Friday, August 16, 2024

Sampling the Peruvian Plate

Everywhere I travel in the world I make an effort to sample and learn of the local cuisine. A recent trip to Peru provided a smorgasbord of food that was diverse, healthy and ancient. Perhaps more famous for its Inca ruins and archeological wonders than its culinary allure, the Peruvian cuisine is largely undiscovered on the world stage. 

The food and cooking of Peru reflect a vast array of climates, as well as a variety of contact with other countries and cultures. This South American nation extends from the Pacific coast in the west to peaks that rise above 22,000 feet in the Andes Mountains to a lush rainforest in the Amazon jungle. 

From a historical point of view, Peruvian cuisine has been influenced by waves of immigrants from Europe, Asia and Africa. These influences coalesced with a rich diet already consumed by the Inca and other Indigenous groups.

I came to Peru with my daughter, Jenna, and everyday there was something new for us to try. Below I have made a list of nearly every dish, food or drink that we encountered that I felt was a part of the Peruvian culture.
 


Lomo Saltado.
  If I were to pick one as the quintessential Peruvian dish, I would choose lomo saltado. It is colorful, tasty and simple. Like many other dishes, it has influences from around the world. It was first prepared by Chinese chefs living in Peru in the nineteenth century who decided to stir-fry marinated beef (brought from Spain) with onions and tomatoes. It is served with a side of rice and French fries (made from Peruvian potatoes). Lomo saltado is a dish that will probably never become world-famous like pizza or sushi, but it is one that I imagine is eaten often in many humble Peruvian homes.
 


Chicha Morada.
  Chicha Morada is a non-alcoholic beverage made from purple corn, not to be confused with chicha de jora, a fermented drink, also known as corn beer. In addition to purple corn, it is boiled with pineapple rinds, quince, cinnamon, cloves and sweetened with sugar. It is cooled and served cold. This was a pre-Colombian drink, although I'm sure they used the ingredients they had at hand (cinnamon, for example, they did not have because it comes from southern Asia). Like so many other foods in Peru, purple corn is native to the Andes Mountains.
 


Emoliente.
  This warm and comforting drink we found sold on the streets of Lima. The closest thing I can compare it to is apple cider, but with lots of herbs. The vendors at their carts usually had a large cauldron from which they cooked the beverage. The brew is cooked using barley, Andean horsetail, cat's claw, linseed, alfalfa, honey, quinoa and probably whatever else they want to use. The recipe can vary from person to person. It is claimed to have medicinal qualities that boost the digestive system and help with respiratory issues. For me it was very soothing.
 


Ceviche.
  In Peru, ceviche is a very traditional dish that is prepared differently than it is in other countries. Extremely flavorful, it is powered with raw onions, peppers, hot sauce, and raw fish that marinates in lime juice. For texture it is served with both dry corn (cancha) and fresh corn. It is also served with slices of sweet potato. I enjoyed getting a bite with a chunk of fish, a dab of hot sauce, a slice of red onion and a piece of corn.
 


Sopa de trigo.
  "Trigo" translates to wheat, corn, or more generalized, grain. However, in this situation it refers to barley. We ate this soup as a first course, but I'm sure historically it could have been used as a full meal. It is made with beef, barley and a variety of vegetables, including potato, carrot, zapallo squash, celery and parsley. There are plenty of varieties. Ours appeared puréed with the exception of potato chunks and a leafy green. From what I've read, sopa de trigo is not usually puréed.
 


Ají de Lizas con Pollo.
  “Ají” pertains to the ají amarillo chili, which has its origins in the Andes Mountains. Although it appears red, it turns yellow when cooked. It is the base for many dishes and sauces. “Liza” is a reference to papa lisa, a tuber that also originates in the Andes. It looks like a speckled potato, but is yellow on the inside. Combining the ají with the papa lisa makes for a very yellow dish. When we ate it, we decided that it had a very “earthy” flavor that reminded us of beets.— The ají de lizas was served next to a scoop of rice and grilled chicken.
 


Picarones.
  These are doughnuts made of sweet potatoes, covered in a molasses-like syrup. They are light, fluffy and crispy. We bought these from a street vendor in Lima. They were invented during the colonial period to replace buñuelos from Spain. As with many other dishes in South America, they substituted a local ingredient for something that was scarce. In this case it was sweet potatoes in place of flour.
 


Breakfast.
  I will admit that I have no idea what the typical Peruvian eats for breakfast. But I do know that every morning we were served breakfast in our hotel, it was basically the same thing. To drink we were served fruit juice, warm milk, and some sort of tea such as chamomile. We were offered coffee but declined. In the middle of the table was a basket with four rolls, which were a cross between a baguette and a normal roll. There was also a plate of meat and cheese, a small bowl of jam, and balls of hard butter. The amount seemed perfect to make one meat and cheese sandwich, and one of jam.
 


Ají de Gallina.
  This is a very delicious dish made yellow by using ají amarillo paste. Gallina is translated as “hen,” but any type of chicken breast will do. Other ingredients such as onion, garlic, pecans, Parmesan cheese, bread and evaporated milk are added to create a creamy stew. Ours was served over slices of boiled potato and next to a heap of rice and slices of tomato. For Jenna, this was her favorite dish she ate in Peru.
 


Alfajor.
  This light and flaky confection is made of flour, honey and nuts. It was brought to Peru in the 1500's from Spain, who inherited it from the Moors, who inhabited parts of the Iberian Peninsula for nearly 800 years. The name is likely of Arabic origin. I'm sure there are several varieties, but the alfajores I've seen are like mini sandwiches, with a dulce de leche filling in the middle.
 


Alpaca a la Parilla.
  Grilled alpaca. I will admit that this was the most disappointing food of the entire trip. Maybe I just got a bad serving. We were hungry and ate at a small restaurant in Ollantaytambo. It took them forever to get our food and we were the only customers. The steak was tough and had a unique taste to it. Not quite like a game animal, but similar. The texture was similar to that of a game animal—kind of chewy. It was also bland. Had to use lots of salt and pepper.
 


Anticuchos.
  Anticuchos are the Peruvian version of kebabs. It is meat cooked on a skewer, and usually that meat is beef heart. It is Pre-Columbian, originating in the Andes. The name comes from the Quechua language. I thought they tasted pretty good and if I didn't know better I would have never guessed it was heart. I ate it with rocoto relleno on the side.
 


Rocoto.
  Rocoto peppers grow in the cool, high landscapes of the Andes Mountains and are a bit more spicy than red bell peppers. Rocoto relleno (or stuffed rocoto) contains a filling of ground beef, garlic, onions, pepper, spices and whatever else the chef desires. It may be baked in the oven, although I think mine was battered and deep-fried.
 


Milhojas.
  We found this pastry being sold at a street cart across the street from the Lima Peru Temple. It is made with several stacked layers of pastry puff, filled with dulce de leche and sprinkled with powdered sugar. We sat down on the grass and ate our delicious treat. Although milhojas originated in France, it is considered part of the cuisine in several other places including Spain, Peru and other Latin American countries.
 


Chaufa.
  Chaufa is a fried rice dish that originated with the Chinese who settled in Peru in the nineteenth century. It is simple and inexpensive, usually consisting of rice, scallions, eggs, chicken and soy sauce. My experience eating chaufa was memorable. We ate it at a lone table off the side of a dirt road in the Peruvian Amazon, cooked by a lady named Dora. We enjoyed conversation and a glass of Coke while we ate our chaufa.
 


Inca Kola.
  The national soda is undoubtedly Inca Kola. Interestingly, it was developed by a Brit who immigrated to Peru. Although it has a sweet fruity flavor similar to bubble gum, it is the lemon beebrush, native to South America, that gives the drink its unique flavor.
 


Pollo a la Brasa.
  Probably my favorite thing I ate in Peru was Pollo a la brasa, or rotisserie chicken. It was tasty and tender. It was served with a mayonnaise sauce and ají verde chilli pepper sauces. The chicken is rubbed with spices and slowly cooked on a spit over coals or flame. Although you can find roasted chicken in many other countries, according to the internet, its roots are in Peru. I loved pollo asado in Spain with alioli sauce, but what I ate in Peru seemed to be a step up.
 


Sopa de Chuño.
  Chuño is one of Peru's more fascinating specimens. It's a freeze-dried potato whose origins are in the high Andes of Peru and Bolivia. Traditionally the potatoes are spread on the ground where they are frozen by night and sun-dried by day. After a few days of this they are stepped on with bare feet. This allows for excess water to be squeezed out and detaches some of the peels so they come off easier. The drying process is repeated until all the water is gone. The dried potatoes are then rinsed in water and subsequently dried to create white chuño. If unwashed they are called black chuño.  

The final product can be stored for years and has been considered a staple in Andean cuisine. It can be ground into flour and used in soups, which is how I assume it was used in our dish. We ate it as a first course at San Blas Market in Cusco. I couldn't tell you everything that was in it, but it was very hardy, thick, and came with a couple chunks of potato and garnished with parsley.
 


Caldo de Gallina.
  Throughout our two weeks in Peru I was eying one item that I saw on nearly every menu: caldo de gallina, or chicken broth. I knew it wasn't just broth because occasionally I would catch a glimpse of it and what I saw was a beautiful brothy, creamy, and hearty stew with a chunk of chicken and hard-boiled egg.⸺On our last night in Cusco I knew it was time to pull the trigger and see if it lived up to expectations. Well . . . they served it in a bowl where it looked as good as I'd hoped it would. In addition to the piece of chicken and hard-boiled egg, it came with spaghetti noodles and diced scallions. Everything tasted wonderful . . . except . . . that piece of chicken! Oh how I had high expectations for the chicken! I'm not even sure which part of the chicken it was, but either it had no meat, or the meat was so tough that it tasted like an old hen that can't lay eggs anymore and is slaughtered to eat (after all, gallina technically translates more specifically to “hen” instead of “chicken"). Oh, well. You can't win them all! Now I have an excuse to try it again or just make it at home. I think caldo de gallina has a lot of potential.

Thursday, August 8, 2024

Bradshaw Mountain and Cave Mine (Peak #12)


One night John Bradshaw dreamed he saw a white mule standing on a ridge north of Minersville, Utah. He then dreamed that he went to that ridge and near it he discovered a cave. He entered the cave and found rat nests and nuggets of gold. 

The dream was so vivid that the next day he went in search of the cave. He had never been there before, but knew exactly how to get there because of his dream. The scrub and thickets became so thick that he tied string onto branches so he could find his way back. At last he found the cave just as it was in his dream, including rat nests and nuggets of gold. Further inside he discovered stalactites covered with gold and silver. 

Later he came back with a friend to explore further. This happened in 1859. Eventually this area would become the Bradshaw Mining District. Even though it would produce a great amount of gold, silver and lead over the years, very little came during the lifetime of John Bradshaw. He would die destitute. 

One of many mine portals on Bradshaw Mountain.

Who was John White Bradshaw? 

He was born on February 12, 1819 in Ilkeston, Derbyshire, England. His family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and in 1849 emigrated to Utah like thousands of others during the early days of the church. John married a widow, Harriet Burgess Moore, and together they had four children. Three of the children died and were buried at sea, while the other died two years later. They had no other children together. 

John and Harriet were called to settle what would become southern Utah, in the Parowan area. Minersville was settled in 1859, so this was likely when they moved there. John was a big believer in dreams, and I am sure that this is what gave him confidence to follow through and find the location. 

Unidentified building on Bradshaw Mountain.

In the beginning, not much ore was excavated from Cave Mine. It is said that a couple of men hauled ore from the mine and made gold and silver bars valuing $1,800 to $2,000. In 1879 the mine became property of the Fisco Mining & Smelting Company. 

With all this in mind I thought it would be a good idea to check out the place. The Bradshaw Mining District, which is no longer active, is only an hour from my house. It lies within the Mineral Mountains, a range I have never explored. And to boot, it lies at the feet of Bradshaw Mountain, another peak for me to climb. 

Many of the portals went nearly straight down into the ground.

It was another hot day in mid-June. Temperatures would be in the low to mid-nineties and I knew that soon I would need to start climbing the higher peaks. My plan was to hike up one ridge to the summit of Bradshaw Mountain and down another. Whatever I would find in the way of mining relics along the way, I would stop and explore. 

A cursory glance at the mountainside reveals a busy mining history with several colorful tailing slides. As I drove closer to my parking spot I found the faint foundations of buildings that once stood. I learned that at one time there was a little town within the mining district, but wasn't sure exactly where it was nor whether these foundations belonged to that town. 



I parked along the dirt road and within five minutes of walking through the trees I came across the portal of a mine at the bottom of a hillside. Interestingly, there was no framework or timbers to support the portal. Just a hole in the mountainside that resembled a little cave. I was quite confident that this was not the actual Cave Mine discovered by John Bradshaw, but it allowed me to more clearly imagine what the original cave may have looked like. 

I laid on my belly and peered inside with my flashlight. There was no way I was going inside this one. The tunnel reached beyond what my beam would allow. I was satisfied with that. 

It didn't take long before I was walking up the mountain slope. I noticed that my path was cleared of trees, wide enough for a road. Examining the ground below me it was obvious that there was no road now, but I suspected that at one time there was. 

This so-called path zigzagged up the mountain until it came to a tailings slide. Beyond that I found two good-sized portals, both of them supported by wooden framework. The thought came that there were probably miles and miles of tunnels all over beneath this mountain. I got as close to the portals as I dared. One of them went immediately downward and I was a little apprehensive because I didn't want my weight to cause a collapse. 

A hole in the cliff on the other side of the canyon.

I continued up the ridgeline. Although there was no trail, I was able to make the journey without any hardcore bush-whacking. After an hour and forty-five minutes of hiking I reached the summit. I had gained nearly 2,000 feet of elevation. 

The sight at the summit was pleasant. To the east I could see the snow-capped Tushar Mountains. There was a wildfire on the southern slopes of those mountains. To the west I could see Frisco Peak and faintly behind that the Snake Range. Below was Milford Valley and shades of green farms. 

View from top of Bradshaw Mountain.

View from Bradshaw Mountain looking toward the Tushars.


On my way down looking toward Frisco Peak.

After a forty-minute break on top, I started down a different ridge. I got more than half way down and again arrived at some mines. The first was the most interesting. At first I saw only a large hole in the ground. This hole dropped into a cavern and I knew at once that I didn't want to be anywhere near the edge. The drop inside the hole wasn't terribly deep because I dropped a rock and could hear the thud after only a couple of seconds. 

When I continued just a little further down the hill I discovered a portal with a wooden frame. Beyond this frame was the cavern that I had seen from above. 

With hesitation I entered the cavern, which had plenty of light due to the hole at the top. The cavern appeared to be a large room or grotto. I didn't know if the size of it was artificial or natural. I could see a couple of tunnels on the backside of the cavern where the mine continued. On the wall were painted names and dates, the oldest being 1965. A wooden bench sat at the center with an army ammo can sitting on top. The place felt cold and damp, a welcoming feeling from the heat outside. 

Inside an interesting cavern.
1965 date on cavern wall.

Framework inside the cavern, probably leading to another tunnel.

Once outside I saw other mines from a distance. Along the face of a limestone wall I spotted a cave-like opening with no tailings below it, but it was too far away for my weary legs to travel. 

From this point I was almost back to the bottom and due to the steep terrain I rock-surfed down a slide of tailings. There was much more here left to explore, which I will do another day. 

I was satisfied with my day of exploration. Not only did I bag a peak, but I was able to find a lot of old mining structures. I saw no one else the entire time. 


Tailings coming down the hillside.

The life of John Bradshaw was a sad one. He lost all four of his children with Harriet and thus has no descendants. (Some of Harriet's children from her first marriage survived and have progeny.) As far as I know, there are no pictures of John. His wife, Harriet, died in 1877. At the cemetery he has no headstone. On one hand you could say that John Bradshaw's legacy is all but gone. 

But on the other hand his legacy lives on because of Cave Mine. Named after him are Bradshaw Mountain, Bradshaw Springs and the Bradshaw Mining District. Today the mines are all closed. According to family legend a curse was placed on the mine stating that it will never again produce gold and silver until a Bradshaw family member owns the mine. ♠
 

 

Bradshaw Mountain.

Bradshaw Mountain

 

Distance from car (one way): 1.7 miles
 

Elevation gain: 1,992 feet
 

Final elevation: 7,998 feet


Grave of Thomas J. Chase, located somewhere near the Bradshaw Mining District.


“A highly respected miner, formerly of New England, but for the last twenty-five years or more had been mining on the Pacific slope, by the name of Thomas J. Chase, died at Betenson House, on Tuesday the 16th, of dropsy, occasioned by a diseased state of the liver and spleen. By permission of his friends, Drs. George Wenceslaw, J.W. Christian and George Fennemore, performed a post mortem examination on the 17th which revealed the foregoing facts. According to his own request while living, he was taken to the Bradshaw Mining District for burial yesterday morning.”—Thomas J. Chase Death Notice Published in the Southern Utonian, 19 Dec. 1884, Beaver, Beaver, Utah Territory, United States



Sunday, July 21, 2024

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.


Thursday, July 4, 2024

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.