Climbing Mount Trumbull (Peak #33)

Mount Trumbull as seen from the trailhead to Mount Logan.

To the residents of Bundyville it was known as Nixon Mountain, named after James W. Nixon, an early pioneer in the area. But officially it was known as Mount Trumbull, named in 1869 by John Wesley Powell after Illinois Senator, Lyman Trumbull.

I've always had a fascination with Mount Trumbull. There is nothing special with the makeup of the mountain, but I was more fascinated with its remoteness. To arrive at its flanks one had to drive seventy miles on a dirt or graveled road.

Mount Trumbull from a distance of five miles to the west.

From the highway, one can barely see it unless he knows what he's looking for. It's a low-prominence dome that can blend with other volcanic hills in the area. Its proximity to the Grand Canyon adds to the mystique.

I was also well aware that its tall stands of ponderosa pine were used for lumber in the building of the St. George Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. This in itself was quite a feat.

Ponderosa Pine grows near Mount Trumbull. 

Work began in 1873. A road had to be built and sawmills were brought in. A loaded trip from the sawmill to St. George was backbreaking and tedious, which included a team of oxen traveling close to eighty miles for nearly a week. The lumber was eventually used for floors, walls and ornate stairways in the temple.

Over the next couple years, work from the sawmill was difficult. At one time it completely stopped when the snow fell so deep that the teams had no feed. The men got discouraged. Robert Gardner, one of the men in charge stated, “I would rather go to China than Trumbull.”

In 1875 the masonry work on the temple was completed. The work at the sawmill now had to be expedited. Gardner writes: “As soon as I could, I started back to Mount Trumbull with two cooks, men and provisions. Soon I had the mill running. I fitted it out with men and took six men with me into the woods; four with cross-cut saws and two with axes. I took my 'bill of lumber' for the Temple and my ax and measuring pole and selected and marked suitable trees for the choppers to cut. When they were cut down, I measured and marked them for the men with the cross-cut saws.”

Around this time James Nixon was called upon by the church to move with his family to Mount Trumbull. He was able to locate a spring and convey the water nearly a mile in a trough to the sawmill. Water was critical in running the steam-operated mill. Because of this they were more efficient in cutting board. This lumber was used not only for the temple, but many other buildings in early St. George. The water source still bears the name of Nixon Spring.

James William Nixon.

St. George Temple.

The trailhead to the top of Mount Trumbull is in the same area as the old sawmills. Nowadays there are kiosks that tell the history of the sawmills and native inhabitants, as well as a geological history of the mountain.

This area is higher in elevation than the Hurricane Valley to the west, Toroweap Valley to the east, and of course, the Grand Canyon to the south. Elevation is approximately 6500 feet. Mount Logan is directly to the south, and Mount Trumbull to the North. Between the two are green meadows and tall ponderosa pines in every direction.

Mount Trumbull is an ancient volcano whose first eruption happened approximately 3.6 million years ago. It is part of the Uinkaret Volcanic Field that stretches from the Grand Canyon all the way to the Utah state line. After this first eruption the lava cooled and turned into hard gray basalt. A second eruption at an unknown date spewed red cinder rock on top of the basalt. This rock is still visible on the trail.

There is a short trail in the vicinity of the old sawmills, but as far as I could tell, there's nothing left of the old structures. Trees are cleared out in a narrow line heading northward, which I assume leads in Nixon Spring. It was here that I met my first group of humans in two days, a trio of young Native adults who were hired by the forest service to fight invasive plants. One of them, I am sure, was Navajo.

A couple does near the old sawmill site.

The beginning of the trail with lots of little red cinder rock.

Part of the forest on top of Trumbull that was in a burn scar.

A flat Mount Logan as seen from the trail.

Looking southeast along the trail toward cinder cones, lava flows and Toroweap Valley.

The hike to the top of Trumbull was pleasant, but nothing extraordinary. The trail is steeper in the beginning, climbing the southern flank over small red cinder rocks. From time to time I would catch a glimpse of Mount Logan to the south, or other unnamed cinder cones to the southeast. Knowing what I was looking for, I spotted Toroweap Valley further afield.

Mount Trumbull is shaped like a low dome. Once I got on top of the dome the incline lessened. The density of the trees also lessened. I think there was a fire here several years ago, eliminating some of the stands.

The living and dead side by side.

Summit of Mount Trumbull, sans view.

Geological survey marker at the summit.

The trail wraps around the mountain until it comes to an end at the summit. Here there is a geological survey marker and a pile of rocks, but there is no view.

To obtain a vista I had to retreat down the trail 500 yards to a point that looked over the north face. Here the view was spectacular. I could see several cinder cones across the floor, all of which are part of the Uinkaret Volcanic Field.

In the distance, through the haze, I could see the Pine Valley Mountains by St. George. To my right was the upper Toroweap Valley.

Looking northwest from the north side of Trumbull.

Zoomed-in shot with Pine Valley Mountains in distance.

From the north side of Trumbull, looking northeast toward Toroweap Valley.

This was a pleasant little hike, although it started getting hot toward the end. I only passed one set of hikers, a man and women with their dog.

The scenery wasn't anything to brag about, but the history, isolation and geology of Mount Trumbull are all very fascinating. ♠

Mount Trumbull

Distance to peak: 2.6 miles

Net elevation gain:1,514 feet

Final elevation: 8,019 feet

Total roundtrip distance: 5.4 miles

View of Mount Trumbull from Toroweap Valley (east side).

Mount Logan (Peak #32)

I was running later than I had hoped, but the reality of the situation didn't kick in until I saw the sign: Mt. Logan – 7 miles.

I must have done a miscalculation . . . . . or no calculation at all! It was now nearly 5 pm and I was hoping for an easy, short hike. I could have driven the entire seven miles to the trailhead, but I've got this unwritten rule for myself that unless the peak is unique or special, I can't count it unless I climb at least 1,000 feet in elevation. I drove a couple miles and parked before the road turned uphill.

I should mention that I came a long ways to climb this peak, including over seventy miles on a dirt road and eighty miles from the nearest town.

Now I would be making a much longer hike than I had anticipated, in a forest I had never been. I grabbed my pack and threw in a fifty ounce bottle of water, a small bag of caramel popcorn, a bag of cooked Brussels sprouts and whatever was left from my cheese and onion sandwich. I grabbed two flashlights and a jacket. Then I locked the doors and was on the road.

And yes, I was literally on a road. My path would be the same dirt road that could possibly include four-wheelers and trucks, but luckily for me, I had it all to myself.

I was grateful that the GPS on my phone worked. I had no other service than that, but being in an unfamiliar place, it gave me the confidence I was on the right track.

It was a peaceful walk. I still had the forest to myself and all I could hear was the rustling of wind in the trees, the scampering of a squirrel and the soft crunching beneath my feet. All around me grew tall groves of ponderosa pine, towering high above the oak trees and sage brush.

The road steadily climbed along meadows and growths of wild grass. After two and a half miles the road came to a "T" with a sign pointing the direction of Mount Logan.

Time was of the essence. I felt sure that I'd be coming back in the dark. My steps were quick for an old man walking uphill. Although the evening was upon me, I wasn't worried about getting lost since I was on a road.

I was probably foolish, but I took two detours: one to the left and one to the right. The one to the left didn't take too long, maybe ten minutes. It led to an overlook that peered toward Whitmore Canyon. What a magnificent view!

Lookoff point toward Whitmore Canyon, a tributary of the Colorado River. 

The detour to the right took longer and was less impressive. At the top I found what I thought was a weather station. It had a view of Mount Trumbull, but only through the trees.

I pushed on. The miles were now piling up and I knew I was getting close. I will admit that I was tired and becoming light-headed. That worried me. Also, the wind picked up and sent a chill as it blew across my sweaty upper body.

At last, after four and a half miles, I came to the trailhead. This is where the road ended and the trail began. It was a half-mile trail that followed a ridge to the top. Near the trailhead was a look-off point with excellent views of Mount Trumbull to the north and an expanse of mesas and canyons to the west and south.

From the official trailhead to Mount Logan, looking northeast toward Mount Trumbull. 

Mount Logan, as well as Mount Trumbull and Poverty Mountain are the result of volcanic action in the area over 3 million years ago. They are part of the Uinkaret Volcanic Field that includes dozens of cinder cones in the area. Mount Logan is also within a couple miles of the Hurricane Fault.

The last half mile took me fifteen minutes and soon I was at the top of Mount Logan. It is interesting that both Mount Logan and Mount Trumbull were named by John Wesley Powell in 1869 after senators from Illinois, John A. Logan and Lyman Trumbull. I personally find it sad that two peaks were named after people that never saw them, let alone stepped foot upon them.

There was no sign at the top, nor a registry of who had climbed it. Just a grand vista and satisfaction for having arrived there.

Hells Hole.

The most notable landmark was Hells Hole, a deep pink amphitheater and canyon directly below me. Not the place I would like to fall. Hells Hole led my eye to the south where I could see the general area of Whitmore Canyon. At this point I was looking at the Grand Canyon, but from a non-traditional vantage point. I thought I could make out the gorge of the Colorado River, but of course I couldn't see the river itself.

I couldn't spend a lot of time at the top. I had to get down. I mixed an electrolyte powder into the remainder of my water and took a handful of popcorn. It was my plan to take a healthy swig of water at miles six, seven, eight and nine. I was now at mile five.

Whitmore Canyon and the Grand Canyon, as seen from the top of Mount Logan.

View west.

Down I moved.

The sun was still up. It was 7:36 when I left the top. I was feeling pretty good about myself. It was now my goal to make it all the way to the Bronco without using a flashlight.

I had my back to a sun that was now lost behind the trees. I thought it would be getting colder, but now with no wind and no sweat, I felt comfortable.

Once again, it was a very peaceful walk. Not a soul out here. Very little noise. I once saw the head of a doe staring at me over the sage bush.

I drank my water at mile six and again at mile seven where I also ate my Brussels sprouts. Both hit the spot and boosted my energy. By now the sun was probably below the horizon and my view was growing dim, but it wasn't dark yet.

I thought about mountain lions. I had just watched a video of a runner who killed a mountain lion with his bare hands. Could I do that? For a brief moment I imagined what I would do if I got attacked, but soon abandoned the thought because I didn't want to worry myself. Anyway, it was getting darker now.

At last I came to the T-junction. Only two and a half miles left. There was now a faint sunset in the west and a crescent moon above the silhouetted ponderosa pines. When I stood still I heard an owl hooting in the distance.

I was within a mile of my vehicle when I heard what I thought was the crunching of pine cones. I froze my step as a surge of adrenaline shot through my body.⸻I had just been thinking of mountain lions!

I removed my pack and grabbed my most powerful flashlight from the pocket. I aimed it toward the noise and flipped on the beam. Nothing. I moved the beam slowly to the left and to the right, then finally up the tree in case the cat climbed up there. Still nothing. I checked behind in case he had circled. Then I carried the beam forward with me until I concluded that the only cougar here was in my mind. I switched off the light and once again my pupils adjusted to the night.

By the time I arrived at the Bronco I had logged just under ten miles. Not bad for starting at 5:00 pm.

Shortly after turning the ignition, a brown cow came to my headlights and got so close that I thought he was licking them.

I backed up and drove around, then drove a mile down the mountain to another location.

I parked in a meadow with tall ponderosa pine and grass. I set up a chair and my little propane stove and cooked a can of chili in a mess kit. The warm beans were the best thing I had tasted all evening.

I sat in my chair listening to the night. There wasn't much noise except the flickering of the flames. Ahead of me was the crescent moon, a few stars, black figures of ponderosa, and a silhouette of the backside of Mount Logan. I still hadn't seen another person.

Now all I had to do was crawl inside my sleeping bag. This would be the first time camping in the back of my Bronco. ♠

Mount Logan

Distance to Peak (including detours): 5.1 miles

Net elevation gain: 1,184 feet

Final elevation: 7,851 feet

Total elevation gain: 1,407 feet

Total roundtrip distance: 9.59 miles

An Evening in Managua

The first thing I notice when we leave our hotel for the street are the stands of vendors selling t-shirts, flags, ball caps and other merchandise with the faces of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Hugo Chavez and Daniel Ortega. At first I think it might be just one stall, but then I notice there are many and on both sides of the busy street.

Several t-shirts commemorate the 1979 revolution and nearly all of them have the letters "FSLN" across the front. I see several images of a cowboy with the last name of Sandino.

I quickly realize that we have thrust ourselves in the center of government propaganda. Perhaps I should have guessed. The booths sit across the street from a large roundabout with the name Rotunda Hugo Chavez. At the edge of the roundabout is a large depiction of the late dictator's image.

Propaganda t-shirts. 

Rotunda Hugo Chavez.

There's a lot to take in. This is the chaotic capital of Nicaragua, a city surrounded by volcanoes, and largely dismissed by tourists. We just risked our lives trying to cross the road, being passed by all sizes of cars, mopeds, tuk-tuks and even a horse-drawn carriage. But now we are safe on the large sidewalk and I am perusing the t-shirts, wondering if I dare buy one.

From a speaker on the other side of the street blasts out a symphony that sounds to me like a Soviet march. I wonder if these are citizens trying to make a living, or hired by the government to sell its propaganda. Next door are more outdoor stalls, but selling a variety of foods. A sign reads: Bienvenidos – Tiangue Hugo Chavez. (Tiangue is a word primarily used in Central America and the Philippines meaning an open-air street market.)

The cowboy guy, whose picture I've see on several t-shirts, is Augusto César Sandino, a national hero and revolutionary of Nicaragua. He was executed in 1934 as the Somoza family seized power of the country. In 1961 the FSLN (Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional) was organized and named after Sandino.

Banner commemorating Augusto Sandino.

In 1979 the Sandinistas overthrew the Somoza family and retook control of the country. Leading up to the revolution they drew influence from Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. Since then the government found an ally and monetary support in Hugo Chavez. All these men are included in Nicaragua's pantheon of national heroes.

The other thing we notice on the streets of Managua are the colorful 50-foot tall metal tree statues that seem to be everywhere. We saw them as we were driving in and now they line Avenida Bolivar.

These statues are either beautiful or tacky, depending on who you ask. Called "Trees of Life," they were introduced a decade ago by the first lady, Rosario Murillo. (It is interesting to note that she is the great-grandniece of Augusto Sandino.) They were inspired by a painting from the Austrian artist, Gustav Klimt.

Each tree cost close to $25,000 (USD) to build, and extra to illuminate and maintain. There are over 140 in Managua. This has drawn ire from many citizens, especially since Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti. In 2018 protesters toppled and set ablaze many of the artificial trees.

Front-riding tuk-tuk in Managua. 

On our right we pass the National Arboretum, a dense forest in the middle of the city. After another block of walking we watch through a fence at a game of wheelchair basketball on a very colorful court. Unfortunately the game is nearly over and within a minute the athletes are packing up.

Across the street from here is the Olympic Pool. The full-sized swimming pool is complete with a large grandstand. It makes me wonder if Managua ever held any major competitions, or if this too, is propaganda.

Kitty corner to where we stand is Pedro Joaquín Chamorro Park and the Monument to the Martyrs. Chamorro was a journalist who published an opposition newspaper prior to the revolution. In January of 1978 he was assassinated when a gunman pulled up alongside his car and opened fire. His death helped spark the revolution.

Encircled about a plaza are over a dozen monuments with images and names of men and women who in one way or another contributed to the independent state of Nicaragua. These include people like Cacique (or chief) Diriangén, a native Nicaraguan king who fought a Spanish army and forced them back into Panama during the early colonial era.

Another monument is dedicated to Concepción Palacios Herrera, the first female physician in Nicaragua. She went to Mexico for schooling, but returned to Nicaragua in 1928 where she supported Sandino's fight against the American occupation of the country. She was later taken as a political prisoner.

Many, but not all of the individuals honored in the plaza were assassinated for the cause and became martyrs.

Monument to the Martyrs commemorating national heroes of Nicaragua. 

For years now I have looked forward to visiting the Old Cathedral of Managua. Building began in 1928 and lasted for a decade. Patterned after the church of Sant Sulpice in Paris, it was designed by Belgian architects.

It was heavily damaged in the 1972 Nicaragua earthquake and the building was condemned. Rather than tear it down, it has stood as an icon of the city for the last fifty-four years.

The church is set off the main avenue, away from the chaos and bustle. As we enter the Plaza of the Revolution the old cathedral comes into view in all its majesty. It stands like a castle with its two bell towers jutting into the cerulean sky.

Palms and other trees grow below and a fence surrounds the building. A tacky red banner is pasted across the front: “LA PAZ ES NUESTRA VICTORIA!” (Peace is our victory!)

As we get closer we can see cracks along the side and bell tower. Through the many windows we notice that there is no stained glass, but open air that gives us a peek inside. Looking into the nave I see what appears to be a high-relief sculpture of two winged angels, one of them clasping hands with someone else. From my puny angle I don't see any painted murals and it doesn't even appear that there is a full ceiling.

Side view of Managua Cathedral.

Cracks along the bell tower. 

More cracks and a statue of a monk.

A glimpse inside the vacant cathedral. 

Above the front face of the cathedral is a high-relief carving of a man on a horse with his sword drawn and at least nine men running or falling down from his presence. Atop the gabled roof is a statue of whom I presume is Jesus Christ. The Savior only has one arm and the entire front portion of his body is badly deteriorated.

Beyond the front steps and pillars of the cathedral are the front doors. These are closed off by iron gates. Through the slats we see two armed guards pacing the floor of the interior.

The Old Cathedral of Managua is a strange kind of beauty. Probably because it hasn't been maintained, it appears much older than a century. It is a relic in a city that is striving to be modern. Maybe it's because we are off the main avenue, but there is a peace here.

A detailed frieze below the gable of the cathedral. 

Old Cathedral of Managua. 

We return to the traffic and din of Avenida Bolívar. (Did I mention that this street was named after Simón Bolívar, the Venezuelan military officer and statesman who led several South American countries to independence from the Spanish Empire? There seems to be a common theme here!)

The avenue comes to an end (or more exactly, a “T”) at the edge of Lake Managua. Here there is a large plaza with well over a dozen Trees of Life. There is also a long line of street vendors that all seem to be selling hamburgers, hotdogs and elotes.

The lake is very large and we can faintly see mounds of land on the other side. About five miles away, jutting into the lake, is a peninsula that we can see well. On this strip of land is the Chiltepe Volcano, part of a chain that runs from the northern border of the country all the way to Lake Nicaragua.

It is a beautiful lake and a peaceful place to take a break and watch the people in the plaza. Here there is also a monument of Simón Bolívar, riding victoriously on a horse.

A glimpse of Avenida Simon Bolivar. 

Trees of Life in Plaza Nicaragua. 

Lake Managua and Chiltepe Volcano in the background. 

Street vendor at Plaza Nicaragua. 

I look southward toward the long-stretching avenue and see dark and juicy storm clouds forming over the city. We decide it is time to make our way back. This time we choose to walk on the other side of the road.

We find food stalls next to the road with tables to sit down. I see they are selling güirilas and recognize them as a typical Nicaraguan food.

Güirilas are made of young sweet corn, blended into a paste, then grilled like a pancake. Instead of pouring the dough directly onto a griddle, it is first cooked between two banana leaves, then finished directly on the griddle.

I sit down at a table as I watch the traffic. By now it has started to drizzle. My güirila is served with cream and cuajada, a local white cheese. The taste is slightly sweet, and the cream and cheese are appreciated, adding an extra savor and texture. I also buy a drink made with fresh mangoes.

Cooking corn on the cob for elotes. 

Güirilas served with cream and cuajada.  

We continue our walk along the avenue. Rain has stopped and the lights of the city are coming on. Trees of Life are now illuminated.

Next to the street is a statue of a man with no shirt, with a pickaxe in one hand and raising an automatic rifle in the other. At the base of the statue are the words: “Solo los obreros y campesinos irán hasta el fin.” (Only the workers and farmers will make it to the end.)

This is a quote from none other than our good friend, Augusto Sandino. I believe it was intended to fire up the working class.

Another monument in Managua.

A shack along Avenida Bolivar.

Mural on a building that is in the process of being demolished. 

It is interesting that amid this street that seems to be filled with government propaganda intended to make the city look magnificent, we pass a row of shacks along the way. One of them in particular stands out as the front is nothing but patched together corrugated metal. The door is made of old wood and we watch as the inhabitants walk in and out.

We pass the Monument to the Martyrs, now illuminated under the evening sky. Next we come within view of the larger-than-life image of Hugo Chavez.

As we walk, I am becoming more and more resolved to buy a t-shirt of one of the national heroes, possibly Che Guevara or Hugo Chavez. Perhaps it would be best to choose Sandino since no one would know who he is. Of course, it would all be tongue-in-cheek.

To my disappointment, when we arrive at the place of all the vendors, every single one that was once selling t-shirts, flags and ball caps of notorious Nicaraguan heroes are now gone for the day. It is interesting to note that all the food vendors are still out, making me wonder if the propaganda vendors are all hired by the government . . . and now it's after 5 pm.

Trees of Life now illuminated at night. 

All signs of twilight are now gone and it is clearly the evening hour. We have an early-morning flight so it is time to head back to our hotel at the Crowne Plaza.

There's a shopping mall between us and the hotel. I need a little more to eat. We find a grocery store on the bottom level of the mall and there we find one more pleasant surprise. From the deli we buy a plate of nacatamales. ♠

Monument to Hugo Chavez.