Little Shelly Peak (#25)

Little Shelly Peak as seen from Mount Baldy (in 2023).

Jenna and I pushed through a sea of sapling aspen, using the supple branches to pull our way up the steep mountainside. We had already passed groves of manzanita and mountain mahogany. We found the wide shade of a tall ponderosa pine and rested beneath its limbs.

Although agonizingly tedious, the fruits of our bushwhacking were now beginning to ripen. Mount Baldy reigned supreme over the rest of the mountainside, its shale-filled slopes appearing striking on the skyline. Below it the greenish-blue waters of Indian Creek Reservoir gave the portrait a perfect balance.

Little Shelly Peak as seen from trailhead.

Climbing up the steep slope toward the peak. Mount Baldy in background.

I had several purposes for this hike. The first was for the view. I hiked Mount Baldy a couple years ago and knew the view from Little Shelly would be the perfect angle for Baldy. Second, I'm trying to hike any peak I can, and especially all the peaks in the Tushars. And thirdly, Jenna and I both had the day off and it was an opportunity for the two of us to get out together.

There is no trail that we know of to Little Shelly. We parked at the Indian Creek Trailhead and followed that trail for ten minutes before diverting and bushwhacking up the hillside. The route to the top was logistically simple. Once we hit the ridge it would be a straight shot to the peak.

We decided that much of this area must have been scorched from wildfire in the recent past as many of the trees were young and at times there still remained the skeletons of trees. I recalled the Twitchell Fire that burned near here in 2010 and assumed that this was the event to claim so much territory.

Once we gained the ridge the steep slope subsided and we were left with a gentle uphill climb. Still the young aspens grew thick, but soon that ended and our final obstacle to the peak was shale rock. I'm sure that “Little Shelly” got its name from its shale-filled summit.

From the summit, looking toward Indian Creek Reservoir and Mount Baldy.

Panorama from the summit.

Although not among the highest peaks of the Tushars (elevation only 9,886 feet), Little Shelly Peak boasts an incredible view. In addition to the aforementioned Mount Baldy, one can also see Mount Belknap, Gold Mountain and Signal Peak, all above 11,000 feet.

We sat at the edge of the summit and enjoyed an avocado with salt and pepper. The view behind us was largely obscured in smoke due to two large wildfires, but the view in front was undiminished. A small patch of wildflowers grew atop the summit, adding to the beauty.

Our plan was not to simply turn around and go back, but to continue along the ridge and see what else we might find. The ridge that includes Little Shelly makes an “n” shape and if one had enough time they could walk the entirety of it and circle around to the vehicle. As we began our hike in the afternoon, I doubted we'd have enough time to make the full circuit.

As we continued along the ridge to the north side of Little Shelly, we found skeletons of large gnarled trees that at first I assumed were bristlecone pines. I was told that there is a grove of bristlecones somewhere on the Tushars, but I wasn't sure of exactly where. We expected to find nearby “living” bristlecones, but never did. Regardless of what kind of tree they were, the skeletons appeared mystically ghost-like.

From the summit of Little Shelly looking north toward summit #2.

We dropped about 400 feet down the slope, then regained it on the other side. This second peak was just twelve feet shorter than Little Shelly. Although similar in elevation, they were very different in character. This peak had no shale rock, but boasted trees and other vegetation. To one side the ground dropped precipitously into a mini amphitheater with a couple hoodoos that somewhat resembled those in Bryce Canyon, but with a chalky color.

From here we now had a profile view of Little Shelly and a slightly closer angle of the four big peaks to the east. Indian Creek Reservoir was no longer in view.

The good news was that it was all downhill from here!

From summit #2, looking back toward Little Shelly Peak.

U.S. Geological Survey marker. 

Surprisingly we found a trail while descending the southeast side of the aforementioned peak. The shadows were becoming longer and we had no interest in anymore bushwhacking. We followed the trail for over two more miles, all the way down to the vehicle.

Although Little Shelly would be considered a minor peak, it had major views of the surrounding summits and Indian Creek Reservoir. It was good to learn another little chunk of the Tushars, and next time I'm sure I'll push myself a little bit further into the unknown. ♠

Ponderosa pines.

Little Shelly Peak

Distance from car: 1.6 miles

Elevation gain to peak: 1,868 feet

Final (peak) elevation: 9,876 feet

Total elevation gain: 2,176 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.3 miles

From summit #2, looking east toward four peaks of the Tushars.

Surviving Black Ridge (Peak #24)

From Black Ridge Peak.

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

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

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

Canyon at the bottom with Ash Creek.

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

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

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

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

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

First view of Kolob Canyons.

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

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

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

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

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

On top. Tree hit by lightning.

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

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

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

Northwest side of Black Ridge, looking south.

On top, looking toward Kolob.

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

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

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

Curious circles on Google Maps.

This is the outer edge of the bigger circle.

Panorama of the bigger circle.

A partial ground view of the little circle.

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

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

But while there I certainly enjoyed the royal view!

Survey marker on Black Ridge Peak.

From the peak, looking north.

Panorama from the peak.

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

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

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

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

Looking across La Verkin Creek toward Smith Mesa.

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

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

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

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

Top of Black Ridge, looking at Red Butte.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Black Rock Peak

Distance from car: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain (aggregate): 1,934 feet

Final elevation: 6,558 feet

Round-trip distance: 14.4 miles

Silver Peak (#23)

Silver Peak.

One of the benefits of trying to hike as many peaks as possible is that I inevitably find peaks that I never knew existed. Such is the case with Silver Peak. It is only a half-hour drive from my house, and I've driven past it dozens of times in the past without noticing it. I don't even know the history behind it, although I suspect that at one time there was a silver mine.

It is a smaller peak, and is surrounded by hills nearly as tall. I was excited to explore this relatively unknown summit.

There is a dirt road that meets the highway and I parked on a side-road of the dirt road, under a tree. Since this was a smaller peak I decided to attack it with a circuitous route. I would ascend the “Younger Sister” as I will call it, a nearby and connected peak a few hundred feet lower. Then I would follow the ridge in a counter-clockwise route that would descend several hundred feet before regaining it, and then some, to the top of Silver Peak.

"Younger Sister Peak."

The ascent up Younger Sister wasn't too bad. I was able to take it slow and steady without too many breaks. Along the way I found a snake skin shed, but it was so faint I couldn't tell whether it was a rattlesnake or not. But it kept me on my guard. I heard a few weeks ago that stepping on a rattlesnake is a lot like stepping on a garden hose.

The top of the hill became rockier and I found a chute, through which I ascended. Still the summit remained higher. I persisted, climbing over boulders until I reached the top of Younger Sister Peak.

I am not including this in my official peak count because it is minor. But the view from here was still great. The two dominant features to the south were Stoddard Mountain and Iron Mountain, the latter having a communication tower on top. Highway 56 stretched out below and the Desert Mound Road behind me. For this first little peak I gained just over 1,000 feet in elevation.

Looking south from Younger Sister Peak toward Stoddard Peak.

I continued on, following the ridge to the northeast. Through the juniper trees I was able to catch glimpses of Silver Peak to the northwest. As I walked I noticed there were a lot of downed trees and old horse droppings. The trees didn't appear to be cut through, just toppled over. And with the horse droppings, I couldn't decided whether they were wild or belonging to a cowboy or miner.

A gradual descending ridge brought me lower in elevation. I dropped into a ravine where I saw more human activity, including a fence that stretched across the canyon and a little gate. I followed the ravine until I came to what I was looking for: a pile of tailings and white rock. It was at the edge of the cliff, up a level from the bottom. I walked up to the site and inspected it. I was confident that a mine was here at one time, but now there was nothing left of the portal. I'm sure they were mining silver, hence the name of the canyon.

Mysterious horse droppings.

Supposed old silver mine. 

Interesting square hole in the ground.

I had another hour and 700 feet to the top. I followed an old mining road part of the way up, but eventually had to bushwhack it. Twice I found markers created from a pile of rocks and a long stick acting as a pole. The second of these sat adjacent to a deep square hole dug into the ground. It didn't go any further than maybe twelve feet deep.

Silver Peak provided a decent vista. I had a good view of “Younger Sister,” as well as Iron and Stoddard Mountains. Behind me sat juniper-filled hills with nothing of distinction. To the east I could make out Red Mountain and a glimpse of Cedar City. Out west were mostly hills, but also with a view of the agriculture fields between New Castle and Beryl.

Looking south from Silver Peak. "Younger Sister Peak" in foreground.

Looking east from Silver Peak toward Cedar City and Brian Head.

Geological marker.

Looking west from Silver Peak toward New Castle and Beryl. 

I did not return the way I came, but instead completed a circuit. I was happy to have this peak under my belt, but it was certainly nothing to write home about. ♠


Silver Peak

Distance from car: 3.4 miles

Net elevation gain: 1,306 feet

Total elevation gain: 1,985 feet

Final elevation: 7,256 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.7 miles

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.