Almudena Cemetery—Cusco

The taxi drove us to Avenida Antonio Lorena and dropped us off in front of a large plaza. We paid him eight soles. Inca ladies sold arrangements of flowers on one side of the plaza. A vendor inside a kiosk sold decorations and snacks. 

Along the other side of the plaza was painted a mural with all sorts of colorful characters. Some wore masks, others played instruments, some wore ceremonial garb, but all the painted characters stood in this same plaza. 

Along that same side of the plaza were the walls of the cemetery. These walls were made of brick that appeared much older. Within the walls, but high enough to see from without, was the beautiful dome of a chapel. An archway along the wall served as an entrance to the cemetery. They say this wall was used by firing squads during the 19th century. 

The Cementerio General de La Almudena was built between 1846 and 1850 using rubble from the Convent of San Augustín that was destroyed during the Peruvian War of Independence. They chose an area far away from the city center where a hospital and the Temple of Almudena already stood. 

We entered through the archway into a world of the dead. The cemetery follows the same style as those found in Spain with most of the deceased placed in vaults and stacked in stories on top of each other. We walked down the various alleyways, taking note of names and dates. Nothing was very old. Most death dates came after the year 2000. I didn't know if there was a point when they removed older burials, or if we just couldn't find them. 

As I mentioned, outside the cemetery there were several booths selling flowers, while inside the cemetery we saw several families arranging flowers for loved ones. Each tomb had a shadow box where the family could display mementos such as soda cans, trinkets, eye glasses, flowers etc. 

Some families had mausoleums large enough to fit several tombs. Most of these we could look inside and see decorations, as well as individual tombs. One had stairs so we walked down and found twelve separate tombs. 

On the southwest corner of the cemetery was an old chapel with a large dome. The oldest burials we found were centered around this chapel. Here we also found the fanciest brickwork and elaborate statues. The dome belongs to the Temple of Almudena.  The chapel, which appears connected to the temple, is the Central Chapel of Santo Roma. The chapel used to house the funeral rites of the cemetery but now is used as an incinerator. 

One section that stood out was a wing of stacked vaults that were of a noticeably smaller size. I asked one of the workers who was entombed in these and he replied that they were children. By the diminutive size of the vaults, I concluded that they must have been babies. 

The cemetery was a busy place. Families visited loved ones, workers repaired walls and guards kept an eye on everyone. A dog even lounged in an alleyway, watching everyone go by. 

The cemetery lies on a hill overlooking the valley of Cusco. From certain points in the cemetery you can see the distant slopes near San Blas. Appearing small, but very distinct, is the statue of the White Christ with his arms stretched out. ♠

 

 

Slave Cemetery at Mingus Mill

Tucked away beneath a canopy of trees in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina stands a gristmill that was operated by the Mingus and Enloe families in the mid-nineteenth century. A quiet stream is diverted into a trough that was once used to power millstones that ground corn into meal. 

Nowadays it lies within the boundaries of Great Smokey Mountains National Park and attracts a modest amount of visitors. On the far side of the parking lot from the mill is a narrow trail that leads into the trees and up a hill. It is neither marked nor noticeable to the casual visitor. 

About one hundred feet up the trail is a small burial ground consisting of five mounds in two separate rows. Small rocks with no inscriptions act as crude headstones. Pennies have been placed at each headstone to show their respect. Some say the pennies are left as a symbolic gesture of the Great Emancipator, Abraham Lincoln. Others say it is an old African tradition where the dead pay a toll to the underworld. 

The burials are those of slaves, most likely servants of the Mingus or Enloe families. No one knows exactly who they were. 

It is a solemn feeling to be here. Away from the roads we can hear no cars. Even though the sky is overcast, a brightness seems to shine through the grove of trees. The forest teems with life.

Who are the people buried here and what kind of life did they lead? Did their owners treat them well? Where did they live? Were they all one family or had some been traded or sold and broken up? What were their names? These are questions that may never be answered. 

From here we leave the tiny cemetery and mill, likely never to return. To me this little burial ground is a microcosm of the Appalachians as a whole⸺deep, hidden, draped in history and abounding in mystique. ♠

 

 

The Day the Devil Came to the Logan Temple

Marriner Wood Merrill was no stranger to the miracles of God. As a boy of nine years old growing up in New Brunswick, Canada he beheld a vision in which he saw into the future. Although he didn't understand everything at the time, in this vision he saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young (both of whom he had never met), the Saint's journey to the west, and the practice of polygamy. 

In 1852 he was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints by missionaries in New Brunswick. 

Soon after that he joined the Saints on their westward trek to Utah Territory. During this journey while on the plains he witnessed another miracle. While attempting to swim across the Platte River to retrieve strayed cattle he lost his strength and began to be pulled under by the heavy current. He was almost to the point of drowning when suddenly a sandbar formed beneath his feet. He stood there safely until someone was able to come and rescue him. Suddenly, the sandbar disappeared. Marriner felt confident that the hand of God had saved his life. 

Statues of the pioneers on their journey to the West.

Three years passed and he was now establishing himself in the Salt Lake Valley. On a cold day in January 1856, Marriner was loading five large logs that would be used to make houses onto a sled. The ground was very slippery. He had one log loaded and as he turned to load the second, the first shot out and struck him hard, pinning him atop the other logs. The log that pinned him down was ten inches in diameter and twenty-two feet long. He could scarcely breathe, let alone move. 

He was sure that he would die a cold death there on the mountain with no one else around. An earnest prayer poured from his heart as he plead with the Lord to help him in this dire situation. He continued the attempt to extricate himself, but to no avail. Within a short period of time he began to fade and lose consciousness. 

When he finally came to, he was about a mile down the trail and sitting atop an orderly stack of five logs. His ax was lodged in the top log and his whip lay at his side. The oxen pulled the load as if nothing strange had happened. Marriner attempted to move, but could not budge due to the soreness of his body.

Later in his autobiography he said: “Who it was that extricated me from under the log, loaded my sled, hitched my oxen to it, and placed me on it, I cannot say.” 

Many years passed and Marriner Wood Merrill dedicated his life to the building up of the church. He moved to northern Utah where he served as bishop in Richmond for eighteen years. He was successful in farming, raising stock and the milling industry. With this he supported his eight wives and forty-five children. 

In 1884 he became the first president of the Logan Temple, which was just a three-hour buggy ride from Richmond. In 1889 he was ordained an Apostle. 

Hattie Merrill Morrison Farmstead in Richmond, Utah.  Hattie is the daughter of Marriner,.

Marriner Wood Merrill.

During the days of polygamy raids, Marriner lived in his bedroom on the second floor of the west tower of the Logan Temple. There were periods when he didn't leave the building for several weeks. 

During this time he relied on his son, Marriner Wood Merrill Jr., to take care of things at home. You can imagine his despair when his son passed away from illness at the young age of forty-two. Marriner felt that God had betrayed him. He was busy doing the Lord's work and his son was taken when he needed him most. 

His attitude changed, however, when one evening his son appeared to him in his bedroom in the temple. “Pa,” he said, “I am where the Lord wants me to be. I have been called home to preach the gospel to the people you are doing the temple work for. This work is more important than anything I could be doing on earth, and it is not pleasing to the Lord for you to grieve as you are doing over my death.” 

Needless to say, Marriner never grieved again over his son's death, nor did he complain about hardships in life. His testimony of the work in the temple grew tremendously. 

Logan Temple.

Perhaps this experience prepared him for the next. During the final decade of his life President Merrill had an encounter in the Logan Temple that is unlike any encounter I've ever read about. The following is an excerpt from a work written on the first hundred years of the Logan Temple: 

“Logan Temple President Marriner W. Merrill was sitting in his office one morning in the early 1890's when he heard a commotion outside. Stepping to the window, he saw a great congregation of people coming up the temple hill, some on foot and others on horseback and in carriages. President Merrill's first thought was, 'What will we do with so many people? If we fill every room in the temple, it will not begin to hold them all.' 

“The riders tied their horses up on the hitching posts or turned them loose on the temple corrals, and walked complacently about the front grounds, without seeming to have much purpose in mind. They were a rather odd looking group, and were dressed quite shabbily. 

Sketch of Logan Temple.

“They made no effort to enter the temple, so President Merrill went out to greet them and see what he could do for the group. He said to the leader: 'Who are you, and who are these people who have taken possession of the temple grounds unannounced?' 

“He answered: 'I am Satan, and these are my people.' Brother Merrill asked: 'What do you want and why have you come here?' Satan replied: 'I don't like what is being done in the Logan Temple and have come to stop it.' That was a bit of shock to President Merrill, and he answered: 'No, we will not stop it. This is the work of the Lord and must go on. You know that you or anyone else cannot stop the work of the Lord.' 

“'If you refuse to stop it, I will tell you what I propose to do,' the adversary said. 'I will scatter this congregation of people throughout these valleys, and we will keep people from coming to the temple. We will whisper in their ears and discourage them from attending the temple. We will stop your temple work.' 

“President Merrill then used the power of the priesthood and commanded Satan and his followers to depart from holy ground. He said that within four or five minutes there was not a person, horse or buggy in sight. They just disappeared into thin air and were gone.” 

For the next ten to twelve years the work in the Logan Temple was very slow. Satan worked hard to thwart efforts of those going to the temple. There are several accounts of people intending to go, but at the last minute something happening so they couldn't. Still they pushed forward and often finished their journey to the House of the Lord. 

Nolan Olsen, writing on the first 100 years of the Logan Temple, put it this way: “The evil one's power and influence are real. He knows the value of temple work and would do anything in his power to keep people away. But he failed to recognize the faithfulness and devotion of the Saints in this area, for they were not easily discouraged.” ♠ 

 

Grave of Marriner Wood Merrill in Richmond City Cemetery.

 



Sources 

“Marriner Wood Merrill (biography),” Family Search, online. 

Merrill, Melvin Clarence. Utah Pioneer and Apostle Marriner Wood Merrill and His Family. Marriner Wood Heritage, 1980. 

Olsen, Nolan. Logan Temple: The First 100 Years. 1978. 

“Preaching to the Dead.” Family Search, online. (On “Memories” of Marriner Wood Merrill.)

Ghosts of Silver City

Like father, like daughter. 

My second-youngest child spends a lot of her time as I do—on Google Maps. For the last couple years she's been eying a location 173 miles from our home. She couldn't tell what it was exactly, but a spattering of rectangular foundations and solitary walls suggested a place that now sat in ruins. “Dad,” she asked, “some day can we go to Silver City?” 

I knew exactly where it was and had wanted to go there myself. I wanted to go for the historical aspect. Silver City was part of the Tintic Mining District and a satellite town of Eureka. Like so many mining towns in Utah, it was given birth, but eventually passed away, giving up the ghost.

We found a couple of days when we both could get away, combining our trip with another appointment. That morning as we left my brother's house in Springville a fresh blanket of snow covered the ground and treetops. We drove west on Highway 6 and over the Tintic Mounains through the still-living town of Eureka. 

Ruins of the old Tintic Smelter in Silver City, Utah.

The rise of the Tintic Mining District began near the future site of Silver City. In 1869 a cowboy found a chunk of silver while herding cattle. This caused a frenzy of interest and subsequently other ores were found, giving rise to several mines in the area. 

Coincidentally, it was also around this same time when the mining towns of Park City and Alta began to spring up. The two mining areas would become competitors. 

In Silver City a small town began to blossom. Although hard to imagine now, it consisted of restaurants, hotels, saloons, a gambling hall, blacksmith shops, livery stables and two railroad depots.

Jenna and I continued past Eureka, driving four miles south to a graveled road that joined to the east. Snow still covered the hills, but now the sun crept high enough in the sky that the tops of trees began to lose their white coat. 

This smelter was built in 1908 by "Uncle" Jesse Knight.

Not too far off the road stood the remains of Silver City. The most prominent structure was the old Tintic Smelter built by Jesse Knight in 1908. Just a few years earlier he came in to give a boost to the fledgling town. He bought up several mines and then decided to build the smelter to offset the high cost of freighting. 

On July 24, 1908 the town celebrated “Smelter Day,” along with their usual Pioneer Day activities. Thousands of people showed up and celebrated by eating lots of free food, watching a baseball game and enjoying excursion rides on the train. 

As it turned out, the cost of freight dropped and the smelter could not compete with the Salt Lake smelters. Knight would eventually dismantle and move it to Murray where it operated for several years.

Jenna and I braved the cold and walked around the many ruins. In addition to the smelter there were several foundations from other buildings, but we had no idea what they were. All that remained now were crumbled cement walls and a splashing of colorful graffiti. 

Old Tintic Smelter.

After exploring around the ruins of the smelter we returned to our warm vehicle and drove up the road into Dragon Canyon where we found more ruined foundations. These buildings could have been anything from stores to housing. At its peak in 1908, Silver City boasted a population of 1,500 residents. 

On the north side of the road was a wide hole in the ground with concrete siding that appeared to be a holding tank at one time. On the far side against the hillside were piles of yellow tailings. Further up the road stood an old wooden shack. Beyond here it is private property, I believe owned by a modern mining company. 

Remains of what appear to be a holding tank.  Talings in the background.

Old wooden building up Dragon Canyon.

Who knew what else there was to explore. I was sure that we were just scratching the surface. We turned around and headed back toward the highway. There was one last place I wanted to visit. 

Roughly a mile south of the main ruins sits the Silver City Cemetery. To get there you can either stay on a dirt road or return to the highway and then turn off onto a shorter dirt road. We chose the latter, but still almost got bogged down in a quagmire of mud. By now the snow was melting fast. 

The cemetery is about what you'd expect from a ghost town. A chain-link fence surrounds it, but there is no landscaping and certainly no grass. Some of the individual graves have small fences while a more expansive fence surrounds some of the family plots. I could tell that the cemetery had been maintained from time to time. 

Silver City Cemetery.

According to my research there are roughly 68 graves in the cemetery, most of them with headstones. Death dates range from 1881 to 1937, with a few outliers of modern-day burials. 

There is very little information on several of the burials. Henry J. Smith, for example, died in 1890 at the age of fifteen. There are no other Smith's in the cemetery and I cannot find any record of family. His headstone is broken in half, the top part now leaning against the bottom half. I wonder if there's any distant family member that knows he is buried here?

Headstone for Henry J. Smith. Detail of handclasp and veil suggest he was of the Mormon faith.

I saw many headstones for the Haws family. Most of them died in infancy⸺ six to be exact. All of them were children of Annie and George Haws. The 1900 census shows the family living in Silver City and George working in a quartz mine. By 1910 they were living in the nearby town of Mammoth and George Jr. had now joined his father working in gold and silver mines. A daughter, Luella, worked as an assistant cook at a boarding house. 

In addition to losing nine of their fifteen children during infancy, Annie and George were well acquainted with other tragedy. Their son, Gilbert, had his foot amputated after having it badly injured in a mining accident. Then in 1918 he died from influenza pneumonia. Another son, Leon, was killed that same year in France while deployed to fight in World War I. 

Infant son of George and Annie Haws.

Another person who caught my attention was Marion Elliot Tinder. He died at age 41 and left behind a wife and three kids. It appears his entire life was spent in small mining towns in Utah. He was born in Ophir, thirty miles to the north, a town named after the biblical Ophir where King Soloman brought gold back to Israel. But what really captivated me was the picture I found of him. He looks smooth-faced in the picture and very innocent, especially for someone growing up in a mining town. I thought it sad he died so young. 

Grave of Marion Elliot Tinder.

Marion Elliot Tinder.

On the west side of the cemetery there is a family plot surrounded by a picket fence with peeling white paint. This belongs to the Poynter family and as I researched who they were it became apparent that they revolved around the matriarch of the family, Alice Caunt Poynter. 

Alice was born in England, but immigrated to Utah when her parents joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. While still a teenager Alice chose to marry a “Gentile,” a name given to those outside the church. What makes this Gentile fascinating to me is that he was a member of Johnston's Army, the group that marched to Salt Lake to squash the “Mormon Rebellion.” Alice and Charles Green had two daughters, Elizabeth Ann and Sarah Jane. While the girls were still young, Charles deserted them, leaving Alice a single mother. 

Alice Caunt Poynter.

Shortly after that Alice married William Baxter. Records show that they operated a boarding house in Eureka. They had a son together, but unfortunately this marriage didn't last either. William was shot in a card game in a mining town northeast of Eureka. The man who shot him was charged for murder and killed by firing squad at the Provo jail. It was the first execution in Utah County. 

At last Alice would find a loving and lasting spouse when she married Charles Poynter, a fellow Brit who was trying to make ends meet in a mining town. There are no records of them living in Silver City, but rather in the “foothills of Eureka.” Together they had a daughter, Myrtle. 

Charles Poynter (driver) in the Eureka Hills.

Charles was a good provider for the family and owned a butcher shop. They belonged to the Episcopalian Church in Eureka. 

Alice worked hard to make a comfortable home. She would sing as she performed her household duties. Alice was an excellent cook and skilled seamstress. Myrtle remembers that she made her dresses by hand.

One of the stories told of Charles Poynter took place in the Gibbln's Saloon in Eureka. As the story goes, Josiah Williams walked in with his boy and ordered a whiskey. Subsequently his boy also ordered a whiskey, but the bartender refused it because . . . well, he was just a boy. Poynter, who was also sitting at the bar, made a remark that the bartender made the right decision. 

Williams didn't like that. He shot back that his boy had “just as much right as any son of a bitch in the saloon” if he paid for it. Then the boy joined in and called Poynter a “gray-haired son of a bitch.” At this, Poynter slapped the father in the face, and the father and son left the saloon. 

Sometime later, when Poynter left the saloon, Williams came toward him and gave him a blow to the left side. At first he thought it was just a fist, but then felt a trickle of blood and learned that Josiah Williams had stabbed him with a knife. Poynter survived the ordeal and the incident went to trial, and I'm sure that Williams went to jail. 

Communal plot of the Poynter family.

Funeral of Charles Poynter in 1909.

Alice Poynter died in 1893 at the young age of 52. Charles lived another sixteen years, but spent the last nine as an invalid. Although they lived in Eureka, they are buried in Silver City. Along with other family members they are buried in a family plot surrounded by a picket fence with white peeling paint. 

Next to the Poynter plot is a smaller plot with a chain-link fence. It belongs to Alice's daughter, Elizabeth, from her first marriage. Elizabeth's headstone was broken in half, but someone had carefully fastened it back into place. The inscription tells a brief, but sad story: 

In Memory of
Elizabeth A.,
wife of Wm W.
Mathews.
Born April 10, 1864.
Died July 10, 1889.

Aged 25 yrs 3 mo. 

Also

her infant daughter 

Died July 20, 1889. 

Aged 18 days. 

Headstone of Elizabeth Green Matthews.

It was time for Jenna and I to head out. Silver City was now more than just a pattern of rectangles and lines on Google Maps. It was a place that had come to life with real people who had real stories. 

As we returned to the highway I noted that we didn't pass too many vehicles. This corner of the state didn't get a lot of visitors. This pleased me. As we passed a field with irrigation sprinklers we spotted a coyote plodding through the snow, and then above him a hawk whizzed past. ♠ 

 

Coyote in a field just south of Silver City.

 

Sandy Peak (#9)

Sandy Peak looms in the distance.

They say that third time's a charm. 

I've already tried climbing this peak twice. The first time was by myself and I made the decision that it was taking too long and I turned around due to time. The second time was with my son. We actually thought we made it to the top, but when we got there we realized that the true peak was on the next knoll over. Once again, due to time, we turned around empty-handed. 

Now several years have passed and I am at it again. Earlier this year I made a goal to climb 35 peaks in 5 years. It has been a good goal for me. I am finding that I am becoming much more proactive in accomplishing my hiking goals than I would be otherwise. 

Although most people in Southwest Utah would not be able to name Sandy Peak, most of them have seen it rising in the distance. On the way to Bryce Canyon on the north side of Panguitch, Sandy Peak and Little Creek Peak are the two prominent knobs that are noticeable on the mountain. Sandy Peak rises above Bear Valley, which was a part of the Old Spanish Trail. 

I hiked this peak in mid-November and probably waited too long in the day before I started. I wasn't even sure if I was going to do it because the night before we were to get a storm with valley rain and mountain snow. It was just a matter of how much the mountains would get. I decided to make it a go. 

Sandy Peak as seen from the starting point in Bear Valley.

From my home I made the one-hour drive to Bear Valley where I was pretty much alone except for a few passing hunters. I hoped to take a side-road that would bring me closer to the peak, but part of that road was washed out, adding another mile onto my hike. The road was dry, but the peak was covered in snow. I parked my truck at 7,463 feet. 

There is no trail to the top. Most of the route is steep and covered with trees and brush. No matter how you slice it, the hike to Sandy Peak is a monster. 

I began on a ridge that appeared less covered in vegetation. As I worked my way up, the grade remained steep with minimal bushwhacking. Here I was among pine trees and scrub oak. 

Getting closer.

As always when I hike alone, my mind considered the worst-case scenario. What would I do if I got attacked by a mountain lion? Would I fight back or play dead? I had a monopod with which I could swing back. I once asked this question to a friend who was an avid hunter. His response: “It doesn't matter what you would do. That cat would sneak up behind you and with one swipe of his paw across the the back of your neck, you'd be done with!” That terrible thought has stayed with me for many years. 

I finally made it to the top of the ridge, but then was met on the other side by a deep canyon with steep slopes and pine trees on both sides. I knew it wouldn't be a straight-shot. I hoped to spot some deer or elk, but to no avail. 

Working my way up a ravine.

I slid down one side, then side-stepped up the other. I spooked some pine hens and they took flight, one by one. I didn't dare go up too high in elevation because I was sure I'd have to drop down again. 

I stayed at the bottom in a ravine. It was covered in a thin layer of snow, but luckily not much in the way of foliage. I followed the ravine until it wasn't a ravine anymore, and into a grove of aspen trees with tall mountain slopes on both sides. 

Finally out of the trees and nearing the summit.

By now I was getting near my goal. I paused to gulp down water and eat a package of Reese's Pieces. Little did I know it would be the last thing I ate on the hike. 

I should note that it was cold. Highs would be 40°F, tops. I dressed in layers, and at this point was able to go without a coat, but still wore gloves and a beanie. The mountain blocked the wind and my upward exertion kept me warm. 

From this point my goal was in sight and I could see the white-capped summit of Sandy Peak. There were trees near the top with snow still plastered on branches and leaves. It was obvious that the peak hadn't been above freezing since the storm last night. 

Final pitch to the frigid summit.

The final pitch became steeper and slightly slicker due to the snow, but at last I made it. 

The summit of Sandy Peak is 9,544 feet. From there you can see Bear Valley, the Duttons, Little Creek Peak and much more. It was a beautiful sight. 

Although there was one issue that preoccupied my mind as I stood and reveled at the scenery on the summit. It had taken me just over three hours to make the ascent. I could tell from the positioning of the sun and the time on my watch that I only had forty-five minutes until the sun went down. With the switch from Day Light Savings Time I didn't think through the calculations very clearly. I knew that tonight temperatures would plunge into the teens. Suddenly there was an urgency to get off the mountain. 

From the summit of Sandy Peak, looking east toward the Dutton's.

Looking north across Bear Valley and toward the Tushar Mountains.

From the summit looking southwest toward Little Creek Peak.

I will try not to drag the reader through my ordeal, but instead will summarize. Although suffering from fatigue, I hustled the best I could across and down the steep slopes so as to descend as much as I could before all light left. I took a slightly different route which I hoped would be quicker. By the time I exhausted all daylight and had to turn on my flashlight I was down inside a gully which I assumed would eventually wind its way back toward my truck. Temperatures were frigid and I followed this gully for what seemed to be way too long. There was no cell reception here and I began to doubt that I was headed in the right direction. (What if the gully I had dropped into happened to be on the other side of the divide and in reality I was getting further and further from my vehicle with every step? And then what if my flashlight suddenly burned out? Would I have the fortitude to spend the night out in the cold dark, lost?) I passed a flock of wild turkeys that made noises I had never heard in the dark. I didn't see them and at first I thought it was a pack of coyotes that were circling for the kill. I quickened my pace. From time to time I turned off my flashlight, let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and studied the stars in the sky, finding the north star. The Milky Way burst like a band across the heavens. After an hour and a half of wandering in the dark in and out of the gully and alongside a small stream, I finally emerged into the valley. To my left I could see the reflection of a barbed-wire fence. When I turned off the light I could see the silhouette of a familiar knoll to the north. Now I knew where I was at. 

Once at the truck I gave a sigh of relief, then turned on the ignition to start warming the air. Then I gave a short, but sincere prayer, thanking God that I made it back safely. ♠ 

Little Creek Peak at sunset (with still a long ways to go!).

Sandy Peak
 

Miles from car (one way): 4.5
 

Elevation gain: 2,081 feet
 

Final elevation: 9,544 feet