Utah. I didn’t know much about it when I took a leisurely drive south through the state on Interstate 15 back in 1991, but I sure did like the mountains I saw, especially the ones I saw near Beaver. My state road map showed peaks that were 12,000 feet and more – they looked so inviting and so accessible. That got me thinking, a lot, and a month later I was back.
To put things in perspective, I spent my first 20 years of climbing in British Columbia where the mountains have lots of ice and snow, but aren’t really high, at least when compared to the mountain states in the western USA. So, when I realized I could easily access peaks that were so high, it was irresistible.
After a big Thanksgiving dinner (we always celebrated both the Canadian and American holidays), I was up and away by 6:00 AM. I made good time, and was through Las Vegas by 1:00 PM. Setting my watch ahead one hour in Utah, I finally reached the higher and cooler country of Cedar City and Beaver. By the time I drove the last 22 miles to Puffer Lake and stopped for the day, I had covered a total of 657 miles in 12 1/2 hours – way too much! As always, I’d sleep in the back of my truck, and this first night was spent at 9,940 feet elevation. I felt a bit light-headed, as my home was at a mere 2,500 feet, but still managed a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, I made a leisurely start on a perfect blue-sky day. The first thing I did was an easy 1,500-foot climb of nearby City Creek Peak, which was 11,161 feet. On my way up through scattered trees and open areas, I accidentally treed 2 big porcupines. A good stiff breeze met me on the summit – I found no register, nor did I leave one. After an easy return to the truck, I continued north on another road to park at its end at 10,530 feet.
I headed northwest through open country – it was easy going, but fairly steep. Once on the summit ridge, I had a wonderful experience. I came within 30 feet of a young mountain goat, but didn’t linger as I didn’t want to alarm him. I made the summit of Mount Holly, 11,985 feet, then soon turned around. On the way back down I said a brief hello to the goat again – he was still there, foraging where I’d left him. I was so close to him that I could read the number (230) in an ear tag he wore. Seeing him there made a strong, positive impression on me. When I lived in British Columbia, mountain goats were abundant and I loved running into them when I climbed there. Seeing this guy brought back a lot of good memories. I descended to a saddle, then climbed up Lake Peak, 11,310 feet. As I returned to my truck, I was surprised to see cows grazing as high as 10,700 feet – obviously good alpinists!
To continue, I drove a series of roads which took me higher as I headed farther north. Passing Big John Flat, I saw a number of folks camping; once past Mud Lake, I parked at 11,260′ and made ready for my next peak. Up on to a ridge I went, crossing over a succession of bumps, each higher than the one before, until I arrived at the summit of Delano Peak, my highest one yet at 12,169 feet. There was even a patch of snow lingering from last winter. I signed in`to each of the 3 registers, then made ready to leave. Something caught my eye as I started down – a goat running quickly along the north ridge towards me. As I rounded a crag, there he was – a huge billy. He too wore an ear tag. We stared at each other with a hundred feet between us. While that was going on, I noticed something else – perhaps a thousand feet below, I saw a group of 13 more. What a beautiful sight! My wish for them was “May you live long and prosper”. I hurried back down to my truck, happy in the thought that such splendid creatures still roam free.
Where could I spend the night? Perhaps at a spot I’d seen earlier, a derelict electronic site – up I drove and parked for the night at 11,500 feet. This was, without a doubt, the highest night I’d ever spent in a vehicle. No sooner had I arrived than the sun set. I tried hanging out in the cab of the truck for a while, but the wind picked up and became extreme. I grabbed some cold snacks and crawled into my sleeping bag in the camper shell to get warm. All night long, violent gusts of wind shook the truck, and its howling made it hard to sleep.
Dawn arrived. I hadn’t slept well, mostly from the rocking of the truck but also from the headache that persisted (probably from the elevation). Dropping back down to Mud Lake at 11,000 feet, where I met hunters and horsemen, I got ready for another peak. This one was easy – I followed a pack trail which took me to the base of the northeast ridge of Shelly Baldy Peak (11,321 feet). It was a quick ascent through pockets of blazing autumn colors scattered among the evergreen forests.
Once back at the truck, I drove up to where I’d spent the night, then beyond to the north. This was such spectacular, open country in which I was traveling, most of it above treeline. A few old mining roads took me to a good parking spot at their end. I made ready for what seemed like a more challenging outing than anything I’d done so far, but I knew that it was going to be an exciting day.
Just above me was a bump at 11,660′ – I contoured around its north side, then over to the east side of Mount Belknap, where I followed a sort of trail to its summit. At 12,137 feet, this peak is higher than everything in the Canadian Rockies but 3, yet the state of Utah has a whopping 72 peaks which exceed Belknap’s elevation. It’s not just about elevation, though – those same Canadian peaks are awash in glaciers, thousands of them, whereas Utah has not a single one.
I signed in to the register, then had a good look around. Climbers had constructed many shelters against the wind, made of flat rocks. The next part of my journey was plain to see, so I set out. Descending to the west, then southwest, took me to a saddle with my next peak. Up its steep northeast side I went, arriving at the top of Mount Baldy. This was another 12,000-footer. I noticed another summit bump to the west which looked every bit as high, so climbed it too. Baldy also had its register, which I duly signed. Once back down at the Baldy-Belknap saddle at 11,000 feet (I first had to cross a couple of intervening bumps) I made a decision – instead of climbing Belknap again, I made a long traverse across its entire south side to return to my truck. It was loose and annoying, but quicker than re-climbing Belknap. En route, I noticed 3 places on the north side of Delano Peak where snow still lingered from last winter. By the time I was done, I’d been out 5 1/2 hours for the 2 peaks. To finish the day, I drove to a flat, sheltered spot at 10,950 feet where I took it easy and cooked a hot meal.
My alarm woke me early the next morning, after a poor night’s sleep. The problem is that there’s no usable light before 7:15 AM – the days are getting shorter, and it’s farther north than I’m used to. Setting off right from my camping spot, I did a windy, cold, quick climb of Peak 11460. Once back at the truck, I drove farther north and parked at a saddle at 10,675 feet. It was a chilly morning, so I wore plenty of clothes, even a balaclava. It was quick going to reach the summit of Gold Mountain, another big one at 11,650′. Right over it I went, descending its north ridge and then right up gentle Signal Peak (11,306 feet). Miles to go before I sleep. I hurried back down the way I’d come, up and over Gold Mountain once again, then back to the truck. It had been a good run here in the Tushar Mountains and it was time to move on.
It was quite a few miles along dirt roads in the national forest to finally reach Interstate 70. The whole mountain area was crawling with hunters getting ready for the start of deer season the next day. One of them told me that local schools even take the Monday off to commemorate the event. About 200 miles later, I had driven east across a big part of the state and arrived in Moab around 5:30 in the evening. It didn’t take long to find a quiet spot near the Colorado River to spend the night. It was so much warmer than camping in the high mountains where I’d been.
After a breakfast in town, I drove south and soon found the La Sal Mountain Loop Road. It was pavement for quite a while, then became a real dirt washboard. There were hunters everywhere! Taking the side road into Gold Basin, I drove it to its end and parked at 10,000 feet, where the hunters were thicker than ever. It was quite cool, with frost on the ground. A trail took me up above Gold Basin and I soon shed layers. Leaving the trail, I ascended loose talus to a steep narrow ridge which I followed to the summit of Mount Tukuhnikivatz. At 12,482 feet, this was my highest peak of the trip so far. What a view! I could easily see peaks in Colorado. The brilliantly-colored canyonlands to the west were a tremendous contrast to the high mountain country in which I stood. I was surrounded by snow that had fallen a few weeks earlier. There was a summit register – I signed in. My route up had been the north ridge, but I descended the northwest ridge. As I did, I could see the wreckage of a plane scattered down the west slopes from about 11,500′ down to 11,000′, no doubt from years before. I crossed over Point 12048, then used some steep slopes to get me back down to Gold Basin – from there, it was an easy walk back to my truck.
I drove a while and parked for the night at the edge of the road at 10,600 feet. At this time of my life, I was really into birding, so when I heard a distinctive tapping I went a-looking and soon found a male three-toed woodpecker, a nice surprise and a nice diversion. Earlier, up high on the mountain, I was feeling pretty burned-out. However, a meal and a rest went a long way to restoring that good old mountaineering feeling. Some locals told me that it was pretty unusual to be snow-free this late in the season – I might as well take advantage of it, right? Keep climbing!
I woke up the next morning at my now-usual time of 6:00 AM. Last evening, many hunters, in fact a non-stop parade of them, kept driving past until dark. This made me wonder what the new day would bring. I drove around to the east side of my next peak, up to about 10,500 feet and parked at a spot already well-populated by hunters’ vehicles. As I started out and left the trees behind, I met a young fellow from Salt Lake City – we climbed for a while together, but I soon left him behind and carried on up to a high ridge. The first thing I climbed was a mountain called “Laurel Peak” by the locals – it was 12,271 feet, no slouch. Once over it, I dropped down its north side and climbed its big brother, the rounded Mount Mellenthin at 12,645 feet. I thought it odd that I found no register, but didn’t leave one of my own (I was sure that all of these peaks would have had one already, so I wasn’t carrying one.) I soon left, dropping 650 feet to the south to a saddle, then climbed up and over Laurel Peak once more. Continuing south, I traversed Point 12220 and then arrived at the top of a bump near Point 12145, which meets a ridge coming east from Mount Tukuhnikivatz, the big one I’d climbed yesterday. I was getting hungry, so I promised myself lunch on the summit of my next peak. Then it happened – something traumatic which has affected me to this day, even as I write this 27 years later.
She was about 200 feet away on the ridge, facing me, when I first saw her. We silently stared at each other for a while, then she turned away and headed higher up the ridge out ahead of me. We were both heading in the same direction, so I followed her. It was a deer, a doe. What was she doing way up here? If she were fleeing the hordes of hunters, she should be down in the forest a couple of thousand feet lower where she had some cover. Then I saw it – her right front leg, dangling limp and useless, like something that wasn’t even a part of her body. She hobbled uphill as quickly as she could on 3 legs, the 4th never even touching the slope, useless and shattered. I was immediately overcome with strong emotion, my eyes filled with tears. Who could have done such a thing! When I reached the spot where I first saw her, there was blood on the talus. She had disappeared around a corner of the ridge, and I hoped that she’d descended to a place of shelter – it was so cold and windy up here. I continued to climb and realized that I was following a trail of fresh, wet drops of blood. I felt sickened by the tragedy – it screamed for my complete attention, it was overwhelming. Through blurred eyes, I walked the last steps to the summit of Mount Peale. Then I saw her, perhaps a hundred yards away, still moving away from me. She turned and stared at me for a moment, then hobbled away downhill along the summit ridge at over 12,500 feet.
I felt grief, shame, anger, nausea. Who could have done such a thing!? Among the summit rocks, something red caught my eye – a shotgun shell. In my anger, I picked it up and hurled it with all my might down the steep north slope. Bastards! I swore vengeance on all hunters. During the long descent to my truck, I found myself talking aloud, muttering oaths against hunters, planning ways to make them all pay. Once I arrived, still unsure of what to do, I drove back down to my last campsite. There I met 2 guys, and I had to unburden my soul by telling them what had happened. They told me that it was a terrible, unforgivable thing, more so because does were not even in season. They said that most hunters would now go home as the weekend was over. They assured me that they were much better than such types because they were trophy hunters and would only kill the biggest and the best. I left in disgust.
Driving down that long road back to Moab, I prayed that the inevitable end for that poor, innocent creature would be quick and merciful, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t be so. I imagined her, wracked with pain and bleeding to death, filled with terror of all humans and thinking “what did I ever do to them to deserve this?” Back in town, I met a succession of nice people, which helped to lift my spirits, then went to a nearby wetlands in the care of the Nature Conservancy where I spent hours birding until dark.
The next morning, a frost covered the ground. More birding, followed by breakfast in town, then a decision to climb a bit more. I’d go up to Beaver Basin on the far northeast side of the La Sal Mountains. This time, I drove north from Moab and then headed up the northern leg of the La Sal Mountain Loop Road. As I drove along, I came to a llama farm – I was intrigued and stopped in, had a conversation with a Mexican caretaker (he was happy to have someone with whom to speak Spanish) and had a soothing experience petting one of them named “Cloud”. Continuing, I drove up a rough road into Beaver Basin where I parked at the road’s end at 10,640 feet.
It was very cold, and windy to boot. Even so, it was time to climb something. A sketchy bit of road started me up, and it became a trail all the way up to a saddle at 11,600 feet. All I had to do now was continue in a southerly direction, over Point 11849, and then up the northwest ridge of Manns Peak. It was a clear, sunny day on the top but very windy and cold, way too cold to stick around – I didn’t see a register, didn’t leave one and started down immediately. Soon back at my truck, I chatted with a Seventh-Day Adventist ranger from the US Forest Service who was passing by – we had an interesting conversation about the area. He left, and I hunkered down for the night, trying to stay warm.
After a good night’s sleep, it took me a while to get going in the cold morning air. My headaches from the high elevation of the past weeks are a thing of the past – also, I’m making sure to drink enough to avoid dehydration. This was going to be a cold day, I could feel it in my bones, so I really bundled up: I wore long-johns under my trousers; also, a polypro top, wool sweater, Gore-tex coat, balaclava, hood, mitts, gaiters (and I wore all of it all day). It was 8:00 AM by the time I got going. Back up yesterday’s trail to the saddle at 11,600′, then the fun began.
The first order of business was to climb Peak 12,220 – I went up its southeast ridge, tagged the summit, then down its north ridge. A sizable bump, Point 12163, was in my way and I had to climb up and over it. On its top, I found a little Quonset hut with a solar-powered antenna. Clouds were forming all around, and hoarfrost was forming on the rocks. Down to the next saddle, which put me at the base of Mount Waas – it too needed to be traversed, so I went up its southwest ridge and down the northwest. There were old trails in the scree, built by miners was my guess. I now found myself at a saddle at 11,660 feet. Hmmm, checking the lay of the land, I decided to traverse around the east side of another peak and make my way to another saddle of similar height, then climb up the southwest ridge of Peak 12,001. Again, I didn’t stick around – it was too cold. Back down I went, then up the northeast ridge of the peak I’d recently bypassed, Peak 12,044. Once again, I didn’t linger on the summit – I continued on and climbed Mount Waas for the second time today. There was no time to waste – it was snowing, and I beat a hasty retreat back down to my truck. Winter was closing in, I could feel it. Sorry for the morass of details in this long paragraph, but if you click on the series of links you’ll be able to follow my route.
Soon I was back in town, treating myself to ice cream and calling home. More birding at the marsh outside of town, then another night camping at a nearby gravel pit. My climbing done, I had a good sleep. It was unfortunate that my climb of Mount Peale, the highest peak on the Colorado Plateau, turned out to be such a traumatic experience for me. The next day revealed fresh snow down low on the La Sal Mountains – I had gotten out just in time. I had a few hundred miles to drive today, but that was pretty easy. Through Monticello, Blanding, Bluff, Mexican Hat, Kayenta, Tuba City, Cameron and finally into Flagstaff.
There, I met for the first time a renowned peakbagger named Bob Packard – we went for dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant. He was a very young-looking 55. Back at his place, we talked mountaineering until late and also watched the video of his Mount McKinley climb. I left late, and camped 30 miles south of town, driving the last 230 miles the next day to my Tucson home. My first climbing trip to Utah had spanned 10 days and yielded 20 fine peaks, all of them worthwhile.