Silver Peak (#23)

Silver Peak.

One of the benefits of trying to hike as many peaks as possible is that I inevitably find peaks that I never knew existed. Such is the case with Silver Peak. It is only a half-hour drive from my house, and I've driven past it dozens of times in the past without noticing it. I don't even know the history behind it, although I suspect that at one time there was a silver mine.

It is a smaller peak, and is surrounded by hills nearly as tall. I was excited to explore this relatively unknown summit.

There is a dirt road that meets the highway and I parked on a side-road of the dirt road, under a tree. Since this was a smaller peak I decided to attack it with a circuitous route. I would ascend the “Younger Sister” as I will call it, a nearby and connected peak a few hundred feet lower. Then I would follow the ridge in a counter-clockwise route that would descend several hundred feet before regaining it, and then some, to the top of Silver Peak.

"Younger Sister Peak."

The ascent up Younger Sister wasn't too bad. I was able to take it slow and steady without too many breaks. Along the way I found a snake skin shed, but it was so faint I couldn't tell whether it was a rattlesnake or not. But it kept me on my guard. I heard a few weeks ago that stepping on a rattlesnake is a lot like stepping on a garden hose.

The top of the hill became rockier and I found a chute, through which I ascended. Still the summit remained higher. I persisted, climbing over boulders until I reached the top of Younger Sister Peak.

I am not including this in my official peak count because it is minor. But the view from here was still great. The two dominant features to the south were Stoddard Mountain and Iron Mountain, the latter having a communication tower on top. Highway 56 stretched out below and the Desert Mound Road behind me. For this first little peak I gained just over 1,000 feet in elevation.

Looking south from Younger Sister Peak toward Stoddard Peak.

I continued on, following the ridge to the northeast. Through the juniper trees I was able to catch glimpses of Silver Peak to the northwest. As I walked I noticed there were a lot of downed trees and old horse droppings. The trees didn't appear to be cut through, just toppled over. And with the horse droppings, I couldn't decided whether they were wild or belonging to a cowboy or miner.

A gradual descending ridge brought me lower in elevation. I dropped into a ravine where I saw more human activity, including a fence that stretched across the canyon and a little gate. I followed the ravine until I came to what I was looking for: a pile of tailings and white rock. It was at the edge of the cliff, up a level from the bottom. I walked up to the site and inspected it. I was confident that a mine was here at one time, but now there was nothing left of the portal. I'm sure they were mining silver, hence the name of the canyon.

Mysterious horse droppings.

Supposed old silver mine. 

Interesting square hole in the ground.

I had another hour and 700 feet to the top. I followed an old mining road part of the way up, but eventually had to bushwhack it. Twice I found markers created from a pile of rocks and a long stick acting as a pole. The second of these sat adjacent to a deep square hole dug into the ground. It didn't go any further than maybe twelve feet deep.

Silver Peak provided a decent vista. I had a good view of “Younger Sister,” as well as Iron and Stoddard Mountains. Behind me sat juniper-filled hills with nothing of distinction. To the east I could make out Red Mountain and a glimpse of Cedar City. Out west were mostly hills, but also with a view of the agriculture fields between New Castle and Beryl.

Looking south from Silver Peak. "Younger Sister Peak" in foreground.

Looking east from Silver Peak toward Cedar City and Brian Head.

Geological marker.

Looking west from Silver Peak toward New Castle and Beryl. 

I did not return the way I came, but instead completed a circuit. I was happy to have this peak under my belt, but it was certainly nothing to write home about. ♠


Silver Peak

Distance from car: 3.4 miles

Net elevation gain: 1,306 feet

Total elevation gain: 1,985 feet

Final elevation: 7,256 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.7 miles

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.

Little Creek Peak (#15)

Little Creek Peak as seen from Bear Valley.

Little Creek Peak view from near our starting point on the south side.

Little Creek Peak from further south on an unnamed peak. Sandy Peak behind it.

Little Creek Peak from an unnamed peak to the west.

We spent the night sleeping in the back of the truck in our own niche of a little valley, ten miles from pavement at the dead-end of a dirt road. There was no one else here, just the rustling of aspen leaves and the menacing threat of storm clouds. Luckily for us, everything was still dry. 

After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and a protein shake we set out on a trail that headed north. At times the path was distinct, but at other times it disappeared and we had to forge our own way. The walk wasn't too difficult because portions of the forest had been wiped clean in a fire several years ago and now there were just young saplings to contend with. There were also patches of beautiful flowers and berry bushes, whose purple grape-like fruit tasted bitter sweet. 

Little Creek Peak has been on my radar for years now. From Bear Valley it rises majestically, but is caged in by private property and steep, thickly vegetated slopes. I decided to attack it from the south side which appeared more benign, but required a long drive on a two-rut road. 

For some reason I assumed the path from our campsite was a four-wheeling road, which would have been easy to follow, but it wasn't. Instead it was a narrow trail that randomly took shape, then disappeared several times. With the pyramid-like face of Little Creek Peak getting closer, we trudged over hills, but mostly stayed near the ridge Although we saw no big game, this area appeared to be prime habitat for deer and elk. 

Jordan doing what he's always done . . .

. . . catching horny toads and other little reptiles!

The first two and a half miles weren't too bad, especially when we were on the trail. Once we arrived at the base, the climb would begin in earnest. Over the next mile we gained 1,100 feet in elevation. We began on the south face, the first part clear of trees. The second part we had to push our way through sapling aspens. 

Then we arrived at the southeast ridge which had fewer trees but was rockier. There were a couple outcrops where we had to perform simple class 3 maneuvers to cross. 

At the base of Little Creek Peak.

Further up on the ridge looking toward the summit.

As we ascended we quickly gained an elevated view. Sandy Peak was now prominently visible to the north. I had a fun experience climbing that last year. We could also see that monsoonal storm clouds were now in action. Several miles to the east hovered a slow-moving cloudburst. 

When we finally made it to the summit there was a sense of relief, but also a twinge of disappointment. First, our view to the west was partially blocked by trees. We could have walked out to a point that gave us a better view, but it was further than we wanted to walk at the moment. And second, a thick colony of gnats already occupied the summit! And they were awful! There was no enjoying the view from the summit for us. We quickly moved down to a shelf on the south side, not too far away. 

It felt good to be to the top. It's one of those peaks that doesn't get climbed too often. From our perch we had a view of Sandy Peak and the Dutton's. To the south were many mountain hills, most of them indiscernible unless you knew what you were looking at. I could see Horse Valley Peak, Brian Head Peak and Hancock Peak, the latter being on the skyline and probably the most prominent. 

Distant cloudburst.  If you look closely, there are gnats everywhere in this picture!

U.S. Geological Survey marker.

Sandy Peak from (near) the summit of Little Creek Peak.

It was near the summit where we heard our first thunder and felt drops of rain. Jordan and I had a traumatic experience with lightning last summer and had no desire to do that again. We quickly made our way down the summit, this time choosing to stay on the south face. 

Drops began to fall and I only brought one poncho. As the rain picked up we chose to take shelter beneath the wide bough of a pine tree. I got out my poncho and we spread it over the two of us. 

Hiding from the rain.

After fifteen minutes the shower turned off and we again picked our way down the slope, this time running the gauntlet through wet aspen leaves. From the summit we could see where we had lost the trail on the way up, so now that we were on our way down, we aimed toward the trail. 

Two hours after leaving the summit, we arrived back at the truck. This was a relief because we felt that a more powerful storm was imminent. We removed our packs and enjoyed a snack before driving away.

Storm clouds continue to grow and move.

Little Creek Peak
 

Miles from truck (one way): 3.0
 

Elevation gain (net): 1,194 feet
 

Elevation gain (gross): 1,658 feet
 

Final elevation: 10,127 feet



The real adventure, however, came as we began to drive away. The storm hit in earnest and water poured from the sky in droves. The two-rut road became a muddy mess and I did all I could to keep us going forward. 

Then the hail came. It pinged on the the hood, windshield and everywhere around. The marble-sized balls of ice temporarily turned the ground white. I was worried about putting dents in the truck.

Looking behind us where just fifteen minutes earlier we had been hiking, was one nebulous shroud. And then we saw the lightning, with thunder immediately following. The bolt was exactly where we had been! I was so glad we got out when we did. 

Eventually the hail stopped, and so did the rain. Somehow I was able to make it off the dirt road without having to put it into four-wheel drive. It was nice to at last be on pavement and driving home. ♠

 

Soggy roads from hailstorm.

What's left of the hail.

Sandy Peak (#9)

Sandy Peak looms in the distance.

They say that third time's a charm. 

I've already tried climbing this peak twice. The first time was by myself and I made the decision that it was taking too long and I turned around due to time. The second time was with my son. We actually thought we made it to the top, but when we got there we realized that the true peak was on the next knoll over. Once again, due to time, we turned around empty-handed. 

Now several years have passed and I am at it again. Earlier this year I made a goal to climb 35 peaks in 5 years. It has been a good goal for me. I am finding that I am becoming much more proactive in accomplishing my hiking goals than I would be otherwise. 

Although most people in Southwest Utah would not be able to name Sandy Peak, most of them have seen it rising in the distance. On the way to Bryce Canyon on the north side of Panguitch, Sandy Peak and Little Creek Peak are the two prominent knobs that are noticeable on the mountain. Sandy Peak rises above Bear Valley, which was a part of the Old Spanish Trail. 

I hiked this peak in mid-November and probably waited too long in the day before I started. I wasn't even sure if I was going to do it because the night before we were to get a storm with valley rain and mountain snow. It was just a matter of how much the mountains would get. I decided to make it a go. 

Sandy Peak as seen from the starting point in Bear Valley.

From my home I made the one-hour drive to Bear Valley where I was pretty much alone except for a few passing hunters. I hoped to take a side-road that would bring me closer to the peak, but part of that road was washed out, adding another mile onto my hike. The road was dry, but the peak was covered in snow. I parked my truck at 7,463 feet. 

There is no trail to the top. Most of the route is steep and covered with trees and brush. No matter how you slice it, the hike to Sandy Peak is a monster. 

I began on a ridge that appeared less covered in vegetation. As I worked my way up, the grade remained steep with minimal bushwhacking. Here I was among pine trees and scrub oak. 

Getting closer.

As always when I hike alone, my mind considered the worst-case scenario. What would I do if I got attacked by a mountain lion? Would I fight back or play dead? I had a monopod with which I could swing back. I once asked this question to a friend who was an avid hunter. His response: “It doesn't matter what you would do. That cat would sneak up behind you and with one swipe of his paw across the the back of your neck, you'd be done with!” That terrible thought has stayed with me for many years. 

I finally made it to the top of the ridge, but then was met on the other side by a deep canyon with steep slopes and pine trees on both sides. I knew it wouldn't be a straight-shot. I hoped to spot some deer or elk, but to no avail. 

Working my way up a ravine.

I slid down one side, then side-stepped up the other. I spooked some pine hens and they took flight, one by one. I didn't dare go up too high in elevation because I was sure I'd have to drop down again. 

I stayed at the bottom in a ravine. It was covered in a thin layer of snow, but luckily not much in the way of foliage. I followed the ravine until it wasn't a ravine anymore, and into a grove of aspen trees with tall mountain slopes on both sides. 

Finally out of the trees and nearing the summit.

By now I was getting near my goal. I paused to gulp down water and eat a package of Reese's Pieces. Little did I know it would be the last thing I ate on the hike. 

I should note that it was cold. Highs would be 40°F, tops. I dressed in layers, and at this point was able to go without a coat, but still wore gloves and a beanie. The mountain blocked the wind and my upward exertion kept me warm. 

From this point my goal was in sight and I could see the white-capped summit of Sandy Peak. There were trees near the top with snow still plastered on branches and leaves. It was obvious that the peak hadn't been above freezing since the storm last night. 

Final pitch to the frigid summit.

The final pitch became steeper and slightly slicker due to the snow, but at last I made it. 

The summit of Sandy Peak is 9,544 feet. From there you can see Bear Valley, the Duttons, Little Creek Peak and much more. It was a beautiful sight. 

Although there was one issue that preoccupied my mind as I stood and reveled at the scenery on the summit. It had taken me just over three hours to make the ascent. I could tell from the positioning of the sun and the time on my watch that I only had forty-five minutes until the sun went down. With the switch from Day Light Savings Time I didn't think through the calculations very clearly. I knew that tonight temperatures would plunge into the teens. Suddenly there was an urgency to get off the mountain. 

From the summit of Sandy Peak, looking east toward the Dutton's.

Looking north across Bear Valley and toward the Tushar Mountains.

From the summit looking southwest toward Little Creek Peak.

I will try not to drag the reader through my ordeal, but instead will summarize. Although suffering from fatigue, I hustled the best I could across and down the steep slopes so as to descend as much as I could before all light left. I took a slightly different route which I hoped would be quicker. By the time I exhausted all daylight and had to turn on my flashlight I was down inside a gully which I assumed would eventually wind its way back toward my truck. Temperatures were frigid and I followed this gully for what seemed to be way too long. There was no cell reception here and I began to doubt that I was headed in the right direction. (What if the gully I had dropped into happened to be on the other side of the divide and in reality I was getting further and further from my vehicle with every step? And then what if my flashlight suddenly burned out? Would I have the fortitude to spend the night out in the cold dark, lost?) I passed a flock of wild turkeys that made noises I had never heard in the dark. I didn't see them and at first I thought it was a pack of coyotes that were circling for the kill. I quickened my pace. From time to time I turned off my flashlight, let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and studied the stars in the sky, finding the north star. The Milky Way burst like a band across the heavens. After an hour and a half of wandering in the dark in and out of the gully and alongside a small stream, I finally emerged into the valley. To my left I could see the reflection of a barbed-wire fence. When I turned off the light I could see the silhouette of a familiar knoll to the north. Now I knew where I was at. 

Once at the truck I gave a sigh of relief, then turned on the ignition to start warming the air. Then I gave a short, but sincere prayer, thanking God that I made it back safely. ♠ 

Little Creek Peak at sunset (with still a long ways to go!).

Sandy Peak
 

Miles from car (one way): 4.5
 

Elevation gain: 2,081 feet
 

Final elevation: 9,544 feet

Valentine Peak, Sweet #1

I recently turned 50 years old and decided to make a goal: In the next five years I am going to hike at least 35 peaks. I've kept a tally, and over my lifetime I have climbed 45 peaks, but considering that we live only once, I need to hasten the work. 

The most challenging aspect, however, is not necessarily the grit or drive. It's my health. 

Over the past three years I've had consistent abdominal pain. Sometimes it's mild, sometimes it's maddening. I've been to every specialist imaginable and no one can figure it out. In the mild form it's always present, but unpredictable flareups can send it into the more maddening form. Hence it is difficult to plan any excruciating event. And, yes, hiking a steep hill is considered excruciating. 

I had scans done on my abdomen and it was discovered I had an enlarged spleen and splenic varices (enlarged blood vessels between the spleen and liver). They ran blood tests which found that I have a Jak-2 mutation, which means my body makes too many red blood cells. The diagnosis: polycythemia vera. 

P.V. is a very rare blood cancer. It is progressive and there's no cure. For sure, I thought, this was the reason for my abdominal pain. Not so fast! The doctors concluded that it wasn't. They still have no answer. 

Fast-forward to right now and my P.V. is under control thanks to a very expensive injection I get twice a month. And my stomach still hurts. That's my life. 

So making a goal to climb 35 peaks in five years is daunting. Some days I feel confident, but others I feel so crummy that I wouldn't be able to climb any hill. 

That's why I need a goal. I need something to push me. I need to get all that negativity out of my head. I don't know that life is going to get any easier, so I need to live it NOW! 

For my first challenge I chose Valentine Peak, a not-so-famous summit near my home, but none-the-less, a good hike. 

One aspect that I like is that it begins at a cemetery. 

Parowan cemetery as seen from the trailhead.

As the story goes, Hiram Ackley Hendrickson (an early pioneer who is now buried in the cemetery) observed that if you stand on the corner of 500 West and Center Street in Parowan on February 14th, the sun will rise directly over a rocky crest east of town. Thus, he gave it the name Valentine Peak and it eventually stuck. 

The hike begins at 6,100 feet and climbs a well maintained trail through the juniper trees and a hill of red clay. I was surprised to see so many wildflowers of many colors, especially cushion phlox, a low-growing white flower with a hint of pink that almost looks like snow on the ground. 

Fancy decorations along the trail.

View of Tushar Mountains.

Trail as it ascends toward Valentine Peak, looking back.

Looking back down on the cemetery.

Whoever takes care of the trail has put a lot of care into it. There are multiple rest-stops with a bench or chair, as well as dog bowls accompanied with a bottle of water. There are also decorations scattered here and there, I suppose to help make the hiker happy. 

Valentine Peak looms in the distance. When I first caught sight of it, it was much further than I anticipated. The trail begins at a challenging slope, then mellows out for a while and even briefly travels downhill. But then it picks up in steepness again, and toward the end the final pitch to the summit is very steep. 

Indian paintbrush.

Cushion phlox.

Valentine Peak as seen from near the top.

View of Brian Head and ridge to Horse Valley Peak as seen from Valentine Peak.

The summit supplies a grand view. Most prominently to the south and east are the snow-capped summits of Brian Head, Horse Valley Peak, and the ridges that lie between the two. To the south is the road that runs up Parowan Canyon. To the north, even further in the distance, are the Tushar Mountains which rise above 12,000 feet. And of course you can see most of the city of Parowan, but the cemetery is covered by foothills. Beyond this you can see Little Salt Lake, which is normally dry, but this year is filling with water from the high runoff. 

So, for me, this is Peak #1. I have at least 34 more to go. I felt quite fatigued as I first began my ascent, but as my body warmed up it became easier. My worry, however, is how I will feel tomorrow, or the day after that. That's usually when the bad pain kicks in. 

 

 

Valentine Peak 

 

Miles from car (one way): 3.5 

Elevation gain: 1,950 feet 

Final elevation: 8,050 feet 

Valentine Peak.

Side story: 

There is a fascinating pioneer story that most likely occurred on Valentine Peak. In 1851, a 23-year-old man by the name of James Martineau arrived in Parowan and one day decided to ascend a mountain peak southeast of town to view the valley. 

After a five mile climb along a mountain ridge, scrambling over jagged rocks and ascending rugged cliffs, he finally arrived at the summit where he briefly enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Knowing that he didn't have much sunlight left, he decided to take a shortcut back to town. Instead of taking the circuitous route upon which he traveled, he would return on a more direct path. 

 

James Henry Martineau.

Although this path was more direct, it was also much steeper and he found himself sliding down ravines and jumping down small ledges. His downward leaps became more frequent and of greater depth. Things seemed to be going well until one leap took him down a tall ledge of which he couldn't retreat, and left him on a small shelf overlooking a 150 foot sheer drop off! 

Boy, was he in a predicament! There was no way up and no way to safely go down. He had no water, and had told no one where he would be. 

After a quick survey of the area, he decided his only chance of escape was to jump and hopefully land on a tall pine tree which stood below and some little distance from the base of the cliff.  The prospect terrified him. Unless the jump was executed perfectly, his life would come to a definitive end, either by being impaled by a large branch, or dashing his body against the hard ground. 

James Martineau may have descended the peak from this area.

Seeing no other way out, James decided to give it a try. He only had a few feet to gain a running start. As he made the attempt, his knees buckled and he nearly collapsed at the edge. 

He tottered back to safety and panted until he regained his composure.  He attempted the leap two more times, but with the same result.  Martineau described in his journal what happened next: 

"I reflected on the promises made by Patriarch John Smith (uncle to the Prophet, Joseph) in his blessing upon my head. I could not see that I had done anything bad enough to forfeit them, consequently I must live to fulfill them.  And so I gained faith enough to pray for strength and for safety in the leap I must now make. I arose, determined to do, or die and end it all. I rushed at the brink. And now, instead of weakness my sinews and limbs were as steel; I shot far out into the air, and in a moment found myself clinging to two limbs—one in each hand—with a grip like that of death, but safe and unharmed; not a shed of my clothing torn or disarranged, not a scratch or mark upon me. How this came about I had no knowledge, for I knew nothing as I fell swiftly through the air, and had no knowledge of grasping at or clutching a branch of the tree. But there I was, safe and unharmed. I now know I was saved by the power of God. He it was who guided my hands to the limbs by which I hung and enabled me to retain my hold when falling with so great speed, and that, too, without tearing my hands as such a strain would naturally do; it was He who gave me strength to leap out so far;—who steeled my muscles and strengthened my limbs, for no other power could have preserved me. I climbed down from one limb to another until the last one, and then hung and dropped from that about 20 feet to the ground—safe and unharmed!" ♠ 

 

 

(Source: Godfrey, Donald & Martineau-McCarty, Rebecca. (2008). An uncommon common pioneer: The journals of James Henry Martineau, 1828-1918. Religious Studies Center, Brigham Young University, p. 444)