No Name, No Trail, and Hopefully . . . No Snakes (Peak #2)

For years I've had my eye on a peak visible from the Interstate. That's what I do when I go on road trips—I look out the window and find all the places I want to hike. Once, while deer hunting, I drove close to the mammoth hill. I examined it for an easy route up and concluded it didn't exist. It would be a gnarly ascent no matter how I sliced it. 

Fast-forward to now and recently I made a goal to hike 35 peaks in 5 years. This is a good goal for me. It is forcing me finally convert all those highway day dreams into realities. 

This peak is only forty minutes from my house. The last four miles are on a rough road. The peak has no name that I've been able to find. I've never even seen an elevation for it. And, of course, there is no trail to the top. 

One of my biggest worries has been rattlesnakes. This is the time of year when they come out and when there is no trail, the odds of stepping on one is so much greater. Before I began I pulled out my snake-bite kit and refreshed myself on the instructions. 

A tiny stream with gold-colored residue.

Old gnarly tree on the route up.

Old bleached elk antler.

I parked just south of the prominent hill, at an elevation of 6,324 feet. I scoped out the hillside for a way up and found a route I thought feasible that followed a ridge, then upward between two rock ledges. I noticed two peaks on the hill, one east and the other west, not sure which was taller. At different angles, each appeared to have greater elevation, but ultimately I concluded the the west side was taller. 

I began walking north over rolling hills that had been chained. It would be at least a mile as the crow flies before I would gain any serious elevation. I crossed a little stream that appeared to have a gold-colored mineral residue along the banks. This was a stream that had been dry in years past and was now flowing due to high snowfall over the winter. 

The chained area ended and I now walked through junipers and up over a large knoll, then back down a ravine where I spotted an old brittle elk antler. Then the climbing began in earnest. 

A view of the route up.

A view of what I had just climbed.

I took it slowly, searching the ground with each step for rattlesnakes. Small and medium-sized rocks on the steep slope made for a slippery climb. I counted the liquid in my pack and wished that I had brought more than 52 ounces. The sun was starting to warm things up and I said a silent prayer for my safety, knowing I wouldn't turn back. 

At this point I won't bore the reader with my arduous climb up the hill. Needless to say, it was brutal. The higher I got, the steeper it became and the more vegetation grew. I grabbed onto oak brush limbs to help pull me up and at times had to climb over rocks. I slipped and fell several times, poking and scraping my arms. 

As I neared the top it was very slow-going. Oak brush covered the slope and there were no clear avenues to walk through. The view became better now as I could see the snow-capped ridges of the Markagunt Plateau and Little Creek Peak. There was now a sudden change in the air. I didn't know if this was from the elevation gain or the rain storm that was moving in. There was now a musty smell and in the distance a rumble of thunder. 

Little Creek Peak in the distance and birds flying in the storm.

A defiant chukar.

Nearby I heard the squealing of a bird and thought that unusual. Then I spotted a chukar on a rock. She stood there defiant and didn't budge although I was only 15 feet away. I stood and watched her gray breast and the black stripe across her face. She must have been protecting her young, I thought. Otherwise she would fly away. 

I was now on the summit of the west peak, which in reality was a ridge. I followed the ridge to the north as it gained elevation ever so slightly. At this elevation I was not above the treeline, so thick brush and trees grew all around. At last I came to a point that I decided was as good of a place as any to call the top of the mountain. 

I sat down on a ledge that overlooked the west side. Far below I could see the traffic on I-15 and a dark storm cloud hovering over that was pelting the traffic with rain. To the north I saw the Tushar Mountains, very much covered in snow for the first day of June. I was disappointed, however, that my perch didn't allow me to see what was behind, which included Buckskin Valley and Sandy Peak. I took out my phone and figured out the elevation: 8,687 feet, a climb of 2,363 feet. 

The Tushar Mountains far to the north.

I was surprised to see this clearing at the top of the mountain.

I-15 getting pelted with rain.

It was definitely chilly now. Wind blew and a rain storm felt imminent. I looked down from the ledge and learned that it was much more steep and rugged than where I climbed up. My view was spectacular, but knowing how far it was down to my truck and how rigorous of a climb it took to get here, I was anxious to return. According to my phone, the trip to the summit was 3.43 miles, most of that in tiny zigzags. 

So I began my journey to the bottom. In a way it was more difficult than the hike up. Going down is always more dangerous. I fell about a dozen times, nearly twisting my ankle, knee and hip. I did not get rained on, and luckily, I did not see a single snake. ♠




No-name Peak 

 

Miles from car (one way): 3.43 

Elevation gain: 2,363 feet 

Final elevation: 8,687 feet

 

 

Hollywood Boulevard

Several years ago we sat in McDonald's when suddenly Batman came through the door. He was all decked out with mask and cape and looked exactly as he had ten minutes earlier when we saw him posing for money on the street. He stayed in character as he walked to the counter and ordered his food. He sat down at a table, unwrapped the burger and ate like the rest of us (proving that even superheroes must have to put on their pants one leg at a time). It made us chuckle. A bizarre moment like this could only happen in a few places around the world, one of them being Hollywood Boulevard. 

That was our first time there and we enjoyed every minute of it. We felt as if we had landed on another planet. We strolled up and down the famous street along the Walk of Fame where all the celebrities had their stars. Brittany found the star of Amy Grant, who was her all-time favorite singer. Later we saw David Hasselhoff across the street as he stepped into a car (and no, it wasn't the Knight Rider car). And then, of course, we had to get our picture taken with the Hollywood sign in the background. 

That was a dozen years ago and now we decided to return for the sake of nostalgia. We paid $25 to park our car in a lot just off Hollywood Boulevard. That amount was just shy of what we paid to park at Disneyland. I'm not sure which of the two was more of a circus. 

As soon as we arrived we were met by the din of the street and what appeared to be a homeless guy singing for money. A lady grilled thick hotdogs for seven bucks a pop. Tourists flocked the sidewalks while hot rods and tour buses crowded the street. Neon signs flashed. Fumes of marijuana lifted to the sky. Among those in the streets were shabbily-dressed beggars and high-class snobs. This was Hollywood. 

The streets were lined with souvenir shops, over-priced eateries, Hollywood theaters and museums. I watched my wife and daughters closely as they walked among men I didn't trust. 

This was a place to show off extremes. People dressed bizarrely and got away with showing as much skin as possible. The amount of people with either mental or drug abuse issues was staggering. 

Hollywood Boulevard was sensory overload: flashing neon signs, the smell of food and smoke, all sorts of crazy people, traffic, exhaust, trash on the ground, filth in the stores and glamor in the shops. At the same time it was fascinating to imagine that this was the center of the movie world. This was where it all began. Famous people and wanna-be-famous people all hang out here. We soaked all this in as the sun disappeared and the night lights came on. 

One of the highlights was a man walking his pitbull. This was no ordinary dog, but the stoutest canine I had ever seen. It had been groomed to have a mane like that of a lion. When I first saw the dog I thought it was a cub on a leash. Needless to say, the owner had a lot of people gawking his way. 

We decided to top the night off with a trip to McDonald's. Secretly I hoped Batman would show up again and also, secretly, I knew it was the only place we could afford. There was no Batman this time, but a lot of crazy people in and out. 

One lady, who looked like she lived on the streets, prayed out loud so everyone in the room could hear. Most of it sounded like a wailing rant, but one detail I was able to pick out: she repeatedly forgave Satan. 

In the end, we were happy to return to our hotel. (I was happy that our car hadn't been broken into or stolen!) We all agreed that Hollywood Boulevard was a good place to experience, but we were also happy to leave. The glamor, the lights will linger in our minds, but I'm not sure that we'll ever return. ♠

 

 

Valentine Peak, Sweet #1

I recently turned 50 years old and decided to make a goal: In the next five years I am going to hike at least 35 peaks. I've kept a tally, and over my lifetime I have climbed 45 peaks, but considering that we live only once, I need to hasten the work. 

The most challenging aspect, however, is not necessarily the grit or drive. It's my health. 

Over the past three years I've had consistent abdominal pain. Sometimes it's mild, sometimes it's maddening. I've been to every specialist imaginable and no one can figure it out. In the mild form it's always present, but unpredictable flareups can send it into the more maddening form. Hence it is difficult to plan any excruciating event. And, yes, hiking a steep hill is considered excruciating. 

I had scans done on my abdomen and it was discovered I had an enlarged spleen and splenic varices (enlarged blood vessels between the spleen and liver). They ran blood tests which found that I have a Jak-2 mutation, which means my body makes too many red blood cells. The diagnosis: polycythemia vera. 

P.V. is a very rare blood cancer. It is progressive and there's no cure. For sure, I thought, this was the reason for my abdominal pain. Not so fast! The doctors concluded that it wasn't. They still have no answer. 

Fast-forward to right now and my P.V. is under control thanks to a very expensive injection I get twice a month. And my stomach still hurts. That's my life. 

So making a goal to climb 35 peaks in five years is daunting. Some days I feel confident, but others I feel so crummy that I wouldn't be able to climb any hill. 

That's why I need a goal. I need something to push me. I need to get all that negativity out of my head. I don't know that life is going to get any easier, so I need to live it NOW! 

For my first challenge I chose Valentine Peak, a not-so-famous summit near my home, but none-the-less, a good hike. 

One aspect that I like is that it begins at a cemetery. 

Parowan cemetery as seen from the trailhead.

As the story goes, Hiram Ackley Hendrickson (an early pioneer who is now buried in the cemetery) observed that if you stand on the corner of 500 West and Center Street in Parowan on February 14th, the sun will rise directly over a rocky crest east of town. Thus, he gave it the name Valentine Peak and it eventually stuck. 

The hike begins at 6,100 feet and climbs a well maintained trail through the juniper trees and a hill of red clay. I was surprised to see so many wildflowers of many colors, especially cushion phlox, a low-growing white flower with a hint of pink that almost looks like snow on the ground. 

Fancy decorations along the trail.

View of Tushar Mountains.

Trail as it ascends toward Valentine Peak, looking back.

Looking back down on the cemetery.

Whoever takes care of the trail has put a lot of care into it. There are multiple rest-stops with a bench or chair, as well as dog bowls accompanied with a bottle of water. There are also decorations scattered here and there, I suppose to help make the hiker happy. 

Valentine Peak looms in the distance. When I first caught sight of it, it was much further than I anticipated. The trail begins at a challenging slope, then mellows out for a while and even briefly travels downhill. But then it picks up in steepness again, and toward the end the final pitch to the summit is very steep. 

Indian paintbrush.

Cushion phlox.

Valentine Peak as seen from near the top.

View of Brian Head and ridge to Horse Valley Peak as seen from Valentine Peak.

The summit supplies a grand view. Most prominently to the south and east are the snow-capped summits of Brian Head, Horse Valley Peak, and the ridges that lie between the two. To the south is the road that runs up Parowan Canyon. To the north, even further in the distance, are the Tushar Mountains which rise above 12,000 feet. And of course you can see most of the city of Parowan, but the cemetery is covered by foothills. Beyond this you can see Little Salt Lake, which is normally dry, but this year is filling with water from the high runoff. 

So, for me, this is Peak #1. I have at least 34 more to go. I felt quite fatigued as I first began my ascent, but as my body warmed up it became easier. My worry, however, is how I will feel tomorrow, or the day after that. That's usually when the bad pain kicks in. 

 

 

Valentine Peak 

 

Miles from car (one way): 3.5 

Elevation gain: 1,950 feet 

Final elevation: 8,050 feet 

Valentine Peak.

Side story: 

There is a fascinating pioneer story that most likely occurred on Valentine Peak. In 1851, a 23-year-old man by the name of James Martineau arrived in Parowan and one day decided to ascend a mountain peak southeast of town to view the valley. 

After a five mile climb along a mountain ridge, scrambling over jagged rocks and ascending rugged cliffs, he finally arrived at the summit where he briefly enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Knowing that he didn't have much sunlight left, he decided to take a shortcut back to town. Instead of taking the circuitous route upon which he traveled, he would return on a more direct path. 

 

James Henry Martineau.

Although this path was more direct, it was also much steeper and he found himself sliding down ravines and jumping down small ledges. His downward leaps became more frequent and of greater depth. Things seemed to be going well until one leap took him down a tall ledge of which he couldn't retreat, and left him on a small shelf overlooking a 150 foot sheer drop off! 

Boy, was he in a predicament! There was no way up and no way to safely go down. He had no water, and had told no one where he would be. 

After a quick survey of the area, he decided his only chance of escape was to jump and hopefully land on a tall pine tree which stood below and some little distance from the base of the cliff.  The prospect terrified him. Unless the jump was executed perfectly, his life would come to a definitive end, either by being impaled by a large branch, or dashing his body against the hard ground. 

James Martineau may have descended the peak from this area.

Seeing no other way out, James decided to give it a try. He only had a few feet to gain a running start. As he made the attempt, his knees buckled and he nearly collapsed at the edge. 

He tottered back to safety and panted until he regained his composure.  He attempted the leap two more times, but with the same result.  Martineau described in his journal what happened next: 

"I reflected on the promises made by Patriarch John Smith (uncle to the Prophet, Joseph) in his blessing upon my head. I could not see that I had done anything bad enough to forfeit them, consequently I must live to fulfill them.  And so I gained faith enough to pray for strength and for safety in the leap I must now make. I arose, determined to do, or die and end it all. I rushed at the brink. And now, instead of weakness my sinews and limbs were as steel; I shot far out into the air, and in a moment found myself clinging to two limbs—one in each hand—with a grip like that of death, but safe and unharmed; not a shed of my clothing torn or disarranged, not a scratch or mark upon me. How this came about I had no knowledge, for I knew nothing as I fell swiftly through the air, and had no knowledge of grasping at or clutching a branch of the tree. But there I was, safe and unharmed. I now know I was saved by the power of God. He it was who guided my hands to the limbs by which I hung and enabled me to retain my hold when falling with so great speed, and that, too, without tearing my hands as such a strain would naturally do; it was He who gave me strength to leap out so far;—who steeled my muscles and strengthened my limbs, for no other power could have preserved me. I climbed down from one limb to another until the last one, and then hung and dropped from that about 20 feet to the ground—safe and unharmed!" ♠ 

 

 

(Source: Godfrey, Donald & Martineau-McCarty, Rebecca. (2008). An uncommon common pioneer: The journals of James Henry Martineau, 1828-1918. Religious Studies Center, Brigham Young University, p. 444)

 

The Funeral

Author's Note: The following is a true account that I wrote on April 24, 2013. I would like to collect and share some of the stories that I have written. This one happened while I was on my route for the United States Postal Service. I hope to add more stories that pertain to my job considering the likelihood that the Post Office may cease to exist some day. 

 

Yesterday I was delivering mail on Mesa Hills Drive when a silver sedan pulled up alongside me. An older gentleman, probably in his eighties, got out of the passenger side holding a piece of paper and came toward me.

“Can you help us, sir? We're lost and can't find the church and we're late to a funeral.” 

It is not uncommon for us as postal workers to be asked directions. But to receive a plea from a person who is wishing to find the place where he can pay his last respects rarely comes. In fact, I have never seen it. 

He pulled out a piece of paper with the obituary and some hand-written directions on bottom. “The address they have here has got to be wrong, doesn't it?” – I examined it, and without a doubt, it was incorrect. The obituary stated 1925 east, and clearly, that point did not exist, and we were at nearly 1925 west. And as for the written directions, they were messed up also – take a right on such and such a street that doesn't even exist. But, reinterpreting the address, I determined that it had to be the church just a couple blocks away. 

“We just drove past a church over there,” the old man stated, “and nobody was there.” 

That didn't sound right. There was only one church on this hill and I was determined to get them to their funeral!

“Let me drive you there,” I insisted. The old man was happy with that as he pranced back to the car. The driver was his daughter, a younger lady also dressed in her Sunday best. I led the way in my postal vehicle through the maze of streets on the hill. The church wasn't too far away, but I didn't want them lost. They were late! 

We pulled up to the church. No one there.

I walked over to the passenger-side window and peered in at the frustrated couple. 

“It's got to be here,” I said. “It's the only church on the hill.” He pulled out the paper again with the directions and obituary. The deceased man was Leslie Brower, a person I was familiar with and who lived on my route. I began skimming downward to the date of the funeral⸺Monday, April 22 at 9:30 am⸺the obituary stated. I read it out loud. “I know,” the man said. “Today is the 22nd.” 

“No it's not, Daddy. Today is the 23rd. Tomorrow is your birthday!” 

At this realization, the man's face immediately became sullen. He looked downward in devastating introspection. 

“I am very sorry,” I offered the man. “This is awful.” Indeed it was. I said this with every genuine feeling I had. I had just experienced my own daughter's funeral and knew how important a funeral can be to bring closure to a broken heart. 

“No. I am the one who is sorry. That man was my best friend growing up. We were inseparable.” 

There was little left to be done. His friend by now was in the ground, never to be exhumed. 

I offered to drive them over to Leslie's house, hoping there would be a family member still at home. They gladly accepted and I led them to 1945 west 265 south. They pulled up at the curb just behind me. There was one white pickup truck with an elk decal parked in the driveway. 

“Yep, this is it,” he said. “I've been here before and it looks familiar.” 

I moved on my way, but prayed all along that someone was home to greet them. That's what they needed in this time of tragedy. ♠