The Red Hill

Every place I've lived has one -- some topographically dominant feature that can be seen anywhere in town. In the area I grew up in, it was Blue Peak. I remember sitting in 7th grade health class and having a perfect unobstructed view out the classroom window at the massive blue cliff standing above all else, and imagining what it would be like to stand on top.

Every time I'd drive into Cache Valley where I went to school for several years, I would size up Logan Peak, planning the best route up.

In Las Vegas, Frenchman Mountain was the setting for many adventurous daydreams.

Over the years, I've often thought that the Native Americans that lived in these same valleys for centuries also must have looked up to these same places with awe and wonderment, and that they too desired to see what awaited the beholder on top.



Well, if you've ever been to Cedar City, the first thing to grab your attention is what is officially called The Red Hill. It isn't the tallest peak around, but its blood-red color and its abrupt rising just east of town make it quite imposing. I've hiked all around the thing, seeing it from just about every angle, but I never attempted to scale it until now. With the abundance of rock art and other artifacts in the surrounding area, I had a hunch that there might be something special up on top.



The ascent is fairly straight forward from the west side of the peak with just a bit of bouldering near the top.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I pulled myself up onto the tallest block of sandstone along the summit and found an ancient, worn spiral glyph carved into the stone. I also couldn't believe that some one had been so careless to have painted graffiti right over the top of it!



It was a great hike anyway, and the steep and snowy backside descent into a scenic little strike valley was a blast.

Stop thinking about what lies on top of that majestic peak outside your office window, and resolve to climb it. You never know what you might find.

Red Mountain Landslide

Several thousand years ago, a large chunk of Red Mountain north of Ivins, Utah, collapsed into the nearby valley. I doubt anyone was around to witness this amazing event, but I bet it could have been heard and felt from several miles distant.


Above: Google Earth image of Red Mountain north of the small town of Ivins. A massive prehistoric landslide is outlined with a white line.

Geologists and other observant local have known about this feature for years and naturally many wonder: Is another catastrophic landslide possible off of the flank of Red Mountain?

To get a better idea, a small group of geologists were led up to the top of the mountain to take a closer look.



The "trail" to the top is nothing more than a cairned scramble straight up the prehistoric landslide. I'm not kidding when I say straight up, we're talking about 1400 vertical feet in just 1/2 mile.



The views of the surrounding desert from on top are endless.




Above: geologist Marc Deshowitz observes the western extension of Red Mountain rising above the Kayenta subdivision.



It was a great day to get out of the office, stretch the legs a bit,and look at some rocks, but we couldn't find any evidence for eminent failure. It appears large landslides don't happen too often off of Red Mountain, and if I lived in the area, I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it (smaller rock falls tumbling down the mountain are certainly more likely).