Angelic Faces

Sketch of Mary Ann Harrison

Tender mercies come when you least expect them.
 
Today marks twelve years since the passing of my daughter, Brittany. I miss her dearly. Especially in the months succeeding her death, small, but pleasant instances of “good luck” would fall upon us; however, they happened frequently enough that I didn't consider them to be “luck” at all. Perhaps divine intervention.
 
A month and a half after her burial I was browsing through a small local museum when I stumbled across a story that captured my heart.
 

Solomon Nunes Carvalho

A man by the name of Solomon Nunes Carvalho, a Jewish artist, was traveling with the John C. Fremont expedition in 1854 across a valley that would later become part of southern Utah. He became ill and chose to depart the group and travel to Salt Lake where he could recuperate. A few months later he returned to Southern Utah, this time with Brigham Young. During his stay in the young settlement of Cedar City he recorded the following experience in his journal:
 
“The morning after my arrival . . . I arose very early, and taking my sketchbook along, I sauntered around the city; in the course of my peregrinations, I saw a man walking up and down before an adobe shanty, apparently much distressed; I approached him, and inquired the cause of his dejection; he told me that his only daughter, (four) years of age, had died suddenly in the night; he pointed to the door and I entered the dwelling.
 
“Laid out upon a straw mattress, scrupulously clean, was one of the most angelic children I ever saw. On its face was a placid smile, and it looked more like the gentle repose of healthful sleep than the everlasting slumber of death. Beautiful curls clustered around a brow of snowy whiteness. It was easy to perceive that it was a child lately from England, from its peculiar conformation. I entered very softly, and did not disturb the afflicted mother, who reclined on the bed, face buried in the pillow, sobbing as if her heart would break.
 
“Without a second's reflection, I commenced making a sketch of the inanimate being before me, and in the course of half-an-hour I had procured an excellent likeness.
 
“A slight movement in the room caused the mother to look around her. She perceived me, and I apologized for my intrusion; and telling her that I was one of the Governor's party who arrived last night. I tore the leaf out of my book and presented it to her, and it is impossible to describe the delight and joy she expressed at its possession. She said I was an angel sent from heaven to comfort her. She had no likeness of the child.
 
“I bid her to place her trust in Him 'who giveth and taketh away,' and left her indulging in the excitement of joy and sorrow. I went out unperceived by the bereaved father, who was still walking up and down, buried in grief. I continued my walk, contemplating the strange combination of events, which gave this poor woman a slight ray of peace for her sorrowing heart.
 
“When I was about starting next day, I discovered in the wagon a basket filled with eggs, butter, and several loaves of bread, and a note to my address containing these words, 'From a grateful heart.'”

* * *
 
The child in the account was Mary Ann Harrison, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Harrison.  Their story touched me deeply. My heart tugged with sympathy for the bereaving parents. I could relate with them.
 
But something else stood out—how lucky I was to have dozens of photos and videos of Brittany. We are truly blessed to be able to capture an image or sound so easily. How many generations have passed that have had no opportunity to recreate the “likeness” of their loved ones?
 
Now, twelve years later, I can watch a video of her giggling voice, or see a photo of her brown silky hair and it brings me so close that in my mind's eye I can picture her as if she had never left. ♥

My Angel.

Beautiful Mount Olympus (Peak #19)

Maybe it's because Mount Olympus is home of the gods and is intertwined with Greek Mythology. Or maybe it's because I remember all those commercials from when I was a kid for Mount Olympus Water (a bottled water company in Salt Lake). Or maybe it's because Mount Olympus and it's regal rocky peaks catch the eye from anywhere in the valley.

Whatever the reason, hiking to the top of Mount Olympus has been on my radar for some time. It is not the tallest summit in the Salt Lake portion of the Wasatch Range, but it is certainly one of the most prominent. It is also one of the most sought after.

I had a morning appointment in Salt Lake so I didn't get to the trailhead until just before noon. My timing was perfect because a mid-October snowstorm was set to hit the mountains the following day. One last day of autumn.

Near the trailhead looking back toward the valley.

Beautiful fall colors. 

View of Bonneville Shoreline Trail and Old Mill Golf Course.

Interesting rock layers visible on the trail to Mount Olympus.

Beautiful vistas began immediately into my hike. A slightly elevated location put me high enough to see extensively across the valley. The skyline of downtown Salt Lake protruded above the treetops.

The trail to Mount Olympus continually moved up and up and up. No rest for the weary. Occasionally I passed a hardy trail runner. This path provides excellent exercise and has been dubbed “the eternal Stair Master.”

As I increased in elevation, the color of the scrub oak changed from green to shades of red to bright red to fallen on the ground. The fall colors juxtaposed with the ridges of limestone on the steep mountain slopes created a breathtaking scene.

Trail to Mount Olympus.

Fall foliage juxtaposed with rock. 

I am by no means a geologist, nor do I understand a scintilla of what a geologist understands. Having said that, observation has made me curious about the geologic past of Mount Olympus. There are several strata of rock that run the entire slope of the mountain, protruding at a diagonal angle. The most notable of these are the two peaks of Mount Olympus. Together they create two summits and what one could describe as a giant slide between the two. The southern summit is the one led to by the trail.

The nature of the trail is such that it climbs on the edge of a steep slope or within a ravine in a manner that the summit of Olympus is never clearly visible until one is nearly at the top. Although this fact is very unfortunate, on the other hand, the hiker is very lucky to have splendid views of the valley and adjacent mountain slopes for much of his journey. If he has studied his map the hiker will recognize Twin Peaks and Lone Peak in the distance.

As I have noted, the entire hike is steep. It starts as an average uphill slope, but as distance moves forward, the pitch becomes even more challenging. Especially as I got to the two and a half mile mark, I stopped about every other minute to catch a breather and rest my thighs.

First view of Mount Olympus.

Rugged terrain south and east of the trail.

At the three-mile mark the long, tedious uphill trail levels out. Here the viewpoint opens up and the south summit of Mount Olympus is clearly in sight. The trail comes to a ridge where on the right side is a very deep mountain canyon, and beyond that are layers of mountain, each ridge behind the next one.

It was here that I sized up the next stage of my hike. This would be a stage-3 climb to the summit. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I hoped that it wasn't too difficult or dangerous (since I'm scared of heights). I was told that there was no one “true” way to the top and that each hiker would likely find a slightly different route.

Class 3 climb to the summit.

I also hoped that by this point there would be several other hikers up here that I could follow. That was very far from reality. There was no one else up here. I passed someone coming down, but other than that, I was up here by myself.

Although there was no distinct trail beyond this point, there were places on the rock where obviously more people had traveled. It wasn't too hard to look ahead and guess where to go. Much of it I simply walked, but there were also parts where I used my hands, feet and knees to ascend a sloping rock face. I picked my way to the top using educated guesses.

From summit looking south towards Broads Fork Twin Peaks and Lone Peak.

From summit looking east.

From summit looking north toward North Peak of Mount Olympus and SLC in distance.

From summit looking west into Salt Lake Valley.

The views on top were outstanding! Not only did I have a grand view of the valley and the aforementioned peaks, but also of the north and northeast sides of the peak, both of which dropped precipitously. The north side particularly caught my attention as it was the “slide” I mentioned earlier. The north summit sat within view, its south face very sheer, with a chasm between the two.

The summit consisted of large boulders and no one place that was particularly smooth. The way the boulders were stacked I was extra careful not to drop anything small because it could have easily slipped inside a crack and be lost forever.

Summit of Mount Olympus.

Close up of North Mount Olympus and downtown Salt Lake and Utah Capitol Building.

The climb to the top (3.3 miles) took me 3 hours and 12 minutes. Although it was steep and grueling, there was no bushwhacking to contend with. For the 20 minutes I spent on the summit, I didn't see another soul.

The hike down took on a slightly different, but enjoyable nature of its own. The light now inched toward the western horizon, which cast a varied look of the mountain. Some of the leaves near the trail lost their luster, while those on the distant slopes seemed to deepen in vibrancy. Thunder clouds now hovered over the valley and beams of light in some places crept out of the clouds and glistened.

Lone Peak, Bighorn Peak and maybe Pheifferhorn (to my inexperienced eye).

I passed a weary lady on her way up with her two hunting dogs, one of which wore a Garmin tracker. I talked to another lady, this one with a British accent, who was also on her way up, but worried of the increasingly ominous storm clouds. Although I didn't say anything, my biggest worry for her was darkness that would surely come before she reached the summit.

A younger man, probably in college, passed me coming down the trail. I noticed the backpack full of rope and a climber's helmet. I asked him where he'd been and he told me of the “West Slab,” which I believe is the far side of Olympus where the more adventurous climbers ascend the steep rock to the top.

Downtown Salt Lake City.

By the time I returned to my car I had been away six and a half hours. It was a very satisfying hike. Views along the trail and at the summit were excellent. All in all, I would say it was one of the better hikes I've done this summer. ♠

Mount Olympus

Distance from car (one way): 3.3 miles

Elevation gain: 4,202 feet

Final elevation: 9,018 feet

Muddy Creek Burials, Wyoming

On July 9, 1859 a company of handcarts departed for the plains from Florence, Nebraska. The group consisted primarily of converts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Switzerland, Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Their destination, Salt Lake City, was a gathering place for the Saints, a place they would call Zion.

Handcarts provided an economical way for the church to convey thousands of new members to the West. Most of them arrived in the New World impoverished and without the means to buy a team and wagon.

Fifty-seven handcarts among them carried 250 pounds of provisions each. Four people were assigned to each cart. In addition there were eight wagons to carry extra luggage. Seven “Captains of ten” took stewardship over a group. These men were usually more seasoned on the frontier than the newly arrived immigrants.  George Rowley was assigned captain over the entire company.

Handcart memorial at This is the Place Heritage Park in Salt Lake City.

Being a God-fearing group, every day began and ended with prayer. The distance they traveled, nearly all while pulling handcarts, varied from zero to seven to twenty miles a day. As you can imagine, this led to sore feet and sick people. One of the wagons was designated as the “provisions wagon,” which carried the “invalids.”

As they wandered in a strange land they witnessed things they had never before seen. Buffalo roamed the prairies. Indians came into their camps. Wolves howled at night and at times stirred up trouble. As one lady put it after a night of lightning and rain: they had witnessed “a real American thunderstorm.”

In addition to the mind-boggling number of miles they put in, the terrain on which they walked was not easy. The wheels of their handcarts spun over sandy hills, slogged through mud and forded rivers. At times when they stopped to camp for the night there was neither water nor wood for a fire. They quickly learned to use an American novelty for fuel: the buffalo chip.

Two-rut trail at Muddy Creek.

As they traveled from east to west, they mostly followed the Oregon-California Trail until they parted ways near South Pass, Wyoming. For much of this journey they followed the Platte and Sweetwater Rivers. They watched for notable landmarks like Devil's Gate and Chimney Rock.

Along with sickness came death. There were no doctors or hospitals for the weary travelers. When the angel of death came, he often claimed more than one in the same family. Burial was a sad affair. After the grieving family was long gone, the lifeless corpse entombed in parched or frozen ground was often disinterred by wolves. Travelers along the route reported to having found skulls lying around and limbs protruding from the earth.

Martin Handcart Company---Bitter Creek, Wyoming, 1856.  (Courtesy Church Newsroom)

As the company of handcart pioneers of whom we speak traveled across what is today Nebraska and Wyoming, they became low on provisions. This was difficult for the group, and like similar stories found in scripture, they began to murmur. By August 22 when they arrived at the Green River in Wyoming, their provisions were completely exhausted. They resorted to killing one of their own oxen. —Two days later horsemen from Salt Lake arrived with provisions and the famished Saints were overcome with joy and shed many tears.

After a well deserved rest the group continued their journey in a southwesterly direction, crossing the Hams and Smiths forks. On August 28 they arrived at Fort Bridger where all the soldiers turned out “to see 250 persons pulling handcarts over a wild country of a thousand miles and all for a religion in which they have implicit faith and confidence.”⸺They ate dinner at “The Springs” and descended a very steep and rocky hill and camped at the foot of it beside the “little Muddy.”

On August 29, Thomas McIntyre recorded the following in his diary:

“At 7 a.m. we have a death in our camp. Anna Henysen [Hansen] aged 49. She had been sickly since she left home. We bury her on near to a creek near the south of the road. The Danish Saints attend to the rites of burial. We travel over hilly ground but good roads. [We] ford Bear River which is very high and camp about ¼ of a mile from the crossing. Traveled today 21 miles.”

Peaceful waters at Muddy Creek.

Fenced memorial for Catherine Bennett.

Ann came to America from Denmark with her husband, Mads Jensen, and five living children. In Denmark she would have been known as Ann Hansdatter. They arrived earlier that year on the ship “William Tapscott.” We know very little else about them.

Like many other pioneers, she died from “mountain fever,” which tends to be a catch-all phrase for any fever or disease you get in the mountains. It is the same illness that plagued Brigham Young when he arrived in Salt Lake twelve years earlier. Apparently Ann's family had it also because just five days later—just one day before arriving in the valley—her 13 year-old daughter, Maren, also died. The next day they were joined in death by, Karen, the 7 year-old daughter. Indeed, a very sad situation.

Headstone for Ann Hansdatter Jensen.

The Muddy Creek Campground was one of the most used on the Mormon and California Trails. Brigham Young's group camped here on July 9, 1847. They reported the camp had good water and plenty of grass.

It was also used as a stage stop and Pony Express station. In 1858, over 2,000 men with the U.S. Army camped here. The original Transcontinental Railroad came near here in 1869. It is estimated that 70,000 Mormon pioneers either came through or camped at the Muddy Creek Campground.

Muddy Creek, Wyoming.

Less than two weeks after the death of Ann Hansdatter Jensen, there was another death at Muddy Creek. Peter Andersen Fjeldsted, another Danish convert, passed away on September 9th. There is very little we know about him, including exactly how he died. Luckily for us, he was in the process of writing his history down in a “diary.” It was only three pages long and still not complete as he crossed the plains.

Born near Copenhagen in 1821, Peter was raised in the Lutheran faith. His family was so poor that by the age of fourteen he had to leave home and work at a factory where he “saw all the drunkenness and wild life and those who didn't believe in God.” After several years he returned home to support his mother after his father died in a drowning accident. In 1844 he married and had a child who died the same day.

Peter learned of the restored gospel in 1850 from missionary Erastus Snow. He and his brother, Christian Daniel Fjeldsted, believed the words of Elder Snow and were a strength to each other. His wife, however, did not believe and this drew a wedge between them that eventually pulled them apart. As he recorded in his diary: “My heart felt as if it were crushed between two stones.”

After his baptism he spent several years serving as a missionary for the church in Denmark. He presided over congregations as well as baptized new converts. He returned to his wife several times, but she would not budge. She stood staunchly in her Lutheran faith. He wrote in his diary: “I can see now that she won't believe in the Gospel, but she's in God's hands and I'll pray for her, that's all I can do.”

On April 1, 1859 he left Denmark for the last time aboard a ship for Liverpool. From there he would board another ship bound for America with hundreds of Saints. His diary ends while aboard this ship. We know that five months later he would die near Muddy Creek.

Peter had no living descendants. His brother, Christian, however, successfully made it to Utah and was blessed with a bountiful progeny. He was ordained as a President of the Seventy in 1884 and is buried in Logan, Utah.

Christian Daniel Fjeldsted, brother of Peter.

Almost exactly a year later would come the third and final known burial at Muddy Creek. Catherine Jones Bennett, a convert from Wales, died on September 26, 1860. What makes this interesting to me is that it was recorded in the diary of my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Joel Hills Johnson.

The Bennett family lived in a village near the border with England. Catherine's father, John Jones, had a dream where he saw two men bringing a book and preaching a new gospel. He told his dream to Catherine's husband, Benjamin Bennett, and they decided that when these men came they would follow them.

Several years later, in 1840, several members of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles traveled to England as missionaries. Two of them, Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, made a short trip into Wales to the town of Hawarden to preach the gospel. It was here that John Jones saw and recognized them as the men in his dream.

(L-R) Catherine Bennett, Benjamin Bennett, daughter Elizabeth Bennett.

Benjamin and Catherine, along with several family members, were baptized in 1841. After several more years in Wales, they were finally given the opportunity to come to America and join the other Saints in the mountains of Utah.

They sailed from Liverpool, England aboard a ship with 730 converts of the church. After arriving in New York City they took a train eastward, likely then to take a steam boat on the Missouri River to Florence, Nebraska. This was where the real work would begin. Then they traveled in a wagon train with the William Budge Company.

Joel Hills Johnson started his journey across the plains on August 5,1860. He traveled with two wagons, one carrying belongings for himself and the other with provisions and goods from one of the handcart companies. It is unclear when he began traveling with the William Budge Company, or if he traveled with them the entire time. I believe there were multiple trains traveling within general proximity of each other.

The pioneers traveled most of the same route traveled a year earlier by Ann Jensen and Peter Fjeldsted. Johnson writes of many of the same landmarks and encounters as did Thomas McIntyre in his diary, although in less detail.

The first and only mention of Catherine Bennett comes on his September 27 entry:

“Started before breakfast. Traveled about 8 or 9 miles to the Station on the muddy near Iron Springs where we camped for the balance of the day and night. At this place we buried Sister Bennett, an aged Saint from England, who died the day before.”⸺The next day they had no choice but to move on.

There is one more connection that makes Catherine Bennett of interest to me. Her husband, Benjamin, completed the trip to Utah and eventually settled in what is now known as Holden, Utah. Catherine and Benjamin's daughter, Elizabeth, married John Kenney. John Kenney is my great-great-great-grandpa, I being related through John's second wife, Phebe Alden, these being the days of polygamy.

Memorial for Catherine Jones Bennett.

The Muddy Creek Burials are special in the sense that we know where they are. The vast majority of deaths along the Mormon Trail are lost to time. Often they were “buried on a hill.” But which hill that is, no one knows for sure.

But it should also be noted that, at least in the case of Catherine Bennett, and possibly with the other two, we only know of the general area. When Catherine's family finally learned of the general location where she was buried, they traveled there in the early 1990's and “found one grave that had been claimed last year, but not much else that looked like a grave.”

In 1862, Jens Weibye recorded in his journal “. . . there a short distance west on the north side of the road, was the grave of Peter A. Fjeldsted who died while crossing the plains in 1859.” This shows that his grave was marked at one time. Perhaps this is the grave the Bennett family found in the 1990's. There were no bodies exhumed, nor any Lidar scans. It is likely, in my opinion, that the grave marker for Peter Fjeldsted is in the correct spot, while the other two are just in the general area. All three markers are next to each other. 

Grave markers for Ann Jensen (left) and Peter Fjeldsted.

An expansive view of Muddy Creek, looking west.

The Muddy Creek Burials are half an hour drive from Evanston, Wyoming. From the exit off I-80 it is three miles on a well-maintained graveled road. Muddy Creek wasn't muddy at all when I visited the location. It's clear waters meandered lazily downstream.

The location still feels pretty isolated. I can picture snow on the ground and gusty wind with nothing to block it. I can imagine sore feet from walking hundreds of miles with no relief on the horizon.

Researching these burials has been a humbling experience. My ancestors traveled the exact same route as Catherine Bennett, Peter Fjeldsted and Ann Jensen. Although none of my ancestors died while crossing the plains, some perished at Winter Quarters while waiting to cross. These men and women sacrificed everything they had to find a place where they could worship in freedom without fear of violent mobs. They suffered far more than I will ever suffer so that I might have the liberty to worship. I will be eternally grateful for them. ♠

[Sources: Journal of Thomas McIntyre, Journal of Joel Hills Johnson, Find a Grave, numerous documents from Family Search, and historical marker at Muddy Creek.]

Morning Workouts at Keenland

We arrived at the racetrack wearied from an overnight flight. Fog shrouded the rolling green hills around the track while soft drops of rain fell like dew. Although we couldn't see it, the sun had just crested over the eastern horizon.

The grounds were a peaceful place. Not many people were out this morning, but those that were appeared in no hurry. We asked an old man who stood outside which way to go for the track. He pointed us toward the grandstand where we would walk underneath, turn right, and then to the left.

With umbrellas in hand we walked in the direction he gave us, past the gift shop which would open at 9:00. We passed the betting booths, now closed up. A row of porcelain jockeys lined the shrubbery, each holding a plaque with the winner of a local race. I read one of them: Sierra Leone, winner of the 2024 Blue Grass Stakes.

We then walked through a tunnel and came out near the track. The edge was so close we could reach out and touch the white railing and see the imprints of the horse hooves in the sandy dirt.

We weren't the only ones here. Others came to do the same as us, to watch the morning workouts. This was Keenland Race Course in Kentucky, one of the most prestigious tracks in the country.

Behind sat the empty grandstand. Ahead, beyond the track, the silhouette of a tree penetrated the fog. At the far end of the track a lone horse with rider stood as sentinel at the track's edge.

Suddenly, to our left, a black horse with jockey came thundering down the track toward us. Out of nowhere he penetrated the fog, and like the steel wheels of a locomotive he breezed past. The pounding of his hooves rumbled as he whizzed by.

It was breathtaking!

Several minutes later another horse raced past, this one coupled with a second horse to give him competition. Both riders disappeared into the fog at our right, and then after several minutes returned our way at a trot, on their way to the paddock.

I supposed this was a typical morning at Keenland. At this time of year there are no official races, but religiously there are workouts every morning. The public can watch for free.

We waited longer and there were no more riders, at least not for the moment. A heavier dose of rain began to fall and my glasses became speckled. We were tired and hungry. It was time to move on.

We walked back through the grandstand. The gift shop was still closed. The grounds were still active with small clusters of people moving hither and thither. Some had signed up for tours of the racetrack. Behind us we could hear the rumbling of another horse sprinting to the finish. They were still running in spite of the rain.

We got back in the van and drove down the road, through a corridor of stables. It took just a few minutes to arrive at our destination—the Track Kitchen.

We were told that the Track Kitchen was the place to eat breakfast. It was inexpensive, but with quality food.  You could also mingle with jockeys and trainers.

Dozens of framed pictures surrounded the dining room walls, most of them of famous horses when they raced at Keenland. A sweet lady worked up front and took our order. We sat down and waited until they called our number.

The room was mostly full, although none of them seemed short enough to be jockeys. Many, I believe, were visitors just like us. Most of them probably had connections to the horse industry.

When my food came, it hit the spot. I ordered a plate of pancakes with biscuits and gravy. The pancakes may have been the best I've ever had. They were fluffy in the middle, but lightly crispy on the outside as if they had been sauteed in butter.

Our morning at Keenland was almost over. Although brief, it will be a memory forever engrained in my mind. I hope to return someday, but for a longer spell. ♠

Mount Nebo and North Peak (#'s 17 & 18)

Driving toward Nephi on I-15—and visible from anywhere in the valley—is a monster of a mountain, crowned by Mount Nebo. For years now I have longed to hike its beautiful flanks and see for myself the view from on top.

Early Mormon pioneers named it Mount Nebo, “Sentinel of God.” In the Bible, Mount Nebo was the place where Moses ascended before his death and viewed the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 34:1-6). Perhaps this is why the pioneers gave it the name they did. Rising as a watchman on the very southern edge of the Wasatch Range, Mount Nebo, it could be said, was a gatekeeper to the Promised Land of the early Latter Day Saints.

North Peak.

I finally found my opportunity to hike this elusive peak. Dave and I drove up the night before and stayed at a motel in Nephi. When morning came, we awoke to a sky dense with smoke from wildfires in Idaho and Oregon. We worried about it affecting our lungs, as well as the view from the top.

Technically, Mount Nebo has three different peaks: North, Middle and South. For many years until the 1970's, it was believed that South Mount Nebo was the highest. That peak is usually accessed by a trail near Salt Creek and Bear Canyon Campground. But then it was discovered that North Mount Nebo was the tallest and suddenly everyone wanted to hike it instead. Luckily for us, the trail to access North Mount Nebo is located much higher in elevation, off the Nebo Loop Road at 9,254 feet.—(And to be sure, don't confuse North Mount Nebo with North Peak, which is located just north of North Mount Nebo!)

As for Dave and I, we set out to climb North Mount Nebo and then North Peak if we had any energy left. We parked at the trailhead, a quarter-mile off the Nebo Loop Road. The hike begins on a good trail along a ridge with a great view of North Peak and a looking down a very deep canyon which contains the left fork of Salt Creek. Bald Mountain is very prominent to the northwest and one can also see Dry Mountain and Loafer Mountain in the distance.

Bald Mountain.

The trail skirts around the west side of North Peak.  Mount Nebo in distance.

The first couple miles goes gradually uphill, although there are some short downhill sections. The next mile and a half is the first steep section, gaining 1,362 feet. Here the trail takes you to the main ridge that connects all the Nebo peaks, then behind and to the west of North Peak.

None of the trails were marked with signs, although they were easy to follow. The section of trail that skirted North Peak was wide (enough) and safe, but the slope off to our right was steep and precarious. From here we had views down into the valley toward Mona, but with all the smoke and haze it was nothing stellar.

Wolf Pass looking toward false summit of Mount Nebo.

After circumventing North Peak we arrived at Wolf Pass, the saddle between the two peaks. The wind really began to pick up here. We took time to rest and I put on a long-sleeved shirt to take the edge off the cold. From here there was no more easy hiking. The route to Nebo appeared straight up!

We stayed on the trail, which made a series of short zigzags along the main ridge. At times the trail was hard to follow, but there was indeed a trail all the way to the top. This final pitch was without a doubt the most grueling, climbing 1,292 feet in just under a mile. It was all steep with the exception of a small false summit which gave some respite.

I will say that Dave did much better than me. Despite the fact that this was his first major hike of the summer and that he is ten years older, he was able to keep up a pace that outdid me. I was impressed.

It was along this section that we passed our first hikers of the day. I was surprised we didn't pass more as Mount Nebo, I would think, would be a popular hike.

Dave booking it to the summit.

From the false summit, looking toward Nebo.

At last we made it to the summit of Mount Nebo, the highest peak in Utah County and the entire Wasatch Range, elevation 11,923 feet. It felt nice to finally reach a goal I had set years ago.

In spite of the haze, we had decent views all around. To the north we could see North Peak, Bald Mountain, Dry Mountain and Loafer Mountain, but the haze was too thick to distinctly see Mount Timponogos, which is further north. The landscape to our east dropped quickly and deeply—nearly 5,000 feet— into Hell Hole Basin. Beyond that were a series of rolling high hills, indistinguishable to untrained eyes such as ours. Somewhere down there would be Highway 6 running between Spanish Fork and Price. In the far distance I could barely distinguish some bald knobs, which I suspect was the very western flank of the Uintah Mountains.

From the summit looking south toward South Mount Nebo.

From the summit looking west toward Mona.

From the summit looking into Hell Hole Basin.

The broad summit of Mount Nebo.

To our south the Nebo ridgeline continued and I could see South Mount Nebo a mile away. From our vantage point on North Mount Nebo we could not see the town of Nephi, so I assume that the Mount Nebo I alluded to in my opening paragraph that one can see from I-15 is really South Mount Nebo.

As we rested at the top we were met by another group of hikers, all of them young ones. They were very pleasant to talk to and had moved here recently from Michigan and Chicago, although they already had ties to the area. One had just finished serving a church mission in the Philippines.

Our hike to the summit took us 3 hours and 40 minutes. We rested forty minutes on the peak before heading down.

The hike down wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Luckily we had a trail, which helped. We arrived back at the saddle at Wolf Pass where we now headed off-trail toward North Peak.

The slope was grassy and not as steep as I had anticipated. I only had to stop and rest my thighs a couple of times. From saddle to peak it took us 30 minutes to cover .6 miles and climb 526 feet. The detour was well worth it. North Peak had two possible summits and we chose the one we thought was highest, although both of them were pretty similar in elevation.

Descending Mount Nebo, looking toward North Peak.

Dave ascending the grassy slopes of North Peak.

From the summit of North Peak looking back toward Mount Nebo.

Descending on the Nebo Trail.  Bald Mountain in distance.

From the Summit of North Peak it didn't take much descent until we met back up with the main Nebo Trail. Dave led the way and we “booked” it all the way to the car.

Our total hike took us 7 hours 30 minutes, measuring 8.8 miles. It was a good mountain hike with very steep slopes. I was glad we did it, although I will admit that there wasn't a whole lot that stood out as particularly unique. We saw no big game animals such as deer, elk or mountain goats. There wasn't a single pond or lake. The scenery on this hike could have been that of any other steep mountain.

But it was nice to get out with Dave. It was our first outing of the year together (and it's already September). We got to drive up in my wife's Tesla and spend the night in a 1970's motel in Nephi. That alone would have made the trip memorable. But there is still a great deal of satisfaction of climbing the summit of a very tall mountain, especially when that summit is tallest for many miles. ♠


(North) Mount Nebo

Miles from car (one way): 4.4

Elevation gain: 2,669 feet

Final elevation: 11,923 feet


North Peak

Miles from Mount Nebo: 1.5

New elevation gain: 526 feet

Final elevation: 11,157 feet

From the summit of North Peak.