Little Shelly Peak (#25)

Little Shelly Peak as seen from Mount Baldy (in 2023).

Jenna and I pushed through a sea of sapling aspen, using the supple branches to pull our way up the steep mountainside. We had already passed groves of manzanita and mountain mahogany. We found the wide shade of a tall ponderosa pine and rested beneath its limbs.

Although agonizingly tedious, the fruits of our bushwhacking were now beginning to ripen. Mount Baldy reigned supreme over the rest of the mountainside, its shale-filled slopes appearing striking on the skyline. Below it the greenish-blue waters of Indian Creek Reservoir gave the portrait a perfect balance.

Little Shelly Peak as seen from trailhead.

Climbing up the steep slope toward the peak. Mount Baldy in background.

I had several purposes for this hike. The first was for the view. I hiked Mount Baldy a couple years ago and knew the view from Little Shelly would be the perfect angle for Baldy. Second, I'm trying to hike any peak I can, and especially all the peaks in the Tushars. And thirdly, Jenna and I both had the day off and it was an opportunity for the two of us to get out together.

There is no trail that we know of to Little Shelly. We parked at the Indian Creek Trailhead and followed that trail for ten minutes before diverting and bushwhacking up the hillside. The route to the top was logistically simple. Once we hit the ridge it would be a straight shot to the peak.

We decided that much of this area must have been scorched from wildfire in the recent past as many of the trees were young and at times there still remained the skeletons of trees. I recalled the Twitchell Fire that burned near here in 2010 and assumed that this was the event to claim so much territory.

Once we gained the ridge the steep slope subsided and we were left with a gentle uphill climb. Still the young aspens grew thick, but soon that ended and our final obstacle to the peak was shale rock. I'm sure that “Little Shelly” got its name from its shale-filled summit.

From the summit, looking toward Indian Creek Reservoir and Mount Baldy.

Panorama from the summit.

Although not among the highest peaks of the Tushars (elevation only 9,886 feet), Little Shelly Peak boasts an incredible view. In addition to the aforementioned Mount Baldy, one can also see Mount Belknap, Gold Mountain and Signal Peak, all above 11,000 feet.

We sat at the edge of the summit and enjoyed an avocado with salt and pepper. The view behind us was largely obscured in smoke due to two large wildfires, but the view in front was undiminished. A small patch of wildflowers grew atop the summit, adding to the beauty.

Our plan was not to simply turn around and go back, but to continue along the ridge and see what else we might find. The ridge that includes Little Shelly makes an “n” shape and if one had enough time they could walk the entirety of it and circle around to the vehicle. As we began our hike in the afternoon, I doubted we'd have enough time to make the full circuit.

As we continued along the ridge to the north side of Little Shelly, we found skeletons of large gnarled trees that at first I assumed were bristlecone pines. I was told that there is a grove of bristlecones somewhere on the Tushars, but I wasn't sure of exactly where. We expected to find nearby “living” bristlecones, but never did. Regardless of what kind of tree they were, the skeletons appeared mystically ghost-like.

From the summit of Little Shelly looking north toward summit #2.

We dropped about 400 feet down the slope, then regained it on the other side. This second peak was just twelve feet shorter than Little Shelly. Although similar in elevation, they were very different in character. This peak had no shale rock, but boasted trees and other vegetation. To one side the ground dropped precipitously into a mini amphitheater with a couple hoodoos that somewhat resembled those in Bryce Canyon, but with a chalky color.

From here we now had a profile view of Little Shelly and a slightly closer angle of the four big peaks to the east. Indian Creek Reservoir was no longer in view.

The good news was that it was all downhill from here!

From summit #2, looking back toward Little Shelly Peak.

U.S. Geological Survey marker. 

Surprisingly we found a trail while descending the southeast side of the aforementioned peak. The shadows were becoming longer and we had no interest in anymore bushwhacking. We followed the trail for over two more miles, all the way down to the vehicle.

Although Little Shelly would be considered a minor peak, it had major views of the surrounding summits and Indian Creek Reservoir. It was good to learn another little chunk of the Tushars, and next time I'm sure I'll push myself a little bit further into the unknown. ♠

Ponderosa pines.

Little Shelly Peak

Distance from car: 1.6 miles

Elevation gain to peak: 1,868 feet

Final (peak) elevation: 9,876 feet

Total elevation gain: 2,176 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.3 miles

From summit #2, looking east toward four peaks of the Tushars.

Surviving Black Ridge (Peak #24)

From Black Ridge Peak.

In hindsight, I never should have done this hike. Temperatures were just too hot for a task this daunting. But I had already reserved the day, and when I get an idea in my mind, it's hard to turn back.

The plan: Start early on the west side of the ridge so the sun would be blocked until I got on top. Then get to the peak before it got too hot and when it did get hot, the twenty-seven mile an hour winds foretasted for that day would cool me off. By the time the temperature really soared, I would be on my way down and home free.

I should write a few words of the nature of this hike. I have never known of another person who has done it. On the drive between Cedar City and St. George, where the elevation begins to drop, there is a massive ridge to the east that parallels the freeway for many miles. This geological wonder is part of the Hurricane Cliffs and is known as Black Ridge. There are no formal trails leading to the nearly 2,000 feet to the top. The slopes are dense with vegetation and scattered with lava rock. Topographical maps show the top as being relatively flat, with the exception of an elevated knob on the far south side. The view from the top, I've always assumed, would have excellent views of Kolob Canyons and Zion National Park on the east, and the Pine Valley Mountains on the west.⸺For years now I have gazed at these daunting slopes and imagined myself climbing them.

Canyon at the bottom with Ash Creek.

The first part of the plan went as expected. I began at 6:30 on the shadowy side of the ridge. I parked my vehicle at the Black Ridge exit and soon made my way through the trees. The first part of this hike actually descended into a canyon. Although not incredibly deep (only a couple hundred feet), the descent was steep and there were limited options. At the bottom was a well-graveled road and Ash Creek, which on this day was dry.

I already had a route in mind based on where the slope was most gentle. I walked on the road northward toward my intended starting point, then began to walk upward into the trees. I worried about dense vegetation, but at this point, all looked good. So far, everything was working well.

Early into the ascent I crossed a very faint trail that appeared human-made, but quickly lost it. I then found it once again, but with the same result.

I crossed diagonally across the ridge, down a small ravine, then along a more direct route. Soon the slope became much steeper, which I was able to handle, but then came the oak brush. Thick stands of scrub oak nearly as tall as myself covered the hillside. There was no other option but to bushwhack. Branches scraped against my arms. For nearly forty five minutes I climbed at a snails pace.

When the opportunity to escape the scrub oak presented itself, I took it. Much to my surprise, I again found the faint trail. It was definitely human-made as now I noticed ribbons tied in the trees and stacked rocks to mark it. I was able to follow it to the top, but more importantly, I kept it in mind so I could circumvent the dense brush on the way down.

First view of Kolob Canyons.

As I reached the crest of the hill, the towering red cliffs of Kolob came into view, back-lit against the sun. An old fence stood on top, marking the boundaries of Zion National Park. My jaunt inside the park didn't last long as it did not include the top of the ridge. Also, the trail disappeared and I could not find any evidence that it went beyond that point. After a minimal amount of bushwhacking, I arrived at the top of the ridge. Hallelujah! [The calculations on that ascent come out to 870 feet per mile.]

It was a relief to be on top of the ridge. My plan now was to circumambulate the ridge, walking along the west side on the way up and the east side on the way back. I still had several miles to go until the actual summit. I brought four liters of water and knew I had to use it judiciously.

Looking back at Pine Valley Mountain, I-15, and the route I came up.

I wasn't sure what I'd find on top. As a place seldom visited by humans, I figured I'd see signs of deer or elk, maybe a shed or two. In 2003 there was speculation that Space Shuttle Columbia began to disintegrate as it was flying above here. I always thought it would be neat to find a fragment or scrap of the Space Shuttle.

I was surprised when right away I found some very old rusty cans, probably from an old cowboy camp. Other than that, I didn't see any signs of humans until I reached the peak.

On top. Tree hit by lightning.

As I walked along the western edge I admired the vast fields of lava rock along the slopes. Below was a sweeping view of the freeway and Pine Valley Mountain.

Most of the ground was cleared of major vegetation other than scattered pinyon pines and wildflowers. June grass grew in patches. Perhaps a wildfire moved through there at one time because there were several dead trees that remained as skeletons. On the ground were a smattering or red and black smooth rocks.

I didn't see any big game on top, or anywhere during the hike. I thought it would have been an ideal place for protection. I also heard that there were mountain lions up here. I did not see any signs of deer or elk, but once saw fresh scat that was probably from a coyote.

Northwest side of Black Ridge, looking south.

On top, looking toward Kolob.

Nearing the southern edge of the ridge, I arrived at a curiosity I had encountered on Google Maps. On the map it appeared as a round dry pond. There was a larger circle atop the ridge, but not too far off, another smaller circle appeared amidst the lava rock.

I was surprised and baffled when I encountered the larger circle. There was no water in it, and although it was the lowest point in this little depression, I felt like it would catch very little water runoff. But this circle, nearly 500 feet in diameter, was encompassed by a ring of lava rock. It seemed to form a near perfect circle. There was no other lava rock within or without the ring. It was as if the huge rocks were placed there by an ancient people, but they appeared so embedded in the ground that it seemed unlikely. Was this perhaps a caldera to a volcano? With no other lava rock except the ring, that seemed unlikely also. Within the ring the grass was a little taller and the ground spongier. I left with more answers than I started with.

The smaller circle was indeed within the lava rock, and it appeared to be a volcanic sink hole. I have seen several other similar depressions in this area of the state.

Curious circles on Google Maps.

This is the outer edge of the bigger circle.

Panorama of the bigger circle.

A partial ground view of the little circle.

I finally came to the end of the relatively flat and open area of the ridge. I now had roughly one more mile to the summit over rolling knobs and through trees. Once again I resorted to bushwhacking. In forty minutes I arrived at the peak, which is the highest point on black ridge.

The knoll was very much composed of gravelly cinder rock. The view west toward Pine Valley Mountain was clear, as was the view north. The other directions were partially blocked by trees. I could really feel the heat here, with no trees for shade and the cinder rocks radiating the heat, I knew I couldn't stay long.

But while there I certainly enjoyed the royal view!

Survey marker on Black Ridge Peak.

From the peak, looking north.

Panorama from the peak.

Now I turned to a semi-survival mode. Up to this point I had hiked 6.7 miles and was a long ways from any civilization. Temperatures were climbing and so was my fatigue. It didn't help that I didn't sleep well the night before. The biggest thing I worried about was that I only had two liters of water left, exactly half of what I brought.

When I made it back to the flat top of the ridge I found a shade tree and sat beneath it to eat an avocado. I sliced it in half, sprinkled it with salt and pepper, then scooped out the flesh with a spoon. It really hit the spot.

Just twenty minutes later I found another shade tree and this time I laid on my back and slept. Not for very long, but long enough to rest my body and hopefully to bring my body temperature down. Although it was hot outside, the shaded breeze felt cool across my body.

I had planned to walk along the eastern ridge on my return, but that didn't go as planned. The top of the ridge was much wider than I expected and I didn't have enough water, I felt, to prudently do it. So I stayed about a quarter mile away. I could still see the towering cliffs of Kolob Canyon, as well as the pyramid of Red Butte, but I was not able to look down into the canyon of La Verkin Creek.

Looking across La Verkin Creek toward Smith Mesa.

I tried to space my drinking as much as possible. My mouth became dry about every twenty minutes, and still then I tried to draw it out ten minutes further. When it was time I would find another shade tree, collapse to my knees, and take a few sips of water. I repeated this process until my third liter was empty.

Before beginning the fourth, I decided to postpone it by eating an apple. The fruit was refreshingly juicy, and with each bite I chewed slowly and relished it in my mouth. I had many bites of that apple and it lasted a long time. Not once during that time did my mouth dry out. I ate part of the core and spit out a couple seeds.

Once again I found a shade tree and napped. I have napped on hikes before, but never repeatedly like this. My body was worn out and I worried about the heat. A close friend of mine passed away from heat exhaustion while on a hike a few years ago. His death frequently crosses my mind, especially while on hot hikes such as this.

I now began to sip on my final liter of water. I always reserve my final liter to be my tumbler, which is filled with ice water. It is always refreshing when I am on a long hike. This time I took a drink, but restrained myself from guzzling. I was still on top and had a long ways to go.

Top of Black Ridge, looking at Red Butte.

On this return trip I was much less observant of the details on the ridge, and more focused on staying alive. I worried about running out of water half way down the mountain and having to deal with major dehydration.

As I approached the northern end of the mesa, although exhausted, I admired the beauty of the Kolob Canyons. If I were to do this hike again, I would probably just hike up to this point and forget the actual summit. This was certainly one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Burnt Mountain and Red Butte in distance. Black Ridge in foreground. 

At last I started to make my way down. It took some trial and error to find the faint trail, but I finally found it. It wasn't easy to keep, but I learned that each section had at least one cairn or one yellow ribbon tied to the tree.

Again I found a tree and took a little nap. I sipped water and continued.

The “trail” led me mostly down the mountain, but then I lost it. At the time I wasn't too worried because I thought I was further down than I actually was. But when I found a point where I could look down, I learned I had much further to go than I thought I did. My water was becoming low. Inside I felt a twinge of panic.

I began to bushwhack. Luckily for me there weren't too many shrubs here, but the hill was very steep in some places. Where I could, I sand-surfed on my boots down the steeper slopes. At this point I was almost willing to jump off a cliff. I finally made it down to a ravine that I felt confident would lead me out. But even that was filled with debris and was tiresome to maneuver. Once again I found a shaded spot⸺this time against a dirt embankment⸺and took another small nap.

When I finally came out on a man-made road, I literally thanked God that I made it to this point. My rationed water maybe had two drinks left. I took a swallow, then laid down for another nap. This one was a bit longer. Never in my life have I taken so many naps on a hike!

An easy one-mile walk is all I had left to go . . . that is, except the 200-foot ascent up the hill to my vehicle. And it was steep. I worried about this.

The initial climb onto the hill was the steepest. I tried twice, but both times slid back down. Then I found some lava rock that created some crude stairs. At last I was onto the hill, but just that little exertion up the slope made my heart pound and my mouth parched. I took my final drink of water and only a few drops came out. That would have to do, I thought.

For someone that used to take pride in how well his legs could hike up a hill, I sure went slow. After every few steps I had to stop and rest. My legs could do no more. I knelt to keep my legs from shaking. A couple times I closed my eyes and was tempted to sleep.

At last the slope began to lessen and I was able to walk without taking a break. I arrived at my vehicle and immediately guzzled down what I had remaining of a warm Gatorade.

What a day! Mission accomplished, but in a more perilous fashion than what I anticipated. But today I was alive and couldn't ask for any more than that. ♠


Black Rock Peak

Distance from car: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain (aggregate): 1,934 feet

Final elevation: 6,558 feet

Round-trip distance: 14.4 miles

California Poppies

 

The Blue Kiełbasa Van of Kraków

The sun is drawing to an end as long shadows are cast across the street. My wife and I leave our hotel on Józefa Sarego Street and walk along the border of the Kazimierz District, a walk that has become very familiar these last four days. I relish the moment, knowing it will be my last on this sidewalk. We cross beneath the train tracks and arrive at the corner of Grzegórzecka Street. I have one final wish while in Kraków, and that is to visit the blue kiełbasa van.

I read about it online. Some guy shows up every evening between 8:00 pm and 2:00 am in a blue Nysa van and grills up kiełbasa sausages. He's so popular that crowds line up to buy.

We arrive at the spot and as expected there is a short line for the savory links of meat. There, parked on the sidewalk, is the famous blue van. Nysa vans are a relic from the communist era in Poland. They were produced in the city of Nysa and production reached its peak in the late 1970's. When Poland became a democracy the demand for the Nysa began to plummet as the people preferred the safer and more efficient western cars.

An older man with a gray stubble beard and blue ball cap stands outside the van holding two skewers loaded with sausages over an open flame. Next to him are crates full of wood to stoke the fire. I notice that attached to the van is a retracted canopy he can pull out for shelter if it starts to rain. On this evening the skies are mostly clear.

On the window of the van a menu is posted. There are only five items: kielbasa and roll, 17 złoty; kielbasa (only), 15 złoty; orange drink, 5 złoty; tea, 5 złoty; and packaging (to go), 1 złoty. Of course, it's all in Polish, but I am able to understand.

I stand in line and watch the old man as he turns the skewers over the fire, the sausages sizzling and becoming darker. A younger guy moves in and out of the van, assisting the old man. I hear chatter among the people in front of me in line, and between the two kiełbasa men, and I understand none of it.

The line moves quickly and it doesn't take long before I'm at the front. In basic English (of which he understands), I point to the top menu item and say, “Kiełbasa and roll.” I give him 17 złoty and in return he places one perfectly charred kiełbasa onto a flimsy plate with a kaiser roll and a dollop of mustard.

A few feet away from the van stands a tall folding table with a wooden top and no chairs. With my new meal in-hand, I walk over to the table and begin to eat with six other strangers. This is a bizarre, but interesting experience. I don't know where anyone is from because no one is speaking. We all eat in silence.

With a plastic knife and fork I cut off a thick slice of kiełbasa and dip it into the mustard. It is still hot from the flames and very smokey. The outer edge is crispy and slightly tough, while the middle is thick and meaty, much more dense than the kiełbasa sausages sold in the States. I then follow it with a bite of bread.

I am hungry enough I have no problem finishing off the 8-inch long sausage. It is well worth all 17 złoty I paid for it. I now wish I would have bought the orange drink.

The sun has set and the lights of Krakow now illuminate the streets. A blue tram comes down the road and inside I see rows of weary travelers, heads down, waiting for their destination.

Jenelle and I have 20 złoty left and set out to find some ice cream or some other Polish treat. Tomorrow we will leave for good, so we need to spend what we have. It is a perfect ending to a pleasant stay in Kraków. ♠

Goat Gate Cemetery, Bratislava

Worn down from jet lag, we had just arrived in the capital of Slovakia. Jenelle wanted to rest for a couple hours at our hotel so I took advantage of the time to hunt down a cemetery.

My first impressions of Bratislava came during the 10-minute walk to the cemetery. The streets were lined with dingy four-story apartment buildings, probably relics of the Communist era. There was a smattering of graffiti, as well as occasional strips of grass. Away from the historical center, the ambiance here was a peaceful one, with only a handful of pedestrians.

When I arrived at the cemetery on Palisády Street, I found the graveyard locked behind an iron fence. I could see the canary-colored farewell chapel with its rose window, but couldn't find a way to get inside.

Farewell chapel within the walls of Goat Gate Cemetery.

Discouraged, I began to walk around the cemetery in a clockwise manner, first along Bradlianska Street. On my left were more apartment buildings, while on my right, the drab cemetery wall. My mind considered what it might have looked like during the late 1700's when this cemetery likely stood alone, beyond the walls of Pressburg. From time to time I found a gap or hole in the wall and peered inside to see the jumble of tombs.

When I had nearly completed the loop and had already given up hope of entering the cemetery, I arrived at the true entrance on Šulekova Street. What a relief!

I entered a world filled with trees of all varieties, and old tombstones taller than myself. In spite of the motorized roads around the cemetery, the world within its walls was peaceful and quiet.

Giant tombstones.

Interesting statue and headstone.  Notice the little skull. 

Youth making a peaceful walk through Goat Gate Cemetery.

I wandered among the graves, which appeared to be laid out in random patterns. Headstones came in a variety of designs, with different styles and motifs. Some were in the shape of a cross, while many came accompanied with statues. Some appeared to contain the carving of a skull.

Although I am not an expert in all languages, the headstones appeared to have writing in Slovak, German, and probably Hungarian, likely representing the different people and rulers over the last couple centuries. Within this burial ground were artists, inventors, architects, lawyers, historians, merchants, clergymen, soldiers, and politicians.

Dr. Cyril Daxner: Nationalist, lawyer, Slovak officer and church official, hero of the Little War, participant in the resistance against German Nazism.

Cintorín Kozia Brána, or literally translated from Slovak as “Goat Gate Cemetery,” was established in 1783. Originally, the growing Lutheran population of Pressburg (the old name of Bratislava) built a cemetery just outside the city walls. Emperor Joseph Ⅱ made a declaration that all cemeteries would have to be further away from the population centers for hygienic reasons. As a result, the Lutherans purchased land at the current location for a new cemetery. It received its name because it was built along the road that led from the Goat Gate (of the old city walls) toward the hills of the Little Carpathian Mountains.

Several expansions have been made over the years, leading to some of the chaos in the layout of the graves. The cemetery was officially closed in 1950, although there have been burials since then by those who already owned plots. There are 4,000 graves in the cemetery, but taking into consideration that several of the graves have been used several times over, some estimates put the number of deceased at 20,000.

I found it interesting that many graves abutted the outer wall. Many of these outer graves used the wall as a headstone, each with their own design, thus creating a tapestry of styles.

Inner wall of cemetery used as headstones. 

Who knew that Freddy Kruger was buried here?

Example of a German headstone.

For being an older cemetery, the grounds and graves were very well-kept and clean. Although I didn't see many people, there were some who came in for a stroll to enjoy the peaceful spirit.

As could be expected when walking through a foreign cemetery, I didn't know any of the people buried there. Although there was one who was later brought to my attention.

Grave of Janos Jeszenak.

A wing of the mausoleum for the Jeszenak family. 

Russian Orthodox Cross inside of a cross.

On the south side of the cemetery is a mausoleum dedicated to the family of Baron János Jeszenák. János was a former governor and a participant in the Hungarian resistance during 1848 and '49. As a result, he was executed in Budapest on October 10, 1849. It wasn't until 1867 that his remains were exhumed and brought to his homeland, where this former traitor became a national hero.

As I finished walking through the old burial ground, I wondered how many more stories were entombed below the ground, never to resurface in this lifetime. I thought not only of the noble, but also of the common people concealed beneath the lush, green ground of the cemetery. What kind of stories did they have? ♠

Example of a rare modern statue and grave in cemetery.

Another statue with a skull.