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.
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| A tiny stream with gold-colored residue. |
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| Old gnarly tree on the route up. |
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| 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.
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| A view of the route up. |
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| 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.
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| Little Creek Peak in the distance and birds flying in the storm. |
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| 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.
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| The Tushar Mountains far to the north. |
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| I was surprised to see this clearing at the top of the mountain. |
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| 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
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