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

Mount Holly in January (Peak #20)

It was seventeen degrees Fahrenheit when we pulled into the parking lot of the lodge. That was warmer than I expected. We were the first ones there. The sun had just crested over the forest of trees in the east.

We got out of the car and put on extra layers of pants, shirts, gloves and jackets. Then we strapped on snowshoes and began our small journey northward on a steady uphill slope of packed snow.

We were fortunate. Although it was the last week of January, this year was unusually dry. There had been some good storms at the beginning of winter, but for the last 50 days the mountain saw no snowfall.

But I didn't know what to expect. I'm not a seasoned winter hiker and had no idea whether I could stay warm. I wore three layers of pants, including good snow pants on the outside. My socks were doubled, one of them made out of merino wool. On top I wore a pair of long johns, a t-shirt, two long-sleeve sweat shirts, and a Loftek jacket that in the past had done well to keep the cold out. A black balaclava covered most of my head, topped with a beanie and the hood of my jacket. Two pairs of gloves covered my hands. My only weak spot was my boots. All I had were regular hiking boots. The sole on my snow boots were coming off.

The hike began from the lodge at 10,349 feet. Our original plan was to hike Delano Peak and take snowmobiles in five miles on another road, but the guy renting out the snowmobiles backed out on that plan due to possible whiteouts. So we opted to hike Mount Holly, which was closer to the lodge.

The first part of the hike fell within the boundaries of the ski resort, but we soon arrived at the backcountry. It's hard to say how deep the snow was here, but I would guess maybe a foot or more. It should have been several feet deep during a normal year.

One thing that made me nervous about hiking in the backcountry during winter was the fact that we needed to carry avalanche beacons. The thought of being buried alive under an avalanche terrified me. I would rather be shot to death. When Ricardo first invited me on this excursion, I told him the one stipulation was that we didn't get buried in an avalanche.

I should mention who was on this hike. There were three of us. Ricardo from Uruguay was a friend of mine, and several years ago he and I ran a trail marathon on this mountain, the Crusher in the Tushars. The other guy, Trevor, I had never met, but later we learned that we were distant cousins, which is never a surprise here in Utah.

I've climbed Mount Holly ten other times according to my count. In many ways it's an easy hike due to its proximity to pavement, but it's a steep little bugger and will certainly test your thighs. But I had never hiked it in winter . . . until today.

As we hiked, my body stayed relatively warm except my nose and my right-hand fingertips. As for the nose, I just had to put up with it. I tried pulling the balaclava over it, but it just steamed up my glasses. For my hands Trevor gave me a little heating pad that I shook up and placed between my two layers of gloves. That seemed to do the trick.

Despite the fact that most of the higher peaks had a couple feet of snow, I was pleasantly surprised that the southern slopes of Holly was largely devoid of snow due to constant wind. Once we arrived at a bare spot on the southern flanks, we removed our snowshoes and began the arduous hike in just our boots.

This part of Holly is difficult. It can separate the casual from the serious hiker. I think most hikers could do it, but it requires stamina. We pushed upward, resting every few minutes. As I climbed the blood pulsated through my body and my thighs burned. As we got higher, the intensity of the wind increased. There were shallow patches of snow, but nowhere near what I expected.

The peak of Mount Holly was as blistery as anticipated. The wind ramped up five-fold and suddenly we faced gusts that had to have been near sixty miles per hour. The view was the same I had seen many times over, only it was now covered in snow: Delano Peak reigned to the north, Mount Baldy to the northwest and a steep basin to our east. I could see no mountain goats anywhere.

Every time I removed my right glove to take a picture, my fingers stung with a frigid burning. I walked around, looking over the ledges on the east side to look for goats, but to no avail. We stayed at the summit no longer than ten minutes. The wind chill had to be near zero. Even the snot that drizzled from my nose to my beard instantly froze. It was time to find a location free from wind, and there we could take a small lunch break.

* * *

This account wouldn't be complete without sharing what happened after we finished our hike and were back at the car. Now the entire parking lot at the lodge was full with skiers and snowboarders moving around like ants. Trevor, who had a season pass for his family, proposed that we stay an extra hour and all go skiing. We could go for free on his pass.

My only objection was the embarrassing fact that I had never skied in my life, other than cross-country skiing a couple of times. Trevor agreed to be my tutor, and we could practice on the “bunny slopes.”

To make a long story short, the next hour was more miserable than anything we did on Mount Holly. I spent the entire time trying to make “pizzas” with my skis, wiping out on the snow, trying to get back up, and probably getting scoffed at by school kids who had aerial views from the ski lift. I received bruises on my elbow and hip, and would have received a concussion if I weren't wearing a helmet. I concluded that you can't teach an old dog new tricks! ♠

Mount Holly

Distance from car (one way): 1.9 miles

Elevation gain: 1,654 feet

Final elevation: 11,993 feet

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.

Indian Creek to Mount Baldy (Peak #4)

For years I've had my eye on Mount Baldy in the Tushar Mountains. From Beaver, and even from the south, it is the most prominent peak, piercing the sky like a tooth. Yet, out of the major peaks in the Tushar range, it is also the most difficult to reach. 

The easiest route is from the northeast. Although the hiker has the benefit of starting at around 11,000 feet, he must ascend Mount Belknap first, which is also over 12,000 feet, and then traverse a ridge and scale a very steep pitch to the summit of Baldy. One thing that makes this approach difficult is that the access road is closed over half the year due to snow. 

The southeast ridge provides a more gradual slope to the top, but access to this ridge is difficult due to the fact that there are no nearby roads. There are probably a few other ways to scale Mount Baldy if one gets creative, but the truth is, not many people ever step foot on this peak. 

But I've had my eye on yet another approach: from Indian Creek Reservoir on the northeast side. As the crow flies, the distance between the two is just under three miles. There is no trail, and elevation gain is over 4,000 feet. The terrain between the two is daunting, to say the least. I have only heard one person express the desire to hike this route. I have never heard of anyone who has actually done it. 

I arrived at Indian Creek Reservoir the night before with my son, Jordan. We drove ten miles on a dirt road from the Manderfield exit, directly east up the canyon. We enjoyed sunset on the lake and marveled at the stars when they came out in full force. 

Marveling at the stars.

I had spent hours on Google Maps trying to decipher which route would be the best to take. I concluded that by taking a ridge just half a mile west of the reservoir would connect us to another larger ridge, which would in turn take us all the way to Baldy. The first half of the hike was entirely below the treeline, so the big wild factor would be how thick the growth would be on the lower ridges. I didn't want bush-whacking to stop us from our goal. 

And no matter how you sliced it, the hike would be steep.  Using the geometry equation to find the slope (rise over run), I determined that a straight line from starting point to peak would have an inline of 26%.

We took our time that morning and didn't get started until 9 am. We started up the ridge from the road, which was super steep in the beginning, but then mellowed out, but always angled upward. There had been a burn here several years ago, so most of the vegetation was young. 

This is the first ridge we climbed to gain the main ridge.

About half an hour into our ascent we assessed our location on Google Maps and realized that we were on the wrong ridge! We should have been on the ridge just east of us. We decided to stay the course because by this point a deep ravine separated the two ridges. Anyway, they would both take us to the same place. 

We saw a few does scamper out of the trees ahead. Other than that, we didn't see a lot of wildlife. Soon we came into an aspen grove that stood on a steeper slope. We used the sapling branches to pull ourselves up. After two hours of strenuous bushwhacking, we finally arrived at the larger ridge which ran west to east. 

Now on the main ridge.  You can see Mount Baldy (false summit) in the background.

From here we finally had a view! On the opposite side of the ridge stood a very deep canyon. Looking toward the east we could follow the ridge with our eyes and see the point where the trees ended and rock began. We could also see the distant peak we believed to be Mount Baldy. We would later learn it was a false summit. 

So, upward we trudged! 

This was a pretty section with lots of wildflowers. Aspens grew, but there were also a lot of downed trees from the fire. A flock of pine hens startled us, flying out of their hiding spaces one at a time, just yards ahead. 

This was one of the most painful parts for me. The slope was excruciating and at one point I had to stop every few minutes to take a short break. It was in this area that we passed the 10,000 foot level and came across our first patches of snow. 

The climb was extremely steep the entire way.

Pine hen.

Many wildflowers along the way.

At last we cleared the treeline. This meant we no longer had to push through sapling trees and step over fallen logs. But now the terrain came with shale rock. Lots of it. Most of it was loose, and since the slope was still so steep, with every step we sent loose rock tumbling down the mountain. But the silver lining was that now the view was spectacular. We had uninhibited vistas all around. We felt on top of the world. 

With the rock so loose, I was worried that we'd create a rock-slide that would take us down, and from this point, the bottom was at least a thousand feet away. Instead of climbing straight up, I decided it would be safer to take this section at an angle. We did so and eventually came across a game trail in the rock, probably from mountain goats. The trail was an ever so slight indention in the shale, which felt a bit more stable. 

We then came across another type of rock. These were bigger in size and ran down the slope like a silver streak. This was sturdier than the shale so we used it to climb directly to the upper ridge. 

Lots of loose shale.

Looking down toward Indian Creek Reservoir.

We found this strip of sturdy rock to climb on.

The grade leveled out a bit, which was a relief to our aching muscles. Now on top I could see both north and south. To the north Mount Belknap reigned like a giant. A massively deep basin sat between Belknap and us, along with several thick patches of snow. From this basin are the headwaters of Fish Creek, which runs for over a dozen miles until it merges with Clear Creek near I-70. 

It was from here that we had our first up-close view of Mount Baldy. Now we were able to see the steep ridge that we'd have to climb. I had seen this ridge from a distance during my scouting phase and worried that it would make our climb more difficult. Also, at this point we heard the first rumbling of thunder and felt fat drops of rain fall from the sky. At the moment, my fatigued instinct told me that we would not be able to summit. I hoped I was wrong. 

Back on the ridge looking toward the top.

We scanned the ridge for possible places to hide if the lightning came too close. We found a small cave in the rocks that could possibly fit both of us. But as we waited, the lightning stayed to the east and eventually died out. The rain stopped also. With this we were encouraged. 

It was in this general area that we began to see several interesting rock formations. Imprinted on the shale, as if with black ink, were the shapes of leaves and other plant-like figures called dendrites. I remember coming across these several years ago when I climbed Mount Belknap. I have only seen them here, and only at very high altitudes. Dendrites form by minerals that grow on the rocks in a delicate branching pattern.

Colorado Columbine growing near 11,300 feet.

Every view from this point was spectacular.

Dendrite formation on the rock.

Purple cushion phlox near the summit.

A nub of rock on the ridge forced us to delicately walk around. We tried the north side first, but the ground for our feet became unreliable. I was worried the rocks below us would collapse, and if that happened, it would be a long slide down. So we tried to circumvent it from the south side, and although still precarious, we succeeded in going around the nub. 

Now we were face to face with the steep ledge that separated us from Baldy. Up close it didn't look as bad. Our hike now turned into a Class 3 climb as we used both hands and feet to move our way up. We had to be careful, but there was no time that we felt in danger. 

We made it to the top of the steep ledge, excited to now be within walking distance of the summit. But much to our dismay as we looked up, we learned that the peak we had thought was Mount Baldy all along, was only a false summit! Behind it, and further up, we could see what was the true summit, for we could see the wooden sign that marked the top. 

Luckily for us, the space between the two summits consisted only of a minor saddle, of which we traversed with no problem. 

Amazing view from the summit! Belknap on left, and Blue Lake.

Now we made it onto the true summit of Mount Baldy and the panoramic view was truly amazing! We could see the remaining view of the Tushars: Mount Holly, Mount Brigham, Delano Peak, Shelly Baldy, Gold Mountain, Signal Peak and a slew of others. And most important of all, I looked down into the deep ravine on the east of Baldy and saw the turquoise waters of Blue Lake. I had hiked there once many years ago and was excited to see this little gem again. 

There were two signs on the peak, each with a different elevation. Even the internet gives a third elevation. Who knows which is correct? 

Jordan found the log book that was stashed inside a mailbox. To our surprise, we were the first ones to summit Mount Baldy this year (this day being July 22). 

Fish Creek Basin and Mount Belknap.

One of the prettiest summits I've ever been on.

Happy to be on top.

Our trek to the top took us just over six hours. I was elated to be up there with such a grand view, especially after doubting that we'd even make it just an hour earlier. My legs told me to enjoy the view because they didn't want to ever come up here again. But I knew that they'd eventually change their mind! 

We spent forty minutes at the summit. As I took it all in, I contemplated on different routes I might take to the top, hopefully routes that weren't as difficult. But if I never made it up here again, I would be satisfied. 

One of two signs on the summit, each with a different elevation.

Storm clouds rolling by.

The trip down was easier and took less time, but was no walk in the park. Along the way we enjoyed wildflowers and a grove of manzanita. Surprisingly we didn't see any wildlife, other than small critters. 

By the time we had reached the vehicle we had been hiking for eleven hours and fifteen minutes. It had taken much longer than I had anticipated. At the car we pulled off our packs and let out a sigh of relief. Then we walked to the creek and pulled out the icy-cold pack of Mountain Dew! ♠ 

 

Now for the long hike down.

And you can't forget the Mountain Dew!

Mount Baldy

 

Miles from car (one way): 6 miles

Elevation gain: 4,282 feet

Final Elevation: 12,082 feet 

 

Looking back on the false summit of Mount Baldy.