Delano Peak on Snowshoes (#21)

This would be my fifteenth time to summit Delano Peak, which I've done from almost every possible direction. I've been to the top in early summer, late fall, in the midst of dangerous lightning storms and on the most beautiful blue-sky days when the grassy slopes were full of colorful wildflowers. But never have I been there during the dead of winter.

To be sure, this was one of the driest winters in several years, so we were fortunate not to have six feet of snow on the mountain. But it wasn't bone-dry either. At these upper elevations there was at least 10 inches of snow and in some spots on the northern slopes over two feet.

As we arrived at the ski lodge above 10,000 feet, the temperature registered at 32ºF. That was thirteen degrees higher than last month when we pulled into this same spot to hike Mount Holly. Joining me on this soon-to-be miserable hike was Ricardo and Trevor.

The journey begins!

We strapped on snowshoes, avalanche beacons and backpacks. With no fanfare we began our ascent through the ski resort and into the backcountry. I could tell from the start that my body wasn't feeling well.

The pain was slight, a small ache in my upper abdomen that came from lap swimming the day before. The small ache had been off and on for the last five years, sometimes being almost non-existent and at other times transforming into a debilitating gnawing. No doctor has ever been able to absolutely diagnose the cause of this pain, but it has correlated perfectly with my polycythemia vera (which brought about an enlarged spleen and splenic varices).

Our plan was to snowshoe around Mount Holly to the base of Delano, and then up to the peak. Our line of travel would either be atop the hiking trail (which was covered in a foot of snow and completely imperceptible) or in whichever direction appeared to be the easiest.

About an hour into our hike we came to our first little challenge. It was a gulley with tall pine trees that dropped 150 feet on the north-facing slope. By this time we had lost the trail and we knew it. As we worked our way down the north face through the trees we quickly learned that the snow here was soft and about two feet deep. With each step my foot sank, the white fluffy powder coming above my knees. Inevitably, it didn't take long before I got tripped up, and suddenly I wallowed in the snow like a melting witch, grasping at branches or anything to hold myself up. Somehow Trevor had made it to the other side of the gulley unscathed, but Ricardo and I struggled. The big awkward snowshoes on our feet didn't help. For a while it felt as if I were trapped in quicksand, unable to move.

Floundering in the snow.

Once on the other side of the gulley, we were faced with a decision: Do we move downhill and try to reconnect with the trail, or do we work our way uphill and onto a ridge that could possibly lead to a shortcut? The ridge I refer to is a large bulk of mountain that lies in between Holly and Delano. I knew that if we followed it up that it would connect with another ridge that led to Delano. Another bonus was that it would keep us above the tree line. We chose to go up.

Going up was no easy task. We had to walk diagonally and use side-steps. This uphill movement was hell on me. I had to stop about every minute to rest my legs and catch my breath. It felt as if the blood inside my veins was gushing like a hose turned on full-blast. Ten years ago I was like a mountain goat. Now I felt like the fat kid that was slowing down the group.

The ridge continued to rise in elevation and we reached the crest where we could see the other side. From this viewpoint we could see another bulky ridge, this one leading to Delano Peak. But between us and it a formidable ravine blocked our direct passage. It probably wasn't impossible to pass through, but it was steep enough we didn't want to mess with it.

First close-up view of Delano.

With our eyes we followed the ridge up to the point where it made the final pitch to Delano and noted that it looked very steep, and possibly dangerous. Having been the one who had climbed there several times before, I gave no promises, but attested that up close it wasn't as bad as it looked. But, of course, that was in the summer. Now in the dead of winter, it could've been another story. We took our chances.

So up the ridge we hiked. It was a beautiful day. The sky was mostly clear, but patches of clouds eerily hovered to add some character. It is interesting to note that on many of these upper slopes, the ground was barren of snow. Wind in these parts was so strong and so consistent that any white flake that managed to touch the ground was eventually whisked away.

Silhouetted on the ridge.

On these large barren patches we removed our snowshoes and continued our hike unencumbered by the awkward footwear. As we climbed higher in elevation, the wind picked up speed. I pulled my balaclava up around my mouth. As each new ravine or cliff or rolling hill would come into view, I would scan for mountain goats. Nothing yet. I always wondered where they went during winter.

As we approached the crux I began to doubt whether we could reach Delano from this angle. We could see a small section of trail that was half covered in snow. At this point just under 11,900 feet, the trail came painfully close to the summit. A jaggedly steep defile covered in snow and loose rock blocked our passage.

We climbed to the faint trail and weighed our options. There weren't many. Perhaps if we had crampons and an ice pick we could go up, but I think the snow was too soft for that. Every option appeared too sketchy. We made the decision to backtrack.

We retreated the way we came, then dropped into a westward-facing gulley, losing 400 feet. Again we strapped the snowshoes over our boots and then negotiated a slope on the same mass as Delano. We still had to be careful doing this as the snow was deep and the slope was steep. Each of us took a slightly different route, but finally made it to a point where the slope wasn't so sketchy.

Having to go back down and lose 400 feet. 

Again, these south-facing slopes had been swept of snow, so we unstrapped our shoes and tied them to our packs. As we climbed I noticed goat poop on the tundra, indicating that they were here recently.

Without the shoes I was unburdened and my gait felt lighter. But I still moved at a snail's pace, having to stop frequently. I picked objects such as rocks and made it my goal to walk there without stopping. And when I made it, I rested, then chose another goal. Every inch of my body ached.

The final climb to the summit on a wind-swept slope.

At last we made it to the top! Delano Peak is 12,182 feet according to my GPS. It is the highest peak in Beaver and Piute counties, lying on the boundary. It took us 5 hours 20 minutes, covering 4.3 miles.

Delano always has a splendid view. There are peaks everywhere, most of them easily confused in the jumble of mountains. The two most prominent are Baldy and Belnap.

Delano Peak.

Panoramic view from the summit, looking northward.

Twenty minutes later it was time to work our way down. We weren't out of the woods yet. We still needed to reach the truck before dusk.

I usually only skim over the return trip, unless there is anything of note. The first hour and twenty minutes was a piece of cake compared to anything on the way up. We traveled a little over a mile and dropped 1,588 feet in elevation. The most dramatic event for me came when I slipped on ice and landed on my forehead, bending my glasses.

Once at the bottom, we strove to stay near the trail, but even with GPS on our phones, we found ourselves deviating several times. It was still no walk in the park. Several times we had small stretches of uphill while fighting deep soft snow.

At last on the way down!

I was ready for this hike to be over with. My whole body hurt. And now, with all the heavy inhaling of cold air, I worried about my lungs. I think we were all ready for this day to be done.

At last we came to the final crest, beyond which we could see the ski resort and knew that it was literally all downhill from here. In half an hour we dropped over 500 feet, and at last we were in the parking lot! It took 3 hours 51 minutes to come back, meaning we shaved off about an hour and a half.

As we packed up and were once again on the road, there were two salient points on my mind: 1.⸺I am so grateful this was a dry year. I can't imagine how hard this hike would have been with normal or heavy snowpack. And 2.⸺I will never again hike Delano from the lodge during winter! ♠

Delano Peak

Distance from car (one way): 4.3 miles

Net elevation gain to peak: 1,844 feet

Total elevation gain to peak: 2,520 feet

Final elevation: 12,182 feet

Total round-trip distance: 7.7 miles

Total round-trip elevation gain: 2,903 feet

Total round-trip time: 9 hours 36 minutes

Mount Holly in January (Peak #20)

It was seventeen degrees Fahrenheit when we pulled into the parking lot of the lodge. That was warmer than I expected. We were the first ones there. The sun had just crested over the forest of trees in the east.

We got out of the car and put on extra layers of pants, shirts, gloves and jackets. Then we strapped on snowshoes and began our small journey northward on a steady uphill slope of packed snow.

We were fortunate. Although it was the last week of January, this year was unusually dry. There had been some good storms at the beginning of winter, but for the last 50 days the mountain saw no snowfall.

But I didn't know what to expect. I'm not a seasoned winter hiker and had no idea whether I could stay warm. I wore three layers of pants, including good snow pants on the outside. My socks were doubled, one of them made out of merino wool. On top I wore a pair of long johns, a t-shirt, two long-sleeve sweat shirts, and a Loftek jacket that in the past had done well to keep the cold out. A black balaclava covered most of my head, topped with a beanie and the hood of my jacket. Two pairs of gloves covered my hands. My only weak spot was my boots. All I had were regular hiking boots. The sole on my snow boots were coming off.

The hike began from the lodge at 10,349 feet. Our original plan was to hike Delano Peak and take snowmobiles in five miles on another road, but the guy renting out the snowmobiles backed out on that plan due to possible whiteouts. So we opted to hike Mount Holly, which was closer to the lodge.

The first part of the hike fell within the boundaries of the ski resort, but we soon arrived at the backcountry. It's hard to say how deep the snow was here, but I would guess maybe a foot or more. It should have been several feet deep during a normal year.

One thing that made me nervous about hiking in the backcountry during winter was the fact that we needed to carry avalanche beacons. The thought of being buried alive under an avalanche terrified me. I would rather be shot to death. When Ricardo first invited me on this excursion, I told him the one stipulation was that we didn't get buried in an avalanche.

I should mention who was on this hike. There were three of us. Ricardo from Uruguay was a friend of mine, and several years ago he and I ran a trail marathon on this mountain, the Crusher in the Tushars. The other guy, Trevor, I had never met, but later we learned that we were distant cousins, which is never a surprise here in Utah.

I've climbed Mount Holly ten other times according to my count. In many ways it's an easy hike due to its proximity to pavement, but it's a steep little bugger and will certainly test your thighs. But I had never hiked it in winter . . . until today.

As we hiked, my body stayed relatively warm except my nose and my right-hand fingertips. As for the nose, I just had to put up with it. I tried pulling the balaclava over it, but it just steamed up my glasses. For my hands Trevor gave me a little heating pad that I shook up and placed between my two layers of gloves. That seemed to do the trick.

Despite the fact that most of the higher peaks had a couple feet of snow, I was pleasantly surprised that the southern slopes of Holly was largely devoid of snow due to constant wind. Once we arrived at a bare spot on the southern flanks, we removed our snowshoes and began the arduous hike in just our boots.

This part of Holly is difficult. It can separate the casual from the serious hiker. I think most hikers could do it, but it requires stamina. We pushed upward, resting every few minutes. As I climbed the blood pulsated through my body and my thighs burned. As we got higher, the intensity of the wind increased. There were shallow patches of snow, but nowhere near what I expected.

The peak of Mount Holly was as blistery as anticipated. The wind ramped up five-fold and suddenly we faced gusts that had to have been near sixty miles per hour. The view was the same I had seen many times over, only it was now covered in snow: Delano Peak reigned to the north, Mount Baldy to the northwest and a steep basin to our east. I could see no mountain goats anywhere.

Every time I removed my right glove to take a picture, my fingers stung with a frigid burning. I walked around, looking over the ledges on the east side to look for goats, but to no avail. We stayed at the summit no longer than ten minutes. The wind chill had to be near zero. Even the snot that drizzled from my nose to my beard instantly froze. It was time to find a location free from wind, and there we could take a small lunch break.

* * *

This account wouldn't be complete without sharing what happened after we finished our hike and were back at the car. Now the entire parking lot at the lodge was full with skiers and snowboarders moving around like ants. Trevor, who had a season pass for his family, proposed that we stay an extra hour and all go skiing. We could go for free on his pass.

My only objection was the embarrassing fact that I had never skied in my life, other than cross-country skiing a couple of times. Trevor agreed to be my tutor, and we could practice on the “bunny slopes.”

To make a long story short, the next hour was more miserable than anything we did on Mount Holly. I spent the entire time trying to make “pizzas” with my skis, wiping out on the snow, trying to get back up, and probably getting scoffed at by school kids who had aerial views from the ski lift. I received bruises on my elbow and hip, and would have received a concussion if I weren't wearing a helmet. I concluded that you can't teach an old dog new tricks! ♠

Mount Holly

Distance from car (one way): 1.9 miles

Elevation gain: 1,654 feet

Final elevation: 11,993 feet

Mountain Sheep Wash

The sun had yet to creep over the cliffs on this brisk morning a few days from winter solstice. We removed our shoes and were now wading across the Virgin River, the ice-cold water reaching my knees. Not long after reaching the other side a great blue heron leaped from his hiding spot and with wide gray wings flew to another secluded location downriver.

It felt exhilarating to be outside.

Crossing the Virgin River.

Today I traveled with Jenna. She just returned from living in Chicago and this would be her first true hike in a year and a half. We set out to explore a little-traversed arm of the Virgin River Gorge in Arizona.

The first mile of the hike followed the river around a large bend. The trail became hard to follow and in some places completely disappeared, I'm sure due to it being wiped out during spring floods. I kept an eye out for the heron, but didn't see it again.

Virgin River. 

Enjoying the river. 

At last we came to Mountain Sheep Wash, the dry tributary I intended to survey. Here there would be no trail. We ventured into the wash which veered in a southerly direction.

I will admit that I didn't have high expectations. Everything in the gorge appears very similar. There's wide California barrel cactus, cholla cactus, the occasional Joshua Tree, perhaps a quail or two and plenty of rugged and dry cliffs.

In years past the gorge has been prime habitat for desert bighorn sheep. But I hadn't seen one here in a couple decades. I think they were removed to protect cars on the freeway. But that didn't stop us from looking as it was truly prime habitat for them.

Mountain Sheep Wash.

Lots of unexplored country on the side hills. 

Cholla cactus. 

The wash itself was filled with rocks of many kinds, most of them white and smooth. It boggled my mind to wonder how so many rocks of different varieties ended up in one place. In some places are the sheer walls of a former dirt embankment with thousands of rocks embedded in the walls. As these walls continued to slough and drop these rocks, the occasional flash flood carried them to other locations downstream. As this process has continued for millions of years, I'm sure this would account for some of the variety. I even found a fossil of a shell embedded in one of the rocks.

As I gazed up and the rugged hillside I imagined that much of that space had never been trod by human foot. Of the few people like ourselves who were adventurous enough to hike the wash, I'll bet that nearly no one makes the additional effort to climb the hills and explore near the cliffs.

Interesting little cave we found along the way.

We continued in this wash for several miles. Occasionally there would be a fork, but we stayed in the main canyon. For most of it I saw no signs of human habitation or involvement.

At the 5.2 mile mark we came to a barbed wire fence that spanned the width of what was at that point a narrow canyon. After crossing we found that a black tubing, roughly one inch in diameter, stretched across the fence, coming from a location up-canyon. There was no running water in the tubing and it appeared it hadn't been used in a while.

We followed the tubing up the canyon and found that it led to troughs, some made of metal and one of plastic. They too were devoid of water. A rough dirt road led up a hill and additional tubing followed the road. My guess was that it led to Mountain Sheep Springs, which was further than we had time to travel. Obviously this was a spot where ranchers could water their cattle. Access to the dirt road would have to come from the south side, which would entail a long drive through the Arizona Strip.

Watering troughs. 

We chose to continue up the wash, and not to follow the road.

We didn't have too much further to go. On Google Maps I had spotted a location that appeared as if it had a cave. The colors of the rock changed to ocher and I hoped that perhaps we might find some old cowboy inscriptions or petroglyphs.

Twenty minutes later we departed the wash and walked uphill toward the formation I had found on Google Maps. We finally sat down and removed our packs, designating this as our official turnaround spot. Jenna took time to eat a sandwich while I explored the surroundings.

It turns out that my cave was no more than a rounded niche in the rock. But it was a pretty little niche with yucca plants growing within it. I walked around the entire periphery of the cliff face and found no writings. This didn't surprise me, but I was a little disappointed. Our total mileage to this location was 5.9 miles. Surprisingly, we gained 1,854 feet in elevation and were now at 4,035 feet.

This was my so-called cave that ended up being a niche in the rocks.

Interesting color on the rocks. 

Taking a lunch break before we turn back.

In spite of the disappointment, I took in the moment. We were without a doubt a long ways from anyone else. Other than the occasional cattle rancher, I'll bet almost no one comes this way. There was a satisfaction with setting foot in such a remote location.

The way back felt much shorter. We enjoyed conversation and not having the sun in our eyes. When we arrived at the river we found the great blue heron in his usual spot, perched atop a rock in the midst of the flow. Surprisingly, he allowed me to sneak up on him until I was a mere 100 feet away. Then he spread his wings and flew just a few feet away behind some growth. I was content and let him be. ♠

Great blue heron on the river. 

Great blue heron in flight.

20 Quotes of Wisdom (Part I)

Most books I read are full of underlined words, with notes in the columns. I do this because my memory is awful and later I can return to the book and recall those passages I found important or interesting.

The following twenty quotes are all from books I have read, or in a couple cases, from the mouth directly. None have I gathered from a book of quotes.

“For the mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for. Without a concrete idea of what he is living for, man would refuse to live, would rather exterminate himself than remain on this earth, even if bread were scattered all around him.”⸺Fyodor Dostoevsky as The Grand Inquisitor in The Brothers Karamazov.

“Whenever you go out-of-doors, draw the chin in, carry the crown of the head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in the sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. Do not fear being misunderstood and do not waste a minute thinking about your enemies. Try to fix firmly in your mind what you would like to do; and then, without veering off direction, you will move straight to the goal. Keep your mind on the great and splendid things you would like to do, and then, as the days go gliding away, you will find yourself unconsciously seizing upon the opportunities that are required for the fulfillment of your desire, just as the coral insect takes from the running tide the element it needs. Picture in your mind the able, earnest, useful person you desire to be, and the thought you hold is hourly transforming you into that particular individual. . . . Thought is supreme. Preserve a right mental attitude—the attitude of courage, frankness, and good cheer. To think rightly is to create. All things come through desire and every sincere prayer is answered. We become like that on which our hearts are fixed. Carry your chin in and the crown of your head high. We are gods in the chrysalis.”—Elbert Hubbard

“We must not lose touch with what we were, with what we had been, nor must we allow the well of our history to dry up, for a child without tradition is a child crippled before the world. Tradition can also be an anchor of stability and a shield to guard one from irresponsibility and hasty decisions.”—Louis L'Amour as Barnabas Sackett in To the Far Blue Mountains.

“. . . the scarlet letter had endowed her with a new sense . . . it gave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts . . . that the outward guise of purity was but a lie, and that, if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarlet letter would blaze forth on many a bosom besides Hester Prynne's.”—Nathaniel Hawthorne referring to the thoughts of Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter.

“But man is not made for defeat . . . A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.”—Ernest Hemingway as Santiago as he struggles to bring in a huge fish in The Old Man and the Sea.

“Attitude effects our thoughts, our thoughts affect our words, our words affect our behavior, and our behavior determines our character. Character is the summation of what we have done and who we have become. Our character is a reflection of our attitude. Attitude works best when we vigilantly look for and trust the small and subtle nudges that come from a higher power. Attitude works best when we keep an open heart to receive those sacred suggestions. Positive attitude is cultivated by giving simple, silent, and self-effacing service. Positive attitude increases and expands when we allow our minds time to meditate, ponder, and pray. Attitude works best when we have the courage to make those small changes we see, hear, and feel. Attitude is what guides us to become great. Great people create and accomplish great things. Greatness doesn't happen overnight. Greatness comes with practice. Greatness requires effort. Everything worthwhile in life requires effort. Commit yourself to being great!”—Jeff Griffin from his book, I'm Possible.

“Dependability is a greater asset than ability.”—Danny Shumway

“Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why beholdest though the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”—Jesus from The Sermon on the Mount.

“The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like the man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? 'No, thank you,' he will think. 'Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are the things of which I am most proud, though these are the things which cannot inspire envy.'”—Viktor Frankel in Man's Search For Meaning.

“The Master said, 'It is these things that cause me concern: failure to cultivate virtue, failure to go more deeply into what I have learned, inability, when I am told what is right, to move to where it is, and inability to reform myself when I have defects.'”—Confucius, from The Analects.

“The wise man works without working, he is employed without being employed, he savors that which is without savor. Great things or small things, many or few, are equal in his eyes. He repays injuries with kindness. He begins with easy things when considering hard things; and with little things when planning great things. The hardest things in the world began of necessity by being easy. The greatest things in the world began of necessity by being small. Therefore the Saint seeks not at all to do great things; this is why he can accomplish great things. He who promises lightly, rarely keeps his word. He who finds many things easy, of necessity meets them with difficulties. Therefore the Saint finds all things difficult; that is why, to his life's end, he meets with no difficulties.”—Lao Tzu, from the Tao Te Ching.

“Over my nine and a half decades of life, I have concluded that counting our blessings is far better than recounting our problems. No matter our situation, showing gratitude for our privileges is a fast-acting and long-lasting spiritual prescription. Does gratitude spare us from sorrow, sadness, grief and pain? No, but it does soothe our feelings. It provides us with a greater perspective on the the very purpose and joy of life.”—President Russell M. Nelson

“A family is a great arrangement that God has provided for men like myself, because even a man like me must have someone in the world to love him...”—Fyodor Dostoevsky as Nikolai Ilyich Snegirev in The Brothers Karamazov.

“Without a plan they rove, searching for work to occupy them, and what they end up doing is not what they have intended to do but whatever they have bumped into; they scurry around without aim or purpose like ants crawling through bushes, that idly make their way to the top of some twig and then to the bottom: it is a life like this that most men lead, one that might justly be described as a restless idleness.”—Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“My counsel to those who judge . . . is to become a light, not a judge—in other words, to stop trying to change their spouse and just go to work on themselves, to get out of a judging mind-set, to stop trying to manipulate or give love conditionally.”—Stephen R. Covey in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Families.

“For every challenge, remember the resources you have within you to cope with it. Provoked by the sight of a handsome man or a beautiful woman, you will discover within you the contrary power of self-restraint. Faced with pain, you will discover the power of endurance. If you are insulted, you will discover patience. In time, you will grow to be confident that there is not a single impression that you will not have the moral means to tolerate.”—Epictetus, from the Enchiridion.

“There are no bad herbs, and no bad men; there are only bad cultivations.”—Victor Hugo as Monsieur Madeleine in Les Miserables.

“Temperance.⸺Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation. Silence.⸺Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation. Order.⸺Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time. Resolution.⸺Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. Frugality.⸺Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing. Industry.⸺Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions. Sincerity.⸺Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly. Justice.⸺Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. Moderation.⸺Avoid extremes; forbear resenting inquiries so much as you think they deserve. Cleanliness.⸺Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloths, or habitation. Tranquility.⸺Be not disturbed at trifles or at accidents common or unavoidable. Chastity.⸺Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation. Humility.⸺Imitate Jesus or Socrates.”—13 virtues with their precepts from The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.

“The idea that each of us has the ability to prevent evil from entering the world through us personally means that we each posses a degree of influence. This means that through our decisions—big and small—we determine whether good or evil is allowed to flourish.”—Bryan Hyde from the Fifty-two Seven Alliance.

“A wagoner was driving his team along a muddy lane with a full load behind them, when the wheels of his wagon sank so deep in the mire that no efforts of his horses could move them. As he stood there, looking helplessly on, and calling loudly at intervals upon Hercules for assistance, the god himself appeared, and said to him, 'Put your shoulder to the wheel, man, and goad on your horses, and then you may call on Hercules to assist you. If you won't lift a finger to help yourself, you can't expect Hercules or any one else to come to your aid.'”—from Hercules and the Wagoner in Aesop's Fables. ♠

California's City of the Dead

Several years ago I was considering a trip to Egypt when I discovered that Cairo had a mammoth cemetery that stretched four miles long! As someone who loves cemeteries, I couldn't help but to look into this ancient necropolis. It is nearly 1,500 years old and is so vast that squatters live among the tombs. Common people were buried here as well as historical figures and elites. The huge burial ground has been called “City of the Dead.”

I still hope to visit Cairo someday, but for now our trip to Egypt didn't pan out. But imagine my delight when I learned that California had its own “City of the Dead.” And it happened to be near San Francisco, which is where we were headed for our next vacation!

The story begins in 1848 with the California Gold Rush. The discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill brought thousands of people to the area around San Francisco. The city grew, albeit in a chaotic manner.

As people moved in, many inevitably died, creating the need for cemeteries. In the 1850's four large cemeteries were built near Lone Mountain: Laurel Hill, Odd Fellows, Calvary and Masonic. By the 1880's there were 26 cemeteries within city limits.

Lone Mountain in modern-day San Francisco. In the 1800's there were four cemeteries around this hill.

In the latter part of the 1800's some people in the United States began to be wary of having residential areas so close to cemeteries. They feared that disease would be transmitted by wind, or that it could seep into the ground and contaminate the water supply. As a result, many places began building graveyards beyond the city limits.

This suited San Francisco well, as they also had the issue of cemeteries reaching capacity. In 1887 the archbishop of the Catholic church purchased 300 acres a few miles south of San Francisco in what is now Colma. This would become the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery, which is now the largest in Colma.

Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Colma, California.

This area was thought to be unsuitable for a residential area and no one foresaw that someday the city might expand out that far. Some of the area was used for farming, but much of land around San Francisco, and especially near the ocean, was filled with sand dunes.

But the area worked well for a cemetery. The rail line to San Jose went by there, which made it a convenient trip. One could hold a service in the city and then travel on a train or street car to the cemetery for burial.

The cemetery issue in San Francisco grew worse and in 1900 the city created a new law that banned all new burials. Without public funding many of the cemeteries fell into disrepair. Tombstones and statues were toppled and in some cases people saw skeletons protruding from the ground. New cemeteries began to pop up near the Catholic cemetery in Colma.

Statue in Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery.

In 1912 things got interesting when San Francisco decided to eliminate all cemeteries in the city. Yes, this meant moving them! This was a long process. When exhuming bodies, if the casket was still in good shape then both the body and casket were moved. If not, the bodies were thrown into boxes and moved that way. The family could purchase the headstone for $10. Headstones left behind were used for public projects or dumped in the bay. Colma became the new home to rebury San Francisco's dead.

By the 1940's an estimated 150,000 graves had been moved. As you might imagine, hundreds of graves were unintentionally (or intentionally) left behind. To this day graves still show up during construction projects and other works. It truly is a Poltergeist-like scenario where neighborhoods have been built atop abandoned graveyards.

Entrance to Russian and Chinese cemeteries. 

Russian Sectarian Cemetery.

Hoy Sung Ning Yung Chinese Cemetery.

Offerings at headstone in Hoy Sung Ning Yung Cemetery.

Today there are only two cemeteries within San Francisco city limits: Mission Dolores Cemetery and San Francisco National Cemetery. The area around Lone Mountain where the “Big Four” used to reside has become filled with residential neighborhoods and the University of San Francisco.

Colma has a living population of 1,500 people, but an estimated 1.5 million dead. A drive down El Camino Real furnishes views of expansive green graveyards on both sides of the road.

Persian graves at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park.

Serbian Cemetery. Notice the Russian Orthodox crosses. 

Our visits to the cemeteries in Colma were peripheral. Our hotel was in Colma, but most of our days were spent in San Francisco. If I had time in the morning I would take a quick drive through some of the burial grounds.

Several famous people are buried here, including Joe DiMaggio, Willie McCovey, Levi Strauss and Wyatt Earp. I enjoyed seeing the different styles of headstones that correlated with different nationalities or religions. Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery had several stone statues and crosses. I was surprised to see so many Russian Orthodox crosses at the Serbian Cemetery, surely a relic from Soviet occupation or their Slavic roots. Chinese headstones were etched with Hanzi characters, often with offerings at the base. Headstones at the Jewish cemetery, with their Hebrew letters, appeared to be crammed very close together, similar to photos of other Jewish cemeteries I've seen from around the world.

Grave of Joltin' Joe DiMaggio at Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery.

By the time we had to leave for our next destination I had just scratched the surface of what the cemeteries in Colma had to offer. As a taphophile, I could have spent days here wandering through the different cemeteries, exploring in depth the variety and history this place had to offer.

The stories beneath the surface would be fascinating to uncover. Not only did San Francisco attract those from the eastern United States, but also immigrants from all around the world, and especially Asia. The collection of cemeteries in Colma represent the melting pot of San Francisco, and indeed, all of America. ♠

Salem Memorial Park and Garden (Jewish Cemetery).