Canyons & Peaks: 2-day Excursion Through Little Death Hollow and the Henry Mountains

In early November, before snow began piling up in southern Utah's high deserts, I completed a fast-paced tour through Little Death Hollow, and a bike/hike combo to the top of the Henry Mountains. Squeezing both treks into just two days (including drive-time from home) left me exhausted, but it's taxing adventures like these that rejuvenate my soul and renew my excitement for future adventures.

After dropping the kids off at school and winding my way along Highway 12 and the Burr Trail, I found myself on the edge of the Circle Cliffs at about 1 pm.  I had about 5 hours of daylight to complete the 18-mile Little Death Hollow-Wolverine Canyon loop.

Much of Little Death Hollow is runable, so I ran when I felt like it, and walked at times as well--but always at a steady pace since I didn't want to finish in the dark.

They don't call it Death Hollow for nothing. Occasionally, cows wander into the canyon and either can't navigate their way out or are caught in flash floods. 

Canyon hackles.

Although Little Death Hollow closes into a true slot often, a lack of serious obstacles means ropes and technical gear are unnecessary.

The tall, closely spaced canyon walls rarely let sunlight penetrate to the canyon floor. I'd always take a minute to bask in the light and warm up when the opportunity presented itself.

Unlike most Colorado Plateau slot canyons which are typically carved into the Navajo Sandstone, Little Death Hollow is cut into the Wingate Sandstone--an older unit of similar character that looks pretty much identical to the Navajo here.

Partially buried petroglyphs in upper Little Death Hollow.

A few yellow leaves cling to the branches of giant Cottonwood near an old shack in Horse Canyon. Horse Canyon connects Little Death Hollow to Wolverine Canyon, so you ultimately get to see bits of three different canyons along the loop.

Wolverine Canyon has its own flavor. This is about as narrow as it gets and never truly slots up. But it is still a spectacular canyon with impressively tall walls, countless interesting weathering pits, and tons of petrified wood boulders that have been washed down from upcanyon.

Cool honeycomb features in Wolverine Canyon.

About midway through Wolverine, water bubbles to the surface and appears to be pretty permanent source.

One of thousands of petrified log chunks you'll see throughout this area. This is the pretty kind that has been agatized and displays various shades of red and purple.

I finished the 18-mile loop just after sundown in a little over 5 hours.

This is great loop because each canyon offers its own variety of scenery. The non-technical nature, high wow-factor, and reliable water sources, would make this a great option for a backpack trip with the family some day.

I didn't pass a single other car as I made my way in the dark across the interior of the Circle Cliffs and down the tight switchbacks descending Capitol Reef's Water Pocket fold and headed north onto Notom Road.

Sleep came quick that night in Cedar Mesa Campground--no matter that some dude in the adjacent campsite broke out the guitar and serenaded his girl late into the AM.

My legs felt a bit thrashed as I laid in my sleeping bag and I worried if I'd be able to complete the nearly 50-mile bike ride the next day to the top of the Henrys.

My climb started at 9 am at Sandy Junction on Notom Road, elevation 5300 feet. 

The route starts out pretty mild, crossing Sandy Creek, and following a gentle grade up Blind Trail Hollow to the top of Wildcat Mesa. Lifeless, moonscape-like Mancos badlands are a constant companion along this section. It's hard to imagine that I'll soon be up in thick alpine forests in a few hours.

Once on Wildcat Mesa, I got my first good look at the treeless crest of the Henry Mountains' South Summit Ridge. The true highpoint of the Henrys is out of view to the left. From here, the road not only gets steep, it gets consistently steep with few breaks.

Beyond McMillan Spring Campground (McClellan Spring on USGS 1:24k map??), commanding views open up into the surrounding desert below. This view to the west presents remnants of Tarantula Mesa in the foreground, upturned red and white sandstones of the Water Pocket fold in the mid-distance, and the once-glaciated, lava-flow-topped Boulder Mountain on the horizon.

After 24 miles and 6,000 feet of climbing on already tired legs, the sign for Bull Creek Pass was a welcome site.

After stashing my bike in some trees at the pass, I only had what would normally be an easy 4-mile and 1200-foot climb out to Mt Ellen and back, before the long coast back to my car. There was a hiker that had driven to the pass/trailhead and was about a 1/4 mile ahead of me as I hit the trail. I figured it would be fun to try and catch him, and I did gain on him, but the altitude, and my tired legs wouldn't let me kick it into a higher gear and he beat me to the top.

That hiker was Terry from London and he is nice guy. We chatted as much as we could, but the gale-force winds made it difficult to communicate. Terry loves exploring the desert Southwest, and has made several trips to the region over the years. He had just come from the Grand Canyon and was taking advantage of the mild fall weather and venturing farther north into Utah and Colorado. Interestingly, he also mentioned that he specifically wanted to be in America during our presidential election--I'm guessing for the entertainment value.

I reached the top at around 2:30 or 3 pm, making the ascent from Notom Road in under 6 hours. After snapping each other's photos and discussing road conditions down the west side of the mountain (Terry had come up from the east side of the range), I started jogging back down to my bike. If I hustled, I knew I could get back to my car before dark.

The golden hour just before sunset looks good on Wildcat Mesa.

With a fast and uneventful descent (the highlight was seeing Terry one last time as he passed in his car, oh, and I guess the sunset wasn't too bad either), I completed the trip with just a touch of sunlight still kissing the top of the Henrys. Total elapsed time for this climb was about 8.5 hours.

Wisely, I packed some cold, caffeinated beverages to ensure I could stay awake during the 4-hour drive back to Cedar City.

Continue reading

Share:

Views:

Top of the Desert: Ibapah Peak, Deep Creek Mountains

Slowly but surely, I've been knocking off some of the West's most prominent peaks. To make things more challenging, I've climbed most of them by starting from the adjacent valley floor. If I can avoid driving halfway up the mountain to a trail head, I will. It doesn't matter if I'm biking, hiking, running, or using some combination of the three, as long as I'm using my own flesh-and-bone motor, I can truly say that I conquered the mountain.

In mid-September, I had a free day in northern Utah, and quickly planned an assault on 12,087-foot Ibapah Peak--high point of the seldom-visited Deep Creek Mountains which is the fourth highest range in Utah. The plan was to park at the junction of Snake Valley and Granite Creek Canyon Roads (5,500 feet), bike as far as possible up Granite Creek Canyon, then continue on foot to the top of Ibapah.

My timing was perfect. Temperatures were pleasant, aspen were flashing their fall colors, and snow had yet to hit the high country.

Golden sunrise in Snake Valley. Deep Creeks are in the distance. Situated near the Utah-Nevada border, you must drive many long miles on graveled roads to reach the remote Deep Creeks. 

Rugged canyons are cut deeply into granite along the eastern slopes of the Deep Creeks' central core.

A near full moon sets over the colorful Deep Creeks.

After a long, early-morning drive, it felt great to stretch the legs and start pedaling upward. My knobbies hit the dirt at 9 AM. Here, I'm nearly a mile up Granite Creek Canyon Road. The aspen-covered sub-peak just above my left hand is blocking the view to the higher Ibapah peak behind.

Typical scenery midway up Granite Canyon. The canyon road ends at 7,360 feet in a grass-floored aspen grove that would make an excellent camp spot. From there, an easy-to-follow foot trail continues up-canyon. It took 1.5 hours to cover the 6 mile/2350' climb to the end of the road. 

Despite its central location in the Great Basin desert, the Deep Creeks' lofty peaks capture large amounts of winter snow that feeds numerous springs and streams throughout the summer and fall. A couple of perennial streams in the Deep Creeks support native Bonneville cutthroat trout.

Domes, spires, and caves formed on granite make for some unique scenery in the aptly named Granite Canyon.

Near the 10,000-foot level, Granite Canyon starts to open up into a wide, luxurious meadow.  Red Mountain (11,588'), above the tree line towers overhead.

The wide meadow at the head of Granite Creek Canyon provided a nice opportunity to get some longer strides in before the final grunt up to Ibapah Peak.

A mild fall meant there were still plenty of colorful leaves clinging to the aspen, even at 10,000 feet. 

The final push up blocky talus slopes.

I reached the top at 1:45 PM, taking a little over 3 hours to cover the 5 mile/5,060' climb to the top from the end of the road in Granite Canyon (4.75 hours from Snake Valley Road). On top are the remains of a triangulation survey station and a stone windbreak shelter. Views in all directions are vast, and will leave you feeling rather insignificant.

View south along the Deep Creeks' summit ridge. The stone shelter provides relief from the wind as you refuel and check out the summit register.

West view into Nevada from Ibapah Peak.

Upper Granite Creek Canyon from Ibapah Peak.

View north along the summit ridge. Largest peak to the north is Haystack; at 12,020 feet, Haystack Peak is only 67 feet lower than Ibapah. After lingering on the peak for about 30 minutes, I headed back down. It took a little over 2 hours to reach my bike, and another 45 minutes to blast down to my car, finishing just after 5 PM.

I had a crazy thing happen with this herd of pronghorn. As I cam cruising out of Granite Creek Canyon, these pronghorn were also heading downhill across the sage flats FAST. I stopped to snap this photo, but quickly hopped on my bike and sped off to see if I could perhaps get an even better shot down the road. I soon found myself racing neck to neck with the herd--me, flying down the dirt road at full throttle, and them, galloping in the same direction less than 20 feet off the side of the road. It was incredible to glide along the side of these animals, seemingly as part of the herd, but I soon realized that they were getting closer to me and that they had every intention of crossing the road up ahead. I couldn't believe how fast they were moving. I had no chance of beating them to the crossing, so I slammed on my brakes and let them cross, watching in amazement from just a couple of feet away as some of them effortlessly bounded across the road in a single leap. An experience I'll never forget.

If you access the Deep Creek Range from Wendover, you'll pass through this near-ghost town of Gold Hill--a rather unsettling place in the middle of nowhere.

I left that morning from my home-base in Erda (near Tooele, Utah) at 4 AM and did not get back home until nearly 10 PM. At the end of the day I had completed about 22 miles and 7,300 feet of climbing via bike and foot to the top of Ibapah Peak in 8 hours.

This was a very long and exhausting day, but also an extremely fulfilling day that left me with a wide smile on my face as my head finally hit the pillow that night.

Continue reading

Share:

Views:

Colorado River to Mt. Peale Traverse

A summer thunderstorm rolls over the San Rafael Swell. I'll never tire of the drive across the Swell on I-70.

I was really hoping to name this post The Whole Enchilada, With Extra Sour Cream and Guac on Top. I didn't quite pull it off, but I still feel at peace placing this adventure squarely in the "success" column.

I hatched this plan a few months ago after a family trip to Moab. There remained two big adventures on my Moab bucket list: (1) a loop-ride of the Whole Enchilada mountain bike trail from town and (2) a climb of Mount Peale of the La Sal Mountains--second highest Utah mountain next to the Uintahs. After some cursory planning, it became obvious that I could knock both off the list at the same time.

With an empty schedule and a favorable weather forecast over the 24th of July weekend, I loaded up the mini-van and headed to Moab. Rolling into town after dark, I pulled into the first available campground along the Colorado River and tried to get some sleep. Surprisingly, it took three or four tries until I found a campground that had an open spot.

Camping along the river was a pretty awful experience. 90-degree heat at 11:00 pm with plague-like swarms of bugs--I just can't figure out why all the river-side campgrounds are so full in the middle of summer.

After sleeping in my sweat all night, I was thrilled to hear my alarm go off at 5 am so I could get moving. I drove a mile or so down the road and parked at the Negro Bill trailhead (elevation 3970'). The early pre-dawn glow from the sun reflected off the Colorado as I started down the bike bath toward town at 6 am.  I knew this was going to be a long day and it was doubtful I'd make it back before nightfall...

A new day dawns over the Colorado River near Moab.

Moab sleeps.

A sun-lit Moab Rim serves as a scenic backdrop as I head up La Sal Loop Road.

Out of the desert and into the mountains.  This is about 24 miles and 3500 feet up from my starting point on the Colorado River. My goal for the day--Mt. Peale--is behind Mt. Tukuhnikivatz (highest peak on right) and just out of view. 

The turn-off for Geyser Pass Road at about 8000 feet. My shoe retention system looks pretty ridiculous, but it performed flawlessly.

Gravel grinder up Geyser Pass Road. Mt Tuk at 12,482 feet looms overhead.

Canyon country bakes in summer heat below.

By 10 am I had completed the 32 mile and 6600-foot climb from the river near Moab up into Gold Basin (elevation 10,100'). After a quick breather and a change of shoes I started the 8 mile (round trip), 3,000-foot climb up to Mt. Peale.  A user-made trail made the first mile or so through the aspen groves a breeze.

My first good look at the north face of Mt. Tuk.

A small herd of Rocky Mountain goats graze in upper Gold Basin. Despite some opposition, the goats, which are not native to Utah,  were transplanted from an established herd in the Tushar Mountains in late 2013. 

Ridge-running high above Gold Basin.

Angle of repose. Carefully picking my way through talus on the south side of peak 12,271.

The cirque just below Mt. Peale. Lingering snow drifts allowed me to keep a constant, cold supply of water in my hydration pack.

View from Mt. Peale to the northeast into Colorado. I shared the peak with one other fellow that came up the opposite side.

Lunch at 12,721 feet. I reached the summit at about 1 pm, completing the 36-mile, 9,500-vertical-foot bike/hike combo from the Colorado River in 7 hours. Part one of the adventure was complete, and I was still feeling good. It's all downhill from here, right?

This friendly marmot was determined to get into my pack. These guys must be pretty tough and resourceful to survive at this altitude.

Whole Enchilada trailhead (elevation 10,542'). After running down Mt. Peale and hopping on my bike, I started grinding up toward the start of the Whole Enchilada trail. I knew I had two more passes to conquer until it truly was all downhill: a 700-foot climb to the Whole Enchilada trailhead at Geyser Pass followed by a solid 1,000-foot climb to Burro Pass.   The climb to geyser pass was OK, but I could feel the altitude and long miles starting to take their toll.

A little BBQ outside the Geyser Pass yurt. 

Flying down the first mile of the Whole Enchilada. Mt. Mellenthin (elevation 12,645') towers in the distance.

Purple lupine fill the Geyser Creek meadow below Mt. Tomasaki (12,239') in the high La Sals.  

Burro Pass broke my heart. The trail climbing up to the pass is not long, but it is very steep. Anything faster than a slow walk, would send my heart rate soaring. Normally, the climb to Burro Pass would take maybe 20-30 minutes tops. Somehow, it took almost 2 hours to crawl up there on this day. Now about 5 pm, and moving slowly, I knew there was no way I was going to beat the sunset.

Mill Creek Crossing. This would be the last photo I took. As I neared Warner Lake campground, I ran into some hikers that mentioned that the water taps were not tuned on. That then made my final water source the clear, fast-moving Mill Creek. I hadn't noticed any signs of livestock, so I went ahead and filled my hydration pack from the creek. Unfortunately, I once again, dunked my stinking camera in the water while filling my bladder.  I did this exact idiotic move a couple of years ago while running in Kauai (with the same camera). 

Totally exhausted, running behind schedule, and now with a broken camera, my spirits were getting down. To add insult to injury, as I came flying around the next corner, I ran into a wall of cows and their crap. I had already chugged a half liter of water, so I just kept drinking (never did get sick). 

After cruising by an amazing scene at Warner Lake, I felt like I'd better just get back to my car the fastest and easiest way possible. As dark clouds began to gather to the west, and the sun sank lower on the horizon, I knew I just didn't have it in me to finish the Whole Enchilada. I decided to at least hit Hazard County, but then just bail on La Sal Loop Road.

Even though I was running on fumes and feeling pretty miserable, the playful twists and turns of Hazard County Trail put some pep in my pedal. As I hit pavement and started the long coast down into Castle Valley, the wind and rain started whipping up and I could see that Porcupine Rim was getting hammered by rain and lightning.  That made my decision to bail much more palatable. 

I finally rolled back to my car at the Negro Bill trailhead at 9 pm feeling somewhat bittersweet. No, I couldn't pull off the Whole Enchilada, but at the end of the day, I'd biked 73 miles and hiked another 8, climbing nearly 12,000 feet along the way to knock off the second highest range in Utah in a way that few (if any??) have before.

Continue reading

Share:

Views: