Squaw Peak (#30)

Yes, I know that a few years ago the name was changed to Kyhv Peak, but I tend to be stubborn and don't like it when names are changed on account of political correctness. And there's a story behind this name. But I digress . . .

Rock Canyon is a sight to behold! Rugged cliffs that thrust upward and sidewards provide a playground for rock climbers and a home to bighorn sheep. I was here in October when Mother Nature couldn't decide whether it was winter or fall. Autumn leaves were just past their prime, but still vibrant enough to add another dimension of the beauty to the canyon.

Interesting rock formations in Rock Canyon.

The trail is wide in Rock Canyon.

For the first hour I just took in the experience. I was happy to be here and happy there was no rain. A handful of walkers were on the trail, which is what I would expect on a Tuesday afternoon.

The path was wide enough for a narrow vehicle. I read that William M. Wall received a grant in 1855 to build a road up the canyon. I have no idea how far it went. Once completed he charged a toll of 50 cents for every load of wood that was hauled on the road.

I don't know how long the road was used for motorized traffic, but I did see many signs of human interaction. A pipeline had been placed underground to capture water from the creek. (The creek bed was dry. In some places I could press my ear and hear the water rushing through the pipes.) I also saw remnants of a system that must have predated the pipeline. It was a water channel made of concrete, but now sat dilapidated. I even saw a stone drinking fountain that was still in use.

Dilapidated channel. 

More interesting geology.

One of the earliest historical references to Rock Canyon comes in relation to the Battle at Fort Utah in 1850. To sum up the contention in the most simple of terms, a conflict between the Mormons and Utes was coming to a head. The Mormons were encroaching upon land used by the Utes and they, in turn, were stealing cattle from the Mormons. The previous year there had already been a conflict between the two, a clash that became known as the Battle Creek Massacre.

Fort Utah was built near the Provo River and near a Timpanogos (Ute) village. The settlers used nets to catch fish out of Utah Lake and their cattle used pastures that were once used by wild game, thus diminishing the Ute's ability to procure food. Also, measles broke out among both the natives and Mormons, but the natives, who did not have immunity, were affected much more. When winter came they were in desperate need of food and consequently stole 50 to 60 head of cattle from the Mormons.

In February of 1850 a group of militiamen were dispatched from Salt Lake to confront the Indians. A conflict ensued and ten Utes were killed along with one Mormon. The Utes split into two groups, one fleeing toward Spanish Fork and the other into Rock Canyon.

The Utes that fled into Rock Canyon were led by Big Elk, who was already suffering from the measles. The army split into two groups, one of them following the Timpanogos into Rock Canyon. There they found more bodies, including that of Big Elk, who had died of his wounds. With the help of Black Hawk, they tracked the Timpanogos and eventually killed more and took many as prisoners.

One of the bodies they found was that of Big Elk's wife. Trying to escape, she climbed up a cliff, then slipped and fell to her death. In honor of her, the summit above Rock Canyon was given the name “Squaw Peak.”

Looking at Provo Peak from Buffalo Meadow.

Back to my hike, the trail ascended steadily, climbing over 1,000 feet in 1.7 miles. From here the trail continued, but I diverted onto another trail in the First Left Fork of Rock Canyon. This is where the path really started to climb, needing only a mile to gain 1,000 feet.

This trail, instead of being gravelly and wide, now turned into a foot-wide path of dirt. As I walked through more scrub oak and aspen, the fall colors really presented themselves. Being past their prime, they were now not as vibrant, but still very pretty. Most had fallen from their limbs and sat on the ground or atop pine tree needles. In the distance, through the trees, I could see the snow-capped slopes of Provo Peak.

Although beautiful, I couldn't see much past the trees during this section. It wasn't until I arrived at the first meadow that some of the more majestic scenery began to unfold. Without the hindrance of trees I could now see Buffalo Peak, Cascade Mountain and Mount Timpanogos. Three times within a minute I heard the blast of a hunting rifle, probably shooting at an elk.

I hoped to see more wildlife than I did, which was none. In this backcountry there are deer, elk and bighorn sheep.

Cascade Mountain (in back) and Buffalo Peak (at left). 

Mount Timponogos in distance. 

I arrived at Squaw Peak in 2 hours 9 minutes. The view from the top was incredible. Not only could I see all the aforementioned places, but also Utah Lake and all of Utah Valley, with Provo being the closest city. The Provo Temple construction site, Lavell Edwards Stadium and the Mission Training Center were all relatively within close view.

On the south side, however, sat a precipice of dizzying heights. The calculated elevation drop from Squaw Peak to the point on the trail directly below was 2,188 feet!

I would have loved to dilly-dally all day long, but the reality was that storm clouds would be moving in and I wanted to be down by dark.

From Squaw Peak, looking over Provo and Utah Lake. 

Looking across Rock Canyon toward Y Mountain and Provo Peak.

Looking toward south end of Utah Valley. Mount Nebo and Loafer Mountain in distance. 

The way down was equally beautiful, but went much quicker. I took a couple detours that added to my mileage. By the time I got down to the main part of Rock Canyon the foot traffic had increased. I passed several trail runners, evening walkers, and rock climbers.

I talked to one man who was walking his dog. He had lived here for 26 years and came walking on the trail nearly every day. He told me that there are several caves in the area, although some of them have been blocked off because people have died inside. He also assured me that no one except the young people call it Kyhv Peak. To everyone else it still is, and will forever be, Squaw Peak. ♠

Rock climbing in Rock Canyon.

Squaw Peak

Distance from car: 3.8 miles

Elevation gain to peak: 2,721 feet

Final Elevation: 7,838 feet

Total round-trip distance (including detours): 8.1 miles

Total elevation gain: 3,827 feet

Squaw Peak, aka Kyhv Peak.

A perfect way to end the hike. . .  at the BYU Creamery! 

Range Creek

The flyer stated in bold letters: 

“Please understand, the road to Range Creek is dirt and unimproved over difficult terrain. Even the threat of inclement weather will result in the tour being canceled.” 

They weren't kidding! 

We traveled up the steep sinuous road to the top of the Tavaputs Plateau in two white vans. We left the pavement near the abandoned buildings of the Horse Canyon Mine. Almost immediately the road began to climb, leaving one side exposed to a long drop-off. 

And yes, it did rain hard the day before and the dirt road was still damp with moisture. As we got higher in elevation we came across large puddles in the road. The path was narrow, offering no room for oncoming traffic. It was a good thing that we saw no other vehicles this day. 

Our destination was difficult and remote. The Tavaputs Plateau is rugged, with much of it being inaccessible. To have a road cut to the top and then continue on the back side is—in my mind—an engineering miracle. 

I couldn't imagine getting caught here during a downpour. It would be fatal. It was now late June and the monsoon season was knocking at the door. To say the least, the drive up was a little nerve-racking.

View from the summit on the Tavaputs Plateau. If you look closely, you can see the road we drove up.

We arrived at the summit and the vans pulled to the side to allow us to get out and enjoy the view. We had grand views on both the north and south sides. Toward the north we saw the road we had just traveled come up and out of Horse Canyon. On the south we saw Little Horse Canyon and where it flowed into Range Creek. 

Mary, a sweet old lady in her seventies, began sobbing on her husband's shoulder. She had sat in the passenger seat and the front-row view scared her to death. Her panic attack left her in tears. 

Now it was time to drive down Little Horse Canyon to the confluence of Range Creek. This was our destination, or at least the beginning of our destination. 

Near the gate to Range Creek.

Access to Range Creek is by permit only. There are only a few permits allowed each day; and unless you do a driving tour like us, you have to park at the entry gate and walk in on foot. Certainly we were the privileged few to see the canyon. 

I had two purposes for coming to Range Creek. First was to catch a glimpse of an untouched archeological paradise. As I will reveal later, a vast amount of Indian artifacts and structures in this area have been left undisturbed. Before coming here I imagined walking into stone structures and finding intact pots, matates, manos, arrowheads, sandals and other artifacts. Everything, I imagined, would be left in situ. 

My second reason for coming was a little deeper. It was an opportunity to become reacquainted with my brother-in-law, Kirt. You see, we had the idea of doing this trip ten years ago. Unfortunately, he and my wife's sister got a divorce and our plans fizzled away. We remained friends of Facebook, but our in-person contact became nonexistent. 

Then, when I became diagnosed with cancer eight months ago, I made a commitment that I would rekindle some of the friendships I had let die. Kirt was always someone whose friendship I appreciated. We contacted each other and resurrected our trip to Range Creek. 

Locomotive Rock in Range Creek Canyon.

To enter Range Creek Canyon we had to pass through a locked gate. From this point forward there are only a limited amount of people allowed each day. Aside from our small group, we saw no other guests.

We drove an easy dirt road along the canyon floor, passing oak brush, chokecherry, and a flock of turkeys. We pulled to the side of the road and all got out. Our guide pointed to a spot high on a cliff where a patch of rock was of a slightly different color than the rest of the rocks. The out-of-place stone structure was difficult to find, and almost impossible to see with the naked eye. We used binoculars to discern the exact location. This stone structure was a Fremont granary. The Fremont used this small, inaccessible building to store their corn, protecting it from invading enemies, including mice and other thieving tribes. 

Can you spot the granary?

A distant pictograph at Range Creek.

Then we directed our gaze to a small alcove to the left of the granary. Once again indiscernible to the naked eye, we found a red-painted pictograph inside the alcove. Further to the left of that, behind a tree, stood another pictograph, this one large and white. 

We repeated this process two more times: a distant granary and petroglyphs or pictographs. As someone who is accustomed to walking and climbing in rough terrain, it was difficult for me to stay with the group and look through binoculars. All of them, however, were in difficult terrain and would take significant time to reach. But that was part of the intrigue. 

Muddy road at the bottom of Range Creek Canyon.

Who were these mysterious people that built these structures? 

The answer to that is largely unknown. We don't know where they came from or where they went. But they lived in the area of Central Utah and eastern Nevada over 1,000 years ago. We have given them the name of Fremont, not designating them as a people, but as a culture. 

The Fremont Culture had many similarities and lived contemporaneously with the Anasazi, but archeologists consider them a distinct group. While the Fremont grew corn and made pottery like the Anasazi, they lived in pithouses rather than cliff dwellings. 

A partially collapsed Fremont granary.

At one point on our tour we stopped at a large meadow in the canyon. Big rocks lay strewn across the ground, many in noticeable rings. These, our guide told us, were once pithouses that have since collapsed and decayed away. This was once a village. When archeologists first came across this field they found arrowheads, beads, pottery, and archaic tool remnants strewn all over. They allowed us to walk through the field, but if we were to find anything, not to pick it up. —Guess what? I didn't find a thing. 

I wasn't going to pick anything up anyway, but it was a little disappointing to not see anything—especially knowing that not many people are allowed access into the canyon. Where I grew up, I used to walk out in the hills and sometimes find pottery all over the place, especially if there were dwellings nearby. I can see why the archeologists would need to collect several artifacts for study, but I don't understand why they should “vacuum” clean the entire area. If I did that, I'd get arrested! 

We continued down the road in our big white vans. Our guide was extremely nice and everyone on the tour friendly and personable. In our van there was an elderly couple from Colorado, as well as a mother/daughter combination from Evanston, Wyoming. 

Range Creek runs northwest to southeast, and empties into the Green River. When I say that it is remote and rugged, I'm not kidding. When considering how the Fremont got there, I asked if they traveled via the river. Our guide didn't think so, stating that the river is very rugged in that area, with some areas where the water runs cliff to cliff, such as Desolation Canyon. 

Instead, she theorized that they traveled the same way as the early settlers. From modern-day Woodside, the early settlers traveled a trail that meandered along the Price River, then up Trail Canyon where they went up and over the Mesa before dropping into Turtle Canyon. From there they entered Range Creek. 

Natural arch on skyline as seen through a dirty van window.

The first known person of European descent to enter Range Creek was Augustus Ferron. He came around 1885 as a government surveyor. He was the one for whom the town of Ferron is named. 

It is said that when he first came to Range Creek the grass was hip-high. He knew it would be ideal for cattle. He found some partners and formed the Range Valley Cattle Company and they ran cattle all through the canyon and across the plateau into Nine Mile Canyon. 

During these early days a cabin was built, as well as a blacksmith shop, corral, and chicken coop. They planted alfalfa and built irrigation ditches using water from Range Creek. They grew a garden of potatoes, corn, watermelon, string beans, squash, lettuce and pumpkins. They also planted fruit trees that included apple, plum, pear, peach and mulberry. 

Preston Nutter and friend. (photo by Kirt Nunley)

In 1902, the ranch was sold to a cattle baron named Preston Nutter. He had come from Colorado (and originally from back east) and also ran cattle on the Arizona Strip. Of Preston Nutter it was said that he always rode a mule and was a “cantankerous old fart.” Although he never lived in Range Creek, he had a cabin built for his cowboys. 

We drove down the road and came to an old stone house. All four walls, about six feet high, remained intact, except for a section that had collapsed. The roof was gone except for a couple beams that had fallen against the walls. A corrugated sheet of metal sat on the ground. A hollow doorway allowed easy entrance to the empty structure. No wooden floor, just dirt and wild grass. Within the rock walls I counted three open apertures for windows. Still intact on the north side was a stone fireplace and chimney. On the south side an inscription on the outside wall read: “J. Dario[li]—1939.” 

Stone house of John Darioli, an Italian immigrant.

Inscription on the outside wall of the house from 1939.

John Darioli arrived fresh off a boat from Italy. And just when Preston Nutter thought he had clear title to the entire Range Creek area, John Darioli filed on two of his properties, one of them being where he eventually built this stone house around 1927. Nutter took Darioli to court where the cattle baron lost to the Italian homesteader. 

Shortly afterward, one of the large houses on the homestead burned to the ground. According to legend, mule tracks were found leading away from the scene of the crime. Darioli was convinced that Nutter was out to kill him. In an effort to preserve his life, John Darioli began sleeping in rock overhangs.

Several years later, after having changed hands several times, the Darioli property was sold to Henning Olsen and his son, Lloyd. In 1947 Lloyd shot himself in the stone house where Darioli once lived.

Range Creek petroglyph.

Old mining cart with the name "Jenny" spray-painted on the side.

Range Creek Canyon slowly meanders south or south-east. We stopped at another set of petroglyphs. Finally we were allowed to walk up close. On the skyline, high up on the rim of the canyon, we passed an interesting arch. I had to wonder how many people had ever walked to the arch. We also passed an old mining cart that was near the road with the word “Jenny” painted on the front side. I don't remember the full story, but I believe it was painted by Waldo Wilcox and it was him drawing sarcastic attention to a lady named Jenny who was forcing him to remove a bunch of mining carts they had at the ranch. 

After a couple hours of riding on dirt roads in a caravan of two white vans, we finally arrived at Range Creek Ranch. Here, the canyon walls seemed to open up. The soil had been plowed, cabins built, a house constructed and a garden grown. A half-dozen cars were parked in front. It almost felt like we were in civilization, but we were still roughly six miles from the Green River.

Old structures at the ranch in Range Creek.

Farming tool hung for decoration.

My mind couldn't help but to imagine what it would be like to live here, especially a hundred years ago. If we were to run out of food, or if there were an emergency, or if a deep snow blocked us in—there would be nothing we could do. Out here, everything you used would have to either be self-produced, or hauled in on mule or burro. As I mentioned, the old trail came in from Woodside. The road that we came in on wasn't built until 1947. 

We unloaded at the ranch where we set bread, mayo, meat, avocados, tomatoes and other condiments on a table to build our own sandwiches. There were bathrooms inside an old building that was designed as a bunkhouse to board guests that would come to visit or hunt. An old cabin now served as a small museum with photos of some of the former occupants. Next to that was a house. I don't know who lives there now, but there are several people on site who make archeological surveys. 

Joe Wing, an avid chronicler of Range Creek's history. (photo by Kirt Nunley)

As we sat down to eat, we were fed the history of Range Creek, from Augustus Ferron to Preston Nutter to John Darioli and Budge Wilcox. The lady (I can't remember her name) spoke fondly of Joe Wing, the nephew of one of the original owners. Joe Wing came from Ohio and was extremely enthusiastic to take on his new role as cowboy. He wrote descriptive letters back to his family about his wild adventure in the West. Thanks to his writings we know a lot about the early days of Range Creek. 

The history of Range Creek is much more complex than what I describe here. I am sure I have made a mistake or two. Put succinctly, property ownership changed hands several times and many battles were fought in court. 

This old cabin is now used as a small museum.

In the early 1950's, the majority of Range Creek was sold by the Nutter Corporation to the Wilcox family, which included the father, Budge, and his two sons, Don and Waldo. They originally ran a ranch on the east side of the Green River in a place called Florence Creek. But when the government decided to expand the Ute Reservation, the Wilcox's had to find a new place to run their cattle. 

After buying the property at Range Creek, they made several improvements, including a log cabin and bunkhouse. In 1959 through '62 they built a “pink house” to live in. They planted corn, potatoes, alfalfa and more fruit trees. 

Waldo Wilcox. (photo by Kirt Nunley)

When Budge died in 1981, the property was split between his two sons, Don taking the portion on the Tavaputs Plateau, and Waldo taking the lower section with the ranch. 

In 2000, Waldo Wilcox sold the property to the State of Utah. Originally it was intended as a hunting area, but as it was surveyed, it soon became apparent that the richer heritage of Range Creek was the archeological record. In 2009 the state transferred title to the University of Utah. The university's archeological investigation continues this day. 

Why were archeological sites at Range Creek so remarkably preserved? 

The current road was built in 1947. In 1951 when the Wilcox's bought the property from the Nutter Corporation, it was decided to keep the road private. The main corridor of the canyon was locked with gates at both ends, inadvertently protecting it from the outside world. Some of the Fremont archeological sites, I am sure, were explored by Waldo Wilcox, but the majority of the property was way too vast for him to make much headway. And, I believe, he had more interest in ranching. Therefore, only one family had access to the canyon. Fewer people meant less destruction. 

There are over 500 sites recorded from the top of the pass to the river, including some sites “in some absolute crazy places.” Only 10% of the canyon has been surveyed. Most of the sites tend to be concentrated in the middle rather than near the river. 

Fremont granary.

After a filling lunch and good instruction, it was time to pack up and go. We still had a long haul out. We stopped at a meadow strewn with the remains of pithouses. We were also shown another hard-to-find granary and petroglyph on a distant cliff wall. 

There's a lot more to Range Creek than I will probably ever know. My dad said he remembers hunting there as a young boy. My grandpa went to school with Waldo Wilcox and may have gotten permission that way. My uncle tells me that Butch Cassidy rode through Range Creek, but never used it as a hiding place. I would imagine that the Utes used this canyon quite extensively. Much of the canyon's past is shrouded in mystery. 

Foundation of a Fremont pithouse.

A Fremont village once stood in this meadow in Range Creek.

We finally made it back to the paved road leading into Horse Canyon without a single rainstorm washing out the road. My mind lingered with impressions of Range Creek. I arrived at two distinct and distant conclusions: 

First, I wouldn't have traded this experience for anything. To be able to spend the day with my brother-in-law was priceless. And to be able to be in the canyon and have tangible dirt, rocks and trees that I could now associate with this formidable place is something I have always desired. I also learned a lot of history. 

But, second, I was a little disappointed. I expected to see ruin after ruin filled with artifacts. I saw none of that. Does everything really need to be packed up and stored in a box in a warehouse? And the petroglyphs and granaries we saw were at a distance, through binoculars. That's just not my style.

I am definitely glad I did it. The guides on the tour were excellent and very friendly.  But I wouldn't do it again unless I had free-reign to explore some places on my own. ♠