Ogden to Mantua via Ben Lomand and Willard Peaks (#'s 13 & 14)

Several months ago I conjured up the idea of hiking from Ogden to Mantua, up and over the mountain while bagging two peaks. But now, as the time drew closer, I became a little nervous. I knew it would be a long hike, but how long? Was I giving myself enough time, or would I be finishing in the dark? And to add to all that, temperatures in the valley would reach between 100 – 105° F that day. 

To clarify, I didn't start in Ogden, but a few miles up North Ogden Canyon at the Ben Lomand Trailhead. Jenelle was kind enough to drop me off at 7:00 in the morning. 

The hike began well. It was a cool 71°, and although the sun was barely over the horizon, the mountain still kept me in the shade. During my first minute on the trail I spotted three does hiding behind the scrub oak. 

Doe hiding behind the scrub oak.

In this first section I gained a lot of elevation, although it wasn't too noticeable because the trail was gradual, zigzagging in a giant corkscrew. In the first hour I hiked 2.4 miles and gained 1,200 feet. 

I wasn't sure how much water to bring. Would there be streams to refill my water bottles? Would the heat cause me to drink more than normal? I brought four liters of water, plus twenty ounces of Gatorade. 

Looking back at the North Ogden Canyon Road.

It was a beautiful hike up. Being mid-July, there were wildflowers everywhere, including fleabane and flax flowers. 

As I got higher I caught glimpses of communities and landmarks on the east side of the mountain such as Eden, Huntsville and Pineview Reservoir. I had never seen that corner of the state before. 

Looking southeast toward Eden, Huntsville and Pineview Reservoir.

Trail on eastern slope of the mountain.

Wild blue flax.

At roughly the 5-mile mark the trail shifted to the west side. Now there were views of Ogden, the Great Salt Lake and most of Davis County. Here I could hear commuter jets overhead approaching the Salt Lake Airport, as well as out-of-sight military jets flying from Hill Air Force Base. 

At this point I caught my first glimpse of Ben Lomand Peak. It was impressive from this angle. It was named by Scottish pioneers due to the resemblance to Ben Lomand Mountain in their native Scotland.—As an interesting side note, in 1914 William Wadsworth Hodkinson sketched a picture a Ben Lomand Peak onto a napkin and later this doodle would become the basis for the Paramount Pictures logo. 

Even though it would be over 100° down in the valley, up here on the mountain there were still patches of snow. As I approached these higher elevations, the trail became more braided, with forks splitting off into unknown places. A couple of times I strayed off the main trail, but always found my way back. 

First glimpse of Ben Lomand Peak.

Looking back at other mountains east of Ogden.

Reading the reviews for this trail, the one negative thing that many reported were the abundance of motorbikes. I was surprised because, up to this point, I hadn't seen or heard a single rider. I only passed a handful of people and most of them were trail runners. 

The hike so far wasn't too hard. But as I approached the final pitch to the summit the slope became much steeper and my thighs began to burn. Melting water drizzled downhill. Once again the trail became a series of zigzags. 

Approaching Ben Lomand Peak.

Ben Lomand on left and Willard Peak on right.

The top of Ben Lomand Peak created quite a sight. At 9,686 feet, all of the aforementioned sites I could still see, but from a better vantage point. To the northwest I could see most of Willard Bay, a freshwater arm of the Great Salt Lake. To the north I could see my next destination, the beige granite rock of Willard Peak. 

Ironically, after not seeing a rider all day, a motorcyclist clad in all his protective gear came chugging along a trail from the north and parked his bike just below the peak and walked up. He had come from the Mantua side and drove up a trail in Perry Canyon. We talked for a bit and I learned why I hadn't seen any bikes coming up: because they weren't allowed on that side for another week (July 16). 

View from summit of Ben Lomand looking southeast.  Pineview Reservoir in background.

Willard Bay as seen from the summit of Ben Lomand.

Willard Peak seen from Ben Lomand.

Not having much time to waste I now descended the north side of the peak and walked the two-mile saddle toward Willard Peak. There was some elevation loss here, about 448 feet. Once again the trail was dotted with wildflowers, as well as wind-swept pine trees. 

Willard Peak, named after Mormon Apostle Willard Richards, is much rockier than Ben Lomand. If someone were to climb its iconic southeast side, they would find both class 3 and class 4 sections. The trail circumvents the peak and takes you to the west side. I didn't see any trail going to the top, so I created my own. This was another grueling stress on my thighs. On a couple sections I had to climb the rocks to get myself up. I even saw a fat marmot waddling inside a cave. 

Although Willard Peak (elevation 9,751 feet) is higher than Ben Lomand (and the highest in Weber County), the view, in my opinion, is not as good. The first reason is because the peak is broad and there is no one place where you can see well both the north and south sides. Second, there is a bulk of mountain that blocks the north side of the valley, including Perry and Brigham City. For the best views one has to go to Inspiration Point. 

But there is a good view into Willard Basin and the mountains on the east side. One mountain, James Peak, is somewhat prominent. I could also see a pond below me. 

There was no one else up here. I hadn't seen a soul since the motorcyclist on Ben Lomand. Willard Basin, which I thought would be buzzing with adventurists, was silent. 

From the summit of Willard Peak looking back at Ben Lomand.

Looking east from Willard Peak.

Survey marker on Willard Peak.

Willard Bay.  Promontory Mountains in distance.

Willard Basin as seen from Willard Peak.

I picked my way down the peak and back onto the path. Here the trail system was even more confusing, many of them crisscrossing the basin. I just had to pick one and go for it. 

Willard Basin was beautiful and I had it all to myself. A lake sat at the bottom of a slope. Melted snow created rivulets of water. I hoped to see a moose or mountain goats, but saw neither. 

Further down in the basin I met a rocky dirt road. This would be the road I would follow to Mantua. Considering the fallen trees on the road and the fact that the entire basin was dead to human existence, I assumed that further up the road was closed off. 

The road in the basin gained elevation until it climbed to a pass between the basin and everything else on the east side. There my notions were confirmed—a large metal gate blocked the road with a sign stating it was closed and would reopen on July 16. 

Descending into Willard Basin.

Unnamed (as far as I know) Lake in Willard Basin.

Dirt road heading out of Willard Basin.

This is why I had the basin all to myself!

From here it was just a long and tedious 10-mile walk into Mantua. I still had to descend 3,586 feet, but it would be on a twisty mountain road. Although it wasn't burning hot yet, I tried to walk on the shaded side of the road (if there was one) to keep from heating up. 

The road was still pretty rocky and high-clearance with a four-wheel drive would be necessary to drive on it in some parts. I passed two vehicles who were out on scenic drives. They both stopped and offered a ride, but I declined. 

The last four miles were probably the worst of all. The temperature was going up and the walk became even more tedious. But at last I made it to my in-law's house, which is just a half mile from the reservoir. I was very happy to be done with this hike! ♠

Black Mountain.

Perry Reservoir. Full of gnats and no moose.

The long walk home.

Ben Lomand Peak  

Miles from car (one way): 7.5  

Elevation gain: 4,020 feet  

Final elevation: 9,686 feet
 

Willard Peak  

Miles from car (one way): 9.5  

Miles from Ben Lomand: 2  

New elevation gained (after dropping some): 513 feet  

Final elevation: 9,751 feet
 

Total hike  

Miles: 22.1  

Aggregate elevation gain: 4,747 feet  

Time: 11 hours 49 minutes

 

Finally in Mantua!

Mantua, Utah

West of Brigham City, the highway quickly gains elevation along the narrow, but short, Box Elder Canyon. Quickly, it arrives at a lush basin in the mountains that the early settlers called “Little Valley.”

I remember this valley when passing through as a youngster, beholding the large lake and the picturesque little town that resides along its shores―a sight not too common in Utah. This would be just before the highway curled back over another mountain hill and into Sardine Canyon, a corridor notorious for its treacherous wintertime conditions.

We never stopped in this little town. The road-sign read “Mantua,” but I never knew how to pronounce it. I even remember seeing a couple of moose feeding down by a stream one day as we passed through.

Little did I know that a couple of decades later, my in-laws would buy a house there and I would come to know the place a little more intimately.

The first thing I learned was how to pronounce it: Man-a-way.

In the beginning, I didn't get to know the town very well―just the backyard and fields around my in-laws' home. Bugs were everywhere: mosquitoes, gnats, dragonflies, May bugs, and snowy aphids. Notably the snowy aphids. Sometimes, especially in the evening when the glow of the sun is just right, swarms of these tiny white bugs billow over the air like wafting smoke. They don't seem to bite much, but if you leave a door to the house ajar, they will invite themselves inside and linger around the light bulbs.

The bugs are there because of the lake. My in-laws' home is half a mile from the southern shore.

I soon discovered that a four and a half mile walking path circumvents the lake. One morning I woke up and ran the length of it. I enjoyed the long daybreak shadows from the trees and the smell of wheat fields that grow along the side. I saw a couple does feeding in the field.

The edge of the lake is very swampy. Knarled trees grow from the water and in some spots it can feel like you're on the bayou. A metal dock at the southern edge of the lake floats in the water and provides a place for locals to launch canoes and other small vessels.

One day I decided to walk half-way around the lake and then climb a large knoll on the eastern edge of the water. I hiked at an angle straight up, over small rocks and through cheat grass. It was all worth it because at the top there is a view like none other.

The entire lake comes into view and the tiny village on the other side, with the small store and a yellow church and steeple. But they are so far away. I could finally find my in-laws' house, surrounded by fields in all directions, and could distinguish our little matchbox Trailblazer parked in front.

Little did I know that I had climbed the same hill that Lorenzo Snow, Apostle of the Mormon Church, had climbed in late spring of 1864 with many of the early settlers. Elder Snow named the little knoll “Mount Hope” and dedicated the land and the water that it might be a blessing to the people. The little town was given the name “Mantua” in honor of Elder Snow's birthplace in Mantua, Ohio.

Mantua truly lies in a basin surrounded by mountains. In a way, it is in a world by itself. That, I think, is part of the appeal. Although Brigham City, the Wasatch Front, and the smoggy I-15 corridor are only miles away, they are completely out of view. Mantua might as well be a village in Switzerland.

Finally, after my in-laws had lived there a few years, I began to research the history of Mantua.

Before the settlers, the Shoshone passed through the valley during their annual migrations from Bear Lake. Mantua was also well known to fur trappers, who traversed the Wasatch Mountains.

The Mormons came into the picture in 1851 when Brigham City was settled. The valley, or Little Valley, as it became known, was a popular place to run cattle.

Around 1859, one of the two mail routes that led from Brigham City to Logan traveled through Little Valley. The story is told of one of the carriers, Samuel Alonzo Whitney, who had only one arm. Although there were some conflicts with the Indians, Samuel was on a friendly basis with them. The Shoshone called him “Burrowit,” meaning “one arm gone,” and would often escort him through the valley. He spoke the Shoshone tongue fluently.

The trail that he rode is the Indian Trail, and was a major route used by early mountain men and Natives that traveled over the mountains from the Paradise-Avon area into Mantua Valley.

In 1863, Elder Lorenzo Snow called five Danish families to create a settlement in Little Valley. The settlers were to grow flax, which church leaders thought would grow well in the valley due to the cool nights and short growing season. The crop grew well enough that the nickname “Flaxville” was given to the town. The idea was soon abandoned due to the coarseness of the fiber.

These Danish settlers persisted and built up a lovely little community. Several generations raised their families in Mantua.

Now, in the year 2015, I am stepping outside my in-laws' home on Reservoir Drive, a short graveled road that reaches the southern dock of the lake. Immediately I am welcomed by a nasty swarm of snowy aphids, just beyond the door and hovering over some shrubs in the front yard. I hurry to the road and begin my walk up the street.

I walk past a field of freshly cut alfalfa and a soft breeze catches the scent and gently blows it my direction. The piles lay in even rows and wait to be raked and baled.

Soon, I am on Main Street, a lightly visited road with no painted white or yellow lines. On my right is the Mount Haven R.V. Park and Country Store, the only “supermarket” in town. It looks a lot like a barn and isn't much bigger than a house. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody lives upstairs. No cars are parked in front.

During my journey, I notice that all the lawns are very well manicured. Grass has been freshly mowed, hedges perfectly trimmed, vegetable gardens growing in exact rows, and no weeds between plants. It's not just one lawn, but plot after plot.

While passing one house, I spot a Plymouth Rock chicken strolling along the shady side of a tree in the front yard. As I pass the large base of the tree, I see a rooster in the crook of a branch, clucking back and forth in a panic when he sees me.

Farther up the road is a large building with yellow vinyl siding and black steeple on top. On the front porch are two arm chairs and a mailbox. Apparently, this is the “old church,” as opposed to the “new church,” which is across town. Many years ago, someone bought and converted it into a home. The view here is ideal as it sits on the west shore of the lake.

I turn around at this point and return the way I came. I walk along the sidewalk on the west side of Main Street, leaving me mostly in afternoon shadows.

Although I am across the street from the reservoir, I can only see a horizontal slice of water. Fisherman wait on casted poles and a paddler pilots his canoe beyond the shore.

A stream of water emerges from a conduit beneath the road. This would be Big Creek, the drainage point of Mantua Reservoir, and it will quickly coalesce with Box Elder Creek.

Instead of returning to the house, I make a right-hand turn and walk up Center Street toward the cemetery. There are no businesses on this street. All are residential homes with the same perfectly manicured lawns. Two thoughts cross my mind: first, these people must take great pride in living here to keep their homes looking so nice; and second, why does my lawn at home look like such a dump?

At last, the road comes to an end and I arrive at the cemetery. The cemetery lies on a hill and just below, but out of sight, is the main highway that runs between Logan and Brigham City. Here it feels secluded. There is a peaceful feeling that should exist in every cemetery.

I don't know what to expect as I begin to meander through the headstones. Right away, I notice the abundance of Scandinavian names: Peterson, Ekelsen, Andersen, Olsen. Generation after generation of the sames names tells me that families have stayed in the valley for over a century.

The earliest death date I can find is that of Caroline Jeppesen, who died in 1879. I'm sure there are others that are older, but I can't find them.

I see a small flat headstone for Elder Joseph L. Moffitt, missionary. The only other inscription is a drawing of the state of Idaho, and the Boise Temple. In the top-right corner is a small outline of the state of Massachusetts. He died at the age of nineteen. It is obvious that there is a story here that I may never know. In my mind I ask where he served his mission and why is he buried in Mantua.

As I am about to leave the cemetery, I come across the most touching headstone of all. Atop the base of the large black-marbled monument are two bottles of Pepsi. The labels are a bit faded from the sun. It is a double headstone, with both the husband and wife's name etched in, although the wife hasn't died yet.

I read the name of the deceased: Cade Fenton Wyatt. He died at the youthful age of twenty-six, having been married to his wife for only four years. Across the front is an engraving of the Salt Lake Temple, and below it the inscription, “Eternally Yours, Forever Mine.” I'm sure that one bottle of Pepsi was placed there by his wife, and the other by his son.

As I walk back to the house, through the shadows and scents of pre-dusk, I contemplate the fragility of life and the beauty of the world. The two often merge in exactly the same place and are so poignant that they seem paradoxical.

Back at the house, just for kicks, I pull out a local cookbook that was put together by the ladies of the local LDS ward. I flip through the pages to see if there is anything unique.

I notice many of the same Scandinavian names that I found in the cemetery. I also come across a few recipes that may have been handed down through the generations: Danish Tea, Danish Dumplings, Swedish Bread Dumplings, Swedish Pancakes, Norwegian Pancakes, Swedish Roll-up Hotcakes, Swedish Meatballs, Danish Dessert Cake.

Perhaps I'll never know the origin of these recipes, but these are the kind of things I think about.