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

A Navajo Lake in Paiute Territory

When I first moved to Iron County twenty-seven years ago, I was baffled and somewhat amused that Navajo Lake should have such a name. My hometown—over 300 miles away—was just thirty minutes from the Navajo Reservation. There were no Navajos over here, I assumed. Therefore I concluded that Navajo Lake was so named only because it had a good ring. 

Carmen Clark, Chairwoman of the Shivwits Band of the Paiute Tribe had similar feelings. Commenting on a proposed bill that would rename many landmarks that indigenous people find offensive, she said, “Why is it called Navajo Lake when the Navajos weren't even in this area? It should have a Paiute name.” 

Navajo Lake sits in the northeast corner of Kane County, Utah.

For those unfamiliar, Navajo Lake is located in a picturesque setting on the Markagunt Plateau at an elevation of 9,200 feet. It is nestled in a little valley, surrounded on all sides by pine trees. The lake was formed by a lava flow on the eastern side of the valley. An interesting detail is that there is no stream running out of the lake. Instead, the water seeps into an underground drainage that emerges at Cascade Falls, over a mile away. 

Nowadays the lake is used primarily for recreation. Near the shores are a couple of campgrounds, a lodge and several private cabins. The waters are stocked with three varieties of trout. Last summer our family took kayaks on the lake. Despite the popularity, Navajo Lake retains a peaceful setting. 

Recreation is now popular, but not overwhelming, at Navajo Lake.

But it wasn't until a few years ago that I learned the story behind the naming of the lake. And, no, it wasn't named on a whim. And, yes, there were Navajos in the area at the time. 

The story was told by Joseph H. Pollock in 1930, one of two surviving men at the time who were part of a posse to round up a group of thieving Navajos. As the story goes, it was October of 1869 near the town of Kannara when a passing camper with his span of mules woke up to learn that during the night his animals had been shot full of arrows. A posse was quickly summoned, and as they pursued the tracks they learned that just two and a half miles north, the Indians had taken a large herd of horses.

Joseph Henry Pollock (right) poses with his brother, Samuel.

With two natives as their guides (presumably Paiutes) they headed east and climbed nearly 2,000 feet to the top of what is now Kanarra Mountain, passing through Blue Valley. Near a head of a fork of the Virgin River, they spotted an Indian who quickly disappeared into the gulch. Then they found a horse belonging to one of the townspeople, unfortunately full of arrows. Just before they got to Black Rock, they found a horse mortally wounded. Further on they found six more dead horses. 

They came to a big mountain north of the lake where they made a grisly discovery. This horse was not dead, but was full of arrows and hamstrings cut out. There, darkness overtook them and they paused to build a fire and decide their next move. It was decided they would continue the chase until the thieves were caught. 

Pine-covered hills on the north side of Navajo Lake.

They walked along the high ridge on the north side of the lake (but at this time they didn't even know the lake existed) and then stepped off their horses to lead them down the steep embankment. As they approached the east side of the lake, one of their Indian guides could smell the smoke of a campfire. As they came up and over a small knoll, they could see the fire and horses tied up. 

They hoped to surround the camp, but unbeknownst to them, they were being followed by a dog, and with a barking alarm the Navajos fled into the darkness. Shooting ensued, but no one was killed. The horses were quickly gathered and the posse, needing a break, led them to a nearby meadow where they had a quick bite to eat. This was their first meal since they left Kanarra and it was now one o'clock in the morning. 

They decided to camp there, someone always standing guard throughout the night. When daylight came they learned they were next to a large lake. The picturesque setting must have surely surprised them. The two friendly Indians with them gathered up moccasins, blankets, bows and arrows that were left behind. The Navajos were never caught. 

Rough road to Navajo Lake, probably around 1930. (photo courtesy of Sherratt Library, Special Collections Department.)

From this expedition, the lake would later be known as Navajo Lake. But what was it called before 1869? To the white man it wasn't known. It was the Southern Paiutes who were familiar with this territory and knew this mountain up and down. What was their name for it? 

William Palmer, a local historian who was very close to the Paiute people, gave this insight: “The Indian name for the lake was beautiful and it had a poetic connotation. The old Indian trail ran along the top of the ridge north of the lake and overlooking the body of water. Being situated between two high ridges and protected thus from stiff winds, the surface of the lake is not much ruffled. From the trail above, the sky is clearly reflected in the water and the lake appears to be filled with clouds. The Indian name was “Pah-cun-ab” which means cloud lake, or a lake of clouds.” 

Another name the Paiutes gave was “Pa-voo-weap,” which was the name of the valley or basin which holds the lake. There is also a third name, “Pang-ap-its,” which translates to “water babies.” 

The phenomenon of water babies is interesting because I have seen it documented in two other areas of the country that are far from Navajo Lake. Sometimes there may be a small variations in appearance, but most of the descriptions are the same. 

Photo from Paiute Restoration and Gathering Powwow in Cedar City.

According to Palmer, he had first-hand accounts from older members of the tribe who had seen the creatures in Navajo Lake. The Paiutes said they were near half human, half bird and half animal. Their skin was dark, like that of an Indian's, and their hair black, with long tresses that hung over the shoulders. Dark brown hair also covered their bodies. Their feet were webbed and they could fly, swim, or walk on the water like a man. 

One distinguishing feature that made them uniquely eerie was their cry. When they hurt, they cried like a baby. No matter what the Indians did, they could not kill them. If hit with an arrow, the Pang-apits would flutter around and cry like a baby, then fly away. 

Palmer states: “In the moonlight these creatures could be seen in large numbers walking around over the lake splashing and whipping the water with their wings like they were having a real sporting time. About the time the Mormons came these strange creatures disappeared and have never been seen in the country since.” 

It would be easy to dismiss water babies as a myth if it weren't for the first-hand accounts and also due to stories from other locations. It is a very fascinating feature associated with the history of Navajo Lake. 

Today the lake is a favorite spot for anglers and boaters. Very few of them know the history of how it got its name, nor do they know the older Paiute name. When they camp on its banks at night, I'm sure they don't listen for the crying shriek of a water baby. ♠ 

 

Depiction of water baby, by Savanah Lacy.

 



Sources  

Palmer, W. R. (1951). Forgotten Chapters of History (Vol. I & II). Merill Library and Learning Resources Program. 

Webber, Megan. “It should have a Paiute name: Shivwits chime in on state bill proposing name changes of landmarks.” Cedar City News, 29 December 2020. https://www.cedarcityutah.com/news/archive/2020/12/29/mrw-it-should-have-a-paiute-name-shivwits-chime-in-on-state-bill-proposing-name-changes-of-landmarks-offensive-to-native-americans/#.Y_-x7h_MKUk.

Mammoth Cave

Not to be confused with Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, the longest cave system in the world, I am writing about Mammoth Cave of Utah, the longest cave system (I know of) in Garfield County.

I am here experiencing the cave with my family. We drove several miles on a graveled road to the cave opening, which sits amidst a stand of ponderosa pines.

There are four chambers, one of them being the primary chamber, which is the largest and most used. There is a metal grate that seals off the entrance, except for a low two-foot opening. This part is sealed shut during the winter to allow for bat hibernation.

We enter the main chamber first. The beginning is wide, and relatively high. Anciently, these caves were lava tubes. They still give the impression of walking through a tube, possibly replicating the feeling that Jonah must have felt when he was swallowed by a whale.

All four chambers of Mammoth Cave can be accessed from this opening in the ground.

Chamber #1.

Not too far in, the cave becomes somewhat damp, with moisture collecting on the ceiling of the cave. At this point, instead of a flat dirt surface to walk on, the floor is strewn with large chunks of slippery rock. A musty smell is present on the cold air of the cave.

Here, the ceiling drops lower and I am having to tip my head and watch for protruding rocks. A light of some sort is imperative inside the cave, as it is pitch-black otherwise.

Chamber #1.  Jenna is pointing her flashlight toward the small tunnel where the cave continues.

Soon, the large chamber gives way to a shallow chamber. Travel becomes cumbersome, and I am on my hands and knees. At this location, I'm not sure if the cave suddenly stops, or has an exit.

As we continue, the passageway shrinks even more, and I find myself squeezing through a small enclosure. I can't help but to think of the Nutty Putty Cave incident a few years ago when a man got stuck inside a very narrow crevice and died after several days and efforts to get him out. I hesitate to continue, but I have Jenna and Savanah with me and they are both very determined to discover where the tunnel leads.

After squeezing through the small enclosure (which is much more difficult when carrying a little backpack, camera, and tripod), Jenna hollers back and notifies me that she has found a light at the end of the tunnel!

We move toward the light, which throws a substantial glow into the cave, and we can see well enough that we know that we have reached the terminus of the tunnel. Above us and to our left, we find the exit hole, covered with a grate, but with a hole just large enough to squeeze through. We climb up the rocks and through the grate and once again find ourselves amidst the ponderosa pines and tall summer grass of the Markagunt Plateau. We are only about a hundred yards from the entrance of the cave.

Exit to chamber #1.

As we return to the main entrance, we find the second chamber at the opposite end of the large entrance hole in the ground. As we slip inside, I feel like I am in the tube station in London.

I find myself walking sideways with my head extremely tilted to avoid contact with the ceiling of the cave. Soon, I am on my hands and knees, banging my joints against the hard surface and dusting up my pants and belly of my shirt. At one point I have to army crawl.

Once again, we see the light at the end of the tunnel and emerge successively.

Exit to chamber #2.

The entrance to the third chamber is just above the entrance to the first. To enter it, one has three options: 1) climb up a twelve-foot rock face, 2) shimmy across a rock ledge that goes over the first entrance, or 3) return outside and enter through a ceiling hole in the ground and lower yourself in.

Being that I have two young daughters, I choose the safest of them all, option number three. This tunnel is very similar to the second, being a smooth, shallow tube. At one point we come to a fork in the tunnel. The right fork appears bigger. It is very wide, but it is also very shallow. A little too shallow for me. I could probably squeeze through, but I would be sliding on my belly for a long distance, with the cave ceiling right at my back. That is a little too scary for me.

The left fork doesn't appear to be much better in the beginning, as I would have to squeeze through a thinner passageway, with a slightly higher ceiling, but also over a large boulder. We squeeze through the left fork and find ourselves inside a slightly bigger room where I can stand on my knees without my head scraping the ceiling.

Two of the entrances to chamber #3.   

Near the entrance of chamber #3. 

Exit to chamber #3.

Jenna, always taking the lead, finds a ray of light and once again we find our exit to the outside world. At the terminus there are two possible exits: one where you can climb up the rocks, and the other, more like a natural air vent, where you have to use your arms to pull yourself up.

We find the fourth chamber. It is near the first and third, but to the right. We don't have time to explore it. There is defiantly more prospecting to be done here, as well as knowledge to learn, such as the geology and history of the cave.