Travels Far and Near: November 2025

At 6:30 am we arrived at the parking lot in Little Cottonwood Canyon. I was shocked, not only to see it full, but also overflowing onto the main road. I parked with two tires on the pavement and two on the dirt, in front of two-dozen other cars parked along the main road. I couldn't believe there were so many people here so early in the morning.

As we unloaded our gear I felt like the odd man out. Young men and women, most in their early twenties, donned running gear and small backpacks for water. My backpack was a bulky camouflage bag meant for hunting. And I was the only one I saw with walking sticks.

All I could do was swallow my pride. I was sure that eventually someone my age would show up. At least I was hiking with a couple of people also in their twenties―Jordan and Jenna. We were all anxious to begin this adventure.

Much of this mountain, I believe, was used for mining. Up the road is Alta, historically a silver-mining town, now turned into ski resort. As the three of us now hiked up this rocky dirt path, I thought to myself that it was probably at one time a mining road, as it was wide enough for a vehicle.

As we hiked, several groups passed us, some running and others just walking. It wasn't a race and I had to remind myself that I was no longer in my twenties . . . or thirties . . . or forties!

We crossed a foot-bridge over a rushing stream and then followed a path now enveloped in tree roots. As it climbed in elevation it wrapped around the mountain slope and now we could look down and see the winding highway at the bottom of Little Cottonwood Canyon.

Little bridge crossing White Pine Creek.

Sun rising over Little Cottonwood Canyon.

My mind was pensive. Just three weeks earlier a 49-year-old man died on this exact route. He was high up on an exposed ridge when a boulder came loose beneath his feet. He lost footing and fell 200 feet in a rock slide to his death. Now that I was here with my two kids, this event weighed on my mind.

At the 3.7 mile mark we arrived at Red Pine Lake, a beautiful reservoir of water perched picturesquely beneath slopes of white broken rock. Of course, there were a couple dozen other people there also. The trees and upper ridge of the gulch reflected perfectly on the placid water.

We took a small break and enjoyed the view. Up to this point the skies remained clear, which was important. We hoped to avoid any afternoon thunderstorms.

Placid reflection on Red Pine Lake.

Trail wrapping around Red Pine Lake.

One last close-up of Red Pine Lake.

The view of Red Pine Lake becomes more beautiful the higher you get.

Beyond the lake was a confusing spiderweb of paths. We asked for directions and were pointed in the right direction. During this entire hike, the slope gradually became steeper. Now we climbed to an upper basin with two small lakes.

From here the slope really became intense and we climbed the walls of the gulch until at last we stood on a ridgeline. For the first time we could see the Pfeifferhorn.

First view of the Pfeifferhorn.

This protuberance in the Lone Peak Wilderness was named after Charles “Chick” Pfeiffer, a local mountaineer and ski pioneer, who died of suicide in 1939. He was president of the Wasatch Mountain Club in the 1930's and helped run a lodge at the head of Big Cottonwood Canyon. Before Pfeiffer's death the mountain peak was known as Little Matterhorn, but it wasn't until 2013 when the name change was officially recognized.

Atop this same ridge we could now see Box Elder Peak, as well as a great view of White Baldy. This was a spot for many to lounge around to enjoy the view and reward themselves for having survived such a steep climb. It was also the spot for those who chose not to climb the peak to either turn around, or wait while those in their party pressed toward the summit. There was only half a mile left to go, but it would be a difficult half mile.

The route up Pfeifferhorn.

Little people atop the summit.

At the foot of Pfeifferhorn there is a 400-foot ridge with a steep slide area on both sides, the north side being the more treacherous. It is topped with blocks of granite, spewed in a manner to create a good hiking challenge. This section is a definite Class 3.

For Jordan this was a highlight. As a kid he was always the one to get close to a ledge and climb all over dangerous rocks. Now he was in paradise! The were two ways to confront this challenge: either by carefully assessing the obstacle and deciding accordingly, or climbing directly on top and treating it like a catwalk. Jordan chose the latter.

Jenna and I, on the other hand, followed the majority and found the route of least exposure. Sometimes this meant shimmying along the side and then using our arms to climb onto a large boulder, then maneuvering to the right or left.

Jenna on her way up the summit.

This ridgeline challenge took about 25 minutes and was satisfying for all of us. It gave us the satisfaction of doing some semi-technical mountaineering, while at the same time not being too incredibly life-threatening. I remembered that it was somewhere around here where the 49-year-old man died a few weeks ago.

At last we arrived at the base of the peak. From a distance the face of Pfeifferhorn looked dangerously steep, but not so much up close. Don't get me wrong, it still looked agonizingly steep, but doable.

View from near the peak, looking down toward the "ridgeline challenge" linking the Pfeifferhorn with the rest of the trail.

The final pitch to the summit took us 20 minutes. It was indeed steep, but probably no steeper than our climb out of the gulch. The biggest challenge, other than burning thighs, was not to send rocks tumbling down toward other hikers.

Once on top, the views were amazing. To the west we could see Bighorn Peak, Thunder Peak, and peeking behind them, the granddaddy of them all, Lone Peak. To the south we had a greater view of Box Elder Peak and Timpanogos behind it. In the east I could spot White Baldy, which was nearest us, but beyond it was a jumble of mountains I didn't know. Then to the north, in one spectacular ridgeline was Mount Superior, Monte Cristo, Dromedary, O'Sullivan, Twin Peaks, plus others. I didn't even know which was which, but I did know they were the last leg of the WURL and were pretty sketchy.

View from the summit, looking toward Box Elder Peak and Mount Timpanogos.

View from the peak looking west toward Lone Peak, Bighorn Peak and Thunder Peak.

Relaxing at the summit of Pfeifferhorn.

Jordan kept trying to sit way too close to the edge. The boy hasn't changed in 20 years! I urged him back and all he did was find another sketchy spot. Once again I told him to move and the third time he still found a place close to the edge, but at least it was stable so I let him stay and eat his lunch.

Pfeifferhorn is tucked back in the mountains, so we didn't have a great view of civilization, but we could see part of Utah Lake, as well as a little triangle in the Alpine/Lehi area.

My GPS gave the final elevation at 11,268 feet, but the official measure is 11,326. It is the eighth-highest peak in the Wasatch Range.

Our trip down had a few items of note. First, Red Pine Lake, although no longer mirror-like, now took on a beautiful dark-blue color. We sat on a rock and enjoyed our moment there. Also, I spotted the tailings of an old mine just off the trail. That gave me a little insight to the history of this mountain gulch. And lastly, we took a small detour to a beautiful waterfall that wasn't too far off of the main trail. While there I cupped my hand into the icy water and splashed it over my face several times. It felt good to have all that sweat and grime washed off. ♠