Two Peaks And A Brush With Death (#'s 6 & 7)

The night was cold and dark as I laid in my tent reading a ghost story by Bram Stoker. We were far away from anyone. The closest person was at least six miles and we slept high in the mountains next to Baker Lake on the eastern side of lonely Nevada. The lake sat in a cirque with steep talus-filled cliffs on the far side. 

Suddenly I heard a loud clanking on the rocks and splashing as if a heavy animal was running across the lake, his hooves striking on the stones. I rose from my bag, assured myself of what I was hearing, then flung off my cap and desperately searched for the zipper of my tent. By the time I opened the door and craned my head from the orifice, the noise was gone. I waited for it to come back, but nothing. All I could hear was the snoring of my son in the other tent. 

I contemplated what the sound might be. An elk prancing along the shore? Unlikely. I concluded it must have been a small rock avalanche coming off the cliff-face, then tumbling and crashing into the water. The noises of the night can be puzzling and even spooky when alone in such remote terrain as this.

Baker Lake at sunset.

 

After a good night's sleep we awoke to a calm September morning on the small lake. This would be a huge day for us. Our plan was simple, but daunting. Using Baker Lake as our base, we would hike up a saddle to the main ridge that connects the highest peaks of the southern Snake Range. Then we would stay on that high ridgeline and hike several miles south to Mount Washington. After that we would return the way we came, back to our camp. Then, if time permitted, we would climb Baker Peak which stood a mile to the north, but out of sight. It was a big serving, and possibly too much. Now it was time to find out. 

We loaded a few items inside a day-pack, which included a couple water bottles, coat, gloves and snacks. Jordan brought a disposable poncho. We left the campsite and hiked toward the slanting talus slope that led to the saddle. 

Camping at Baker Lake.

If one looks at the Snake Range from above it appears as a slithering creature, with Bald Mountain to the north and winding down to Wheeler Peak, Baker Peak, Mount Washington and beyond. Perhaps this serpentine appearance is where the name came from. Others suggest it derived from the Snake Indians, a collective name given to the Northern Paiute, Bannock and Shoshone tribes by a French explorer, Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, in 1739. Whatever the reason, the name emits a mystical vibe. 

After following several switchbacks on a faint trail, we arrived at the top of the saddle, and hence on the main ridgeline. From here we would follow generally in a southern direction, averaging approximately 11,400 feet the entire time. 

On our left, or to the east, we passed a basin with another lake pressed up against the base of the slope. I explained to Jordan that this was Johnson Lake, and that down there hidden in the trees were old cabins and other remnants of the Johnson Mine, an operation from the early 1900's that mined tungsten ore. I had been down there once before, but this time neither one of us felt like descending a thousand feet, just to have to climb back up again. 

Johnson Lake and Pyramid Peak.

The crest of the ridge at this point is filled with large boulders and even some rare high-elevation trees that make hiking cumbersome. The east side of the ridge is steep, but not necessarily sheer. There are many good views of Johnson Lake with Pyramid Peak in the background. 

The ridgeline increases in elevation gradually until it arrives at a summit, unnamed on most maps, but known to many as Johnson Peak. My altimeter gave it a height of 11,765 feet. We were happy to make it to the top, but quickly learned the inevitable that we had yet another peak ahead of us. 

Johnson Peak.

The distance between Johnson Peak and Quartzite Peak, which is the next one down the line, is only half a mile. Like its neighbor to the north, it has a very similar altitude at 11,765 feet. Quartzite Peak is not named on most maps. As Jordan and I trudged to this new summit, I anxiously anticipated the view beyond it. 

And as we arrived, it didn't disappoint. In the distance sat Mount Washington, our goal. We still had another mile and a half to go, but at least now there were no other obstacles that stood in our way. And best of all, the path from here smoothed out. Yes, there were still rocks, but not the large and randomly strewn stones that we had been walking over up until now. The ridgeline now took on a colorful look. It appeared as if there were a golden strand along the mountain's crest. 

First full glimpse of Mount Washington.

Mount Washington is unique in appearance compared to other peaks on the south Snake Range. It is primarily made of gray limestone with a gradual slope on the southern side. Unfortunately for us, we were approaching from the north which is much steeper, but doable if in the right place. To the east and west of Mount Washington are spectacular sheer cliffs, striated in geological layers. 

But with that initial sighting of Mount Washington, we also had a foreshadowing of what was to come. Storm clouds were now gathering over the limestone peak, dark and foreboding. We knew that time was of the essence, so we made haste in that direction. 

Mount Washington.  Curious rock artwork in foreground.

At the base of the peak, on one of the flanking saddles, I was excited to find a grove of bristlecone pine trees. This species of trees can only be found in Utah, Nevada and eastern California. There were several living bristlecones on this particular slope, but several of the trees were dead, their twisted and gnarled trunks appearing as ghosts. Indeed the sight was beautiful and surreal, as well as a bit eerie. Bristlecone pine trees are among the longest living forms of life on earth. 

Gnarled bristlecone pine tree.

 

Now we didn't have time to explore the grove.  A tempest was brewing. We would have to catch it on the way back. It was about this time that we heard our first rumbling of thunder. A chill went down my spine as I knew we were entering a danger zone. 

I have been in this situation a handful of times, a situation where we have traveled a long ways to summit a peak and at the same time a lighting storm is gathering on the mountain. Conventional wisdom is to immediately turn around and find lower ground. But when you've come this far, that is easier said than done. 

The view beyond Mount Washington.  Lincoln Peak on right.

Thunder continued to rumble as we now started to ascend the peak. This was no walk in the park, even without a storm. The slope was quite steep with loose rocks. We worried about rain making it even more dangerous on the way down. We found a seam that ran upward with no loose rock and we took this route. We were now close to the summit with just one more level to ascend. 

And then we saw the lightning strike. It came from the far side of the peak. At this point we were far above any trees and we took note of any safe place to hide from a strike. The wind picked up and we felt drops of rain. When a second bolt flashed nearby, we made the quick decision to hunker down with our backs facing the edge of a cliff. We were still very close to the top, but at least we didn't stick out.

This is the first place we hunkered down.

We waited several minutes. This was nuts! We were foolish and we knew it! We sat there next to each other, our knees to our chest, waiting for a lull in the storm. 

At this point we were about five minutes from the summit. Our plan was to make it to the top, quickly get all the mandatory photos, then race down the mountain as quickly as possible. 

And then we saw our window. 

We scurried to the top, arriving there as quickly as expected. But the view we found brought exhilaration and terror all at once. On the south side of Mount Washington loomed a sky as dark as the Witches' Sabbath. Nothing good could come of this, I thought. 

Spooky sight as we crested the summit.

As I had rehearsed in my mind, I whipped out my camera and took pictures on every side, beginning with the menacing storm. I included a panorama as well as a view of the path on which we had come. Then, last of all, it was time for that final photo, the obligatory selfie of the two of us to prove to the world that we actually made it to the peak. 

I flipped the screen on my camera so we could see ourselves. Once we were framed, I pressed the shutter, which in this position always has a three-second timer. Simultaneously, our ears heard the same thing: the small sizzle of static electricity coming from the camera! We looked at each other with eyes wide open. I had never heard that noise coming from my camera. There was definitely electricity in the air! We took one more picture with the same result. Then another boom somewhere behind us and we knew it was time to run. 

Obligatory photo on the summit, with static electricity coming from the camera!

We took off running down the the northeast side when another clap was heard. This one was accompanied with a crackling that sounded exactly as if a whip was being cracked behind us. We picked up the speed. 

There was nowhere to hide, but we had to do something. To our north was the sheer face of Mount Washington. A fall from here would surely be fatal. But along the rim was a small indention that was the perfect size for two men to sit. 

We hunkered down. We both had coats, but Jordan was the only one smart enough to bring a poncho, even if it was just a cheap disposable one. We pressed our curled legs together and he draped the plastic over my knees. We were just in time because now it started to hail. Before us sat a rugged mountain canyon thick in pine trees. 

Just then a long bolt of lightning flashed before us and struck the trees just 300 yards from where we sat. Everything happened in an instant. Where the bolt struck I saw a red glow and was sure that at any second there would be flames rising in the air. But also in that same instant I felt a strong buzzing shock in my left thigh. That scared me. I quickly turned to Jordan to see if he was alive. Luckily for me, he was still ticking. He had also received the same shock, but in his legs, butt and tailbone. My left thigh was touching his right leg. Both of us appeared to be alright, but were amazed that somehow that electric shock had traveled underground or invisible through the air and into our bodies. It was an experience like none other that I've had in my life. 

For the next several minutes we huddled together knowing that any breath could be our last. It would only take one strike, aimed a little closer, to sizzle us alive. The thought crossed my mind that if we were to die here, they might not find our bodies until spring or later if it knocked us off the cliff. 

This is where we hunkered down and felt the lightning.

The bulls-eye of the storm finally drifted to the east. Although the wind still blew and somewhere in the distance echoed a rumble of thunder, we felt that now we were out of imminent danger. We made it down the precariously steep slope with loose rock. We spent time at the bristlecone pine grove, but not too much because we were anxious to get back. 

Our walk back to camp was no walk in the park. The wind often blew at ferocious speeds. One time I fell and hit my knee, elbow and jaw hard on the rocks. The distance seemed to last forever. All I wanted now was to lay down on a soft sleeping bag inside my tent. 

At last we made it. 

Another bristlecone pine tree.

Beautifully colored rock with Mount Washington in background.

Up until now I knew I wanted to climb Baker Peak, but didn't know if we had the time. We hadn't done it yesterday and I knew it would be foolish if we were to do it tomorrow before hiking out. Today was our only viable choice. 

After a one hour break inside our tents, it was now time to summon our energy once again. We now had two hours before sunset. Baker Peak was one mile away as the crow flies. The only problem was that we weren't crows and we would have to gain 1,678 feet in elevation! 

Finally back at camp.

From our campsite we found a backdoor route that took us up the steep rocky slope. A mountainside strewn with talus, most of it stable, led us to leap and climb over boulders of all sizes. My legs were exhausted. We stopped every few minutes so this old man could catch his breath and rest his thighs. Quite often I would set my sights on an unusual rock up ahead, then make the goal that there would be no stopping until we reached that rock. Usually this tactic worked. 

The higher we climbed the more I realized that we weren't going to make our one-hour goal to reach the summit. Still we kept moving. There would be a lot of regret if we didn't make it. At least now there was no threat of a thunderstorm. 

We were well above the treeline and the crest of the peak was still ahead. We could see what looked like a summit, but we weren't sure if it was the true high point. 

At last we made it to the ridge of the crest, but realized that we were off on where we gauged the summit to be. We had veered to the left, while the summit was far to the right. By now our one-hour goal had failed, but we still moved on. Once on top, the steep slope had been replaced with a gentle uphill. Scrubby tufts of alpine grass gave our feet occasional rest from the pounding of rocks. 

At last we arrived at Baker Peak, elevation 12,298 feet. The view was spectacular and we had no thunderstorm to chase us off! To the north Wheeler Peak dominated the scene, rising nearly 800 feet higher. To the right of it, Doso Doyabi, the second highest peak in the range, made its presence known as well. 

At the summit of Baker Peak.

Wheeler Peak (left) and Doso Doyabi.

As it was nigh before sunset, the entire view in the basin below glistened in golden hue. In the westerns sky the sun, although hidden by a cloud, shot beams across the farms and fields below. To the extreme east we could see Notch Peak, as well as the rugged hills of the Confusion Range. 

Baker Peak is the fourth highest summit in Nevada, yet is rarely climbed due to the favoring of nearby Wheeler Peak. The peak, as well as the lake and town, are named after George W. Baker, an early settler who arrived in the area in 1876. 

Jordan and I knew we couldn't stay and relish the moment too long. This time we were racing against sunlight. Negotiating the steep talus slope wouldn't be much fun in the dark. 

Beautiful beams of sunlight.

From Baker Peak looking east.

With thirty minutes left until sunset, we made our way down the mountain. Going downhill was much easier, but still a challenge. Rest stops were nearly eliminated. Even though the sun had set, our eyes adjusted to the new low light and we made it all the way back to camp without a flashlight until we got down to the level of the lake and had to walk through the trees. 

What a day! It was certainly one we would never forget. I think that both of us had certainly gained a new appreciation for life, not only because our lives were spared, but also because of the new beauty we had discovered. Life is good. ♠

Looking  back across the Snake Range, with Mount Washington in the distance.

Mount Washington


Miles from car (one way): 9.5 miles 

Elevation gain: 3,658 feet 

Final elevation: 11,658 feet



Baker Peak


Miles from car (one way): 7.4 miles 

Miles from camp: 2 miles 

Elevation gain from car: 4,298 feet  

Elevation gain from camp: 1,678 feet  

Final elevation: 12,298 feet

Forsyth Trail to Burger Peak (#3)

After a disappointing hike last week in which I failed to summit Big Point, I decided to try another peak in the Pine Valley Mountains. This one, I hoped, had a better established trail and was even a couple hundred feet higher. My goal was to hike the Forsyth Trail to Burger Peak. 

The trail is named after Forsyth Canyon, which is named after Thomas Forsyth, one of many hardy pioneers of that era for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Born in Scotland, he joined the church in 1844 and came west with the Saints. 

After a stint in Salt Lake, he was called as one of the original pioneers to Southern Utah and in 1861 he and his family moved to the newly settled town of Pine Valley, a quaint little place nearly 4,000 feet higher in elevation than its sweltering neighbor of St. George to the southeast. 

The valley, surrounded on three sides by steep mountains, was an ideal place to harvest lumber. With that in mind, Forsyth built a sawmill at the mouth of the canyon that now bears his name. According to some accounts, wood from that canyon was used to make the organ pipes for the tabernacle in Salt Lake. 

But just as Thomas thought it would be a great idea to build a sawmill in Pine Valley, little did he know that there would be four others with the same bright idea. After just a few years he packed up and moved to the east side of the mountains in Toquerville where he died at the old age of 92. But his name lives on in Pine Valley, as it is forever embedded into the geography of the mountain. 

Thomas Forsyth

Carving on aspen tree, most likely from a descendant of Thomas Forsyth.

It had been at least twenty years since I last stepped foot in Pine Valley, a fact which I am embarrassed to admit considering I live just over an hour away. With the abundance of snow from a generous winter, the valley was now fresh with life as I caught my first glimpse from the highway. The gorge of Forsyth Canyon stood out from the rest of the mountain with steep jagged walls. 

The trail begins on the south side of town and winds its way southward into the gorge, quickly meeting up with Forsyth Creek. The ascent is gradual, but constant, with bursts of steeper terrain. Coniferous trees abound, with long stretches of aspen. The trees are spattered with etchings, some going back several decades. This provides extra entertainment for the enduring hiker. 

Forsyth Creek.

Compared to my hike last week when I saw nearly no one, this hike on the Forsyth Trail had a handful of people, and even a rider on horseback. Most of them I saw in the first couple miles, but beyond that I had the path mostly to myself. 

This time I came better prepared than last week. I had plenty of water and a flashlight, although it was assuring to know that the trail followed the steam for most of the hike. At the point where the stream dried up there was a lengthy etching on an aspen tree to let you know. 

Rocky hill in the Pine Valley Mountains.

Trail up the gorge of Forsyth Canyon.

Forsyth Trail.

 

I have to say that the trails on Pine Valley Mountains are notorious for lack of maintenance. I hiked in July and the trail looked good up to the junction with the Blake-Gubler Trail. From that point onward there had been absolutely no maintenance. Toppled trees from heavy snow covered the trail like toothpicks. One felled tree had to be at least three feet in diameter. Who knows how many years had passed since that portion of the trail had seen a chainsaw. Luckily for me the trail was decipherable the entire length. I learned from passing backpackers that beyond that point it was an absolute mess. 

For the majority of the hike the scenery plays out as a peaceful forest setting. The last couple miles, which brings the athlete to the southern portion of the mountain, offers expansive views of the red rock desert. From here one can see Snow Canyon, St. George, Veyo Volcano and the Beaver Dam Mountains. 

It was July 5 and I crossed a few patches of snow. At the elevation above 10,000 feet I also encountered some Bristlecone Pine trees, famous for their old age, gnarly shape and fox-tail bristles. 

Trail sign on an aspen tree.

Snow in July at higher elevations.

Unmaintained trail.

South face of Pine Valley Mountain, looking toward Quail Creek and Sand Hollow Reservoirs.

Bristlecone Pine tree.

Found on Forsyth Trail by Sue Reynolds. (Photo by Hirschgirl in Family Search)

The spur to the summit was the only part of the trail that was hard to find. I was told there would be a sign for the spur, but there wasn't. The trail was marked with cairns, with several rock outcroppings being possible candidates for the highest point. At this elevation, everything was still covered in trees. 

At last I found the correct outcropping and climbed to the top, an elevation of 10,322 feet. Two geological survey markers at the top confirmed the location. The view, surprisingly, was to the north. Everything to the south was blocked by the tops of trees. Within my view I could see much of the Pine Valley Mountains, as well as Grass Valley. Most of Pine Valley, the town, was blocked by another hill. 

Summit of Burger Peak, looking north toward Pine Valley (of which you can't see much) and Grass Valley.

Panorama from Burger Peak.

Survey marker on Burger Peak.

Burger Peak is the second highest in the Pine Valley Mountains, the highest being Signal Peak. But considering that Signal Peak is on a knoll covered in trees, I am told that Burger Peak offers a better viewpoint. 

My quest to gain a peak was successful. I saw some country that normally I would not see. But one thing that I unexpectedly gained was the knowledge of a true pioneer, Thomas Forsyth. You can be sure I will be learning more about him. ♠



Burger Peak 

 

Miles from car (one way): Roughly 6 miles 

Elevation gain: 3,660 feet 

Final elevation:10,322 feet 

 

At the Summit.

 

Burger Peak is not so conspicuous.

 

Notch Peak

From the Snake Range, over fifty miles away, Notch Peak can be seen prominently on the horizon. It rises like a blade. The sheer face of the cliff appears as if the summit was sliced in half. The sight not only demands attention, but investigation.
 
But the journey begins in Sawtooth Canyon. We travel ten miles on a graveled and sometimes rough road. Near the mouth of the canyon is an old cabin. I notice some tailings on the hillside and wonder if the structure was used by miners.
 

Old cabin in Sawtooth Canyon.

Sawtooth Canyon.

It is hot outside. They say the temperature is supposed to rise to ninety-six degrees. It is ten o'clock already and we are in the West Desert in July. Not too far away is the hardpan of a huge dried lake. Everything here seems to be dry. It is quite a contrast from the patches of snow we found yesterday.
 
The trail follows a dry stream bed. Some of the canyon walls are tall and sheer, and one of them even resembles a sawtooth. There are three of us and we stop from time to time under the shade of a tree to drink from our water and munch a bite or two of trail mix.
 
They say there are various trails to Notch Peak, but being unfamiliar with the area, we remain on the prominent path. As we walk along I think of the Indians who lived here hundreds of years ago and wonder how many of them ascended the summit. The old-timers found a lot of artifacts in this general area, so I would assume that a landmark as distinguished as Notch Peak would hold a level of sacredness with the Natives.
 

Juniper tree growing from solid rock.

An arch in the canyon.

Bark of a white fir.

I am pleasantly surprised that the canyon narrows and a wider variety of vegetation begins to grow. We find cliffrose, mountain mahogany, pinyon pine and juniper. It is amazing how many trees seem to grow directly out of solid rock from the canyon slopes. Dave teaches us how to tell the difference between white fir and Douglas fir by the direction the needles are growing.
 
As we advance, some parts of the wash become steeper and we have to climb up layers of rock to reach the upper level. Dead trees and boulders clog portions of the canyon, having been washed down during flash floods.
 

During this section we meet a man from Pleasant Grove who has just ran a sprint-triathlon in Delta this morning. He is catching a “quick hike” before he goes home. He is in much better shape than we are, but appears to be exhausted. We let him pass, as he seems to be anxious to complete his hike. Other than him and two other hikers, we encounter no one else.
 
Eventually the trail leaves the wash and we follow a couple cairns that lead to nowhere. We walk up the hill, hoping to cross the path, but find nothing. At this point, I will admit, we have lost the trail. I will also admit that I didn't prepare as well as I should have. One internet site that stated that the trail to Notch Peak was well marked. In hindsight, I should have spend four bucks and bought a BLM map and researched the path on my own. Now we stand half way up a ridge, not sure which direction to head. We know we can see the back side of Notch Peak, but aren't quite sure which hill that would be. Our strategy is to walk to the top of the ridge and follow it all the way around. By doing that we are sure to find the right place.
 

Back side of Notch Peak.

As we hike up the slope, we can see the man from Pleasant Grove way ahead of us at the base of a pointed hill. He stands in one place for several minutes, then walks back and forth. He appears disoriented and perhaps lost. We worry about him becoming dehydrated and exhausted after having ran a race. As we continue, we keep an eye on his location.
 
We walk toward the pointed hill and on the backside find a grove of bristlecone pine trees. I am very surprised to find these, as they usually grow at higher elevations (we are probably at 8,000 feet now). Bristlecone pines are among the oldest trees in the world, some dating back before the time of Christ. They are shorter than most pines and have gnarly trunks and branches. The needles grow in bunches and resemble fox tails.
 

Bristlecone pine trees are thousands of years old.

Needles of a bristlecone pine tree.

Even though we are tired, we climb to the top of the pointed hill. From here a new world opens up and we realize that Notch Peak is on the next hill over. It is much higher. But from here we can see the sheer cliff face, having a much better view than if we were on the summit itself.
 

Notch Peak as seen from the east side.

The man from Pleasant Grove makes his way toward us, finally having found the peak himself. He admits that he didn't know where he was going either. We take a picture for him and then he heads back, telling us that he's running out of water.
 
We move on, down the pointed hill and then up an even steeper mountain side toward the peak. It looks pretty rough from a distance, but once climbing up, we find it very manageable.
 

At the peak.

This is about as far as we dared peer over the edge.

At last we arrive at the top, and what a view it is! Looking west we can see the Snake Range as well as several other mountain ranges. All around us are chains of hills with dry valleys between. To the southeast is the massive dry lake bed of Sevier Lake.
 
Notch Peak has the second tallest sheer cliff in the United States next to El Capitan in Yosemite. The cliff face is 2,200 feet high! To look over the rim we get down on our bellies and scoot our heads over the ledge. Needless to say, the view downward creates a feeling of vertigo. There is absolutely nothing to stop an accidental fall. After just a few seconds, each of us back up and retreat to terra firma.
 
By now the hot July heat has retreated also. Monsoon clouds cover the sun and a cool breeze begins to pick up. We spot a couple patches of isolated rain on the valley before us. Every few minutes a rumble of thunder fills the air.
 
There are no trees at the top. Just short, stubby bushes. One small plant catches my attention as there are hundreds of lady bugs swarming all over. I consider pulling out my camera and snapping a picture, but as that thought crosses my mind, the rain drops begin to fall.
 

Sevier Lake as seen from Notch Peak.

Looking directly north from Notch Peak.

We pack up in a hurry. One of the storm cells with lightning is headed our way. At the top of a peak is nowhere to be during an electrical storm.
 
The rain comes down, but not in torrential fashion. Just enough to dampen our clothes and packs. The rocks are a little slippery on the steep slope down to the bottom. Once we arrive at the dry wash bed the rain stops. But the thunder continues to roll, and with each peal the rumbles echo off the canyon walls. ♠

Notch Peak as seen from Highway 50 & 6 near the Utah / Nevada border.