Two Peaks And A Brush With Death (#'s 6 & 7)

The night was cold and dark as I laid in my tent reading a ghost story by Bram Stoker. We were far away from anyone. The closest person was at least six miles and we slept high in the mountains next to Baker Lake on the eastern side of lonely Nevada. The lake sat in a cirque with steep talus-filled cliffs on the far side. 

Suddenly I heard a loud clanking on the rocks and splashing as if a heavy animal was running across the lake, his hooves striking on the stones. I rose from my bag, assured myself of what I was hearing, then flung off my cap and desperately searched for the zipper of my tent. By the time I opened the door and craned my head from the orifice, the noise was gone. I waited for it to come back, but nothing. All I could hear was the snoring of my son in the other tent. 

I contemplated what the sound might be. An elk prancing along the shore? Unlikely. I concluded it must have been a small rock avalanche coming off the cliff-face, then tumbling and crashing into the water. The noises of the night can be puzzling and even spooky when alone in such remote terrain as this.

Baker Lake at sunset.

 

After a good night's sleep we awoke to a calm September morning on the small lake. This would be a huge day for us. Our plan was simple, but daunting. Using Baker Lake as our base, we would hike up a saddle to the main ridge that connects the highest peaks of the southern Snake Range. Then we would stay on that high ridgeline and hike several miles south to Mount Washington. After that we would return the way we came, back to our camp. Then, if time permitted, we would climb Baker Peak which stood a mile to the north, but out of sight. It was a big serving, and possibly too much. Now it was time to find out. 

We loaded a few items inside a day-pack, which included a couple water bottles, coat, gloves and snacks. Jordan brought a disposable poncho. We left the campsite and hiked toward the slanting talus slope that led to the saddle. 

Camping at Baker Lake.

If one looks at the Snake Range from above it appears as a slithering creature, with Bald Mountain to the north and winding down to Wheeler Peak, Baker Peak, Mount Washington and beyond. Perhaps this serpentine appearance is where the name came from. Others suggest it derived from the Snake Indians, a collective name given to the Northern Paiute, Bannock and Shoshone tribes by a French explorer, Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, in 1739. Whatever the reason, the name emits a mystical vibe. 

After following several switchbacks on a faint trail, we arrived at the top of the saddle, and hence on the main ridgeline. From here we would follow generally in a southern direction, averaging approximately 11,400 feet the entire time. 

On our left, or to the east, we passed a basin with another lake pressed up against the base of the slope. I explained to Jordan that this was Johnson Lake, and that down there hidden in the trees were old cabins and other remnants of the Johnson Mine, an operation from the early 1900's that mined tungsten ore. I had been down there once before, but this time neither one of us felt like descending a thousand feet, just to have to climb back up again. 

Johnson Lake and Pyramid Peak.

The crest of the ridge at this point is filled with large boulders and even some rare high-elevation trees that make hiking cumbersome. The east side of the ridge is steep, but not necessarily sheer. There are many good views of Johnson Lake with Pyramid Peak in the background. 

The ridgeline increases in elevation gradually until it arrives at a summit, unnamed on most maps, but known to many as Johnson Peak. My altimeter gave it a height of 11,765 feet. We were happy to make it to the top, but quickly learned the inevitable that we had yet another peak ahead of us. 

Johnson Peak.

The distance between Johnson Peak and Quartzite Peak, which is the next one down the line, is only half a mile. Like its neighbor to the north, it has a very similar altitude at 11,765 feet. Quartzite Peak is not named on most maps. As Jordan and I trudged to this new summit, I anxiously anticipated the view beyond it. 

And as we arrived, it didn't disappoint. In the distance sat Mount Washington, our goal. We still had another mile and a half to go, but at least now there were no other obstacles that stood in our way. And best of all, the path from here smoothed out. Yes, there were still rocks, but not the large and randomly strewn stones that we had been walking over up until now. The ridgeline now took on a colorful look. It appeared as if there were a golden strand along the mountain's crest. 

First full glimpse of Mount Washington.

Mount Washington is unique in appearance compared to other peaks on the south Snake Range. It is primarily made of gray limestone with a gradual slope on the southern side. Unfortunately for us, we were approaching from the north which is much steeper, but doable if in the right place. To the east and west of Mount Washington are spectacular sheer cliffs, striated in geological layers. 

But with that initial sighting of Mount Washington, we also had a foreshadowing of what was to come. Storm clouds were now gathering over the limestone peak, dark and foreboding. We knew that time was of the essence, so we made haste in that direction. 

Mount Washington.  Curious rock artwork in foreground.

At the base of the peak, on one of the flanking saddles, I was excited to find a grove of bristlecone pine trees. This species of trees can only be found in Utah, Nevada and eastern California. There were several living bristlecones on this particular slope, but several of the trees were dead, their twisted and gnarled trunks appearing as ghosts. Indeed the sight was beautiful and surreal, as well as a bit eerie. Bristlecone pine trees are among the longest living forms of life on earth. 

Gnarled bristlecone pine tree.

 

Now we didn't have time to explore the grove.  A tempest was brewing. We would have to catch it on the way back. It was about this time that we heard our first rumbling of thunder. A chill went down my spine as I knew we were entering a danger zone. 

I have been in this situation a handful of times, a situation where we have traveled a long ways to summit a peak and at the same time a lighting storm is gathering on the mountain. Conventional wisdom is to immediately turn around and find lower ground. But when you've come this far, that is easier said than done. 

The view beyond Mount Washington.  Lincoln Peak on right.

Thunder continued to rumble as we now started to ascend the peak. This was no walk in the park, even without a storm. The slope was quite steep with loose rocks. We worried about rain making it even more dangerous on the way down. We found a seam that ran upward with no loose rock and we took this route. We were now close to the summit with just one more level to ascend. 

And then we saw the lightning strike. It came from the far side of the peak. At this point we were far above any trees and we took note of any safe place to hide from a strike. The wind picked up and we felt drops of rain. When a second bolt flashed nearby, we made the quick decision to hunker down with our backs facing the edge of a cliff. We were still very close to the top, but at least we didn't stick out.

This is the first place we hunkered down.

We waited several minutes. This was nuts! We were foolish and we knew it! We sat there next to each other, our knees to our chest, waiting for a lull in the storm. 

At this point we were about five minutes from the summit. Our plan was to make it to the top, quickly get all the mandatory photos, then race down the mountain as quickly as possible. 

And then we saw our window. 

We scurried to the top, arriving there as quickly as expected. But the view we found brought exhilaration and terror all at once. On the south side of Mount Washington loomed a sky as dark as the Witches' Sabbath. Nothing good could come of this, I thought. 

Spooky sight as we crested the summit.

As I had rehearsed in my mind, I whipped out my camera and took pictures on every side, beginning with the menacing storm. I included a panorama as well as a view of the path on which we had come. Then, last of all, it was time for that final photo, the obligatory selfie of the two of us to prove to the world that we actually made it to the peak. 

I flipped the screen on my camera so we could see ourselves. Once we were framed, I pressed the shutter, which in this position always has a three-second timer. Simultaneously, our ears heard the same thing: the small sizzle of static electricity coming from the camera! We looked at each other with eyes wide open. I had never heard that noise coming from my camera. There was definitely electricity in the air! We took one more picture with the same result. Then another boom somewhere behind us and we knew it was time to run. 

Obligatory photo on the summit, with static electricity coming from the camera!

We took off running down the the northeast side when another clap was heard. This one was accompanied with a crackling that sounded exactly as if a whip was being cracked behind us. We picked up the speed. 

There was nowhere to hide, but we had to do something. To our north was the sheer face of Mount Washington. A fall from here would surely be fatal. But along the rim was a small indention that was the perfect size for two men to sit. 

We hunkered down. We both had coats, but Jordan was the only one smart enough to bring a poncho, even if it was just a cheap disposable one. We pressed our curled legs together and he draped the plastic over my knees. We were just in time because now it started to hail. Before us sat a rugged mountain canyon thick in pine trees. 

Just then a long bolt of lightning flashed before us and struck the trees just 300 yards from where we sat. Everything happened in an instant. Where the bolt struck I saw a red glow and was sure that at any second there would be flames rising in the air. But also in that same instant I felt a strong buzzing shock in my left thigh. That scared me. I quickly turned to Jordan to see if he was alive. Luckily for me, he was still ticking. He had also received the same shock, but in his legs, butt and tailbone. My left thigh was touching his right leg. Both of us appeared to be alright, but were amazed that somehow that electric shock had traveled underground or invisible through the air and into our bodies. It was an experience like none other that I've had in my life. 

For the next several minutes we huddled together knowing that any breath could be our last. It would only take one strike, aimed a little closer, to sizzle us alive. The thought crossed my mind that if we were to die here, they might not find our bodies until spring or later if it knocked us off the cliff. 

This is where we hunkered down and felt the lightning.

The bulls-eye of the storm finally drifted to the east. Although the wind still blew and somewhere in the distance echoed a rumble of thunder, we felt that now we were out of imminent danger. We made it down the precariously steep slope with loose rock. We spent time at the bristlecone pine grove, but not too much because we were anxious to get back. 

Our walk back to camp was no walk in the park. The wind often blew at ferocious speeds. One time I fell and hit my knee, elbow and jaw hard on the rocks. The distance seemed to last forever. All I wanted now was to lay down on a soft sleeping bag inside my tent. 

At last we made it. 

Another bristlecone pine tree.

Beautifully colored rock with Mount Washington in background.

Up until now I knew I wanted to climb Baker Peak, but didn't know if we had the time. We hadn't done it yesterday and I knew it would be foolish if we were to do it tomorrow before hiking out. Today was our only viable choice. 

After a one hour break inside our tents, it was now time to summon our energy once again. We now had two hours before sunset. Baker Peak was one mile away as the crow flies. The only problem was that we weren't crows and we would have to gain 1,678 feet in elevation! 

Finally back at camp.

From our campsite we found a backdoor route that took us up the steep rocky slope. A mountainside strewn with talus, most of it stable, led us to leap and climb over boulders of all sizes. My legs were exhausted. We stopped every few minutes so this old man could catch his breath and rest his thighs. Quite often I would set my sights on an unusual rock up ahead, then make the goal that there would be no stopping until we reached that rock. Usually this tactic worked. 

The higher we climbed the more I realized that we weren't going to make our one-hour goal to reach the summit. Still we kept moving. There would be a lot of regret if we didn't make it. At least now there was no threat of a thunderstorm. 

We were well above the treeline and the crest of the peak was still ahead. We could see what looked like a summit, but we weren't sure if it was the true high point. 

At last we made it to the ridge of the crest, but realized that we were off on where we gauged the summit to be. We had veered to the left, while the summit was far to the right. By now our one-hour goal had failed, but we still moved on. Once on top, the steep slope had been replaced with a gentle uphill. Scrubby tufts of alpine grass gave our feet occasional rest from the pounding of rocks. 

At last we arrived at Baker Peak, elevation 12,298 feet. The view was spectacular and we had no thunderstorm to chase us off! To the north Wheeler Peak dominated the scene, rising nearly 800 feet higher. To the right of it, Doso Doyabi, the second highest peak in the range, made its presence known as well. 

At the summit of Baker Peak.

Wheeler Peak (left) and Doso Doyabi.

As it was nigh before sunset, the entire view in the basin below glistened in golden hue. In the westerns sky the sun, although hidden by a cloud, shot beams across the farms and fields below. To the extreme east we could see Notch Peak, as well as the rugged hills of the Confusion Range. 

Baker Peak is the fourth highest summit in Nevada, yet is rarely climbed due to the favoring of nearby Wheeler Peak. The peak, as well as the lake and town, are named after George W. Baker, an early settler who arrived in the area in 1876. 

Jordan and I knew we couldn't stay and relish the moment too long. This time we were racing against sunlight. Negotiating the steep talus slope wouldn't be much fun in the dark. 

Beautiful beams of sunlight.

From Baker Peak looking east.

With thirty minutes left until sunset, we made our way down the mountain. Going downhill was much easier, but still a challenge. Rest stops were nearly eliminated. Even though the sun had set, our eyes adjusted to the new low light and we made it all the way back to camp without a flashlight until we got down to the level of the lake and had to walk through the trees. 

What a day! It was certainly one we would never forget. I think that both of us had certainly gained a new appreciation for life, not only because our lives were spared, but also because of the new beauty we had discovered. Life is good. ♠

Looking  back across the Snake Range, with Mount Washington in the distance.

Mount Washington


Miles from car (one way): 9.5 miles 

Elevation gain: 3,658 feet 

Final elevation: 11,658 feet



Baker Peak


Miles from car (one way): 7.4 miles 

Miles from camp: 2 miles 

Elevation gain from car: 4,298 feet  

Elevation gain from camp: 1,678 feet  

Final elevation: 12,298 feet

Johnson Mine

Cookhouse at Johnson Mine.

In 1868, Thomas and Charlotte Dearden sailed from England to the New World with their two infant children, Sarah, who was sixteen months old, and Joseph Hyrum, a newborn of two months. They traveled with others of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to gather in the mountains of Utah. 

After six weeks at sea, they landed safely in New York City. From there they took a train to Chicago and then Laramie, Wyoming, which at that time was the terminus of the Union Pacific Railroad. During their final leg they traveled in a mule train of fifty wagons. The trek came with hardship as they lost their sweet daughter, Sarah, burying her along the trail. Eight days later on August 19, 1868, they arrived at their destination of Salt Lake City. 

Thomas and Charlotte spent their first few years on the Wasatch Front where Thomas operated a couple of sawmills and worked for the railroad. There Charlotte gave birth to two more babies. 

Thomas Dearden.

In 1872, Brigham Young called them to settle Fillmore. The Deardens faithfully responded and made the 150-mile journey south with their young family. Here they put down roots. They built a comfortable home and Thomas operated another sawmill. 

Eight children were born to them in Fillmore, bringing the count to twelve. It was here that Joseph Hyrum, the eldest son, grew to adulthood and married Margaret Russell. During this time Thomas found a job running freight to miners and ranchers in Nevada. This job would eventually take him in a different direction. 

On January 5, 1889, Charlotte passed away at the young age of 39. Her health had been declining for years. This was a big blow for Thomas. He stayed loyal to Charlotte and never remarried. She was buried in the Fillmore Cemetery. 

As stated earlier, Thomas freighted goods to the miners and ranchers in eastern Nevada. He would load up his wagon with salt, grain, fresh fruits and other goods. It was during one of these hauls that he conceived the idea of opening a store in Baker, Nevada. A friend loaned him 500 dollars and he made the 130-mile move and opened up “Rancher's Store,” the first retail establishment in Snake Valley. Years later he would also buy a store in nearby Garrison, a tiny town just across the border into Utah.

Rancher's Store in Baker, Nevada. Thomas Dearden in beard next to his granddaughter, Daisy. (about 1906)

Thomas Dearden by this time was becoming old. Those who knew him noted his “long, white, shining beard and walking so straight and proud with his grandchildren on his arms. There was always that twinkle in his eyes and a smile for everyone—jovial and pleasant to be around.” 

In 1908 Thomas Dearden and Alfred “Timberline” Johnson filed a mining claim at the head of Snake Creek Canyon in the South Snake Range. Nowadays much of the South Snake Range is included in Great Basin National Park, which is best known as home of the Lehman Caves and Wheeler Peak, the second highest peak in Nevada. The town of Baker, which is still tiny, is the closest settlement to the park.

So, who was Alfred Johnson? That's a good question. I found very little on him. He was born in Trässberg, Sweden in 1870. As far as I can tell, he had no wife, no kids, and came to America with no family. But I could be wrong. Despite the lack of information on him, he managed to leave his name on the landscape. Johnson Mine, Johnson Lake and Johnson Peak are all named after him. 

Thomas and Alfred were joined in the venture by Thomas's son, Joseph Hyrum Dearden. Details of their time at the mine are scarce. In Joseph's simple biography there is only one reference to his venture on the mountain: “Joseph and Margaret spent several summers up Snake Creek with 'Johnson.' They had some mining claims up there so they lived in one of Johnson's cabins and the three of them mined and fished.” 

Joseph Hyrum Dearden and wife, Margaret.

What were they mining? 

Tungsten. Considered a rare metal, tungsten has proved to be valuable over the years. It has the highest melting point of all known elements—6,192 ºF. Because of this it is used to make filaments in incandescent light bulbs and halogen lamps. Carbon tungsten, which is a super hard alloy, is used in cutting-tools such as knives, drills and circular saws. 

Tungsten is almost as dense as gold, weighing nearly 20 grams per cubic centimeter. Because of this it has been used to create counterfeit gold bars, with gold on the outside and tungsten in the middle.

During the time of the Johnson Mine, the price of tungsten was on its way up. Around 1910 this increased demand was related to the incandescent light bulb, as well as new technologies coming from the production of alloy steel. Demand continued to increase during World War I. 

The source of tungsten at the Johnson Mine was a quartz vein on a high ridge above Snake Creek. Ore was mined on the ridge, then placed in barrels where it was transported on an areal tramway, down a forty-degree slope to the tramway terminal. From there is was loaded onto pack mules and hauled to the mill, which was less than a mile away. 

The thing that makes the Johnson Mine special is the fact that it's still there. The old rocky road has now diminished to a trail, which in a sense has helped preserve the mine. If someone has to hike several miles uphill, they are less likely to pilfer any artifacts. 

Hiking trail to Johnson Mine that was once an old road.

The mine today retains a semblance of its former state. The cabins and mill are still there, along with several artifacts and the long stretched-out cable from the tramway. But as expected after 100 years, roofs have caved in and wood is drying out. Debris is scattered all about. Yet it remains a fascinating place to walk through and to imagine what it used to be like. 

To get to the mine one can either begin at the Baker or Snake Creek trail-heads. The two trails eventually merge and climb at least a couple thousand feet. Passing through a coniferous forest strewn with granite boulders, the first structure the hiker will encounter is the mill. 

Ruins of the mill at Johnson Mine.

Aspen trees growing inside the mill.

The remains of the mill building sit at 10,200 feet in elevation. The building was made of logs, the upper section with two stories and the lower with one. A sign near the structure explains the process:

“Rocks from the mines above Johnson Lake were brought to the large log mill building by mule or wagons. Ore was dumped in the upper side of the mill and funneled to the ore crushers in the building below. Heavy pounding piston-like stamps or tumbling ball mill cylinders powered by water and drive belts pulverized the ore. Through processes of sifting, washing, and leaching, tungsten mineral was collected for further refining at smelting facilities in Nevada and at Frisco, Utah.” 

The mill has long been abandoned. The corrugated roof no longer sits atop the building and sapling aspens now grow where men once worked. Stove parts, machine parts and other old debris are scattered about. 

Nearby is another structure that has been identified as a stable for pack mules. This square enclosure is nearly six-feet high, with roof beams over half the structure. Nearby is a metal trough. 

Remains of a stable for pack mules.

If one walks up the trail another half mile, he will arrive at four cabins built to support the workers of the mine. The largest was probably a cookhouse, serving as dining room and kitchen. This cabin has a rodent-proof pantry and other cooking artifacts. Fancy dishware has been found here, suggesting a woman on the premises⸺most likely Margaret Dearden. 

Attached to the cabin is another room, this one serving as a bunkhouse for visitors. I can imagine a group of men sitting around a wooden table after a long days work, visiting and discussing the issues of the day and a welcoming heat radiating from the wood-burning stove. Aroma from a bowl of stew or a loaf of bread would fill the air. Mrs. Dearden, dressed in her apron, would serve the hungry men a plate of food. 

Interior view of the cookhouse.

The cookhouse had a kitchen, as well as a dormitory for visitors.

I would imagine that Margaret kept things tidy while the men worked, for that's how Joseph expected it. Working in a mine would make a man dirty with dust, smoke and muck. Joseph's daughter, Daisy, said her father liked things to be clean and neat, and he was clean in his appearance. She would see a group of men walking down the street and could pick out her father by looking at their boots. The other men's boots would be spattered with mud up to the knee and her father's would be spotless. He also liked a clean yard and neat woodpile. 

There are three other cabins nearby, all of them smaller in size than the cookhouse. They are simple in structure and probably served as dormitories for the regular workers. One may have been used as a shed or storehouse. None of these cabins have a roof. I'm sure that over the years the heavy snows have caved them in. It is interesting to note that some of the corrugated roofing metal that has been found nearby has the inscription: “Jefferson Metal Co., Milford, UT.” 

Cabin at Johnson Mine.

Inside a cabin, probably used to sleep in.

This cabin was small enough that it was probably used as a storehouse.

They say that one man's trash is another man's treasure. This saying holds true at the Johnson Mine. Some “trash” is heaped in piles, while other discarded material is strewn in random places. 

Several years ago an archeological team came and inventoried what remained of the mine, including trash deposits. Their list of trash included cast iron stove parts, milk cans, lard cans, meat cans, oil cans, coffee cans, tobacco cans, earthen ware, glass, canvas, a hose, water pipe, leather scraps, mining equipment and machine parts. They also found mason jars, drinking glasses and liquor bottles. More than 500 milk cans and 500 food cans were counted, including cans that once held meat, sardines, lard, tuna, baking powder, coffee, and tobacco. 

One of the fascinating items we found was a leather shoe sitting on a stump. This, along with all the other items found at the mine, offers clues as to what the day to day operations may have looked like. We don't have a lot of other insight from histories or journals, so gleaning what we can from “trash” may give us our best understanding. 

Trash pile.

Old leather shoe.

Another couple hundred yards up the mountain lies Johnson Lake at an elevation of 10,800 feet. The lake is fed by a spring and supposedly there is a man-made dam that increased the capacity. They say that a stream is supposed to run out of the lake, but when we were there, there was no water running out. 

Just up the mountain from the lake there is a lot of old machinery and parts strewn around. A cable, which at one time supported an aerial tramway, is stretched up the mountain slope to a mining portal.  At the bottom end of the tramway there used to be a terminal building, which is now destroyed. We could not find the portal when we were there.  My guess is that it has been reclaimed. The cable is still hanging. 

View of Johnson Lake. The cabins are tucked in the trees at the upper right end of the lake.

A tramway ran down the mountain along this cable.

Piece of mining machinery.

My experience with being there included a lot of head-scratching, wondering what all the artifacts were used for. I have never mined in my life and have a difficult time piecing together a scene of what it may have looked like. One thing I do know for sure is that the conditions up there were brutal. Even during the summer, this place is susceptible to freezing temperatures, high winds, hail storms and even snow. During the winter I'm sure it was inaccessible. 

The time period in which the mine operated is a little fuzzy at times. The following was reported from the Department of Interior: 

“Tungsten deposits in upper Snake Creek were exploited in1916. The Uvada Tungsten Company was established in 1918 and reportedly had a 20-stamp mill operating at the head of Snake Creek which Unrau suggests was the Johnson Mine and the mill near Johnson Lake. This mine worked sporadically on a small scale for many years. The Engineering and Mining Journal [in] 1920 describes a 1,200 foot tunnel driven on the property of Dearden and Johnson near the head of Snake Creek. The article states that ore was milled in a two-ton gravity concentration plant in the canyon below Johnson Lake. In 1935 [Joseph Hyrum] Dearden of Baker shipped a small quantity of scheelite from the east side of the Snake Mountains. Sometime after this a major snow slide at Johnson Lake reportedly caused severe damage to the mining operation.” 

Stumps from trees that were cut down over 100 years ago and used to build the cabins.

Detail of cabin.

How did it all end for the players in our story? 

Alfred Johnson lived longer than any of them. He died at the age of 91. Nowhere could I find any indications of family or spouse. 

Joseph Hyrum Dearden lived to the age of 75 and died in 1943. He outlived his wife Margaret by 14 years and married another woman after her death. Both Johnson and the Deardens are buried in the Garrison Cemetery. 

Thomas Dearden was the first to pass away. He died in 1911 and likely never lived to see the mine come to fruition. Although he died in Garrison, he requested that his body be returned to Fillmore. There he was buried next to his eternal love, Charlotte. ♠

Grave of Thomas and Charlotte Dearden in Fillmore, Utah.

Detail of headstone.

Peak #5

This trek to Peak #5 was the result of a trail marathon I ran in 2017. Although I had summited the peak over a dozen times, this race took me on trails I never knew existed. During the race I passed several mining cabins and a decent-sized waterfall. All these were deep in the back-country, and I doubted many people knew of their existence. I vowed to someday return when I could take it at a slower pace, preferably with a camera. 

To be honest, I couldn't even tell you the exact location of some of those trails. They are not well advertised, which is good, but I wasn't even sure if I could find them. 

My itinerary would take me to the complete back side of Peak #5, meandering through several different basins, then climbing up the steep eastern slope. From there it would be a shorter journey back to my vehicle. 

When I put on my pack, it was much heavier than I had anticipated. It was filled with a tripod, monopod, DSLR with a big lens, a wide-angle lens, full-sized binoculars, and that in addition to all the regular stuff that a hiker needs such as food, water and sufficient clothes to keep him warm. I sure hoped it would be worth it. 

In the end I logged over sixteen miles. I found everything I was looking for, and then some. Although I only climbed 1,842 feet from my starting point, I'm sure the real number was more than double that, due to several instances of lost elevation. 

And just in case you were wondering, Peak #5 does has a real name, but I'm not going to disclose it. If you're local you can probably figure it out, but due to the increased popularity of the summit, I don't want to bring additional advertising. ♠

Morning sun casting long shadows behind the trees.

I believe these terraces were built in the 1930's by the CCC's to prevent erosion on the mountain.

Cresting my first ridge, with the next stage now in view.

I saw only a handful of deer, including these two does.

Always peering up to the cliffs in search of mountain goats.

A spring of water emerges from the rocks.

Wildflowers everywhere!

Trail leading to the next ridge.

Over the next ridge.

First cluster of mining cabins.

Heavy mountain snow has taken its toll over the years.

Inside one of the cabins.

I suspect this structure served as a mill.

One final look before moving on.

White columbines.

This waterfall has no name and rarely sees visitors.

Waterfall in black and white.

Portal to a mine.

Another cabin further down the trail. I believe they were mining for gold.

Wood-burning stove inside the cabin.

I spotted these two fellas up ahead.

It didn't take long before they joined the group and took off.

The final ascent to Peak #5.

Great view of fire clouds billowing on the other side of the mountain.

Peak #5 

Miles from car (one way): 12.4
 

Elevation gain: 1,842 feet +
 

Final Elevation: 12,174 feet