northwest Coast tribes, where "schismogenesis" occurs, and two groups of people increasingly emphasize their differences by adopting radically different ways of life, even when it seems to be to their material disadvantage (such as the puzzling reluctance of the Californians to exploit their bountiful fisheries, instead focusing on collecting acorns). Especially after the last Ice Age, as populations grew more distinct, there grew a stronger sense that "We are the sort of people who eat with chopsticks, not who eat with forks" or "We are the sort of people who eat with spoons, not with chopsticks."

Going back to agriculture: the authors find that, when agriculture does appear, it doesn't automatically dominate. It often ends up being another side-project, an option, not a replacement. They use the term "play farming" and compare it with gardening. These early gardener/farmers seem to have been motivated by the joy at making things grow, and maybe enjoying some new flavors (or stimulants or colors or whatever else a given plant had to offer). They would fit farming/gardening into their lifestyle, not re-orient their lifestyle around farming. For example, members of a tribe might casually scatter seeds into a floodplain as the river receded, migrate on to hunt, then swing by later to collect the growths, then re-plant in a totally different place. The Davids also note that there is strong evidence that this work was primarily performed by women, and the overall male-centeredness of the field of archeology has tended to over-emphasize male-dominated activities and dismissed female-oriented ones.

The book is mostly organized thematically, but generally follows a forward progression through time, and near the end continues into the era of recorded history. This includes Mesopotamian sites like I learned about in high school "world history", but also contemporary cities in other areas like China, India and the Americas. Here too, they show that old assumptions are simply not supported in the archeological record. For centuries our idea has been that centralized authority arose in nomadic societies and early farming, and that authority was necessary to establish cities: "of course" we need someone to organize collective efforts and make sure that work is done through systems of bureaucracy and administration. But that doesn't seem to be true - at least not universally.

You can't prove a negative, and we can't say for certain that a given city didn't have a king, but it's always very obvious when a city does have a king, and those signs are simply missing from some cities, or from early eras in other cities. So what were cities like? It depends! In some cities, like Ukrainian mega-sites, it seems like everyone is on a level, with similar dwellings throughout the area. Other times it does seem to have differentiations, like temples or a higher elevation where a certain caste dwelt; but even in these cities we have evidence that decisions were arrived by communal consensus through the entire community rather than top-down commands. They point at more contemporary examples like Basque cities that were organized around a "wheel" design, where responsibilities rotated between households. This example disproves the long-held assumption that you can't organically get societies of larger than 150 people. Which is significant, because that's been an axiom that many people take as a given when trying to interpret historical evidence.

This is a bit of a tangent, but at one point the authors state that recent science has determined that most of the time we as human beings aren't really thinking: we spend the vast majority of our daily life on autopilot. When we do need to think, we tend to do it in short bursts to solve a specific problem or deal with an unexpected situation. On average this lasts for just seven seconds (!!), and then we switch back to autopilot. I hadn't heard that particular statistic before, but it sounds very much in line with Daniel Kahneman's "Thinking Fast and Slow". The Davids say that the one time we can consistently keep our thinking brains engaged for longer than 7 seconds is when engaged in conversation with someone else. This is why, when we're trying to solve a challenging problem, we often "talk to ourselves" inside our mind; it's a hack for keeping our thinking engaged.

When Europeans first encountered natives in North America, their journals report them being very impressed by their skills at debate. It does seem like these natives were more "advanced" in their rhetoric and thinking, even as Europeans were more "advanced" in their physical technology. Contemporary Enlightenment thinkers often explicitly attributed their ideas on individual liberty, democracy and freedom to those expressed by native Americans. Since that time we tend to dismiss those attributions, saying that those writers were romanticizing or exoticizing those cultures, or putting impermissible thoughts into the mouth of an "other" beyond the reach of their European kings. But it's pretty condescending to believe that we haven't learned from those cultures, and it's weird to insist so when the Enlightenment writers themselves said those cultures were sources. While it's appropriate to be skeptical of writing, we should at least consider the possibility that people were telling the truth: that native cultures were socially very advanced, and that many of their ideas influenced the Enlightenment and ultimately the founding documents of the United States of America.

Near the end of the book they return to the question of how we got "stuck" in our current way of being. They identify three essential freedoms that humans have had throughout almost all of our history: the freedom to move around, the freedom to disobey orders, and the freedom to create new forms of social relations. Opposite that, they identify three forms of authority that collectively create what we might call "the state": control of violence, control of knowledge, and charismatic politics. Early societies would dabble with those forms of authority, and then seemingly draw back. As there is no writing we don't know exactly what happened, but they can at least chronologically track how in places like, say, Cahokia Illinois or woodland Austria we see increasingly dense settlements, signs of mass executions and violence... and then a dispersal back to seemingly freer, less hierarchical societies. Many of the native North American legends could be interpreted as a kind of counter-programming to avoid modes of domination in the future. Several indigenous cultures (in the Americas and elsewhere) had essentially "play chiefs", who could give orders but couldn't compel people to obey them. Much like with farming, people could play around with certain roles, often as part of a mystical or ritual ceremony, and then lay them aside. Once the sun rises, you don't need the chief any more.

While they never give a definitive answer to how we got "stuck", they do suspect that the logic of patriarchy and the logic of society domination are closely linked. Both share a language of "caring violence": "I'm doing this for your own good," "I'm hurting these people to protect you," "I know what's best for you." The most intimate relations become corrupted by violence. Women, and then commoners, lose their autonomy, their freedom to defy orders, and become locked into these rigid systems. After enough generations, we've lost the capacity to imagine different ways of being: even our language makes it difficult to imagine living any other way.

But, the hope of this book is that we will be able to regain that long-lost flexibility. The first step is just recognizing that it's possible: freedom and equality isn't some ambitious dream for the future, it's how we existed for most of our time as a species. The various advances we've made should open new doors, not close old ones. It's a very ambitious and starry-eyed project, but one that sounds very thrilling. 

Friday, July 17, 2026

United Neverlands

So, I think this might be a first for me: I've actually officially finished a Paradox Grand Strategy Game! I've been playing these games for well over a decade, and feel like I've "won" quite a few of them; but typically you get to a point where you're the Undisputed Lord Of Everything, and it gets too tedious to just run out the clock until you reach the artificial end date.

 


Victoria 3 has a few advantages in this regard. It is objectively a "shorter" game, "only" covering the 100 years from 1836 to 1936 as opposed to the centuries of Europa Universalis or Stellaris. My total Steam time on the game is currently 150 hours; that includes my training Sweden runs, an early aborted Belgium run and some time left idling on the pause screen. I'm pretty sure this game ended up north of 100 hours, but that's still much less time than a completionist Europa Universalis campaign would take.

 


Besides the shortness, I think some of the mechanics of Victoria 3 keep things feeling more engaging in the end-game. Stellaris kind of does this with the Crisis, but once you beat the Crisis there's even less motivation than before to keep going. Victoria 3 doesn't necessarily pull you into a Great War (although that's certainly a possibility), but the dynamism of the game meant that, at least for me, I had to keep on my toes and not get too complacent. Smaller powers are still at the mercy of larger powers. If you are a large power, you're extremely unlikely to have actually conquered a large chunk of the map: rather, you may have grown your direct territory somewhat, but most of your influence is in the form of "soft power" through political alliances, power blocs, economic imperialism, control of markets, and so on. You do not directly control all of these things. So, for example, in my game I might see, say, France trying to conquer Madagascar, which is an independent nation but a part of my Trade League. I could decide to just let that slide, or threaten to escalate that conflict into a major war to keep the nation and its natural resources available for my own capitalist enterprises.

 


Internal dissension is also a compelling factor. For me, early in the game these felt more fraught, as when monarchists threatened a civil war or when the labor unions organized against our adoption of a laissez-faire economy. Later in the game I was mostly facing indigenous uprisings by native Africans in my colonies. These are far less of a threat to the nation as a whole, because they are tiny; but it does still require a response. In the short term this means marshaling troops, in the longer term checking the causes of the uprisings to try and prevent future ones. In my case, while these populations were doing extremely well by indigenous standards, they were also significantly poorer than the average standard of living in my country, which fed immense discontent. So the solution is to make them richer - not just employing people in rubber plantations and oil fields, but also making automotive factories, art academies and glassworks.

 


This particular mechanic was really interesting to me. For much of the game I used Colonial Exploitation in my African colonies, and for many decades the situation seemed fairly stable. I reached a point where I was having a hard time increasing my extraction industries' productivity: these states had a ready supply of laborers, but too few mechanics and engineers. As colonial wages were low, people in the metropole were reluctant to migrate there for jobs. So I started constructing local Universities to increase the Qualifications of the locals so they could take those jobs. That seemed to gradually help a bit. I eventually realized that as these (completed) colonies were all Unincorporated States, they didn't actually get any of the advantages from my Institutions, particularly Public Education. So I started the process of incorporating them. This increased education access, which increases their literacy... and literacy, in turn, increases their expected standard of living. So, basically, they were learning more about the world, and realizing how much better they could have it. Anyways, I just love this kind of dynamism in the game. More education and literacy is good - it increases innovation and qualifications, helping your technology spread and productivity - but it also potentially increases social unrest, which can destabilize a region or entire country. It's complex, just like history! I love it!

 


For a long time I thought I was way ahead in tech and worried that I would run out of things to research, maintaining expensive universities for little purpose, so I stopped building additional universities once I maxed out a stack of 50 in my capital and had an additional one per state for qualifications. I ended up getting nearly all the techs but not quite, with I think 5 undiscovered at the end, 1 which I was researching and 2 which were spreading to me. From some light online research, it sounds like the meta-strategy is to accept the "ahead of time" penalty and omit researching tech from earlier tiers while you focus on later tiers. This helps you avoid getting into the situation I encountered, where I would go for long stretches without any Tech Spread because I already knew everything everyone else did.

 


This does raise a recurring issue I've encountered with playing Paradox grand strategy games: the core mechanics for these games change significantly over time, so any time I Google for strategy advice or mechanics explanations, even if I find something that was accurate at the time it was written, it's very likely to have changed by now. This ended up being particularly impactful for this game because they had just released a brand-new update, "The Great Wave", that includes a DLC (which I haven't bought) but also a major reworking of naval combat and minor updates for many other things. Even when reading contemporary information on Reddit about, say, the ideal composition of ships in a fleet, that information would be based on bugs in the current game, which were patched during the course of my playthrough, tossing that initial analysis out the window.

 


But one silver lining is that in 2026 it does seem like it's easier to find info in text-based venues like Reddit, the Steam Community and the Paradox Plaza forums. A few years ago when researching EU or Stellaris it seemed like most information was buried in YouTube videos, which I am never going to watch. 

 


Going into my actual campaign:

 


I think my last post ended in the early 1900s. The last few decades generally felt a bit slower than the start of the game, as I was larger and had my finger in more pies, but as noted above it did generally feel "faster" than EU or Stellaris. After forming the United Netherlands I mostly focused on expanding my African colonies, picking up a few minor powers in Europe to join my Trade League but for the most part ignoring continental politics.

 


I had a couple of dust-ups with the United States. They declared on me to seize the Panama Canal, and there were multiple wars where they would declare on Mexico; Mexico would then call in Great Britain and myself and absolutely mop the floor with them. During our last war, a Proletarian Revolt broke out in the US so they were fighting (a second) civil war while also fighting the entirety of Central America, South America and Europe. The Proletarians were able to win the civil war, whereupon they immediately capitulated in the world war so they could focus on their new worker-oriented nation. So it ended up being almost exactly like Russia turning into the Soviet Union during World War 1, just with America this time. I thought that was pretty neat! We stayed friendly after that. 

Near the end of the game I started taking subjects in Africa from diplomatic plays. Typically I would oppose a European power that was trying to subjugate an Unrecognized power in my Trade Union, and as a condition for joining the Play I would demand their colony or transferring an African subject. I also did this with the United States and Liberia. The colony transfers (like taking the rest of Angola from the Portuguese) went smoothly and let me get some complete states. Subject transfers proved trickier: subjects seem to be pretty terrible at managing internal revolutionary movements, secessions and uprisings, so every few years you're dragged into putting down a rebellion. The AI might be able to handle it on its own, but not always, and it's always fastest to send your own army to the front. 

In, say, Europa Universalis it's almost always better to let subjects manage their own affairs, as they accept local cultures and will face fewer uprisings. That may be true at the start of Victoria 3 as well, but by the end-game I had secured hard-won legislative victories to enact Multiculturalism and Total Separation, which respectively significantly lower the cultural acceptance maluses from different ethnic backgrounds and religions. If you combine that with my significantly richer economy, welfare, and being a human being who knows how to play the game, I now think that I should have tried to integrate those late-game subjects ASAP instead of playing whack-a-mole for them. 

 

 

I've mentioned in previous posts that I had shifted from always promoting left-wing parties to instead alternating between the Socialist and Conservative parties in power. This helped with getting the specific laws passed that I wanted, like Laissez-Faire from the Conservative union; I also made a multi-party alliance with the Intelligentsia specifically to pass Total Separation. But by the end of the game I had settled back into just pumping the Socialist party as much as I could and keeping them in power. Single-interest-group parties have a big advantage by not having ideological differences. Even if, say, the Conservatives got 50% of the vote and the Socialists got 40%, the Socialists would inevitably have much higher Legitimacy, so I'd rather the Socialists get 45% than the Conservatives get 55% since I end up with a higher Legitimacy at single-IG 45%. Even if a multi-interest-group party manages to align on ideology, there's a very high chance that a new leader will take over an interest group during their term, which causes your Legitimacy to instantly drop.

 


Other than the occasional Diplomatic Play and even more occasional shooting war, my gameplay in the last few decades was entirely focused on construction and economic expansion: I had all the laws I wanted, was diplomatically secure and only used diplomacy to try and finagle independent nations into my Trade League. My rough (government) building priority level looks like:

  1. Expand Construction Sectors if the Private Investment Pool has untapped capacity.
  2. Addressing Market Access issues - building at-capacity Railroads and Ports, or making cheaper goods that are inputs to those.
  3. Expanding Government Administration to collect available taxes.
  4. Expanding at-capacity industries that produce Government or Military goods that are currently expensive; or making cheaper the input goods to these that keep those buildings from hiring.
  5. "Starter Package" for new colonies: Trade Center, University, Railroad, Power Plant, Art Academy, one food-producing Arable Resource. 
  6. Addressing starvation or low standard of living by building food or job-producing buildings. 
  7. Only if running a consistent surplus: More construction sectors or military or universities.
  8. Strategic investing in specific foreign nations that I am trying to coerce into my Trade League.
  9. Expanding the highest-Productivity at-capacity buildings, up to size 50.
  10. Expanding lower-Productivity at-capacity buildings or starting new industries if all domestic ones are at 50+ size already. 

When building in foreign nations, I focus on raw goods (crops and resources) and local services (railroads, ports, trading centers and electricity). My thinking has been that once that nation is in my market, I want my own pops to be making the high-value finished manufactured goods, and I want their pops to be supplying cheap natural resources. I want to buy their cheap stuff and sell them my expensive stuff. I haven't crunched the numbers or researched that strategy, though. In particular, it is common for industry buildings to be significantly more profitable than resource buildings, so if my primary goal is to get enough influence to drag them into my trade league, it might make more sense to, say, build three factories instead of ten farms.

 


While dipping into the community, I've seen Victoria 3 repeatedly described as a "Line Go Up Simulator." I chuckle at that - it's very true! For me it's very satisfying to see wealth, population, literacy and more steadily ticking up in response to your gardening of the nation. I've also heard people say that the game is called Victoria because she is the final boss. Again, that's pretty apt. The game is named that for the Victorian Era, but also she is the monarch of Great Britain for most of the time, and Great Britain starts as the overwhelming #1 greatest power. Unlike Europa Universalis, where Ming starts off as #1 but is doomed to fall off, or Stellaris, where the Fallen Empires start off very powerful but are doomed to stagnation, in Victoria 3 Great Britain is almost certain to advance in power, expanding its influence even more around the globe. All that to say, while conquering the world in this game seems like a very tall and not-very-fun order, outperforming Great Britain is a fantastic goal.

 


And, I did it! In the last decade of the game I eventually surpassed Great Britain as the #1 Great Power in the world. We actually switched places back and forth a few times. I think this is because, when I was at war I would mobilize my armies, which would add to my Army Power Projection enough to push me above them, then drop back when when we demobilized. But I kept chugging along, eventually surpassing one BILLION pounds in GDP and permanently securing my position on top. 

 


So, yep! This game was a lot of fun. I don't have immediate plans to replay, but also the idea of replaying this feels far less daunting than Europa Universalis (or even Hearts of Iron). As with EU it could be fun to just set a specific achievement challenge, like turning the UK Anarchist or forming Yugoslavia. But I can also see myself doing another "completionist" campaign with a less easy start than Belgium - starting in Southeast Asia or South America or something could be pretty entertaining. We'll see if and when I revisit!