Little Shelly Peak (#25)

Little Shelly Peak as seen from Mount Baldy (in 2023).

Jenna and I pushed through a sea of sapling aspen, using the supple branches to pull our way up the steep mountainside. We had already passed groves of manzanita and mountain mahogany. We found the wide shade of a tall ponderosa pine and rested beneath its limbs.

Although agonizingly tedious, the fruits of our bushwhacking were now beginning to ripen. Mount Baldy reigned supreme over the rest of the mountainside, its shale-filled slopes appearing striking on the skyline. Below it the greenish-blue waters of Indian Creek Reservoir gave the portrait a perfect balance.

Little Shelly Peak as seen from trailhead.

Climbing up the steep slope toward the peak. Mount Baldy in background.

I had several purposes for this hike. The first was for the view. I hiked Mount Baldy a couple years ago and knew the view from Little Shelly would be the perfect angle for Baldy. Second, I'm trying to hike any peak I can, and especially all the peaks in the Tushars. And thirdly, Jenna and I both had the day off and it was an opportunity for the two of us to get out together.

There is no trail that we know of to Little Shelly. We parked at the Indian Creek Trailhead and followed that trail for ten minutes before diverting and bushwhacking up the hillside. The route to the top was logistically simple. Once we hit the ridge it would be a straight shot to the peak.

We decided that much of this area must have been scorched from wildfire in the recent past as many of the trees were young and at times there still remained the skeletons of trees. I recalled the Twitchell Fire that burned near here in 2010 and assumed that this was the event to claim so much territory.

Once we gained the ridge the steep slope subsided and we were left with a gentle uphill climb. Still the young aspens grew thick, but soon that ended and our final obstacle to the peak was shale rock. I'm sure that “Little Shelly” got its name from its shale-filled summit.

From the summit, looking toward Indian Creek Reservoir and Mount Baldy.

Panorama from the summit.

Although not among the highest peaks of the Tushars (elevation only 9,886 feet), Little Shelly Peak boasts an incredible view. In addition to the aforementioned Mount Baldy, one can also see Mount Belknap, Gold Mountain and Signal Peak, all above 11,000 feet.

We sat at the edge of the summit and enjoyed an avocado with salt and pepper. The view behind us was largely obscured in smoke due to two large wildfires, but the view in front was undiminished. A small patch of wildflowers grew atop the summit, adding to the beauty.

Our plan was not to simply turn around and go back, but to continue along the ridge and see what else we might find. The ridge that includes Little Shelly makes an “n” shape and if one had enough time they could walk the entirety of it and circle around to the vehicle. As we began our hike in the afternoon, I doubted we'd have enough time to make the full circuit.

As we continued along the ridge to the north side of Little Shelly, we found skeletons of large gnarled trees that at first I assumed were bristlecone pines. I was told that there is a grove of bristlecones somewhere on the Tushars, but I wasn't sure of exactly where. We expected to find nearby “living” bristlecones, but never did. Regardless of what kind of tree they were, the skeletons appeared mystically ghost-like.

From the summit of Little Shelly looking north toward summit #2.

We dropped about 400 feet down the slope, then regained it on the other side. This second peak was just twelve feet shorter than Little Shelly. Although similar in elevation, they were very different in character. This peak had no shale rock, but boasted trees and other vegetation. To one side the ground dropped precipitously into a mini amphitheater with a couple hoodoos that somewhat resembled those in Bryce Canyon, but with a chalky color.

From here we now had a profile view of Little Shelly and a slightly closer angle of the four big peaks to the east. Indian Creek Reservoir was no longer in view.

The good news was that it was all downhill from here!

From summit #2, looking back toward Little Shelly Peak.

U.S. Geological Survey marker. 

Surprisingly we found a trail while descending the southeast side of the aforementioned peak. The shadows were becoming longer and we had no interest in anymore bushwhacking. We followed the trail for over two more miles, all the way down to the vehicle.

Although Little Shelly would be considered a minor peak, it had major views of the surrounding summits and Indian Creek Reservoir. It was good to learn another little chunk of the Tushars, and next time I'm sure I'll push myself a little bit further into the unknown. ♠

Ponderosa pines.

Little Shelly Peak

Distance from car: 1.6 miles

Elevation gain to peak: 1,868 feet

Final (peak) elevation: 9,876 feet

Total elevation gain: 2,176 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.3 miles

From summit #2, looking east toward four peaks of the Tushars.

Delano Peak on Snowshoes (#21)

This would be my fifteenth time to summit Delano Peak, which I've done from almost every possible direction. I've been to the top in early summer, late fall, in the midst of dangerous lightning storms and on the most beautiful blue-sky days when the grassy slopes were full of colorful wildflowers. But never have I been there during the dead of winter.

To be sure, this was one of the driest winters in several years, so we were fortunate not to have six feet of snow on the mountain. But it wasn't bone-dry either. At these upper elevations there was at least 10 inches of snow and in some spots on the northern slopes over two feet.

As we arrived at the ski lodge above 10,000 feet, the temperature registered at 32ºF. That was thirteen degrees higher than last month when we pulled into this same spot to hike Mount Holly. Joining me on this soon-to-be miserable hike was Ricardo and Trevor.

The journey begins!

We strapped on snowshoes, avalanche beacons and backpacks. With no fanfare we began our ascent through the ski resort and into the backcountry. I could tell from the start that my body wasn't feeling well.

The pain was slight, a small ache in my upper abdomen that came from lap swimming the day before. The small ache had been off and on for the last five years, sometimes being almost non-existent and at other times transforming into a debilitating gnawing. No doctor has ever been able to absolutely diagnose the cause of this pain, but it has correlated perfectly with my polycythemia vera (which brought about an enlarged spleen and splenic varices).

Our plan was to snowshoe around Mount Holly to the base of Delano, and then up to the peak. Our line of travel would either be atop the hiking trail (which was covered in a foot of snow and completely imperceptible) or in whichever direction appeared to be the easiest.

About an hour into our hike we came to our first little challenge. It was a gulley with tall pine trees that dropped 150 feet on the north-facing slope. By this time we had lost the trail and we knew it. As we worked our way down the north face through the trees we quickly learned that the snow here was soft and about two feet deep. With each step my foot sank, the white fluffy powder coming above my knees. Inevitably, it didn't take long before I got tripped up, and suddenly I wallowed in the snow like a melting witch, grasping at branches or anything to hold myself up. Somehow Trevor had made it to the other side of the gulley unscathed, but Ricardo and I struggled. The big awkward snowshoes on our feet didn't help. For a while it felt as if I were trapped in quicksand, unable to move.

Floundering in the snow.

Once on the other side of the gulley, we were faced with a decision: Do we move downhill and try to reconnect with the trail, or do we work our way uphill and onto a ridge that could possibly lead to a shortcut? The ridge I refer to is a large bulk of mountain that lies in between Holly and Delano. I knew that if we followed it up that it would connect with another ridge that led to Delano. Another bonus was that it would keep us above the tree line. We chose to go up.

Going up was no easy task. We had to walk diagonally and use side-steps. This uphill movement was hell on me. I had to stop about every minute to rest my legs and catch my breath. It felt as if the blood inside my veins was gushing like a hose turned on full-blast. Ten years ago I was like a mountain goat. Now I felt like the fat kid that was slowing down the group.

The ridge continued to rise in elevation and we reached the crest where we could see the other side. From this viewpoint we could see another bulky ridge, this one leading to Delano Peak. But between us and it a formidable ravine blocked our direct passage. It probably wasn't impossible to pass through, but it was steep enough we didn't want to mess with it.

First close-up view of Delano.

With our eyes we followed the ridge up to the point where it made the final pitch to Delano and noted that it looked very steep, and possibly dangerous. Having been the one who had climbed there several times before, I gave no promises, but attested that up close it wasn't as bad as it looked. But, of course, that was in the summer. Now in the dead of winter, it could've been another story. We took our chances.

So up the ridge we hiked. It was a beautiful day. The sky was mostly clear, but patches of clouds eerily hovered to add some character. It is interesting to note that on many of these upper slopes, the ground was barren of snow. Wind in these parts was so strong and so consistent that any white flake that managed to touch the ground was eventually whisked away.

Silhouetted on the ridge.

On these large barren patches we removed our snowshoes and continued our hike unencumbered by the awkward footwear. As we climbed higher in elevation, the wind picked up speed. I pulled my balaclava up around my mouth. As each new ravine or cliff or rolling hill would come into view, I would scan for mountain goats. Nothing yet. I always wondered where they went during winter.

As we approached the crux I began to doubt whether we could reach Delano from this angle. We could see a small section of trail that was half covered in snow. At this point just under 11,900 feet, the trail came painfully close to the summit. A jaggedly steep defile covered in snow and loose rock blocked our passage.

We climbed to the faint trail and weighed our options. There weren't many. Perhaps if we had crampons and an ice pick we could go up, but I think the snow was too soft for that. Every option appeared too sketchy. We made the decision to backtrack.

We retreated the way we came, then dropped into a westward-facing gulley, losing 400 feet. Again we strapped the snowshoes over our boots and then negotiated a slope on the same mass as Delano. We still had to be careful doing this as the snow was deep and the slope was steep. Each of us took a slightly different route, but finally made it to a point where the slope wasn't so sketchy.

Having to go back down and lose 400 feet. 

Again, these south-facing slopes had been swept of snow, so we unstrapped our shoes and tied them to our packs. As we climbed I noticed goat poop on the tundra, indicating that they were here recently.

Without the shoes I was unburdened and my gait felt lighter. But I still moved at a snail's pace, having to stop frequently. I picked objects such as rocks and made it my goal to walk there without stopping. And when I made it, I rested, then chose another goal. Every inch of my body ached.

The final climb to the summit on a wind-swept slope.

At last we made it to the top! Delano Peak is 12,182 feet according to my GPS. It is the highest peak in Beaver and Piute counties, lying on the boundary. It took us 5 hours 20 minutes, covering 4.3 miles.

Delano always has a splendid view. There are peaks everywhere, most of them easily confused in the jumble of mountains. The two most prominent are Baldy and Belnap.

Delano Peak.

Panoramic view from the summit, looking northward.

Twenty minutes later it was time to work our way down. We weren't out of the woods yet. We still needed to reach the truck before dusk.

I usually only skim over the return trip, unless there is anything of note. The first hour and twenty minutes was a piece of cake compared to anything on the way up. We traveled a little over a mile and dropped 1,588 feet in elevation. The most dramatic event for me came when I slipped on ice and landed on my forehead, bending my glasses.

Once at the bottom, we strove to stay near the trail, but even with GPS on our phones, we found ourselves deviating several times. It was still no walk in the park. Several times we had small stretches of uphill while fighting deep soft snow.

At last on the way down!

I was ready for this hike to be over with. My whole body hurt. And now, with all the heavy inhaling of cold air, I worried about my lungs. I think we were all ready for this day to be done.

At last we came to the final crest, beyond which we could see the ski resort and knew that it was literally all downhill from here. In half an hour we dropped over 500 feet, and at last we were in the parking lot! It took 3 hours 51 minutes to come back, meaning we shaved off about an hour and a half.

As we packed up and were once again on the road, there were two salient points on my mind: 1.⸺I am so grateful this was a dry year. I can't imagine how hard this hike would have been with normal or heavy snowpack. And 2.⸺I will never again hike Delano from the lodge during winter! ♠

Delano Peak

Distance from car (one way): 4.3 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 1,844 feet

Total elevation gain to peak: 2,520 feet

Final elevation: 12,182 feet

Total round-trip distance: 7.7 miles

Total round-trip elevation gain: 2,903 feet

Total round-trip time: 9 hours 36 minutes

City Creek Peak (#16)

Hiking City Creek Peak was Plan B. Until the night before I had never heard of it. Upon realizing that the road to my scheduled hike could be closed due to recent forest fires, I thought it wise to come up with an alternate plan. I quickly consulted Google Maps and found a nearby peak that appeared doable. I checked the topography to be sure there was a route that wouldn't require any class 4 climbs, and then checked the satellite image to be sure it wasn't choked in thick forest.

My Plan A was to drive over the night before and the next morning park near the Deer Trail Mine and hike up to Mount Brigham. I arrived just before dusk, and even though the road near the mine was open, it appeared to be a work area and I just didn't feel comfortable leaving my vehicle in a work zone all day long. With very little light left in the sky, I drove fifteen miles south to my Plan B location.

I took road 153 a few miles west of Junction, Utah and parked near a creek at the City Creek Recreation Area. I was the only one there. By now it was dark and I could faintly catch the glimmer of a picnic table. The rushing water of the creek was hypnotizing.

I sat down at the table in the dark and ate the other half of my Subway sandwich. Then I spent time taking pictures of the stars before finally going to sleep in the back of my Trailblazer.

First obstacle. City Creek Peak not yet seen.

When morning came, I was excited to finally see what I was in for.

I drove a couple miles up a dirt road to a sagebrush flat that included a few roaming cattle. I was astonished by what I saw. The mountain from this angle was a series of sheer cliffs that appeared impassable. The beauty was stunning, but to climb it would be another story. Perhaps that was not the hill I was to climb. The topo map showed the incline as steep, but doable. I would soon find out.

I parked the Trailblazer on the side of the dirt road and began walking up a rougher 4x4 road. After a mile and a half I veered off the road and began hiking up the mountainside. There was no trail, but the incline wasn't a thigh-burner yet. Bushwhacking wasn't too bad either.

Looking down to where I started.

A very steep climb up.

But the further up the hill I got, the steeper it became. Before I knew it I had to rest my legs every few minutes. It so happened that my trek up the mountainside was just north of the sheer cliffs I had previously seen. At one point I came out to a viewpoint that looked out over the cliffs and across the sagebrush flat where I had earlier been. It was here I saw a lone driver in a pickup truck in the distance near where I had parked. He was the only other person I saw that day, probably a bow hunter.

Near the top of this hillside I came in contact with one of these sheer rocky outcrops. I maneuvered around it, sometimes climbing on all fours. By this time I was near 9,900 feet in elevation. I was near the ridge and hoped that once I got on the ridge the vegetation would clear out and I would have a smooth hike to the summit.

Ou contraire!

The final ascent to the ridge was even steeper than it was before, with some places being quite treacherous. At least it wasn't too rocky, but it was still difficult to move across the slope without sliding.

When I finally got to the ridge, it was even more choked with trees and bushes than anything I had yet encountered. I thought I might now be able to see the peak. That didn't happen either. A deep canyon now fell precipitously to my left. This was the gorge where I had camped the night before, with City Creek at the bottom.

View toward Circleville Mountain.

Looking back toward the ridge I had hiked up.

By this time I had been hiking four hours and had traveled a very difficult three and a half miles. I was well over the 10,000 feet mark. Trees remained thick, but now and then I caught a glimpse of the peak. I wondered how many people had traveled this route. My guess was virtually nobody unless they were either hunting or stupid. On the other side of City Creek Peak was a road and I'll bet that nearly every alpinist to ever summit this peak has come from that side.

At last the deep canyon to my left came to an end and I was able to drop a couple hundred feet and climb up the other side toward the peak. I now made my way above tree line, which was nice, but the slope became so steep that my thighs burned. For the next half mile I climbed 650 feet in elevation. I endured.

A rare glimpse of City Creek Peak.

The final pitch to City Creek Peak.

The final section was an easy class 3 rock climb. It felt much easier than everything before it because now I could pull myself up with the aid of my arms. At last I made it to the summit of City Creek Peak, elevation 11,156 feet. It took me 5 hours and 34 minutes.

The view from the peak was wonderful. It was great to finally be above treeline and to have a unique view of the Tushars. The big peaks I could see were Baldy, Little Shelly Baldy, Holly and Mount Brigham. Delano was blocked by Holly. Puffar Lake was relatively close, but mostly obscured by trees and hills. Circleville Mountain was the dominant feature in the south. Looking further down I could see portions of Piute Reservoir and the town of Circleville.

Panorama taken at the summit of City Creek Peak.

The wind blew voraciously here on top. I had to take off my ball cap and put a rock over it so it wouldn't blow away. I quickly ate a sandwich and took some pictures. Time was of the essence and I knew I was only half done. I needed to make it down before dark.

But for now I savored my final minutes on the peak. I didn't see any mountain goats, although I knew they had been here recently because I saw a patch of white fur and cloven footprints where they had bedded down. Some 3,000 feet away I saw the dirt road that someone could use to access the peak from the top. I was fortunate that there were no major fires this day and skies were clear.

View of the Tushars from the summit of City Creek Peak.

City Creek Peak

Miles from car (one way): 4.5

Elevation gain: 3,356 feet

Final elevation: 11,156 feet

On the way up I took note of an alternate route that, at least from what I could see, had fewer trees and was more direct. I decided to roll the dice and take this route down.

This view shows part of the route I took down.

As usual, I will be brief with my description of the return trip. It turned out that my “shortcut” was pure misery. Although it probably shaved off some distance, it only reduced my time by 45 minutes. The slope coming down was brutal and full of rolling rocks. I fell at least a couple dozen times. I'm surprised I didn't twist a knee or rip a hole in the seat of my pants. Part of the hike down had far thicker vegetation than anything I had encountered on the way up.

But as I neared the bottom, all that brutality disappeared. Suddenly I arrived at a spring with several old carvings on the aspens. I found a trail, then a narrow rough road. That was followed by an open meadow that looked suitable for a cattle camp. Finally I came to the sagebrush flat where I was nearly home free. By the time I returned to the vehicle it was just before dusk. I was glad to be back after nearly eleven hours of hiking. Not bad for a “Plan B.” ♠

"Guy Price - 1934"

"Irvin Allen - June 20, 1912"

Water trough at a spring.

Looking back at City Creek Peak from Circleville.

Bradshaw Mountain and Cave Mine (Peak #12)

One night John Bradshaw dreamed he saw a white mule standing on a ridge north of Minersville, Utah. He then dreamed that he went to that ridge and near it he discovered a cave. He entered the cave and found rat nests and nuggets of gold. 

The dream was so vivid that the next day he went in search of the cave. He had never been there before, but knew exactly how to get there because of his dream. The scrub and thickets became so thick that he tied string onto branches so he could find his way back. At last he found the cave just as it was in his dream, including rat nests and nuggets of gold. Further inside he discovered stalactites covered with gold and silver. 

Later he came back with a friend to explore further. This happened in 1859. Eventually this area would become the Bradshaw Mining District. Even though it would produce a great amount of gold, silver and lead over the years, very little came during the lifetime of John Bradshaw. He would die destitute. 

One of many mine portals on Bradshaw Mountain.

Who was John White Bradshaw? 

He was born on February 12, 1819 in Ilkeston, Derbyshire, England. His family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and in 1849 emigrated to Utah like thousands of others during the early days of the church. John married a widow, Harriet Burgess Moore, and together they had four children. Three of the children died and were buried at sea, while the other died two years later. They had no other children together. 

John and Harriet were called to settle what would become southern Utah, in the Parowan area. Minersville was settled in 1859, so this was likely when they moved there. John was a big believer in dreams, and I am sure that this is what gave him confidence to follow through and find the location. 

Unidentified building on Bradshaw Mountain.

In the beginning, not much ore was excavated from Cave Mine. It is said that a couple of men hauled ore from the mine and made gold and silver bars valuing $1,800 to $2,000. In 1879 the mine became property of the Fisco Mining & Smelting Company. 

With all this in mind I thought it would be a good idea to check out the place. The Bradshaw Mining District, which is no longer active, is only an hour from my house. It lies within the Mineral Mountains, a range I have never explored. And to boot, it lies at the feet of Bradshaw Mountain, another peak for me to climb. 

Many of the portals went nearly straight down into the ground.

It was another hot day in mid-June. Temperatures would be in the low to mid-nineties and I knew that soon I would need to start climbing the higher peaks. My plan was to hike up one ridge to the summit of Bradshaw Mountain and down another. Whatever I would find in the way of mining relics along the way, I would stop and explore. 

A cursory glance at the mountainside reveals a busy mining history with several colorful tailing slides. As I drove closer to my parking spot I found the faint foundations of buildings that once stood. I learned that at one time there was a little town within the mining district, but wasn't sure exactly where it was nor whether these foundations belonged to that town. 

I parked along the dirt road and within five minutes of walking through the trees I came across the portal of a mine at the bottom of a hillside. Interestingly, there was no framework or timbers to support the portal. Just a hole in the mountainside that resembled a little cave. I was quite confident that this was not the actual Cave Mine discovered by John Bradshaw, but it allowed me to more clearly imagine what the original cave may have looked like. 

I laid on my belly and peered inside with my flashlight. There was no way I was going inside this one. The tunnel reached beyond what my beam would allow. I was satisfied with that. 

It didn't take long before I was walking up the mountain slope. I noticed that my path was cleared of trees, wide enough for a road. Examining the ground below me it was obvious that there was no road now, but I suspected that at one time there was. 

This so-called path zigzagged up the mountain until it came to a tailings slide. Beyond that I found two good-sized portals, both of them supported by wooden framework. The thought came that there were probably miles and miles of tunnels all over beneath this mountain. I got as close to the portals as I dared. One of them went immediately downward and I was a little apprehensive because I didn't want my weight to cause a collapse. 

A hole in the cliff on the other side of the canyon.

I continued up the ridgeline. Although there was no trail, I was able to make the journey without any hardcore bush-whacking. After an hour and forty-five minutes of hiking I reached the summit. I had gained nearly 2,000 feet of elevation. 

The sight at the summit was pleasant. To the east I could see the snow-capped Tushar Mountains. There was a wildfire on the southern slopes of those mountains. To the west I could see Frisco Peak and faintly behind that the Snake Range. Below was Milford Valley and shades of green farms. 

View from top of Bradshaw Mountain.

View from Bradshaw Mountain looking toward the Tushars.

On my way down looking toward Frisco Peak.

After a forty-minute break on top, I started down a different ridge. I got more than half way down and again arrived at some mines. The first was the most interesting. At first I saw only a large hole in the ground. This hole dropped into a cavern and I knew at once that I didn't want to be anywhere near the edge. The drop inside the hole wasn't terribly deep because I dropped a rock and could hear the thud after only a couple of seconds. 

When I continued just a little further down the hill I discovered a portal with a wooden frame. Beyond this frame was the cavern that I had seen from above. 

With hesitation I entered the cavern, which had plenty of light due to the hole at the top. The cavern appeared to be a large room or grotto. I didn't know if the size of it was artificial or natural. I could see a couple of tunnels on the backside of the cavern where the mine continued. On the wall were painted names and dates, the oldest being 1965. A wooden bench sat at the center with an army ammo can sitting on top. The place felt cold and damp, a welcoming feeling from the heat outside. 

Inside an interesting cavern.

1965 date on cavern wall.

Framework inside the cavern, probably leading to another tunnel.

Once outside I saw other mines from a distance. Along the face of a limestone wall I spotted a cave-like opening with no tailings below it, but it was too far away for my weary legs to travel. 

From this point I was almost back to the bottom and due to the steep terrain I rock-surfed down a slide of tailings. There was much more here left to explore, which I will do another day. 

I was satisfied with my day of exploration. Not only did I bag a peak, but I was able to find a lot of old mining structures. I saw no one else the entire time. 

Tailings coming down the hillside.

The life of John Bradshaw was a sad one. He lost all four of his children with Harriet and thus has no descendants. (Some of Harriet's children from her first marriage survived and have progeny.) As far as I know, there are no pictures of John. His wife, Harriet, died in 1877. At the cemetery he has no headstone. On one hand you could say that John Bradshaw's legacy is all but gone. 

But on the other hand his legacy lives on because of Cave Mine. Named after him are Bradshaw Mountain, Bradshaw Springs and the Bradshaw Mining District. Today the mines are all closed. According to family legend a curse was placed on the mine stating that it will never again produce gold and silver until a Bradshaw family member owns the mine. ♠
 

 

Bradshaw Mountain.

Bradshaw Mountain
 

Distance from car (one way): 1.7 miles
 

Elevation gain: 1,992 feet
 

Final elevation: 7,998 feet

Grave of Thomas J. Chase, located somewhere near the Bradshaw Mining District.

“A highly respected miner, formerly of New England, but for the last twenty-five years or more had been mining on the Pacific slope, by the name of Thomas J. Chase, died at Betenson House, on Tuesday the 16th, of dropsy, occasioned by a diseased state of the liver and spleen. By permission of his friends, Drs. George Wenceslaw, J.W. Christian and George Fennemore, performed a post mortem examination on the 17th which revealed the foregoing facts. According to his own request while living, he was taken to the Bradshaw Mining District for burial yesterday morning.”—Thomas J. Chase Death Notice Published in the Southern Utonian, 19 Dec. 1884, Beaver, Beaver, Utah Territory, United States