Wild Thanksgiving

When Savanah opened the door, she was stunned! Her eyes couldn't believe who was standing on our doorstep.
 
“Grandma and Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
 
My parents live five hours away and we only see them a few times a year. When they come to visit, I always give my kids a heads-up. I would especially do it if they were to come the day before Thanksgiving!
 
I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back up and explain a few other details . . .
 
As with most families, we alternate the place we go for Thanksgiving between my family and that of my wife. This year we were to make the four-hour drive to Mantua, Utah to be with Jenelle's family. Thanksgiving is always a double-edged sword for me. I love visiting either side of the family, especially with members whom I rarely see. But on the other hand, my job only allows one day off, which means it is always a quick and miserable trip, leaving in the dark on Wednesday, and returning in the dark on Thursday.
 
And I'm always worried about the weather. The end of November can always send a squall that will jab you in the heart if you're not careful. We've been caught in several snow storms over the years. I remember one Thanksgiving coming home from Monticello when we landed ourselves in a white-knuckled adventure in the mountains near Salina on I-70. We spent two hours at nine o'clock in the evening waiting at a rest area, bundled in blankets, before continuing the harrowing drive home.
 
As we kept an eye on the weather report, I became more concerned. It seemed that with each passing day the forecast became more dire. What began as a chance of rain turned into seven inches of snow, both on Wednesday and Thursday. On Monday we made the difficult decision to cancel our plans to Mantua and spend the holiday by ourselves at home.
 
I should inject here that this time of year is a difficult time for us. My daughter, Brittany, passed away around the holidays seven years ago. In fact, the day before Thanksgiving would have been her 21st birthday. Since her passing we have always celebrated her birthday by eating Thai fried rice, which was the last meal she ever fully ate.
 
So now that plans had changed, the busy work began. We had to buy turkey, pies, whip cream, stuffing, corn and all the good food that comes with Thanksgiving. We had never eaten Thanksgiving dinner with just our family. With Brittany gone, there are only four kids now, all of them in the house, except for Jordan who lives in town. It would be a simple dinner, but of course now we would have to do all the work.
 
The day before Thanksgiving was one of the craziest days I've experienced in a long time. First of all, the weather was insane! We knew the storm was blowing in, but we didn't think it would blow in like a hurricane. Gusts had to be around 60 miles per hour! With snow already on the ground, our entire town looked like a cloud of powder. Trash skidded across the streets and flaps of siding dangled from rooftops. Mammoth pine trees were toppled. Semi trucks were tipped over on the freeway like matchbox cars. And I had to work in all this!
 
That's when Savanah answered the door. Jenelle sent me a photo-text with a picture of my parents sitting in our living room. Now it was all coming back to me . . .
 
My mom had called me about a month ago and asked what we were doing for Thanksgiving. When I told her we were traveling to Mantua, she said that was too bad because they were actually going to be traveling through our town on their way to St. George. They were going with my brother and his family to California the day after Thanksgiving, but as for Thanksgiving day, they had no place to eat. Their plan was to find a Chuck-o-rama or other establishment that would serve a Thanksgiving dinner. And I didn't give it a second thought because I knew we would be gone . . . or so I thought.
 
When our plans changed, the fact that my parents would be passing through town never entered my mind. But once Jenelle notified me they were here, my memory was quickly jogged. I now recalled that they didn't have a place to eat. “We should invite them to eat with us,” I texted Jenelle. She agreed.
 
But what came next took me off guard. Jenelle texted back and said that Adam would be coming, also. Adam is my brother that is traveling to California with my parents. The snow ruined their Thanksgiving plans, too. He has a wife and three kids. So, on a dime, our Thanksgiving plans changed from a simple meal with six people, to a feast with thirteen.
 
The next twenty-four hours was spent buying more food and preparing what we could. Jenelle was the mastermind behind everything and made most of the dishes. Wednesday evening I made the fried rice and we ate ice cream and cake after dinner. Then we reminisced on memories of Brittany while sitting in the living room.
 
Early Thursday morning we put the turkey in the oven, then spent the next several hours baking rolls, whipping up potatoes, dicing vegetables and a plethora of other chores associated with Thanksgiving dinner. The guests arrived around around 11:00 and they too pitched in. The kids played Carcasonne in the hallway and my dad watched a Spaghetti Western.
 
Everything came together remarkably well. As we ate dinner, all the bites and drops tasted magnificent. Snow had fallen over night, so all was white, but by now the roads outside had dried. It was a pleasant day for conversation.
 
One more aspect to this holiday made it special. The last time we hosted a Thanksgiving dinner in our home was twenty-one years ago. You guessed it . . . the year that Brittany was born. Because Jenelle was due any day, my family decided it was best to travel to us instead of making us travel to them. Jenelle prepared most of the dinner that year also. We ate a sumptuous meal and the next day, early in the morning, we both drove to St. George where Jenelle was induced. Later that day a healthy baby girl was born. She came with dark hair and wide hazel-colored eyes, perhaps with a hint of blue. She appeared very alert and aware of her surroundings. On that day we nicknamed her pumpkin. ♠

Paiute Powwow (from an outside perspective)

For me it is the rhythmic pounding of the drums that draws allure. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM. Over and over. Pa-POOM, pa-POOM, pa-POOM! And then the shrill scream of the singers, like a pack of wild coyotes screaming in the night.
 
I believe tonight was my fourth powwow. I arrived at the Paiute tribal grounds just ten minutes before the grand entry. It didn't go as planned.
 
Participants and onlookers gathered in a large circle on the grass, beneath shade huts and on chairs and feet. Beyond all of us, a beautiful backdrop of red hills that are iconic of Cedar City.
 

A tall man with two long dark braids stood and addressed the crowd. He had bad news. He announced that his uncle, Bryant Jake, had died just 45 minutes ago and they were postponing the grand entry until 7:30 so family members could go to his house and pay their respects before they took the body away.
 
This took me off-guard. I met and talked with Bryant just a few months earlier. He was dying from cancer, but looked fairly healthy the day I saw him. I asked him about an old burial site west of town, and he—rightfully so—was reluctant to tell me much about it. There are very few people left who know the location of that site.
 
During the time of powwow, the beating of drums and high-pitched chanting reverberates over the hills and can be heard through all the neighborhood. It can be a surreal experience. Bryant Jake lived just a couple blocks away. No doubt that as he lay dying at his home, it was as if the spirits were calling him to his eternal home.
 

A powwow is a gathering of many Indian tribes. Here there were Shoshone, Ute, Navajo, different bands of Paiute. In the past I have seen Aztec from Southern California and a tribe from Canada. A drummer near us this evening came from Kansas. I have a pretty good feel of how the local Paiute look, as well as some of the Ute and Navajo around the state, but as I walked around the grounds, it was obvious that there were many from distant places, whose facial features and skin tone were different.
 
It is also interesting to note the difference between Natives and Anglos. We, the Anglos, are curious. We come with our big cameras and phones to record the event. The Natives just participate.
 
I talked with a white guy from Dallas, Texas who had a camera and was filming a documentary on the local Paiutes. For the last three years he has interviewed members and attended other tribal events. Of particular interest he has followed the recent controversy where our local school board voted (to the ire of much of the community) to change the “Redmen” mascot at the local high school.—I will note that I saw a local Paiute lady wearing a Redmen sweater at the powwow.
 

When the grand entry began, the drums began to beat and a long line of men, women and children from all the different tribes made their way into the inner circle of the grounds, some walking, and others stomping their feet in dance. They wore regalia of feathers, bells, tall moccasins and costumes of color. Some painted their face. One of the men wore a headdress. A woman wore a leather shawl and twirled like a flamenco dancer. All in all, it was a beautiful sight.
 
At the lead of the long procession marched the veterans holding three different flags, including that of the Paiute Tribe, state of Utah, and United States. I am always impressed at how the Natives are so patriotic. And to be a veteran is held in high regard among the community.
 
As the the evening continued, more dancing, singing and drumming ensued. I believe there is a competition for each of these, as there are tags with numbers attached to the regalia. I will admit that I don't understand everything that goes on at a powwow, but I am trying to learn more each year.
 

I did notice, however, that they pay high respect to their elders. At one point they brought an elderly lady in a wheelchair and her family into the circle and honored her by talking of her and singing to her. (When I say “sing” I mean they beat on the drums and the drummers made their high-pitched shrill that is typical powwow music.) Sometimes the singing just sounds like beautiful noise, but sometimes I can tell there are words in there, most likely of native tongue.
 
Upon observing the elderly lady's family, I noticed that several were Anglo, meaning some of the kids probably inter-married. This is a microcosm of their culture as they have had to adopt many of the white-man ways over the past 170 years. Say what you'd like about inter-racial marriages, but within two or three generations, usually one of the two races is usually wiped away from the family culture. I couldn't help but to feel a twinge of sorrow for the old lady, knowing that more than likely, it will be the Paiute culture that disappears from her descendants.
 

As a person who is curious of history and culture, I have always been fascinated with the powwow and how it relates to the native people, which in this case is the Paiute. There seems to be powwows spread across the western United States, yet I don't believe the celebration is indigenous with each of the tribes that do it. From my understanding, the powwow originates with the Plains Indians, who are very far away from Cedar City.
 
So, if the powwow is a transplant to the Paiutes, then when did it come and what sort of dances did they do before it arrived? And furthermore, does the powwow do justice in carrying on local traditions, or does it aid an environment where local traditions and customs are inadvertently lost?
 

I asked around a bit and got a few answers. The first powwow held in Cedar City was in 1980 in commemoration for the tribe being restored its Federal recognition. I believe they have had powwows every year since then.
 
A tribal friend told me that in the past they held Bear, Round, and Sun Dances. She has seen pictures of them dating to around the 1940's. She said they used to wear buckskin, made of deer, and that she recalls her grandmother sewing gauntlets, which are a type of glove made of leather.
 

I think it is very difficult to know which dances and traditions are indigenous to the local Paiutes here in Cedar City. From what I understand, even before the white man came, they were very poor and nomadic. Does that mean they had few customs of their own? I don't know. Perhaps they met with bordering bands, such as the Shivwits or the Pahvant, during times such as harvest and held celebrations. What interactions did they have with their distant cousins, the Utes? I believe the Bear Dance is of Ute origin.
 
The more and more I observe Native people, I realize that they tend to cling to each other. Their tribe affiliation becomes less important. There are so few of them that they strive for strength in numbers. This makes sense to me. So, therefore, even though a powwow may have originated on the Plains, this is irrelevant. A powwow is an excuse to get together and celebrate their similar heritage.
 
I found a quote that substantiates this idea: “A powwow is a gathering, it's a celebration. A powwow used to be to welcome the spring or you'd have a powwow after a good harvest, or you'd have a powwow for a celebration, or if someone was having a significant birthday. Now-a-days powwows are year round, any weekend, any calendar you can find powwows somewhere in the U.S. Or Canada. For me, a powwow is a gathering to see old friends and to make new friends.” (Tina Calamity, The Spanish Trail Suite Interviews)
 

As the evening moved forward, the shadows on the dancers grew longer before they completely faded away into the darkness of twilight. But now the big field lights came on the dancers continued to dance and the drums continued their beat.
 
There are still a lot of questions that remain unanswered for me, but that's alright. I go with the flow. But one thing I am sure of is that it is no coincidence that Bryant Jake died on this day at this time, with all his family members here. I'm sure the spirits were on the other side, being summoned by the rhythm of the drums, the shrill of the scream, and the jingling of the bells to bring him into the next world. ♠

To Chain Lakes and Beyond (Day 4)

Atwood Lake.

Once again, I did not sleep well last night. The muscle in my left hamstring felt irritated and no position I laid seemed to soothe it. My sleeping bag, socks and t-shirt all felt damp. After such a big rain storm as yesterday, I think everything became damp, whether or not it was directly touched with water. I activated four hand-warmers—two at my feet and two near my chest—and that seemed to help. I woke twice to an animal clanging around our pots and pans outside the tent. Luckily, it was only a deer.
 
Atwood Lake is another man-made reservoir. I don't know any of the history behind it. There is an abandoned cabin that looks like it was built in the early 1900's. Some of the area around the dam looks like it has been cleared with heavy machinery, which is interesting because there are no roads within ten miles.
 

Old cabin near Atwood Lake.

Atwood Lake is the biggest lake we have encountered during our four days in the wilderness. It is 1.7 miles long and about a third of a mile wide. During the morning before the breeze had picked up I watched the reflection of the peaks on the lake. From here you can see Mount Emmons, King's Peak and South King's Peak.
 
Although we were able to enjoy a small portion of the morning, there was no time to waste. We had to get off the mountain today, hopefully early enough to make the 5 ½ hour drive home—and hiking wouldn't be easy. It would be 13 miles downhill with 40 pound packs on our shoulders.
 

Mighty peaks of the Uintas as seen from Atwood Lake.

So we began hiking. We kept a good pace and tried to spread out our breaks and stops. Some portions of the trail were decent, but others were rocky and unpleasant to travel over. We hiked through timbered terrain until we came to Roberts Pass, which leads into Krebs Basin. The pass, as they have all been, was excruciatingly tiresome because it required a steep uphill with already tired legs. Although I have been critical of much of the trail system, I was impressed with the trail over the pass. Instead of having to step over large boulders, the path had been blasted out, which made our walking relatively easy. Roberts Pass topped off at 11,149 feet.
 

Atwood Creek.

The trail over Roberts Pass.

We now found ourselves in a new basin with amazingly beautiful and rugged lakes. These are known as Chain Lakes.
 
I couldn't help but to think of how rugged and remote this place is. It had been over twenty-four hours since we had seen another hiker. I looked at the expanse of wilderness beyond one of the lakes and wondered if anyone ever went there. Right now we barely had enough energy to stay on the trail, let alone explore anywhere else.
 
Like clockwork, our afternoon rain storm came around 3 pm. We donned our rain gear and kept trekking. Once again the trail filled with water and all was wet. At one point while walking along a lake, the water level was so high that it covered the trail.
 
We passed four wild lakes, none of them with a fine sandy beach, but with shores of pine trees, rocky hills and mountain grass.
 

Fourth Chain Lake.

Upper Chain Lake.

After the lakes we entered a thick timber with both swift and gentle streams running through it. All the streams were swollen from rain and we crossed them either by hopping atop exposed rocks, or using a long log placed over the surface, on which we had to adroitly use our balancing skills. I wondered how many streams we had crossed in the past four days—probably over a hundred. I didn't hesitate to fill up my water bottle and freely drink the cold, clear fluid.
 
Eventually, all the water flows into the Uinta River. The further we traveled on the trail, the closer we came to this confluence. But when the rushing roar of the river finally came within hearing distance, we were still high above it. The trail followed a series of never-ending switchbacks to the bottom. For me this was a brutal stretch. I pushed on because I knew we had to, but my energy was spent. The downhill march with heavy weight on my back tortured my feet. The flesh of my feet was raw with blisters.
 

Bridge over Uinta River.

The trail crosses the river at a bridge. From here it is three miles to the end. This is the only portion of the loop that overlaps. I noted that this time the trail was wet and muddy. The level of the river must have risen over the last four days because a portion of it now flowed over the trail and then back again.
 
But at last we came to the end!
 
I took off my pack one last time, never on this trip to put it back on. By now it was 9 pm and the sun had set.
 
The hike as a whole was quite amazing. In four days we journeyed over fifty-two miles, beginning at an elevation of 7,795 feet and reaching a maximum elevation of 13,527 feet. We pushed ourselves hard everyday, almost having no time to enjoy it. I've never seen so many lakes and water in one place, especially in the American West. I've also never fought so many mosquitoes. It rained on us for at least an hour every day. This place is wild and remote, yet was sprinkled with a bit of history. The faint trail system can make it easy to get lost. For the adventurous person, there is a whole new world waiting to be explored away from the trail.
 
Total distance today: 13.1 miles. Total on trip: 52.7 miles.
 
Now that we were back, I had one remaining matter of business. We walked toward the river, to a tiny tributary, and stooped down to a pile of sticks, grass and a rock in the water. I disassembled the pile and pulled out a six-pack of Mountain Dew. Now our journey was complete! ♠

Upon a Royal Throne (Day 3)

It has been a long and crazy day. At last I am in my tent, although not completely dry.
 
The first half of our goal today was to hike King's Peak, the highest peak in Utah at 13,528 feet. I have been there once before, although we accessed it from Henry's Fork on the north side near the Wyoming border. That was nineteen years ago. I was obliged to go with my friend, Russ, and his father, who was a seasoned cowboy from Uri, Wyoming. We brought four horses in, which included one for each of us. The fourth was a pack horse and we loaded him up with panniers, three sleeping bags, a tent, a fold-up chair, and an ax. We covered all this with a tarp and cinched it tight with rope. We camped the night at Dollar Lake in an large canvas tent. We knew the temperature dipped below freezing that night because we found ice in our water bucket. Russ and I woke up before dawn and hiked over Gunsight Pass to the southern slopes of the Uinta Mountains. Not knowing the best way to the top, we tackled the peak head-on. On that day we saw no other hikers near the peak, and since I arrived before Russ, for twenty minutes I was the highest person in all of Utah.
 

But that was nineteen years ago and things were different today. As we approached Anderson Pass we began to see the hikers filing in. Until today, we had scarcely seen any other people. I guess that the tallest peaks tend to attract the crowds. Everyone we met was coming from the north side.
 
I was surprised how almost nothing looked familiar. Even though it had been nineteen years, I should still have remembered something.
 
Just before reaching the Pass we left the trail and began to scale upward. For the most part it was boulder-hopping. Even the ascent didn't feel familiar.
 

Looking west during our ascent.

One of the false summits.

After a few false summits, we finally arrived at the true one. To my complete surprise, there was a young couple already there with their three-year-old daughter! They carried her up in a baby backpack carrier.
 
A complete panoramic view is uninhibited from the summit. Tall rocky ridges seem to crawl in every direction, each flanked by its own basin filled with thick timber and lakes. Mount Gilbert and Mount Emmons are seen from here, each being among the tallest peaks in the range. We could see Painter Basin directly below us and Atwood Basin in the distance, which is our destination tomorrow. The High Uintas are buffered by so much wilderness that I couldn't see any sign of modern development, even from our high vantage point.
 

An amazing father that carried his 3-year-old daughter to the summit!

View from King's Peak. In the distance you can see Mount Emmons and Atwood Lake.

I was impressed with the amount of people doing day trips from Henry's Fork—a round-trip distance of 28 miles. One couple ran most of it. Another man left at 4 am. The ridge to the summit seemed to be one continual train of hikers coming and going.
 
I was happy to get down the peak when we did. Storms were moving in. A lot of people were still on their way up. Streams seemed to flow everywhere and short, stubby flowers grew all around.
 

King's Peak.

By the time we returned to Painter Basin, the storms had caught up to us. I first felt solid pellets of hail hitting my face, blowing in from the north. Then it turned into an all-out assault. Luckily, Devin ran ahead of us and arrived at camp just in time to cover a few essential items.
 
We spent the next hour hunkered down inside our tents, waiting out the storm. (I calculated that our round-trip to King's Peak of 6.4 miles took us 5 ½ hours.) Once the storm passed we cleaned up camp and set out again.
 
At this point we had 22 miles left on our hike. Whatever we didn't do today would have to be done tomorrow. And tomorrow we also have to drive five hours to home.
 

Stream in Painter Basin.  South King's Peak in background.

From all the rain, the entire basin was one large marshland. Rivulets of water flowed from all directions. As we crossed the basin toward Trail Rider Pass I realized that the streams we now crossed were the headwaters of the Uinta River. In the last three days we have crossed dozens of streams. It was now becoming an old routine.
 
The pass into Atwood Basin is a rocky hill that is exposed. Another round of storms were now moving in and it was my goal to be up and over the pass before they met us. We didn't make it.
 
Just after cresting, the lightning and rain came together. We moved faster, but it was all around us. In desperation we chucked our trekking poles and crouched low next to a boulder. The entire experience was very nerve-racking. Lightning struck all around us, including many places on the path ahead. For forty-five minutes we sat crouched near the boulder. Some bolts struck in front of us, while others reverberated from behind. We kept light humor between the three of us, but we all knew that if just one strip of lightning decided to come our way, we would become toast.
 

Atop Trail Rider Pass waiting out a thunderstorm and doing a lot of praying!

Once the storm slowed down, we moved with haste into the basin. Even though the rain had stopped, everything was wet. Trees were saturated in moisture and the trail was nearly one continuous puddle of water. In spite of our miserable condition, I found beauty in the columbines and other wildflowers that grew along the trail.
 
We had hoped to make it down to Chain Lakes today, but that wasn't going to happen. We arrived at Atwood Lake, a massive reservoir of water, and found a cleared area near the dam on the east side. We decided to set up camp here.
 

Atwood Lake.

Columbine.

We are all exhausted and miserably cold. I am trying to warm up inside my sleeping bag, but even that is slightly damp. All my clothing is moist and cold. I am glad that tonight is our final night. Now if we can survive it!
 
Total distance today: 12.5 miles. Total on trip: 39.6 miles. Elevation at camp: 11,039 feet.
 

Sunset on Atwood Lake.

[As a side-note, after returning home from our backpacking trip, it bothered me that very little of our summit to King's Peak had looked familiar. Could it be that we hiked the wrong peak in 2000? A prominent, but less lofty peak rose to the northwest. Could we have accidentally hiked this peak instead? In my journal I recorded the view from the top: “Mount Emmons to the southeast, however, appeared to be taller.” Could the peak that I thought was Mount Emmons, really have been King's Peak? I had almost completely convinced myself that we had hiked the wrong peak until I examined a single picture that I had taken from the top. To my relief, it matched exactly with a picture that I took on this most recent trip, with objects in the foreground that could not have been seen from any other location except King's Peak.
 
In the year 2000, our trip to King's Peak occurred in October. By the time we returned to camp, loaded up the horses and rode back to the trail-head, we noticed dark storm clouds just behind us. After we arrived at the vehicles and were driving out, we observed fresh powder on the peaks. Shortly thereafter we learned that the mighty Uintas received over two feet of new snow. We were lucky to have made it out!] 

King's Peak from the north side in 2000.

Trekking to Painter Basin (Day 2)

The worst part about waking up this morning was putting on the same sopping stuff—wet socks, wet shoes, wet pants. But the best part was waking up to vapors of steam rising over Fox Lake.
 
Fox Lake lies at 10,778 feet in elevation. I was surprised to find old cowboy cabins here. The more I explored this morning I learned the lake was man-made. A dam was built across portions of it and at the far end is a spillway.
 
I slept pretty good, except that I had to keep continually turning. My left hip was so sore that it was painful to lay on.
 

Fox Lake.

Old cabins near shore of Fox Lake.

Crescent Lake.

Our journey began pleasant enough. Skies were all blue and we had high hopes of drying out. The first mile went relatively fast.
 
Our hike today was spent on trails that were as far north as you can get and still be on the south drainage of the Uinta Range. We passed several lakes and once again had a struggle staying on the faint trail. At one point I believe we were traveling at a slower pace than yesterday. For me, all the pains and aches from the previous day persisted.
 

High-mountain trail, looking north toward the divide.

At one point the faint trail took us north near the slopes that represent the divide. From this vantage point I couldn't help but to notice the vastness of this mountain range. Well off the trail are basins and other sections that are rarely seen by people. How many lakes are out there waiting to be explored?
 
From here the trail hooks back and takes us to Kidney Lakes, of which the trail runs right between the two. It was near this point where we lost the trail completely for about fifteen minutes. I'm glad we found it again. I'd hate to get lost out here.
 

A vast wilderness.

As anticipated, a storm began to brew. When the rain started to pour, we scrambled for our rain-gear. The downpour continued for two hours and drenched everything. There was no dry place to step. Once we had to forge a stream that was a foot deep, completely saturating our boots. My poncho was cumbersome and twisted on my body. I kept stepping on the front flap and tripping. My feet were sore and I had no energy. This was true misery.
 
Luckily for us, the deluge ended. By this time evening was approaching and we found ourselves in Painter Basin. This is a beautiful valley with green grass all around, a stream and tall mountain walls on three sides.
 

Cold mountain stream in Painter Basin.

We passed a camp who had ridden horses from Henry's Fork and had their horses tied up. The men sat on camp chairs near the fire. We hollered a small conversation with them as we passed by and they wished us luck on our endeavor.
 
I should say that for most of this trip we have battled mosquitoes. At times we have been attacked by hundreds of them. In Painter Basin, it was no different. The mosquitoes were our only drawback.
 

One of many lakes in Painter Basin.

We found a campsite that looks over much of the basin. We can hear streams on both sides. We have an excellent view of Gunsight Pass and can see many peaks over 13,000 feet.
 
We built a fire to create smoke to get rid of the mosquitoes and also for warmth. We are close to 11,000 feet and it is a bit cold up here—especially when you're wet. We cooked dinner and read the story of Enos and his wrestle with the Lord while hunting wild beasts.
 
An additional surprise was the sheer volume of stars in the sky. We are about thirty miles from any civilization, leaving the sky free from an interference. The Milky Way stretches like a cloudy band above us as we watch shooting stars move across the sky like pinballs.
 
Total distance today: 13.1 miles. Total on trip: 27.1 miles. Elevation at camp: 11,227 feet. 

View from our campsite, looking toward King's Peak.

Into the Sierra Blanca de los Lagunas (Day 1)

[“From the land of the Comanches a very long and high sierra comes down, running from northeast to southwest as far as the Lagunas, in what we could see for more than seventy leagues; at this season, toward the north from El Rio de San Buenaventura it displayed its tallest shoulders and peaks covered with snow, wherefore we named it Sierra Blanca de los Lagunas. Tomorrow we shall begin climbing it and going across where it appears less lofty.”—Entry from The Dominguez-Escalante Journal, September 18, 1776.]
 
Today has been the hardest day of hiking in my life. I am exhausted as I write by headlamp, but at least we are safe. Let me explain how we got here.
 

Bridge over a small tributary creek.

We started late this morning. I wasn't worried about the time. There are three of us (me, Dave and Devin) and we each hefted on our heavy packs—enough food and gear to last four days. Our journey began.
 
We traveled what seemed like an endless distance through the Uinta River Gorge. The trail was a lot rockier than I expected. Often it was quasi-unrecognizable over a field of boulders. Going was very slow. Every mile we hiked felt like three. Our goal—Fox Lake—sat 14 miles away.
 
There are a lot of fabled stories from this area of Spanish gold. As we walked through the quaking aspen I looked for crosses carved on the trees. This is also Ute territory (the Uintah Utes were known by the Spanish as the Lagunas). As I observed the trees I found many unusual carvings that almost looked like old Indian masks.
 

Bridge over Uinta River at mile 3.

Even though today is August 1, the snow is still melting on the mountain. The river was a raging torrent. Random streams flowed down from the slopes above us that didn't even show on the map.
 
The heavy backpacks took their toll on my body. My shoulders burned and my legs became weary. As we worked up the canyon, we obviously climbed in elevation as we went.
 
Ahead of us on the trail I spotted two cow elk. Their clay-colored hides stuck out prominently against the timber. They stayed ahead of us and we didn't see them again.
 

It is monsoon season here and we were fortunate to not be on the mountain yesterday because it rained heavily for most of the day. But today as we hiked the thunder clouds built up and soon we found ourselves scrambling for our rain gear. I have a poncho that covers most of my pack when I put it on.
 
We hiked for about an hour in our rain gear. Even after the rain stopped, the thunder continued to roll and echo off the slopes.
 

We got rained on EVERY SINGLE DAY for at least an hour.

We passed a father and his adult son, who were glad to see us. They said we were the first people they had seen since Sunday (today is Thursday). He is from Montrose, Colorado and had injured his leg five miles east of Painter Basin and decided to turn around. He was grateful for the patience of his son since he was only making about a mile-an-hour.
 
I will admit that by this time we started to get a bit concerned. We were moving at a lot slower pace than we had expected. The trip to Fox Lake was 14 miles and I wasn't even sure how far we'd traveled. According to the map, there would be four streams crossing our path before the trail began to leave the gorge, but we had crossed many more streams than four. About this time we spotted a major flow of water merging with the river on the far side of the gorge. I pulled out the map and determined this was Atwood Creek. We were now able to pin point where we were and we weren't quite half way yet!
 

Confluence of Atwood Creek and Uinta River.

I won't bore you with many of the details of our continued march through the wilderness, other than to say it was grueling and tiresome. Our bodies began to wear down.
 
At 6 pm we finally reached Shale Creek, which is the final stream before climbing out of the canyon. I had hoped to refill my water bottles here, but the water was a chalky-white.
 

Footbridge over Shale Creek.

The trails from this point forward were next to awful and sometimes non-existent. We were lucky not to get completely lost. When the trail became faint we would look for other clues such as sawed-off logs to know we were on the right path. I was also grateful for the horse that recently traveled over this trail because we often saw his tracks.
 
As we climbed higher in elevation, some of the heavy timber gave way to open and often wet meadows. Some of the tallest peaks could now be seen rising in the distance.
 
Try as we did, we still were not making good time. The hues of sunset came and cast a beautiful light on the meadows and streams and distant peaks. We saw a deer out feeding about this time.
 
But then came the inevitable darkness. At first we refused to use artificial light and let our pupils dilate to follow the trail. But then it became necessary to fish out our flashlights and use them to illuminate the way. It is kind of a crazy notion for three guys, thirteen miles from the nearest road, in a wilderness completely unfamiliar to them, to be walking in the dark at an elevation above 10,000 feet, hoping to find a lake they've never seen!
 
But at last we found that lake—Fox Lake. It was 10 pm when we first shined our lights on its dark waters, making today's hike 11 hours long.
 
We are all exhausted and Devin is feeling sick. We spent the next hour pitching our tents over a ground that is very damp. I skipped dinner and only ate a piece of jerky and a protein bar.
 
Nearly my whole body hurts, especially my feet, legs and shoulders. My socks, shoes and pants up to my shins are soaked. I think we are all anxious to get to sleep and find some new energy for tomorrow.
 
Total distance today: 14 miles. Elevation at camp: 10,778 feet. Total elevation gain: 2,966 feet.