An Outsider's Impression of San Francisco

Many years ago I sat in a Barcelona airport waiting for my flight and talking with a man who had traveled extensively around the world. I asked which place was the most beautiful he'd ever been. His response: Istanbul and San Francisco. 

Since then I have made it a goal to visit both those places. But as the years have passed, I started to doubt if San Francisco was the Mecca it used to be. It seemed that every story I heard of the City by the Bay was either of its increasing homeless problem, crime, or high cost of living. 

Finally, twenty-nine years after my conversation in the airport, I was able to make it to San Francisco. We only spent two days, but here are a few of my observations. 

Golden Gate Park.

Zoomed-in view of San Francisco from Alcatraz Island.

I will say right off the bat that San Francisco was absolutely beautiful. He was right about that! The first thing we did when we came into town was drive across the Golden Gate Bridge to a viewpoint at Marin Headlands. Transitory fog engulfed the bay, but when it finally moved out we had sweeping views of the bridge and San Francisco skyline. Both were amazing. I was intrigued by the blue of the bay, the ingenuity of the bridge, the verdancy of the rolling hills, the mystery of the fog and the smell of the sea on the wind. 

I continued to be impressed when we went to Golden Gate Park, the West Coast's version of Central Park. Fog was there too, along with tall wind-swept trees, lots of green grass, ponds, flowers, ducks and even bison. I was further impressed when I learned from a worker that this whole area used to be sand dunes and the early settlers started by planting trees along the coast for a wind-break, and eventually worked their way inland. 

But . . . there was a caveat in this Garden of Eden: Don't leave your car. Yes, the worker told us this too. He warned that car break-ins were rampant and that if you leave your car too long unattended, you run the risk of someone breaking in and stealing anything of worth. I will admit that this bit of information made me a little anxious during the rest of our stay, but luckily for us, we were never victims. 

On the "red line," making our way to the city center.

From the corner of 28th Avenue and Anza Street, looking toward Lone Mountain and University of San Francisco.

Public transportation here was disappointing. I thought that because San Francisco was progressive and liberal, then their public transportation system would be very much akin to that in Europe. In my opinion, I was very wrong. 

The first time we parked our car and came to a rail station, we spent forty-five minutes trying to figure out how to pay our fare. There was no counter with a real person behind it. None of the passengers passing by seemed very friendly or helpful. We couldn't just plug in our credit card and buy four tickets. We eventually learned that we had to purchase a “card” and put money on it, but how much we knew not. After three tries it canceled our credit card and we had to use another one. What a nightmare! For a while I thought we'd end up missing our ball game—But we finally figured it out. 

We took the red line to the city center where we had to switch trains to Oracle Park. I thought it would be straight forward with signs pointing to our connecting train like there is in Europe. Maybe I was blind, but I couldn't see it. We ended up back above ground where we ran into a very nice gentleman who went out of his way to get us to our destination. He was the nicest local person we met during those two days. 

Our evening at the ballgame displayed once again the magic of the city. We had an upper balcony seat where we could look out over the bay. There was a lively atmosphere in the stadium and from what I could tell, much of the music they played came from local musicians or songs about San Francisco (for example Journey, Lovin' touchin' squeezin'; Starship, We built this city; and Metallica). 

Oracle Park is a beautiful stadium that sits next to San Francisco Bay.

When listening to critics talk of San Francisco, they will emphasize the homeless issue and “feces in the street.” I will be honest, I didn't see much of that and there was no incident when I felt in danger. The only time I recall seeing homeless people was near the corner of Embarcadero and Market Street where we saw a couple tents on the sidewalk. Admittedly we only spent two days in the city and stayed mostly on touristy streets. 

Alcatraz was just as good as I hoped it would be. Not only did it have a fascinating history, but the view from the island, including the boat ride, offered spectacular views of the city and Golden Gate Bridge. 

Alcatraz Island.

Over and over in my mind I couldn't believe the genius of the architecture of the city. The Bay Bridge, which we could also see from Alcatraz, was a double-decker bridge. I knew there were also tunnels that ran beneath the bay. Nearly every building in the city was built on some sort of hill. And to think that it was nearly obliterated during the 1906 earthquake and they had to rebuild it! 

During our last evening on our way to the hotel, we had another memorable experience. At the far end of the subway car in which we traveled, a homeless man stood by himself. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to finger something in the center of the cloth. Then he plugged one nostril and started snorting whatever was in the handkerchief. I am no expert on drugs, but it appeared he was snorting cocaine. It wasn't exactly the environment I was excited to have my daughters in. 

San Francisco trolley.

We survived our two days in San Francisco. We did not get injured or robbed. We learned that it was indeed a beautiful city. It also had a shady side that demanded caution, although I thought the stereotypes were a bit embellished. 

Hotels in San Francisco were very expensive. We considered a room in Oakland, but decided it was far too crime-ridden. So we decided on Colma, a suburb just south of San Francisco. I thought it would be more laid back and calmer, but it wasn't. I was nervous to leave my car out in the parking lot overnight.⸺When it was time to check out and leave town, I will admit that there was a burden lifted from my shoulders. I was happy to escape San Francisco in one piece. ♠

 

San Francisco skyline and Golden Gate Bridge from Marin Headlands.

Jarvis Peak (#11)

The day before my hike I prepared by eating a cheeseburger, grilled cheese sandwich, a cup of malted ice cream and a Pepsi. On the day of the hike I prepared by bringing too little water and starting too late. I felt like it was doomed to fail. 

Jarvis Peak is a little-known summit in Washington County. I'm sure there's some history behind its naming. “Jarvis” is a pioneer name, but I couldn't find any stories related to the peak. I'm sure it was named after George Jarvis, or one of his decedents. 

The Shivwits Reservation lies on one side and the Arizona state line on another. Of the few people who have hiked the peak, most tackle it from the west side. Not wanting to be like everyone else, I chose to begin on the east. 

I parked the vehicle at Laub Pond, which is nothing more than a large mud puddle used to water cattle. I could have started closer to the peak but I chose this location to give me greater distance and also to hopefully have a more gradual incline. 

The first couple miles were relatively flat and dusty. For the most part I followed a cattle trail. Already I could feel the heat building up and was confident that in nearby St. George the temperatures would reach the mid-nineties. 

View from inside a cave.

Only one eventful thing happened along that first stretch. I spotted a pair of caves that sat side by side. I debated whether I wanted to make the detour, but finally decided to go for it. I hoped to find some ancient writing inside, but didn't. Both were large and one went back far enough that at first I thought it was a mine shaft. An interesting hole or tunnel in the rock connected the two caves and by crawling on my knees I could squeeze from one to the other. One had a niche in the back where a fire had been built. I could see the black soot on the wall. Was it ancient or modern? 

After the caves it was time to begin the climb in earnest, and this first part was the steepest I would face all day. Loose rocks and dirt provided no good traction. I used sapling branches of creosote plants to pull me up. After a little stickity-too-ity, I made it to the first little bench where I found an elevated view of the land around me and a small cluster of Utah century plants. 

I followed the ridge on the left to Jarvis Peak.

Utah century plant.

By this point the gnats were awful. They swarmed all around my face and arms, probably licking up the salty sweat. For much of the way up I couldn't help but to repeat a line of poetry I had written after high school: Gnats, gnats, I hate those brats; infesting my body like dirty rats! 

There was very little in the way of beauty with the plants I saw. An occasional cactus here and there was in bloom and also the manzanita plants I would encounter higher up, but nothing like my hike a few weeks ago when the desert was blossoming like a rose. 

Manzanita plants in full bloom.

Final pitch to the summit.  Jarvis Peak is the knob on the left.

I climbed on a ridge that would take me all the way to the summit. To my right sat an imposing canyon that separated me from the next ridge. When I ascended nearly to the top I was met by another imposing canyon on my left, this one much more rugged than the other one. Somewhere on this side of the Jarvis Peak was the Apex Mine, of which I knew little about. 

The final pitch to the summit was another extremely steep section. This was the segment that had the manzanita plants in bloom. 

Lady bugs everywhere on the summit, including on my lens!

When I reached the summit there was a surprise waiting for me: ladybugs. And they were everywhere! At least they weren't gnats and landed on my skin with much more grace. They swarmed all over the rocks and plants. 

Although the hike up was difficult and lackluster, the view from the top was spectacular. To the north and east rose Pine Valley Mountain and the red cliffs north of St. George. To the northwest with much grandeur stood West Mountain, which has the only summit in the Beaver Dam Mountains higher than Jarvis Peak. To the south was the bulk of the Beaver Dam Mountains along with the Virgin River Gorge. I examined all the dirt roads I could see to learn where they went. Faintly visible through the haze were the Mormon Mountains and Moapa Peak in the west. ♠
 

Looking south from the peak.  I believe these roads are connected with the Ajax Mine.

West Mountain Peak, the highest point in the Beaver Dam Mountains.

Pine Valley Mountain.

In the distance is Moapa Peak and the Mormon Mountain Range.  The specks you see are lady bugs!

Jarvis Peak
 

Miles from car (one way): 4


Elevation gain: 2,777 feet


Final elevation: 6,529 feet

Gnats 

Gnats, gnats; I hate those brats, 

They bug me, hug me, 

Infesting my body like little rats.
 

They land in my ear 

And dance on my cheek; 

Like a tiny air fleet 

That can nibble and eat.
 

If I could smack 'em, I'd crack 'em, 

Like a walnut on Christmas Day, 

But each time I slap one, 

Another small pest keeps buzzing my way.

Sunset at Ragged Point

Rolling green hills dazzled our view on the east side, larger mountains behind them, with a mist of fog at the summit. The last rays of sunlight cast slanted beams and long shadows onto the landscape. 

To the west we had spattered views of the coast. I drove around a curve in the road when I spotted an area just large enough to pull over. Amidst the trees and scrub, I discovered a slit in the growth. I sent Jenna to investigate. Two minutes later she returned with a thumbs-up. It was doable. 

We entered the growth of trees and hiked on what could only be considered half a trail. In many places it was wide enough only for one foot with growth from either side covering the path. 

But the smells were incredible! A sweet flowery fragrance prevailed, but also the pungent scent of bark and pine needles. The breeze that blew off from the ocean and up and over the cliffs added to the bouquet. 

The trail felt as if it was solely ours, as if it were once used as a secret hideout years ago, but then abandoned and now rediscovered by us. 

We found an old fire pit, built of stones beneath a canopy of trees. It reminded me of a wooden cave⸺a perfect place to roll out sleeping bags, build a fire and listen to the crashing waves. 

We continued on our newly-found trail, which now opened up into scrubland atop a seaside bluff. Purple and yellow flowers grew on bushes that came to my chest. I walked with haste, knowing exactly what was coming. 

Then we arrived. 

Nature's beauty unfolded before us. We stood atop a blustery cliff and below us the Pacific Ocean stretched eternally toward the horizon. 

Waves systematically crashed into the rocks below. Distant sea-stacks and cliffs appeared as silhouettes. The sun now sat perfectly on the horizon as if she were waiting for us before dipping down. 

Rugged mountains stood in the north, their steep slopes impressive, even at this distance. Every hillside was a different shade of blue. 

All around was beauty and all I wanted to do was gather it up and put it in a bottle. Gales of wind came up from off the ocean, bringing an uncomfortable chill. Within minutes the sun was gone and that uncomfortable chill became more poignant. 

We enjoyed a few more minutes, breathing in the fresh air and taking in a sight that was seldom seen. We returned the way we came, but left our hearts at the bluff-top. ♠ 

 

Jenelle's picture with her phone.

 

The Dog

Author's note: In an attempt to preserve some of the stories and culture of the United States Postal Service, I will occasionally share a post such as this. I wrote this on April 13, 2010 and it took place at 168 E. College Avenue in Cedar City, Utah. As mail carriers, we face dogs all the time and sometimes things don't end so well. 

 

I stepped outside my mail vehicle with a watermelon-sized parcel in my hand with the words “Fragile” written all over. The mail slot was inserted through a lattice wall that separated the sidewalk from the three apartments inside the fence. This package I would have to deliver to the door.

I turned off my truck, slid the door shut, locked it, and slid the key ring onto my middle finger. Having had to deliver a certified letter here a few weeks ago, I was somewhat familiar with the premises inside this mini-compound. There was a large fence that surrounded the perimeter of all three apartments. But to get to these apartments, another gate and fence had to be traversed. None of the apartments showed a number, so I had no idea which door I was looking for. 

I entered through the second gate and slid shut the latch behind me. I saw a door in front of me and another to my right and debated which one I should knock on. I walked over to the door on the right and glanced through the adjacent window which gave the appearance of vacant lodging. No furniture, no shelves. Just carpet and empty walls. 

As I turned to my left, I noticed the stir of a white animal in front of the far apartment. Suddenly, a crazy mongrel swept towards me, barking violently with every step until he was right in front of my body. I didn't know what else to do so I kicked him hard on the side of the face. This knocked him back and sidewards, but I was hoping he would whimper and run away. He didn't. He was mad. The roaring from his throat became more intense and he turned back towards me. I about lost the package as I kicked him, as well as the keys that were around my finger. I readjusted the parcel and slipped the keys off of my finger and into the chest pocket of my shirt. The package I held out, my arms mostly extended, and at the level of the dog's face. 

He was a stocky mutt, a body builder if there was such among dogs. His white fur was short and clean, but about all I took notice of was his mouth and teeth. His bark echoed in the little breeze-way where we stood, he and I face to face. He didn't stop. His jaw and teeth incessantly moved up and down like one of those little toys you saw as a kid, a skull that you could wind up and watch the mouth chatter. I didn't know if his mouth was vibrating or if it was the pulsating inside my head. 

I didn't know what to do. No one seemed to be home because surely they would have heard the din and rushed out. I searched around for anything to grab, something that I could throw at him or jab him with: a chair, weights from a dumbbell set, a rock. Maybe the package. But every time that I would lean towards the rock or the weights, the dog stepped forward. He was looking for his opportunity to lunge and wrap his sharp fangs around my leg. 

By this time, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. Perhaps we would stand off all day long until somebody came to my rescue. The gate that held the route for my escape was probably fifteen feet away. 

I took a step towards him and was pleased to see him step back. His intensity didn't quit, however, as his high-pitched cries shrilled from his mouth. The corners of his lips pulled back and his white teeth, all as sharp as knives, looked ready to bite me. 

Once again I stepped towards him, and again he stepped back with his rear leg, and again I did it and this time he almost fell to his haunches. I didn't take my eyes off him though, because I knew that once I did, he would be on my leg quicker than a bear on a salmon. 

At last I was at the gate and with my left hand I felt behind me and unlatched the lock and slid my left leg and then my body through the opening and into safety. Quickly I fumbled around shutting the gate and latching the lock and still the hound was within the walls yapping and growling and mad. But I was out and safe. Now all I would need was time to let my heartbeat return to normal. ♠

Angel Moroni in the Manti Temple

Recently I attended an open-house for the Manti Temple. I was extremely excited because this was one of the original pioneer temples of the church and it was only the second time in its 135-year history that it had been open to the public for tours. 

I drove three hours to get there and when I did there was a long line that stretched to the north of this regal structure. As I waited for over an hour, I met several people from all over the state who had also traveled great distances. 

For those who have never seen it, the Manti Temple is arguably one of the most spectacular structures in all of Utah. Whether you're driving from the north or south, the temple stands as majestically as a medieval castle, perched atop a hill overlooking the small town of Manti. It took eleven years to build, constructed in a day with no modern tools. Instead, it was built by pioneer grit, bolstered by the strength of their faith. Built by members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, it was the second temple completed in Utah 

Imposing sight of the Manti Temple as seen from the south side of town.

On a personal note, I have a familial connection with the Sanpete Valley. My great-great-great- grandfather, Charles Shumway, was among the very first settlers who entered the valley in 1849. The virgin land had yet to be tilled. As one might expect, there were conflicts with local Utes that lead to deaths on both sides. Even though Charles moved on by the time construction began on the temple, he played a vital role in the beginnings of that community. 

But as I waited in the long line, my mind was drawn to another story of the Manti Temple. 

Several years ago I had a man whom I'd never met get a hold of me. His name was Bernie Johnson and we were distant cousins. He had a binder full of stories that he wanted to share, most of his ancestors. One of them that was of particular interest was that of his great-great-grandfather, Jons Peter Ahlstrom.

Jons Peter Ahlstrom.

Peter, as he was known, was born in 1835 in Malmö, Sweden to Ole Nilsson Ahlström and Ingeborg Månsdotter. Around the year 1854 the family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. By 1855 they began their journey to America to join the Saints in Zion. 

Their treacherous journey to the Salt Lake Valley took nearly four years. In that time they traveled by boat, train and foot. During their crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, they experienced “heavy seas and hurricane weather,” their boat catching fire and a collision with another vessel. 

In Burlington, Iowa they paused their trip because they were out of money. Father Ole Ahlstrom obtained a job felling trees, but was killed when one rolled on top of him, fracturing his skull. This left Peter, at the age of 21, in charge helping his widowed mother. 

While in Burlington, Peter married a young woman named Mary Larsen. Their first baby died after ten days. When their second baby was nine weeks old they had enough money to finish the trip west. Mary walked the entire way to Utah holding the baby in her arms except when crossing rivers. They reached the Salt Lake Valley in August of 1859. 

Brigham Young advised them to move to the Sanpete Valley. They arrived a couple weeks later at Fort Ephraim where that winter they lived in a cellar Peter had dug. He built a fireplace and chimney and covered the cellar with willows, straw and dirt. The following summer they were able to build themselves a one-room adobe house, of which they were very pleased. 

This is not intended to be a detailed biography of Peter Ahlstrom's life. Suffice it to say, they lived a very hard life on the frontier, although throughout the years they gradually increased their level of comfort. One thing that enabled this was when Peter was able to procure his own tools, allowing him to take up once again his trade of carpenter and cabinetmaker which he had learned before leaving Sweden. He eventually built the family a larger home which included an orchard and livestock. 

Black and white of Manti Temple.

This brings us to the point in Peter's life that is relevant to our topic. By 1877 construction was beginning on the Manti Temple. Peter was employed as a carpenter and thus he built a little shed where he could keep his tools and sleep. During the eleven years of construction, Peter would work at the temple for six days. Each day one of his daughters would walk from Ephraim to give him food for lunch and supper. Then on Saturday evening he would walk the seven miles home so he could be with his family on Sunday. This would cause him great pain and fatigue because several years earlier he had an accident which left him lame. On Monday morning he would return to Manti where he would repeat the process. 

I will now quote the story Bernie gave me: 

“Peter was assigned as 'overseer' of the temple complex. After the roof was on the temple, Peter slept each night in a room in the basement. The night following the private dedication, Peter remembered he had left the window of a room on an upper floor open. He lit his one-candle powered lantern and hobbled up the stairs to close the window. Returning to go back to his room, he paused at the hallway to the sealing rooms. He starred in awe and amazement. His little candle could cause a few shadows to flicker on the walls for a few feet. A beam of light shimmered from the narrow gap under the closed door of the sealing room at the end of the hall. It was far brighter than any artificial light Peter had ever seen. The only thing Peter could compare it to was a beam of sunlight—a single beam of brilliant sunlight penetrating the darkness. 

“With fear and trepidation Peter approached the door, unlocked it, and slowly opened it. Standing above the alter he saw a personage clothed in white robes. A brilliant light surrounded him and filled the whole room. Shutting the door behind him, he hastily hurried back down the hallway, down more stairs, and into the doorway of President Daniel H. Wells' office. It was well after midnight; President Wells was probably the only other mortal still in the temple. 

“Trembling and quite frightened, Peter stammered: 'President Wells, there's an angel . . ., there is an angel . . .' Peter was unable to say more. President Wells calmly replied: 'Peter, no one needs to fear to see an angel of the Lord. It is not given to everyone to see them. But this is Moroni's temple and he has been here all day.'” 

For anyone unfamiliar with the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, Moroni was a central figure in the Book of Mormon and lived approximately 400 A.D. Later, as a resurrected being, he appeared several times to Joseph Smith, not only instructing him, but also leading him to the golden plates, from which Joseph would translate the Book of Mormon. 

Depiction of the angel Moroni visiting the boy Joseph Smith. (photo courtesy of Church Newsroom)

There are several stories in the Manti area of the angel Moroni. Some have been passed down as family stories while others have been nearly lost. Some are nowadays probably considered as folklore or myths. But the truth is that there are many accounts and many are first-hand. There is no doubt in my mind that most of them are largely true. 

After waiting an hour in the long line I was finally able to go inside the temple. It had been closed for two years to make renovations on the structure. They made their best effort to retain the pioneer spirit. Most of murals on the walls and furniture dated back to the late 1800's or early 1900's. Although several stories high, there was still no elevator in the building. 

Back side of Manti Temple.

As I walked through the temple I marveled at the craftsmanship. Great detail was given to things such as doorknobs and woodwork. Leading from one level to another were spiral staircases that seemed to twist perpetually upward. My mind wondered if perhaps Peter Ahlstrom could have worked on the fine wooden railing of these stairs. 

Several of the walls were covered in murals, some of which were painted by pioneers such as C.C. Christensen. The most famous mural, painted by Minerva Teichert, depicts several scenes in the world, including at the front an Indian chief standing above a valley with a temple in the background. 

Mural painted by Minerva Teichert.  (photo courtesy of Church Newsroom)

Spiral staircase at Manti Temple. (photo courtesy of Church Newsroom)

The largest room was an assembly hall with several pews and pulpits. In this room were several windows, all made with the old-time wavy glass, letting in the outside light. 

On the higher levels were several sealing rooms with an alter in the middle. One of them in particular was very ornate with a chandelier hanging above. As I walked by and observed I couldn't help but to wonder which of these rooms was used by the angel Moroni. 

The open-house for the Manti Temple only lasted three weeks. After this it would be rededicated and then only available to members of the church who are in good standing. 

At this point I was determined to make it back after the dedication. I got the idea that I would love to come back in a year or so with my daughter, Jenna. ♥ 

 

Peter Ahlstrom is buried in the historic Manti Cemetery, just below the temple.

 

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.