The Mountains of My Life: August 18th 2017

And I did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things.

I thought I knew what ideas I was going to work through as I started this hike. The mood in our country was permeating. You couldn’t ignore what was happening. You couldn’t help but try to think it through and make sense of it. I wanted to come up with a way to express myself, to express my feelings that the real inspiration in the founding of our country was that they baked in the ability to change. Throughout our short history we have seen that when big changes must happen, they happen. Usually the country almost rips itself apart in a clash of voices, ideas, and violence but in the end we change. And we survive. Our future depends on figuring out how to do this. I needed some time in the mountains to get these thoughts straight.

The mountain had other ideas.

Since I have moved to Utah I have been drawn to Mt Ogden, sitting high above the city (although I cannot see it from my home). Well not Mt Ogden per se, more Allen Peak, just to the north. Not really even Allen Peak, but the rocky north ridge that leads (mostly) to it. Let me just show you a picture.

I didn’t know it until very recently but this is Taylor ridge. When I drive by and look at these mountains almost every day this is what my eyes are drawn to. It seems like the best, possibly the only, route to the top for me. I could spy it on other hikes to the north, especially from neighboring Lewis Peak. I really wanted to attempt it. Of course there are no trails. No information guides. Just me and the mountain and figuring it out. And I love me a good ridge.

By my study of the maps available the Indian Trail showed promise of getting me close to the ridge proper. Close to my target timing I spied the ridge and my jumping off point just as dawn arrived. A short section of picking through the scrub oak up a rounded hill and I am on the ridge. So far so good as I thought the off trail approach would one of the biggest challenges besides figuring out how to get back down. But we’ll get to that later.

Initially the ridge has only a mild incline so I easily skip along the jagged rocks. But then it steepens and I am forced to fully engage. As soon as my hand touches the rough stone I am overcome;

He is the Rock.

I refer to my conversations with the mountains like those with an old friend. Some back and forth, but often you tread along together in silence knowing each other without speaking of it. Sometimes, on rare occasions such as this, that friend will sit you down, take your hands, and look you in the eye. You know the words that follow will be of great importance, that you are about to experience something that you will always look back on as a sacred moment in your friendship.

He is the Rock.

I can hear the words ringing in my head, but more importantly I can feel the words, the meanings.

I felt much more than I could fully comprehend, let alone put into words. I am frankly at a loss of how to communicate my journey up Taylor ridge. I have thought it over for two months and I simply cannot lay everything out. While being taught in such a way was certainly a personal experience, what I was taught was not particularly personal. In fact, I wish I could share it with everyone, which is why I am even endeavoring to put this into print, despite the challenges.

The best I can do is say that what follows is an allegory and encourage it be read as such. I really don’t think you can read into it too much. I will try to point you in the right direction as needed. Every step, every movement was filled with meaning. I labored up the mountain, but all the while I was kneeling at the altar.

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.

I have to be honest, it took me a little bit to understand what was happening and to adjust to functioning on two planes. Mountaineering, even at this small scale, requires focus and diligence and after a bit of clumsy wandering I am able to give it the attention needed while also understanding meaning in what I am doing.

So I climb. And I love it. I have had so little opportunity lately to just put my hand to the rock and climb. It feels free and wonderful. Before long the sun peaks over the neighboring mountains and it fills me with warmth. I cross back and forth on the ridge as led by the cliffs, plunging into the coolness of the early morning shadows and back into the light and warmth.

The Rock.

The exciting thing about being free on a ridge like this is you get to pick your challenge. You can usually avoid steep, exposed sections by traversing around them, but sometimes that pushes you off the rock which introduces its own challenges. Every step of the way you are weighing your options. The more time you have spent on the rock more comfortable you are with it and the more you prefer it to the scrub oak that waits for you below.

Let me pause. Anyone who has hiked through scrub oak before and is paying attention is probably thinking “Scrub oak is the Devil!!” It is an easy connection to make and nicely contrasts with Christ as the rock. But no, it was clear that the scrub oak are trials. Unavoidable trials. Do they come from the devil? Maybe. I’ll let you find your own meaning.

I press up the ridge as it steepens and pick my route up, over, or around the cliffs. Sometimes I am forced off the rock and into the brush. I pick my way around it trying to find the easiest path, but rarely successful. Back on the rock I find plenty of challenges as well. I weigh the risk I am willing to take climbing free solo miles from any trail. At one point I elect to make a “technical leap.” I don’t know if it’s a real term, but one I have used for many years to describe when your best option is to make a jump under strenuous circumstances. Naturally some degree of chasm is involved (why else would you have to jump?), usually midair twisting, and more than average drop in elevation. I land solidly on the ledge, but my right foot only half way on a small unseen rock. I roll my ankle but hold firm to the rock and climb up and over the ridge to finish the sequence. I rest and take stock. Fortunately the ankle is not in terrible shape and I can press on. Honestly at this point I am past where I would consider turning back. Even the rock can be hard.

Remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation.

Suddenly I top out of the cliffs and find myself atop Taylor Peak with the winds beating against me. I now have view of the rest of the ridge to Allen Peak. I feel like I have covered only a small fraction of the route. I check the time, just after 0900. Did I mention I’m going to work today? I know I can’t go back down the ridge. Pressing further up the ridge only further complicates my egress route. I need to cut off and find my way down. Another day, when I have the whole day, I’ll complete the ridge and make sure I have a ride out by taking the relatively easy route on the backside down Snowbasin.

The ridge to Allen Peak.

View from Taylor Peak of Lewis Peak and Ben Lomond.

I assess my options. The direct route would be off the ridge to the northeast to catch the Coldwater Canyon trail. It is very steep and completely choked with scrub oak. Even from my perspective it does not look possible. To the south I see a major drainage that I know has a trail that leads to Mt Ogden. The trailhead is in Ogden and nowhere near my car. I open up Google Maps on my phone to see if I can make the Bonneville Shoreline trail connect back to my car. I study the map and notice another trail, Hidden Valley. It is down the covered ridge to the west and links back to the Indian Trail and my car.

That looks easy enough.

This ridge is not completely covered in scrub oak, but the rocks are not consistent enough to rely on them. I start off seeking to link together open patches between the brush. I find some success with this technique, however there are times when there are no thin patches to push through. In these circumstances much time can be wasted in trying to avoid your fate. The best path is to plunge straight in, to embrace whatever lays before you, to reach out and grab the scrub oak to pull you forward and keep you balanced. At times I’m not even walking on the ground, the brush is so thick it seems you are completely separated from the rocks of the earth. It can be a fight but soon you are on the other side, once again able to choose your path.

The sun is now in full strength and I am acutely aware of other possible dangers in these rocky hills. Now each time I enter a clearing I must quickly make an assessment of every stick and skittering lizard to determine if any rattlesnakes are present. Large, dry leaves litter the ground and it takes some practice to get used to the lizards (i.e. the snakes food source) running through it. On occasion I heard a different type of rustling in the bushes which may have been a snake, but no direct confrontations on my trailless descent. I check my phone regularly using the GPS and terrain map to check my location and heading. While my path is very winding by virtue of seeking the easiest terrain, for the most part it is true in leading towards the trail.

As I near the trail the oak starts rising and mixing with aspens. I talked about diving headlong in when no alternative was available, but I run into a wall. I trace it hundreds of feet in either direction with no break. I must give way to the mountain and plunge into the darkness. Gradually the brush gives way but the trees remain and so does the shade.

Looking for a trail in the mountains is a most peculiar experience. You have spent hours on your own, finding your own route and getting battered and broken in the process. Sometimes you are content with this journey, while other times you are almost frantic, worried you will never cross the trail. Either way the moment you step from the brush and onto the trail is a singular experience. It almost feels like a moment of enlightenment and a weight is lifted from you. Suddenly you have a path laid before you, you know almost exactly where you are, and now you are part of the “in” crowd that knows where to go. Just two steps ago you had none of that. When it comes to finding a trail your very best bet is to first spot someone else who is on the trail, as finding the trail by yourself can a great challenge. I once bushwhacked for almost a mile within a hundred feet of a road. It was cold and rainy and when I came on the road I was gob smacked that it even existed. I stood dripping in amazement when a car approached. Although the logging road was a godsend, I still wasn’t sure what way to go so I waved my arms to hail the car. The passengers averted their eyes and narrowly swerved around me leaving me feeling lost and alone once more. In all my failures in the mountains, nothing has broken my heart more than that moment. The exultation of finally being found dashed to pieces by those already in the “in” crowd.

Although my phone helps me know I am close, there is still a sense of wonder when the trail appears beneath my feet just before 1100. Uncertainty flees and now I know what to do. Run four miles (it ended up being over five) and I’ll be back to my car and heading to work. I make quick work of the trail out of Hidden Valley, but the Indian trail proves to be more challenging. I think the original name was Indian Death March trail. A look at the post hike data doesn’t show significant elevation gains and losses, but after my long morning it takes it’s toll. Despite my weariness I am able to appreciate the grand views offered at the tops of the cliffs. With each turn I hope it will lead to the final descent as my ankle is throbbing by this point.

Once I reach the descent I fall into a comfortable jog make good time in the shade of the trees. In mid-stride an alarm goes off right in front of me. Right where my left foot is going to land is a Great Basin Rattlesnake coiling and frantically rattling. For a split second our collective reaction is “AAAAAAGHHH!!!!!” I swing my left foot to the right and up the loose dirt of the mountainside. With much momentum still at play I kick down with my foot to spray as much dirt as I can in the direction of the serpent and bring my right foot back to the trail a few feet further down and stop. Still rattling the snake uncoils while keeping an eye on me. Then it turns and continues up the trial in silence. You are never completely safe, even when travelling easy on the established path.

Eventually the trail comes full circle back to where I left it hours before. Toward the end of the journey I cross a flowing spring. I stick my head fully under the icy cold water and let it wash over me. I drink freely and am revived. I am made whole again.

I start down the trail again and my senses once again become my own. It is now only me contemplating my hike as I easily finish it. I sit in my car and take a moment to think over it all. Even immediately afterwards it seems overwhelming. I marvel how I thought I was going to come up here and think through our countries problems and find solutions, and what I received instead. But as I think more about it, maybe I received the answers I was looking for after all. Now I just need to spread the word.

Remember the allegory.

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.