Over Scorched Earth to Copper Belt Peak (#28)

Copper Belt Peak.

For fifteen minutes I just stood and listened. Somewhere in the distance, tucked away in a hidden mountain glen, a symphony of bugles and grunts and whistles echoed through the fall air. This was the rut and bull elk were out gathering their harems.

I hadn't seen any yet, but I could hear their majestic roars coming from my right and also from my left. It wasn't just two bulls, but several. The majority of the bugles came from a timbered ravine, but the solitary call on my left aroused even more excitement. The bellowing roar and deep grunts seemed to be getting louder and perhaps coming closer. I waited with anticipation for the shiny glint of antlers to peek above the horizon. It didn't come.

I knew I couldn't wait all day. I was just beginning a long hike and too much time spent chasing elk could jeopardize my safety in getting done before dark. I chose to pursue the solitary bull since he was in the direction I needed to go.

Part of the long climb up the mountain. 

One of the few sections of fall colors in a charred forest. 

With a DSLR and monopod in-hand, I carefully stepped forward along the ridge, attempting to avoid crushing noisy twigs. As I came to a patch of blackened pine trees, I heard the bellowing roar again. It couldn't be too far away, I thought. My eyes scanned the distance from where I heard the sound and I could see nothing. Elk are masters of camouflage.

Slowly I crept along, pausing occasionally to look around. Then it happened. The bull, with a heavy set of antlers hanging across the length of his body, turned and bolted away from me up and over the hill. Before I knew it, he was out of sight.

I didn't give up. I continued my stealthy march forward, up a steep hill, across an open meadow and into another stand of charred pines. Suddenly from behind came another bellowing cry. I froze in my tracks and slowly turned around.

I was in the stand of trees, about thirty yards from the meadow, and through the branches I could make out the body of a bull coming into view. He didn't know I was there. He bugled again, tipping his head up into the air. His focus was the other bulls hidden in the timber. He moved across the meadow, his muscular tawny body walking through a narrow opening where I was able to capture a photo. Then, he was gone and I was satisfied.

This bull finally came into view. 

By this time I was about two miles into my journey and had climbed nearly 2,000 feet in elevation. I was on my way to Copper Belt Peak on a route that I invented myself. The standard route begins much closer, whereas this one pretty much starts at the bottom. There is no trail and normally I would have never considered this route, but last summer a huge fire moved through the area, incinerating the dense vegetation that once grew here. Now the route was passable, although it still required at least a 4,000 foot ascent. I still wasn't sure it was possible.

In the area around where I saw the elk I also noticed a metal bucket, some old tin cans and other charred items. It looked as if this place was used for something at some time. Perhaps there was an old mining cabin somewhere nearby, but I knew of no roads that came anywhere near here.

Charred bucket on the ground. 

Although the majority of the forest had been burned, there were patches that survived and others that had only been partially singed. Of course, there were also many meadows that weren't affected at all. I was pleasantly surprised to see some oak brush that was untouched and now in the full color of autumn.

Walking through one of these scorched stands of trees was a surreal experience. The bark, the ground, and anything else was blackened. Trees were nothing but skeletons, although sometimes the pine cones stayed attached to the branches, but even they were charred. Many of the trees had nothing remaining except hollow stumps. The ground was mostly barren with the exception of scattered sapling scrub oak and an interesting weed that looked like it could have come from my garden.

An eerie scorched landscape. 

Near full moon above blackened treetops. 

The first four miles of this march was a steady uphill climb. At last I arrived at my first destination, an unnamed bald peak that offered splendid views. By this time I had ascended 4,481 feet.

The wind had picked up considerably. I removed my pack and placed a rock over my ball cap. To the west were unobstructed views of Signal Peak and Gold Mountain. Mount Baldy halfway hid behind Mount Belknap. To the south reigned my goal, Copper Belt Peak. It looked a lot taller than I thought it would be. I hoped I had time to do it.

Panorama view from the first peak, looking west.

View of the ridge I would have to walk and Copper Belt Peak at the end.

For the next mile I walked along a ridge between the two peaks, the terrain being relatively flat and averaging about 10,800 feet. I walked on gold-colored shale rock and through more charred forest.

Once I saw two metal plates and several metal poles lying next to a blackened tree. I figured it was probably someone's tree stand that was now collapsed on the ground.

I now arrived at the base of Copper Belt Peak and was pleasantly surprised to find a trail that at least led partially around it. The tall mass that stood before me appeared daunting, but I knew I had to do it.

At the base of Copper Belt Peak.

I followed the trail, which wrapped around the left flank, gradually climbing. I didn't know if it climbed all the way to the top, or just circumvented the peak.

As I followed it around, I quickly learned that it would not lead to the top, and that I would have to forge my own way. At that same time I heard the timbre of a notification on my phone. It was my first text I received that day. It was probably my wife checking up on me. I decided to remove my pack, get a drink, and read the text.

It was from my daughter: “Did you see that Charlie Kirk got shot in the neck at UVU?”

What??!! That was not good news. If you get shot in the neck, you're probably not going to survive. And to have it happen in my home state. This was awful!

Suddenly, the mood of my mind changed. A dark pale came over me. I responded to her that I hadn't, then put the phone back in my pack and proceeded up the hill.

The very steep hike up wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, probably because my adrenalin was now running. When I reached the top the winds were ferociously strong and I struggled for balance. Of course, the view from the peak was beautiful and virtually all the peaks in the Tushars were visible.

From Copper Belt Peak, looking north toward the first summit I climbed. 

Looking south toward Edna Peak, Mt. Brigham, and Delano Peak.

Zoomed-in look at Wedge Road and others that wind up the steep hillside.

I settled down against a rock where the winds weren't quite as strong and opened my phone. Kaitlyn had messaged back. She said her roommates' friend was filming when it happened and it was quite a scary experience. She said there was so much blood spewing out that he would most likely die. It sounded like it just barely happened.

The imagery of how I imagined that awful event turned in my mind. Between that and the miserable wind, I just wanted to get back down to my family. I took a few obligatory pictures, then made my way off the peak. I would have eaten my sandwich, but I preferred to wait for a better location.

Looking west at Mt. Baldy, Mt. Belknap, Gold Mountain, and Signal Peak.

Descending the peak happened pretty quickly. Perhaps it was because I was preoccupied. For much of it I had to hold on to my glasses in fear they would blow off my face.

I made it off the peak and next to a grove of trees. Here the wind was blocked. I took off my pack, drank some Gatorade, ate my sandwich, and responded to more texts that were coming. I knew with the first text from Kaitlyn that this was a very, very big deal and would be of historical significance.

Eventually I made it to the shoulder ridge where the route began to descend. The wind had stayed strong, although not as fierce as on the peak. I kept hearing ghost whistles in the distance, not knowing for sure whether they were bugling elk or just my imagination.

More charred trees with pinecones still attached. 

As I approached the area where I saw the elk that morning I started to hear true bugles. The elk were still here and hidden all around in the timber.

As I walked through a stand of trees, I suddenly froze and looked ahead. Through the jumble of branches I saw what I knew were the antlers of a bull elk. I couldn't see much more of him other than what protruded from either side of the tree that blocked his face. To my right, and about as far away as the bull, stood a cow elk. I was pretty sure she had seen me.

After watching them for five minutes, they took off toward the right on a trot. Not too long later, another bull followed the couple, then he disappeared also.

Bull elk through the trees.

This is a different bull. 

I slowly moved down the hill when I heard another bugling yell at my left. Once again, I saw a bull in the distance, camouflaged amidst the branches and tree trunks. He saw me and took off another direction.

All these elk made the hike back very pleasant. Clouds in the sky began to gather and occasionally block the sun. I hoped it wouldn't rain.

About half an hour later I spooked another bull that took off on a dead sprint.

At last I came to the top of the final descent. This was probably the steepest part of the whole hike, dropping over 1,600 feet in 1.2 miles. But before my descent, I caught a glimpse of something moving on the very far ridgeline. With the aid of optical gear I learned this was a cow elk. Her body made a perfect sillouette, along with the trees. I wished it had been a bull, but I couldn't complain. There were also four other cows just below her. That made the daily total of six bulls and six cows.

5 cows, 0 bulls.

After twelve hours of hiking, I was very glad to arrive at my vehicle and even happier to find all my family safe at home. Today had definitely been an exhilarating, exhausting, and somber day, all rolled into one.

Rest in peace, Charlie. ♠

Copper Belt Peak

Distance from car: 5.5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,877 feet

Final elevation:11,385 feet

Total elevation gain: 5,354 feet

Total distance: 10.9 miles

Nice silhouette of the skyline on my way down. 

Peak #5

This trek to Peak #5 was the result of a trail marathon I ran in 2017. Although I had summited the peak over a dozen times, this race took me on trails I never knew existed. During the race I passed several mining cabins and a decent-sized waterfall. All these were deep in the back-country, and I doubted many people knew of their existence. I vowed to someday return when I could take it at a slower pace, preferably with a camera. 

To be honest, I couldn't even tell you the exact location of some of those trails. They are not well advertised, which is good, but I wasn't even sure if I could find them. 

My itinerary would take me to the complete back side of Peak #5, meandering through several different basins, then climbing up the steep eastern slope. From there it would be a shorter journey back to my vehicle. 

When I put on my pack, it was much heavier than I had anticipated. It was filled with a tripod, monopod, DSLR with a big lens, a wide-angle lens, full-sized binoculars, and that in addition to all the regular stuff that a hiker needs such as food, water and sufficient clothes to keep him warm. I sure hoped it would be worth it. 

In the end I logged over sixteen miles. I found everything I was looking for, and then some. Although I only climbed 1,842 feet from my starting point, I'm sure the real number was more than double that, due to several instances of lost elevation. 

And just in case you were wondering, Peak #5 does has a real name, but I'm not going to disclose it. If you're local you can probably figure it out, but due to the increased popularity of the summit, I don't want to bring additional advertising. ♠

Morning sun casting long shadows behind the trees.

I believe these terraces were built in the 1930's by the CCC's to prevent erosion on the mountain.

Cresting my first ridge, with the next stage now in view.

I saw only a handful of deer, including these two does.

Always peering up to the cliffs in search of mountain goats.

A spring of water emerges from the rocks.

Wildflowers everywhere!

Trail leading to the next ridge.

Over the next ridge.

First cluster of mining cabins.

Heavy mountain snow has taken its toll over the years.

Inside one of the cabins.

I suspect this structure served as a mill.

One final look before moving on.

White columbines.

This waterfall has no name and rarely sees visitors.

Waterfall in black and white.

Portal to a mine.

Another cabin further down the trail. I believe they were mining for gold.

Wood-burning stove inside the cabin.

I spotted these two fellas up ahead.

It didn't take long before they joined the group and took off.

The final ascent to Peak #5.

Great view of fire clouds billowing on the other side of the mountain.

Peak #5 

Miles from car (one way): 12.4
 

Elevation gain: 1,842 feet +
 

Final Elevation: 12,174 feet

Camping, the Old Fashion Way

I am saddened when I go on the mountain and see so many people spending the night in a camp trailer or fifth wheel. Whatever happened to the olden days when one slept in a tent, or even better, under the stars? I understand that a trailer has more conveniences such as a toilet, kitchen sink, table, generator, color television, soft bed. Most people don't even build a fire anymore. They just cook on a propane stove. Why not just stay home in the first place? In a camp trailer, you are oblivious to the sound, smell, and touch of the outdoor senses.

Some of my fondest memories come from camping beneath the stars. While in high school, the night before the archery hunt, my friend and I drove in his old black pickup truck to the top of Blue Mountain near the skyline trail at about 10,000 feet in elevation. We had no tent, nor any camp trailer, but instead, we rolled out sleeping bags into the bed of his truck and watched the innumerable stars that painted the sky. It was the most stars I had ever seen in my life. I don't know if it was because we were so high in elevation, or because we were so far away from any other dimming source, but there were millions upon millions. No clouds obstructed our view. Swarms of illuminated pin holes from east to west and north to south, not only above us, but also below us as we sat parked high upon a mountain slope. Flanking our sides were silhouettes of the coniferous forest, its pungent scent still fresh in the crisp air.

Nighttime is filled with many sounds. That of a cricket or cicada can be very nostalgic. The quivering of aspen leaves when the breeze picks up or the rumbling water of a gurgling stream are very soothing. Popping and crackling of the final embers before they die out always rouse me from my sleep to glance at the fire pit, but I always return to close my eyes, relishing the moment that is all mine at the moment.

My favorite sounds, however, come from animals who roam the outskirts of our campsite. This is always a bonus to any nighttime experience. A pack of coyotes howling on the hillside are enough to keep one awake, hoping that they will not come down and ransack the camp.

During the rut, when I go on the mountain to get pictures of elk, I particularly enjoy sleeping in the back of my truck and listening to the bugles that come during the night. Usually, two bulls will be roaring back and forth as they wander through the trees. I get excited when one of them gets relatively close to the truck, probably completely oblivious to my existence. I pop my head up, squint through the darkness, scan for anything that could be an elk, usually not see anything, but still be happy that one is so close.

I remember one night as a youngster, my brother and I camped out at Westwater. The creek is only a couple feet wide.  Walt and I created an artificial island in one section so that the stream forked right around our fire and little camping area, and then coalesced back into one body of water. It was in this place that we slept under the stars, the stream roiling just feet away from our ears, the embers of the fire burning down, and leaves on the cottonwood trees flapping lightly. Something stirred that caused me to sit upright in my sleeping bag. There, about a sticks-throw away, in the willows were two red eyes. They glared at me as I stared at them. I listened intently for any movement, but heard none, and soon the glowing oculi faded into the night. ♠