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.

Surviving Black Ridge (Peak #24)

From Black Ridge Peak.

In hindsight, I never should have done this hike. Temperatures were just too hot for a task this daunting. But I had already reserved the day, and when I get an idea in my mind, it's hard to turn back.

The plan: Start early on the west side of the ridge so the sun would be blocked until I got on top. Then get to the peak before it got too hot and when it did get hot, the twenty-seven mile an hour winds foretasted for that day would cool me off. By the time the temperature really soared, I would be on my way down and home free.

I should write a few words of the nature of this hike. I have never known of another person who has done it. On the drive between Cedar City and St. George, where the elevation begins to drop, there is a massive ridge to the east that parallels the freeway for many miles. This geological wonder is part of the Hurricane Cliffs and is known as Black Ridge. There are no formal trails leading to the nearly 2,000 feet to the top. The slopes are dense with vegetation and scattered with lava rock. Topographical maps show the top as being relatively flat, with the exception of an elevated knob on the far south side. The view from the top, I've always assumed, would have excellent views of Kolob Canyons and Zion National Park on the east, and the Pine Valley Mountains on the west.⸺For years now I have gazed at these daunting slopes and imagined myself climbing them.

Canyon at the bottom with Ash Creek.

The first part of the plan went as expected. I began at 6:30 on the shadowy side of the ridge. I parked my vehicle at the Black Ridge exit and soon made my way through the trees. The first part of this hike actually descended into a canyon. Although not incredibly deep (only a couple hundred feet), the descent was steep and there were limited options. At the bottom was a well-graveled road and Ash Creek, which on this day was dry.

I already had a route in mind based on where the slope was most gentle. I walked on the road northward toward my intended starting point, then began to walk upward into the trees. I worried about dense vegetation, but at this point, all looked good. So far, everything was working well.

Early into the ascent I crossed a very faint trail that appeared human-made, but quickly lost it. I then found it once again, but with the same result.

I crossed diagonally across the ridge, down a small ravine, then along a more direct route. Soon the slope became much steeper, which I was able to handle, but then came the oak brush. Thick stands of scrub oak nearly as tall as myself covered the hillside. There was no other option but to bushwhack. Branches scraped against my arms. For nearly forty five minutes I climbed at a snails pace.

When the opportunity to escape the scrub oak presented itself, I took it. Much to my surprise, I again found the faint trail. It was definitely human-made as now I noticed ribbons tied in the trees and stacked rocks to mark it. I was able to follow it to the top, but more importantly, I kept it in mind so I could circumvent the dense brush on the way down.

First view of Kolob Canyons.

As I reached the crest of the hill, the towering red cliffs of Kolob came into view, back-lit against the sun. An old fence stood on top, marking the boundaries of Zion National Park. My jaunt inside the park didn't last long as it did not include the top of the ridge. Also, the trail disappeared and I could not find any evidence that it went beyond that point. After a minimal amount of bushwhacking, I arrived at the top of the ridge. Hallelujah! [The calculations on that ascent come out to 870 feet per mile.]

It was a relief to be on top of the ridge. My plan now was to circumambulate the ridge, walking along the west side on the way up and the east side on the way back. I still had several miles to go until the actual summit. I brought four liters of water and knew I had to use it judiciously.

Looking back at Pine Valley Mountain, I-15, and the route I came up.

I wasn't sure what I'd find on top. As a place seldom visited by humans, I figured I'd see signs of deer or elk, maybe a shed or two. In 2003 there was speculation that Space Shuttle Columbia began to disintegrate as it was flying above here. I always thought it would be neat to find a fragment or scrap of the Space Shuttle.

I was surprised when right away I found some very old rusty cans, probably from an old cowboy camp. Other than that, I didn't see any signs of humans until I reached the peak.

On top. Tree hit by lightning.

As I walked along the western edge I admired the vast fields of lava rock along the slopes. Below was a sweeping view of the freeway and Pine Valley Mountain.

Most of the ground was cleared of major vegetation other than scattered pinyon pines and wildflowers. June grass grew in patches. Perhaps a wildfire moved through there at one time because there were several dead trees that remained as skeletons. On the ground were a smattering or red and black smooth rocks.

I didn't see any big game on top, or anywhere during the hike. I thought it would have been an ideal place for protection. I also heard that there were mountain lions up here. I did not see any signs of deer or elk, but once saw fresh scat that was probably from a coyote.

Northwest side of Black Ridge, looking south.

On top, looking toward Kolob.

Nearing the southern edge of the ridge, I arrived at a curiosity I had encountered on Google Maps. On the map it appeared as a round dry pond. There was a larger circle atop the ridge, but not too far off, another smaller circle appeared amidst the lava rock.

I was surprised and baffled when I encountered the larger circle. There was no water in it, and although it was the lowest point in this little depression, I felt like it would catch very little water runoff. But this circle, nearly 500 feet in diameter, was encompassed by a ring of lava rock. It seemed to form a near perfect circle. There was no other lava rock within or without the ring. It was as if the huge rocks were placed there by an ancient people, but they appeared so embedded in the ground that it seemed unlikely. Was this perhaps a caldera to a volcano? With no other lava rock except the ring, that seemed unlikely also. Within the ring the grass was a little taller and the ground spongier. I left with more answers than I started with.

The smaller circle was indeed within the lava rock, and it appeared to be a volcanic sink hole. I have seen several other similar depressions in this area of the state.

Curious circles on Google Maps.

This is the outer edge of the bigger circle.

Panorama of the bigger circle.

A partial ground view of the little circle.

I finally came to the end of the relatively flat and open area of the ridge. I now had roughly one more mile to the summit over rolling knobs and through trees. Once again I resorted to bushwhacking. In forty minutes I arrived at the peak, which is the highest point on black ridge.

The knoll was very much composed of gravelly cinder rock. The view west toward Pine Valley Mountain was clear, as was the view north. The other directions were partially blocked by trees. I could really feel the heat here, with no trees for shade and the cinder rocks radiating the heat, I knew I couldn't stay long.

But while there I certainly enjoyed the royal view!

Survey marker on Black Ridge Peak.

From the peak, looking north.

Panorama from the peak.

Now I turned to a semi-survival mode. Up to this point I had hiked 6.7 miles and was a long ways from any civilization. Temperatures were climbing and so was my fatigue. It didn't help that I didn't sleep well the night before. The biggest thing I worried about was that I only had two liters of water left, exactly half of what I brought.

When I made it back to the flat top of the ridge I found a shade tree and sat beneath it to eat an avocado. I sliced it in half, sprinkled it with salt and pepper, then scooped out the flesh with a spoon. It really hit the spot.

Just twenty minutes later I found another shade tree and this time I laid on my back and slept. Not for very long, but long enough to rest my body and hopefully to bring my body temperature down. Although it was hot outside, the shaded breeze felt cool across my body.

I had planned to walk along the eastern ridge on my return, but that didn't go as planned. The top of the ridge was much wider than I expected and I didn't have enough water, I felt, to prudently do it. So I stayed about a quarter mile away. I could still see the towering cliffs of Kolob Canyon, as well as the pyramid of Red Butte, but I was not able to look down into the canyon of La Verkin Creek.

Looking across La Verkin Creek toward Smith Mesa.

I tried to space my drinking as much as possible. My mouth became dry about every twenty minutes, and still then I tried to draw it out ten minutes further. When it was time I would find another shade tree, collapse to my knees, and take a few sips of water. I repeated this process until my third liter was empty.

Before beginning the fourth, I decided to postpone it by eating an apple. The fruit was refreshingly juicy, and with each bite I chewed slowly and relished it in my mouth. I had many bites of that apple and it lasted a long time. Not once during that time did my mouth dry out. I ate part of the core and spit out a couple seeds.

Once again I found a shade tree and napped. I have napped on hikes before, but never repeatedly like this. My body was worn out and I worried about the heat. A close friend of mine passed away from heat exhaustion while on a hike a few years ago. His death frequently crosses my mind, especially while on hot hikes such as this.

I now began to sip on my final liter of water. I always reserve my final liter to be my tumbler, which is filled with ice water. It is always refreshing when I am on a long hike. This time I took a drink, but restrained myself from guzzling. I was still on top and had a long ways to go.

Top of Black Ridge, looking at Red Butte.

On this return trip I was much less observant of the details on the ridge, and more focused on staying alive. I worried about running out of water half way down the mountain and having to deal with major dehydration.

As I approached the northern end of the mesa, although exhausted, I admired the beauty of the Kolob Canyons. If I were to do this hike again, I would probably just hike up to this point and forget the actual summit. This was certainly one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Burnt Mountain and Red Butte in distance. Black Ridge in foreground. 

At last I started to make my way down. It took some trial and error to find the faint trail, but I finally found it. It wasn't easy to keep, but I learned that each section had at least one cairn or one yellow ribbon tied to the tree.

Again I found a tree and took a little nap. I sipped water and continued.

The “trail” led me mostly down the mountain, but then I lost it. At the time I wasn't too worried because I thought I was further down than I actually was. But when I found a point where I could look down, I learned I had much further to go than I thought I did. My water was becoming low. Inside I felt a twinge of panic.

I began to bushwhack. Luckily for me there weren't too many shrubs here, but the hill was very steep in some places. Where I could, I sand-surfed on my boots down the steeper slopes. At this point I was almost willing to jump off a cliff. I finally made it down to a ravine that I felt confident would lead me out. But even that was filled with debris and was tiresome to maneuver. Once again I found a shaded spot⸺this time against a dirt embankment⸺and took another small nap.

When I finally came out on a man-made road, I literally thanked God that I made it to this point. My rationed water maybe had two drinks left. I took a swallow, then laid down for another nap. This one was a bit longer. Never in my life have I taken so many naps on a hike!

An easy one-mile walk is all I had left to go . . . that is, except the 200-foot ascent up the hill to my vehicle. And it was steep. I worried about this.

The initial climb onto the hill was the steepest. I tried twice, but both times slid back down. Then I found some lava rock that created some crude stairs. At last I was onto the hill, but just that little exertion up the slope made my heart pound and my mouth parched. I took my final drink of water and only a few drops came out. That would have to do, I thought.

For someone that used to take pride in how well his legs could hike up a hill, I sure went slow. After every few steps I had to stop and rest. My legs could do no more. I knelt to keep my legs from shaking. A couple times I closed my eyes and was tempted to sleep.

At last the slope began to lessen and I was able to walk without taking a break. I arrived at my vehicle and immediately guzzled down what I had remaining of a warm Gatorade.

What a day! Mission accomplished, but in a more perilous fashion than what I anticipated. But today I was alive and couldn't ask for any more than that. ♠


Black Rock Peak

Distance from car: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain (aggregate): 1,934 feet

Final elevation: 6,558 feet

Round-trip distance: 14.4 miles

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

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