Peak #31

This hike was a one and done. I told Jordan on the way down that I would never hike it again. Having said that, it was an adventure we would never forget.

It began the night before when we drove to the foothills of rugged dry mountains on the edge of the Mojave Desert. There we sat in camp chairs and cooked two cans of chili in a cast-iron skillet over a small propane stove. Distant neon lights now came to life and we could see as far as Mesquite. We slept in the back of the Trailblazer, me in a sleeping bag and Jordan only in his jacket and a beenie (because he forgot his bag!).

We began our long journey at dawn before the sun rose over the cliffs. For being a desert, this landscape was very much alive with barrel cactus, cholla, prickly pear and creosote bushes. Here and there we spotted small colorful flowers, but it was still too early for most of them.

Sometimes we walked in the dry wash, over thousands upon thousands of small white pebbles. As we got closer to the side of the hill we spotted several caverns that were ripe for exploration . . . but for another time.

Setting out at sunrise. 

Interesting caves in the cliffs.

Then we arrived at the edge of the cliffs and into the mouth of a long mysterious canyon. I had seen this slit in the rock from a distance and had studied its topographical lines on a map many times. It's contents, the inner soul of this bulk of rock, was a secret. Although in plain view for everyone to see, I doubted if many took the effort to enter its depths.

Within the first few minutes of entering the slot canyon we were immediately deterred by a dry fall. We had no means of scaling it, but luckily were able to climb the hill to the left and bypass the obstacle.

The canyon opened wider temporarily, then narrowed. Again we came to a dry fall that threatened to stop our course. With a little trepidation we climbed to the top, searching for hand-grasps and niches to place our feet. Once standing safely on the upper shelf, we both agreed that going down would be riskier.

One of many dry falls. 

The temperature inside the canyon was cool. We still hadn't seen the sun peer over the canyon walls and the sky thus far remained overcast. It was certainly a lot cooler than the 88° F predicted on the weather. But the day was still young.

We walked across sand and climbed over boulders to make our way up the canyon. Jordan watched a horned-toad scamper beneath a bush, but other than that we didn't encounter another being. After a mile and a half we came to a junction and here we had to make a decision.

Jordan in the bottom of the canyon. 

In front of us stood a series of nasty-looking cliffs. This was the front side of a ridge we needed to traverse to reach our peak. Either we had to scale it from the front (which we now saw was impossible), or gain it from another angle further up by continuing in the dry wash, either the north or south side. We chose to walk the south-side wash.

I will admit that I was never fully confident we would reach the peak. There was no trail and the peak had no name. I found its topographical prominence on Google Maps and thought it would make for an adventurous excursion and have awesome views.

The wash got steeper and there were more steps in elevation we had to climb. Within a half-mile, we came to another dry fall. This one clearly had a way up, but included a sketchy section with lots of loose rock that could result in a bad fall.  We decided to circumvent the dry fall by climbing up the side of the hill.

Even that was sketchy. The slope of the hill was still steep, but felt safer than the dry fall. At least here there were bushes of which I could grab the limbs for support.

As we climbed higher, we realized that maybe we didn't want to go down and return to the wash. Our climb was on the same ridge we needed to scale, so we decided to continue angling upward and hoped for the best. We decided that if we came to a dead-end, or got cliffed out, we would return the way we came and abort our efforts to the summit. It was now becoming late in the day.

Walking up the hill toward the ridge.  You can see how steep it is. 

Continuing toward the ridge. This is our first glimpse of the peak.

We stayed close to a cliff wall and followed it in a diagonal direction up the hill. This area was still steep and I used sapling branches to help pull me up. We had to be careful where we walked, as some places were more dangerous than others. I had no confidence this route would work. I expected a dead-end around every corner.

Also of high importance for us was to remember our exact route so we could retrace it on the way back. This was the type of place that was unforgiving if we went in the wrong direction or came down to the wash in the wrong place.

This section was slow-going. It took us an hour and forty minutes to travel just half a mile in distance and gain over 1,000 feet. It was also along this section that we came across our first full glimpse of the peak.

Almost to the ridge.  More caves.

A garter snake (I believe).

Jordan standing on the ridge. 

We didn't come to a dead-end and eventually arrived at the ridge. The peak was now less than a mile in front of us, but it felt much further. The hiking from this point was no longer dangerous, although we were very conscious about conserving water. I also worried about completing our hike with sufficient daylight.  We were foolish enough not to bring flashlights.

After six hours of hiking we finally arrived at the summit. What a relief! Did I mention that this was my first peak of the year? My body was certainly not ready for a hike this rough. We were both very happy to be at the top.

From the peak looking west toward West Mountain Peak and Pine Valley Mountains.

Zoomed in shot, looking across the gorge toward St. George and Pine Valley Mountains. 

Our view was certainly grand. We could see pretty much the entire Virgin River Gorge, but none of the river and only a sliver of the freeway. In the distant west I saw Moapa Peak, which seems to captivate the eye wherever I am in this area.

Far to the north I spotted West Mountain Peak, the highest summit in the Beaver Dam Mountains. To the northeast of that were the Pine Valley Mountains.

To the south sat a rugged landscape I was unfamiliar with. Much of this, I believed, was part of the Paiute Wilderness. Southwest of that I was able to recognize Virgin Peak.

Looking south-south east across Sullivan Canyon and toward the Paiute Wilderness.

Looking northwest at the ridge we just climbed. 

A southwest angle, the Virgin Mountains are on the right in the distance. Probably Mount Bangs on left with snow.

We didn't stay long. Even though we were both exhausted, we knew we had a long trip back. This was not the kind of country you wanted to get lost or injured in. It was very remote and access was difficult.

The route back was long, and in some parts tedious. We retraced our same route down the ridge and successfully climbed down or circumvented all the dry falls.

The sun had set before we arrived back at the vehicle, but there was enough of an alpenglow to find our way. The lights in Beaver Dam and Mesquite were now alive and flashing. Luckily I still had a little juice left in my cell phone and we didn't need a flashlight.

On the way back, but still in the canyon.

Beautiful glow upon exiting the canyon. 

This hike was brutal, and like I stated in the beginning, I'll never hike it again. There's probably a reason the peak has no name. But that's not to say I will never return here. There's a lot of unexplored territory. ♠

Peak #31

Distance from car (one way): 5 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 4,435 feet

Final elevation: 6,624 feet

Total elevation gain: 4,855 feet

Total round-trip distance: 10.3 miles

Total time: 11 h 35 m

Death Near Davidson Peak (#22)

Davidson Peak has been on my radar for a while now. For one thing, when driving north on I-15, north of Vegas, it protrudes from the desert like a jagged pyramid. Although often overlooked by its more impressive cousin, Moapa Peak, Davidson Peak is still spectacular in its own regard. Every time I drive past I study it and ascertain which distant slanting slope might be the best to reach the summit.

But that's not the only reason why it's been on my radar.

Some time ago I learned the story of the Davidson family, a trio of hardy pioneers in the 1860's who all perished while crossing the desert on their way to Utah. It was a sad ordeal. I don't know when they named the peak after the deceased family, but most motorists on I-15 who see the formidable rocky bulk have no idea the name of the mountain, let alone the story behind the naming.

I spent the night sleeping in the back of my vehicle a few miles north of Mesquite, just off the freeway. I arrived right at dusk and was able to see the silhouette of Joshua trees against the sunset. In the distance, Moapa and Davidson peaks loomed on the horizon.

I sat in my camping chair, enjoying a Subway sandwich and watching the red and white lights stream along the freeway. A warm breeze blew across the arid ground. The evening felt perfect.

Sunset in the Mojave Desert.

Early night sky.  Moapa Peak in background.

But I knew this was far from how it gets during summer. Due to its location on the edge of the Mojave and Great Basin Deserts, the climate on Mormon Mesa during summer months can become brutally hot. When the Davidson's were traveling in June, the temperature likely neared 110º Fahrenheit. And beyond the Muddy and Virgin Rivers, there was little water to be had anywhere.

The next morning, as I began my eight-mile drive to my starting point, I was reminded of this brutal landscape. Although the road was graveled, it was a lot rockier than I would have preferred. I stayed at ten miles per hour along the serrated path. With each passing minute the craggy slopes of Davidson Peak came closer into view.

Approaching Davidson Peak.

At last I arrived at my destination and found a small turnout where I was able to park. The Davidson's would have passed right by this location. By this point it was unlikely they were admiring the majesty of the mountain or the beauty of the Joshua trees. They were likely in a panic, desperately searching for water. By this time, Death was already creeping in.

I parked and began my hike across a little valley that separated the main bulk of East Mormon Mountain with a smaller group of hills. Two sets of power lines stretched across the valley with accompanying service roads. In addition to these there were scattered Joshua trees, creosote bushes and a dry wash that emerged from the mountain. The weather was ideal, but I knew it would get hotter. The forecast predicted it would be 97º in Mesquite.

Beginning the hike.  Davidson Peak in background.

There are no trails that ascend to the summit. I determined my route by studying a topographical map and guessing which slopes were less likely to have insurmountable cliffs. I chose to enter a gulley on the east side that would gradually take me to a ridge that I could follow westward to the peak.

Let me give some background on the Davidson family.

The parents, James and Maria, were both born in the first decade of the nineteenth century near the east coast of Scotland, just twenty miles from each other. In 1828 they married in Glasgow.

While in Scotland they became converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, also known as the Mormons. As with most of the converts at that time, there was a desire to “come to Zion” and join the bulk of the Saints in Utah. James and Maria were able to come in 1866. Their daughter, Diana, previously immigrated in 1855.

When the Mormon pioneers first arrived in 1847, Brigham Young went to work sending them to various locations throughout modern-day Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Nevada, Arizona and into California. It was a wild frontier. They had to build cities from the ground up using tools that would be considered primitive by today's standards. They had to become completely self-sustaining, which meant if a crop didn't do well, they wouldn't have enough to eat. They also relied on each other. There were stone masons, blacksmiths, cabinet makers, millers, cobblers, and many other occupations.

The Davidson's were weavers, a trade they learned in Scotland. When they arrived in the Salt Lake Valley they obtained employment at Woolen Mills. When the mill received a special order for fine work, Maria would supervise and inspect it.

At two miles into my hike, it was time make a turn to the west and head up the ridge. This is where it started to get steep. With the exception of one small cliff, the trek up this first steep slope wasn't difficult. I dodged cactus and strained my legs. The view improved with each step. Now I could see more rocky and dry mountains to the north, as well as the expanse of desert to the east. A hill just to our east had a road leading to a communications tower.

Beginning the climb, looking back south.

Utah century plant on the hill, looking north.

One reason I chose to hike this peak during April was because of a nearby hike I did last April when the desert wildflowers were all in full bloom. It was beautiful and I hoped for a repeat this year. That didn't happen. But the flora on this dry mountain was still impressive. Joshua trees continued to grow on these higher slopes, as well as California barrel cactus, a Utah century plant, an occasional cholla, as well as several other varieties of cactus.

The Joshua tree fits perfectly with this story because it was named by Mormon pioneers. There's a story that the tree was named by Elisha Hunt who led a caravan of Mormons to settle San Bernadino, California in 1851. The sight of these uniquely desert trees reminded these pioneers of Joshua in the bible, and how he stretched out the spear in his hand.

Joshua trees.

Once I arrived at the top of that first steep incline I gave myself reprieve. The slope was now relatively flat and my legs suspended their rebellion. It was here that I found a very steep cliff and ravine dropping off to the north. Embedded in this cliff, on the same side where I stood, was a large cave or alcove. It could be a fun place to explore, but getting down there from my location appeared either impossible or miserable. It wasn't in the cards today.

I could also feel the temperature creeping up, along with my exertion. Salty sweat began to form on my neck and forehead. I stopped from time to time to drink water. I brought three liters and would have to space them out to make them last. I was acutely aware that no water in this environment would be sure death. My mind constantly flashed back to the Davidson family situation with no water and temperatures 10 to 15 degrees warmer than today.

Looking toward summit of Davidson Peak.

Here's the rest of the story.

James, Maria and their twelve year old son, Joseph, went to St. Thomas, Nevada to visit their daughter, Maggie Davidson Paddock. There are different versions of the story, but one says that Maggie wanted her parents to live there, so they came to check it out. St. Thomas is now a ghost town, covered by Lake Mead.

On June 9, 1869 they began their return to Salt lake via St. George. They had only traveled a few miles when a tire came off their wagon. Their son-in-law helped them fix the tire. They were supposed to meet up with a group that included Lorenzo Snow and travel with them to St. George, but that group had already left. They waited another day before they decided to make the trip alone.

In those days there were two paths to travel across the desert. One followed the Virgin River, which had plenty of water, but involved many river crossings and possible quicksand. The other route led the traveler ten miles north of the river. Here there was no water, but at least the ground was solid.

The latter route was no problem for the experienced frontiersman, but these novice pioneers were just three years from living in Scotland, and the unforgiving Mojave Desert was like nothing they had ever experienced.

The exact movements of their travels are lost to time, but they must have traveled across Mormon Mesa and along the southern edge of the East Mormon Mountains, just as I did. It is unclear whether they ran out of water first or broke another tire. Whichever the case, their spring wagon made it no further than the eastern edge of the mountains, and before a great expanse of nothingness.

They sent twelve-year-old Joseph out on a horse to look for help and water. On the evening of June 12th the horse showed up at a camp near Beaver Dam, roughly fifteen miles away. The horse was fraught with thirst and near dead himself. Knowing this wasn't a good sign, one of the men from the camp rode up the road on his horse and found the boy Joseph dead with his face on the ground trying to drink water from a hole he had dug. There was an empty canteen and keg near him. He dug a grave for the boy and buried him.

Six days later Lorenzo Young was traveling to “The Muddy” when he came across the bodies of James and Maria. They sat beneath the meager shade of a Joshua tree with a blanket over them to block the sun. The parents were buried where they were found and later their son was exhumed and buried with them.

Cactus in bloom.

Thoughts of this poor family stayed with me during my entire trek up the mountain. I thought of those original pioneers who sacrificed everything to live in peace and practice their religion without disturbance.

I also knew I didn't want to perish from thirst either, so I continued to drink my water in a measured fashion. By now I had finished off one liter and had begun drinking the second.

I was also making good progress up the mountain. It was slow and tedious, but I stayed the course. Most of my route involved steep upward slopes with intermittent (relatively) flat sections.

One highlight came when I was over half way up the mountain. I heard a faint noise to the left on the rocks. I looked over and saw a bighorn sheep non-nonchalantly walking across the hillside. He paused to look at me, but didn't seem at all startled. His horns curled into a semicircle above his head. I looked toward the ravine from which he emerged to see if there were others to follow, but this ram appeared to be solo.

Bighorn sheep.

As we stared at each other I withdrew my camera to take a few pictures. He didn't seem to mind and continued his amble. In a calm tone I continued also, but angled toward his direction. Only once did he move with a small trot.

He worked his way over to the side of the hill, at the edge of a deep canyon. For a couple minutes he stood boldly silhouetted on the horizon before disappearing on the other side.

Bighorn sheep about to disappear. 

California barrel cactus.

I was near the top, but had two more steep sections left. All they required was a little grit. There were two nubs at the top, and I wasn't sure which was the true peak. It turned out that the first nub, which is labeled as the peak on Google Maps, isn't the true peak. The second nub is about 40 feet higher.

It took 3½ hours to reach the peak, climbing 2,622 feet in elevation.

From the summit of Davidson Peak it is truly a spectacular sight. The most obvious spectacle of all is Moapa Peak, which from this angle appears like a bottle-shaped monolith. The hike to the summit of Moapa Peak requires a class 3 climb with lots of exposure.

To the east and northeast are Virgin Peak and Mount Bangs with their accompanying mountain ranges. To the northwest of Davidson Peak the ground drops at a precipice that would kill human and animal alike. I kept my distance. Beyond the cliff on the other side of a valley are the Mormon Mountains, an isolated range that is rarely explored.

On the peak was an ammunition box tucked between the rocks. Inside the box was a Tupperware container, and inside that a notebook with a climber's log. I flipped through the leaves and learned that the last person to reach the peak was about a month ago. It was a Mihai Giurgiulesco from Romania.

From the summit looking at Moapa Peak and Rainbow Pass Road.

Mormon Mountains and Rainbow Pass Road.

Looking east from the peak.

As much as I loved the view from the top, I was anxious to get down. The heat was ramping up and I wanted to ensure I would have enough water. I also hoped to visit the Davidson family gravesite.

The hike down was much easier, although I only shaved half an hour off my time. I saw no bighorn sheep, but I did see a baby snake that was red and black. By the hair of my chin I was able to stretch out my third and final bottle of water.―I had an ice-cold Gatorade waiting for me in the vehicle.

Cave near the peak.

Finally in the comfort of my vehicle, I drove another mile down the road, then turned off onto a side-track, passing creosote bushes which seemed as tall as I was. Within a few minutes I was at my destination, a lone burial in the desert with a Scottish flag flapping from a pole.

There's just a little bit more to this story that I haven't told.

After James and Maria were buried in 1869, the location of their burial site was all but forgotten. Interestingly, none of the immediate family knew of the exact location. They had at least four living children.

Nearly 70 years later, around 1939, a prospector stumbled upon the grave. He reported it to the Sheriff, who came out to investigate. Initially he believed it to be a more recent death, but when the bodies were exhumed he learned they were much older. The locals in Bunkerville knew it was the Davidson's. The Sheriff removed a wedding ring from Maria so he could confirm it with the family. The bodies were then re-interred. According to one account they had been buried in their wagon box. A year later a grandson, George A. Reid, learned of the finding and came in possession of the ring. It is unclear whether he ever went to the grave.

Scottish flag and Davidson family grave.

In the early 1970's the Reid family decided they needed to find the location of the grave. One of them traveled to Bunkerville and was led by locals to the location of the grave. In November of 1973, one hundred and four years after their deaths, a proper monument was erected for the Davidson family.

So here I was in the middle of nowhere in the Mojave Desert paying homage to a family I never knew. It was a humbling experience. We have it so much easier than they did. They paid the ultimate price trying to build the kingdom they so sincerely believed in.

As I stated earlier, a flagpole with a light-blue banner with a white “X” flapped with the wind. At the foot of the pole was a flat headstone adorned with coins and plastic flowers. Engraved in the stone were the names and dates of the Davidson family.

As I drove away from the burial site on that spring afternoon, I had a greater appreciation for the sacrifice the Davidson's made as well as other pioneers from that era. I also left with a greater understanding of the brutal harshness of such an arid, yet beautiful landscape. ♠

Davidson family grave.

Edge of the Mojave—Peak #10

Just before you enter the Virgin River Gorge from the west, on the right-hand side, there is a prominent peak that captures the eye. Now, to be sure, it's not highest summit around, but it appears to be the most regal. And for years now it has been begging me to climb it. 

There are other reasons it has appealed to me. First, there are no apparent trees. From a distance the mount appears to be made of only of dirt and rock. Second, it stands at the edge of the Mojave Desert, a location low enough in elevation to be hiked in winter or early spring when most of the higher peaks are covered in snow. 

Peak #10 is the slope on the left.

I was excited to get going. It was the third week of April and this would be my first summit of the year. I could not find a name for the peak, so I dubbed it Peak #10. It would be the tenth peak I've climbed since I turned 50 nearly one year ago. 

I doubt this summit gets many visitors. Without a name and without being the highest peak in the area, I don't think it's on too many people's bucket list.

I took the Desert Springs exit and found a dirt road that would take me somewhat close to the mountain. There were a few dwellings out here, but even they were pretty sparse. Those who lived out here probably bought a few acres of land for dirt-cheap and planted a single-wide trailer on it. I kept my distance so I didn't get shot. 😃

Initial ascent up Peak #10.

Utah century plant.

The first mile was on relatively flat ground and through an occasional dry wash that issued from the hillside. The desert landscape, surprisingly, was a symphony of color! The cactus blossomed and wildflowers grew everywhere. 

Once the climb began in earnest, my pace slowed down. The hike was a continual set of stairs, of which at times I had to use all fours to climb the rock. I kept an eye out for rattlesnakes and spiny ears of cactus. Although it was only April, I could feel the arid heat and worried about exhaustion. 

This mountain that I climbed had flat desert on one side and rugged cliffs of the Virgin River Gorge on the other. This area is a transition point between the Colorado Plateau and Mojave Desert. The Paiute Indians roamed this area hundreds of years ago, but with their day-to-day necessity for survival, I wondered if they ever bothered to climb a hill such as this. 

At the summit.

The trek to the summit took me 2 hours and 37 minutes. I traveled 2.9 miles and gained 2,491 feet of elevation. 

What I enjoyed the most from the summit was the view. It was spectacular in every direction! To the west unfolded the Mojave Desert, the towns of Littlefield and Beaver Dam, the jagged formation of Moapa Peak, and the forever stretching corridor of I-15. To the east, north and south stood the rugged mountains and cliffs of the Virgin River Gorge and Beaver Dam Mountains. From my perch I could see certain stretches of the Virgin River and I-15 inside the gorge, including the bridge at Cedar Pockets. I felt like a king on my royal throne. 

I took time to enjoy the view and eat a few snacks. It was interesting that on my hike up I encountered no other living soul, but upon reaching the summit I spotted a lone yellow finch and a swarm of gnats that liked my face. 

More mountains, looking south.

A monochromatic picture, looking east. If you look closely you can see a sliver of I-15 and the Virgin River.

Looking west toward Littlefield, Beaver Dam and Moapa Peak.

My plan for the trip down was to take another route. Whereas I came up on the southwest ridge, I hoped to descend on the northwest. Unless I got stuck on an unforeseen ledge, the new route would give me some different scenery. 

But as I prepared to leave the summit, I had one last surprise. 

A large bird with a wide span and white markings beneath his wings circled the sky above me. Then I saw another . . . and then another. I counted six. For ten minutes they glided on the wind, sometimes low and sometimes high. There was a different look to them, something peculiar. 

At first I thought they were California Condors. They were certainly larger than the average fowl, with a very long wing-span. And from what I could see, their faces appeared to be red. But as I studied them more I learned they were not California Condors at all, but turkey vultures. 

Yes, this was a bit disappointing, but still they were amazing birds. To watch them glide with the wind while on a mountain peak well over 2,000 feet above the nearest person was a feeling to be remembered. 

Turkey vultures with 2,000 feet beneath their wings.

Turkey vulture.

Finally the vultures moved on and so did I. The trip down was equally unique and beautiful, with its own crop of flowers and blossoms. The way down was rockier, with some of the edges being razor-sharp. 

All in all, a very satisfying hike. ♠
 

Interesting geology on the way down.

Cactus and gooseberryleaf globemallow.  Peak #10 in background.

Peak #10 

Miles from car (one way): 2.9 

Elevation gain: 2,491 feet 

Final elevation: 4,584 feet

 

Peak #10 as seen from Cedar Pockets exit.