Signal, Burger Peak Combo

 06/04/26

Kolob Arch, Gifford Canyon, Destination Point, Deertrap Mountain. I'd seen all these places between the 22nd and 29th of May and I had the full intention of writing individual blogs for each one. But I didn't. Why? I don't know. I suppose I simply lacked the urge to dictate them onto the digital page. Plus I came to the realization that I don't need to write about every single dang thing I do in the woods. Sometimes I gotta just relax and let the memories rest in the confines of my own mind. 

Didn't do a whole lot in the days since. Felt a tad listless. Needed a change of scenery. Yep. That's what it was. I'd seen too much of the same thing. Too much red rock. Too many sheer cliffs. Too many prickly bushes and slippery rocks and sandy washes and crumbly sandstone. Beautiful for sure, but weary on the eyes. Gets a little tiresome after a while, like drinkin' too many root beer floats. Awesome in moderation, hell in ubiquity. Needed a break. Needed something else. 

The Pine Valley Range that sits just north of St. George came to mind. I'd seen it looming there in the distance from several Zion peaks, taunting me with its mysteries. When I finally got somewhat close to the range back on the 21st of May, on my brief side trip to Twin Peaks, I knew, then and there, that I'd have to see what they were all about.

June 4th seemed to be the right day. It was my only day off that week and by golly, I was gonna make it count. So I awoke at a reasonable hour and hit the road, driving down through St. George, off onto Highway 18, driving past Snow Canyon, Dammeron Valley, Veyo and Brookside. Hooked a right and drove through the quiet town of Central off and away to the even quieter town of Pine Valley. Slowed down. Rolled up the windows. Found the trailhead. Parked the car. Got out, stretched, and then began the trek. 

The beginning of the Forsyth Trail

The goal of the day was to visit two peaks: Signal Peak, the highpoint of the Pine Valley Range, and Burger Peak, the next summit over. There are a couple of ways to reach the summit of Signal Peak, both of them somewhat cardiovascularly challenging. I'd elected to use the Forsyth Trail approach for whatever reason. Not too sure why really. Something about that name just tickled my brain. 

And so I walked along the Forsyth Trail, the charred remnants of a once lush pine forest scattered around me. All was quiet, not a sound to be heard. And then the trail left the burn scar and entered a land of green and brown and gray, all bright, all color. And there were birds in the trees and the sound of cool, refreshing water rushing down through it all and it was no longer quiet and all of it was very quite scenic truth be told. I entered the Pine Valley Mountain wilderness. Walked past a couple of folks making their way back down the trail. I looked ahead. Green trees, lush foliage, running water. My brain hummed. My eyes wandered. I carried along, slowly gaining elevation. 

And the trail got steep and it zig-zagged up through beautiful scene after beautiful scene. Higher and higher, everything brilliant and green, the dirt a wonderful shade of brown, dark pines, bright aspens, all of it an assault on the senses, overwhelming for the mind. And I took a break on a log underneath a towering aspen and I looked around and turned my brain into a pretzel thinking about how just that morning I was driving through a dry, desiccated, sun-baked land of red rock and cactus and now here I was, surrounded by green, gazing upon scenery that reminded me of the lower Sierra. Very strange, very strange...

I kept going, the trail unrelenting with its grade, until finally reaching the junction with the Summit Trail. I hooked a left, wandering through a tunnel of juvenile aspens off and away through tall pines and subalpine foliage, the trail quite steep. Soon the views started to appear, the desert stretching out far below. Looked hot down there. And it would only get hotter as the day grew long. 

Along the summit trail

Views starting to come in...

And then the views really started to come into play and soon I could see most everything to the south and west, the desert sprawled out before me, stretching off into the hazy distance for mile and miles and miles. Stopped a moment, soaked it in, and then kept on truckin'.

I walked by the spur trail for Burger Peak; I'd hit it on the way back. From what I'd heard about Signal Peak, the thing really ain't so good in the views department. It's more of a "goal" peak than a "views" peak. So I figured I'd check it out first, saving Burger Peak for later. 

And I walked along, the views disappearing, entering a land of rock and pine. I passed a guerilla campsite, the trail getting a little trickier to follow. And then I started losing elevation, following the faint trail as it snaked its way down through the pines. Signal Peak eventually came into view, a large, pine-encrusted lump in the distance. I stuck to the trail for as long as I thought necessary and then, when the moment felt right, I ditched it and started wandering up a shady slope. 

Signal Peak

Off-trail on the way to Signal Peak

No use trail, no problem. It was obvious where to go; just had to go up. And I wandered up the slope, the thing a wee bit steep in places, ziggin' and zaggin' underneath the tall pines. No views. Just forest. And then eventually the grade disappeared and I found myself wandering around on flat ground. Could this be the summit? Yes. Yes it was. 

Wide, flat, forested, little to no views. Yup. Looked exactly how I imagined it would. I walked around, trying to find a highpoint or benchmark or register. Couldn't find nothin', nothin' except a small campfire ring and a memorial for someone who probably loved this mountain more than most. I sat down, ate some PB&J tortilla wraps, looked around, shrugged, and then retraced my steps back to the trail.

Signal Peak summit

This is about the best view you'll see from the summit

Back on the trail, I wandered up to that land of rock and pine near the guerilla campsite and then moseyed off the trail, you know, 'cause I felt like it. I sauntered on over to the south, approaching some cliffs. I walked to the edge, unobstructed views stretching out before me. A slight breeze, no clouds in the sky. Blazing desert down below, crystal blue up above. I sat on a rock, my eyes trying to locate various landmarks. There's St. George, way down there. And ahh, yes, there's T-Bone Hill. Snow Canyon, that's an easy one. And that was about it. All the rest, all the undulating ranges, the mysterious peaks rising through the haze, barely perceptible, were simply unknown to me. 

And that kinda makes it better to look at, you know? Gazing upon the unknown stirs the stew of curiosity within us all. Some like it, some fear it. I relish it. Makes me feel all fuzzy inside. What could be out there? What's there to see? I gotta get out there, see it for myself. It's the only way to quell the curiosity. I imagine myself ambling through these unknown places, seeing the sights, absorbing the scene. If I imagine enough, I just might actually get out there in person. Sometimes it works. Lookee here now. I imagined myself in the Pine Valley Mountains. And here I am. Crazy how that works!

View from the cliffs

Heading up to Burger Peak

Once I'd had my fill, I strolled on back to the trail, followed it for a moment or two, and then took the spur trail up to Burger Peak. Not much of a trail, truth be told. Lost it a few times. But no matter. Like Signal Peak, it was pretty obvious where to go. Only this time I had to contend with some big ol' boulders here and there. 

Wrapping around boulders, hopping over deadfall, I finally made it to the base of the final summit push. Rocky, steep, no worse than class 2. At one moment I was at the base, in the next I was at the top. Rocks, rocks, boulders, rocks. Three benchmarks. Hundreds of ladybugs. A beat-up register that had definitely seen better days. And views and views and views galore. Wow. What a nice summit. I sat down, chomped on some cashews, and took it all in. 

Slightly southwest

Northwest

Northeast

Slightly southeast

West Temple and Co. visible in the distance

I spent a good long while up there, soaking in the ultraviolets, listening to the hum of the ladybugs. Didn't even bother signing the register; the thing was water damaged beyond recognition. And I plopped down on my back and looked around and put my hat over my head and dozed for a lil' while, simply letting the minutes pass on by. 

And then I got up, looked around some more. Gorgeous scenery, gorgeous scenery everywhere. Dense pines, ebullient aspens, cool skies, scorching desert. So much country, so much to see. Could even see the West Temple poking out in the southeast, a world away, completely different from the terrain that immediately surrounded me. Weird to think that these two places, so very different from one another, live so close to each other. Strange, strange, strange...

These buggers were the only ones that would
sit still long enough for me to get their picture

Couldn't stay up there all afternoon. Had to get back down eventually. Might as well be now. And so I said my goodbyes to Burger Peak and followed the spur trail back to the Summit Trail, walking down the steep grade back into the forest. Hit the junction with the Forsyth Trail, the aspens carved with the names of loners and lovers going all the way back to the 90's. Down, down, down. Down through the pines, down into the valley, across cool streams and crunchy dirt. Makin' tracks, chuggin' along, enjoying the afternoon, each and every second of it. Stopped at a stream crossing. Dipped my hat, washed off the salt that had built up on the brim. Soaked my head, let the water run down my neck. And then it was back to walkin' and gawkin', walkin' and gawkin'. 

Heading back...

Made it back to the car. Started the engine. Sat there for a minute or two. Rolled down the windows and then drove through the town of Pine Valley. Ain't nothin' going on there; not one single thing. And then it was back down the road, back into the heat, back to State Route 18 and quiet towns and dusty desert and open sky and wind and dryness—all that good stuff. I drove through the town of Veyo. Saw the namesake cinder cone rising ahead, keeping watch over the town. Decided to climb it. Why not? 

And so I found me a pullout and then immediately began hikin' up the thing, traipsing through juniper and sagebrush and dead and dry grass. And I reached the base and I was dripping sweat, the temps hovering in the low triple digits. But no matter. The sun was falling, dipping below the summit. Soon I was in blessed shade, the slog to the summit now slightly more bearable. 

Loose cinders, crunchy cinders, one step forward, two steps back. Red cinders, dark cinders, some small, some large and I stepped on 'em and they sounded like ancient shards of the finest terra cotta. And I got to the top, the sun in my face, the heat intense, emanating off of everything. Wandered over to the summit. Thing was marked with a cross. Found the benchmark. Sat down. Looked around. 

Veyo Volcano

The summit

Saw the tiny town of Veyo to the north. Saw the Pine Valley Mountains to the east. Saw Signal Peak and Burger Peak rising out of the furnace. Cooler up there in the land of rock and pine. Not here. Not on this ol' cinder cone. And I looked to the south and saw juniper and sagebrush, off to the southwest rose higher peaks of which I am unfamiliar. West revealed more unknown, more mystery, more haze, more dust, more distant mounds of earth rising in the distance. And I sat down in the heat and watched the sun fall lower and lower towards the horizon, sweat slowly dripping off my chin and onto the thirsty ground. A moment here, a moment there, minutes passing by, the surrounding heat almost audible, a slight buzzing in the ears. And then it was time to go. Got up, took one last look, and then followed my tracks back to the car.

East

The town of Veyo, view north

Southwest

Down the road, driving, driving, driving, the temps static, unchanging. It was approaching evening now. Things were starting to cool off, just a tad, just a tad. Barely perceptible. And I wasn't quite done yet and I figured I'd make one last stop on the way back home, one last place before callin' it quits. 

On the drive out that morning, I rode past this spot called "Dixie Rock." Looked interesting. Kinda like a park of some kind. Benches, parking lot, paved trails, information signs, you know, the whole nine yards. Saw some folks rappelling the namesake rock, a giant mound of bright red sandstone rising above St. George. Figured I'd have to give it a look. And so I did.

Pulled right into the parking lot. Found me a spot. Got out, stretched the legs. Lots of people out and about, enjoying the warm, balmy evening. I walked over to the rock. Climbed up the steps carved into it. Walked across a metal bridge covered with locks. Found myself on the summit. Other people were there, wandering around. A group of climbers were just sitting there, shooting the breeze, their bag of gear just layin' there in the evening sun. And I sat down and watched the traffic zoom on by and felt the air grow cooler and gazed upon the city and everything was all well and good and nice. 

"Dixie Rock"

And that about wrapped up the day. I was feelin' mighty hungry, so I stopped at In-N-Out on the way back home. Hadn't eaten at one of those in over a year. Tasted just how I remembered it. Now I don't know if it was because I had climbed a mountain called "Burger Peak" or what, but for whatever reason, I still wasn't quite full after finishing my meal. So I did something I ain't never done before: got back in line and waited another 15 minutes for another dang burger. And I gobbled up that one too and I was still hungry but I sure as hell wasn't gonna stand in line and wait another 15 minutes for a silly ol' burger. So I left the place and drove on back home, snacking on bread and olive oil well into the night, a good way to end a good day. 

T-Bone Hill, Yellow Knolls, Snow Benchmark

05/21/26

I was drivin' down a dirt road, Shuggie Otis on the radio. I'd woken up that morning, downed some chow, looked online, saw some spots near St. George, thought, "hmm, well that looks interesting" and then I grabbed a pack and some water and set off to go see what they were all about. T-Bone Hill. Yellow Knolls. Snow Benchmark. Each one offering something slightly different, all of 'em fairly close to one another. Figured I'd make a loop of sorts, starting with the easiest spot first, saving the hard stuff for last.

T-Bone hill was first on the list. I found the trailhead, parked the car, started down the trail, the afternoon sun beating down on my head. I soon left the trail and started heading up a steep little ridge, hopping up huge, hot, sun-baked volcanic rocks along the way. 

T-Bone Hill. I ascended on the left.

I began heading towards the highpoint once atop the summit plateau, the thing flat, wide, mostly devoid of brush. No footprints. No use trail. Just dirt and rocks and prickly plants. A slight downhill here, a slight uphill there. Volcanic rocks, hot to the touch, baked by the sun, off to the side, minding their own business, not bothering nobody. And I moseyed along, still walking towards the highpoint. And then the brush kinda disappeared and it was back to walking on those hot, hot, hot volcanic rocks. And the going was easy and I reached what looked to be a highpoint, located conveniently at the bottom of the "T." 

Looking at the "T" from the highpoint

I stopped. Dropped the pack. Took a gander. Yep. Looked exactly how I imagined it would from the trailhead. A funny little summit in a funny little place. I looked east, looked at the "T." Pretty accurate "T" all things considered. Don't see that too often in the wild, probably because Earth can't write too good. Never did went to grade school after all...so can you blame it?

A funny ol' hill in some funny ol' light. Cars zoomed up and down the road to the west, a black line cutting through a bunch of red rock. I plopped down on my haunches and watched the cars like a buzzard watching a group of well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. Buzzards have no interest in well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. If they did, all hell would break loose.

And so I watched the cars uninterested and then decided to take a different way down, scrambling off the highpoint to the south, finding the remnants of an old summit register, the tattered remains of some underwear and an empty, dried-up, partly sun-bleached tortoise shell. Funny little things in a funny little spot. 

And I cut across to the trail and got back in the car and then high-tailed it up the dirt road to the 2nd destination of the day: Yellow Knolls. From the trailhead, these things did, in fact, look quite yellow. But as I approached the illusion was shattered and I saw them for what they really were: reddish, whitish, crumbly mounds of reddish, whitish, crumbly rock. But they looked cool as can be and I'm all for things that are cool as can be, and so I walked down the trail, left it at a random point and began scrambling up to the summit of the southernmost knoll.

Yellow Knolls

Scrambling up the southernmost knoll

Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 was the name of the game. Just ziggin and zaggin'; a simple, foolproof method for climbing most mountains. Most mountains. The rest require zaggin' and ziggin', but that's an advanced technique that takes years of practice and is only utilized by the most experienced of mountain climbers. 

So I zig-zagged my way up the thing, keeping it class 2, the going steep, the rock crumbly. And I topped out on the summit of the southernmost knoll and took a gander and went "yup" and snapped some photos and then decided to do a lil' traverse, walking from the southernmost knoll to the northernmost knoll via an interesting lookin' ridge. 

View from the southernmost knoll

The interesting lookin' ridge

Gotta love a good ridge. I descended from the southernmost knoll, weaving in and around rocks and shrubs and stuff, some mild scrambling here, some mild scrambling there. Walking along, I kept expecting things to get spicy, things to get wild. Kept expecting to get to a point where the fun would stop and I'd have to lock-in and turn on my brain and route-find my way through a maze of sheer, crumbly rock. But that never happened. The ridge goes. And it goes well.

And I'd scramble here and scramble there, none of it too challenging. Down the ridge, up the ridge, a grand ol' time. I walked along the sandstone, the afternoon sun still nice and hot, the wind nice and warm. And I scrambled up to the northernmost knoll, sticking to the ridge the whole way, hopping from one rock to another.

Almost to the northernmost knoll

Looking south from the northernmost knoll

Atop the northernmost knoll, gazing out upon the others, observing the strange landscape that surrounded me. Crumbly white sandstone, crumbly red sandstone, black volcanic rock, dying grass, yellow grass, prickly, pokey shrubs. An interesting scene; so much to see, so much happening at once. So I sat down and felt the warm breeze pass over me and I took a gander and a glance and went "yup" and then set off to the northwest knoll, the final stop on this romp through dirt and stone before heading off to other things.

Interesting sandstone

Heading towards the northwest knoll

I descended a different ridge, walking straight to the northwest knoll. I looked off to my left, to the east, gazing upon strange, intricate sandstone that looked like the scales of a dragon. Snapped a few photos, took a lil' break, and then carried on with my rollick through the hills. And I approached the eastern base of the northwest knoll and immediately began scrambling to the top, some of it class 3. I'm sure there were easier ways to reach the summit, but I'm an impatient sod and I was in a scramblin' mood and so I went up the thing no questions asked, see you later, goodbye. 

And I reached the top and it definitely had the least interesting views of the three, in my opinion. Stood around for like two seconds and then started heading off the thing, trekking southwest. Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 greeted me, and I skirted down the thing lickety-split, deciding to scramble down some fairly precipitous sandstone slabs near the bottom in order to avoid the boring, loose stuff. And then it was back to the trail, back to walkin' through the desert, back to walkin' next to more volcanic rock, huge volcanic rock, big ol' boulders, the sun high up above, backing everything to a nice crisp. 

Heading down the northwest knoll

Back on the trail...

And I got back to the car and started 'er up and continued driving up the road, stopping at the Mesa Rim Trailhead to check out some bonus peaks before heading over to Snow Benchmark. I'd seen them on the drive up, seen them from the summits of the knolls. Two little knobs of volcanic rock, situated right next to each other. "Twin Peaks." I figured they'd be interesting to visit, and so I did. 

Yellow Knolls from the Mesa Rim Trail

Twin Peak #1

Walking along the trail, dry shrubs, low shrubs, grass and sticks and rocks and dirt and foxtails gettin' in my socks. And the taller of the two peaks came into view and I left the trail and walked straight to it, more grass, more sticks, more foxtails. And the going was mellow and I reached the base of this mellow little peak and mellowly climbed up the mellow slopes through mellow volcanic boulders to the top of the mellow summit.

And there was a tiny little mellow register up there with tiny little mellow entires in it. Not a whole lotta entries in there. Very few people visit this spot. And I sat down and spun around and looked at the views whilst munchin' on brazil nuts and cashews, the desert expansive, never-ending. Off to the northeast rose the massive, prominent bulk of Signal Peak, the thing completely dominating the whole scene. Looking east revealed the high peaks of Zion National Park, the West Temple standing tall and proud, clearly visible on the horizon. Off to the south lay the urban sprawl of St. George and Washington, Mt. Bangs hazy in the distance. Southwest revealed T-Bone Hill and Yellow Knolls, both of them looking quite small. And off to the northwest rose Snow Benchmark, a brushy ol' knob that looked mighty mighty interesting. I took some photos, signed the register, and then set off for the 2nd, smaller summit.

Signal Peak

West Temple wayyyy out there

Southwest

Twin Peak #2

Down through volcanic rock, out across foxtails and dried grass. And then up volcanic rocks again, these a little steeper, although I did see an easier route a little to the south. Refused to take it. Like I said, I was in a scramblin' mood. And so I scrambled. 

Not a whole lot going on up at the summit of Twin Peak #2. No benchmark, no register. Didn't linger too long. Took one single photo and then set off down the volcanic rock, walking in a straight line back to the trail. Things were cooling off now, the afternoon growing long, the breeze not so warm anymore, the sun not so intense. I got back to the car, rolled down the windows, and then drove off and away on dirt roads through dry, desiccated country, slow and unhurried, the afternoon casual and relaxed.

Twin Peak #1 from Twin Peak #2

And I drove through a lil' ol' town called Diamond Valley and I saw a lil' ol' cinder cone rising in the lil' ol' distance, the famous "Diamond Cinder Cone" no doubt. Since it was right there, I decided to give it a visit before heading over to Snow Benchmark. Wouldn't take no more than half an hour, tops.

And I walked up the trail and I saw the first people I'd seen all day. And then I started jogging up the trail and I reached the summit in just about 10 minutes, no diamonds to be found. A quick aside, nothing to write home about. And then I turned around and ran the whole way back, got in the car, drove up the highway, finally heading towards the last stop of the day. No more side trips. No more brief asides. It was time to finally get to Snow Benchmark. I'd procrastinated long enough.

Diamond Cinder Cone

Turned off the highway, parked in the expansive dirt lot. And I began walking on the trail, the thing nice and wide and rocky, not a soul to be seen. And on and on and on and on, walking along dirt and rocks, walking amongst the birds and the scraggily pines, the sun goin' down, the shadows growing long. I crossed a wilderness boundary, following footprints on the well-trodden trail towards my chosen destination.

There, in the distance. I saw it poking up. Still a good ways off. But nothin' I couldn't handle. Put the legs in cruise control and chugged out the miles, one step at a time. And I reached a junction and made a right, walking towards the peak, stepping through the crunchy dirt and slippery sand. 

And then I started heading downhill and I walked a little ways off the trail and I saw a tremendous view of Snow Canyon, half of it in shadow. I stopped for a minute, took a few photos, said "wow" or something brilliant like that. And then it was back to the trail, back to truckin', walking along, gettin' closer and closer to the summit.

Snow Canyon

Snow Benchmark

And I had no beta and I didn't know when to leave the trail. But then I remembered what I had been doing all day; just had leave the trail whenever I felt like it was right. Did it for T-Bone Hill. Did it for the southernmost Yellow Knoll. Did it for Twin Peak #1. Didn't do it for Diamond Cinder Cone though. That sucker had a trail all the way to the top. It don't count. It was a distraction. An interruption. A brief amusement, a digression from the pace of the day, a small tangent, extra, extra credit, the kind of additional, useless, mundane, boring work that only the teacher's pet would complete for little or no reward. 

So I left the trail when I felt like it was right, walking up a brushy gully to a saddle of sorts. And then I scrambled up some class 2 stuff, more loose rocks, you know, the usual. Dodged some yucca and pinyon pines and the occasional spider web and I walked straight into the sun, Snow Benchmark dead ahead. Nearly there, nearly there. A hop, skip and a jump later and I was on the rocky summit, a small cairn marking the highpoint. At long last. I'd seen this thing for most of the day, and here I was, finally, standing on the summit. 

Walking up the gully...

A quiet summit, a peaceful summit. No sounds, no breeze, no bugs, no nothin'. And it was almost seven o'clock and the sun was well on its way to the other side of the world, slowly falling out of the sky, the shadows on the canyons growing longer and longer with each passing second. And I stood there and looked at the ruggedness, looked at the tall pines and the short pines and the white rock and the red rock and the jumbled, broken scar of Snow Canyon cutting through the scene, breaking up the pace, the flow, and off and away rose Signal Peak, keeping watch over everything. Quiet, quite, peaceful, peaceful. An interesting summit. An interesting place. An interesting way to end an interesting day spent wandering around some interesting places. Yup. That's what it's all about. 

Signal Peak

Snow Canyon

West

Northwest

And I'd had my fill and started heading back down, retracing my steps. Back on the trail, now completely in the shade. Ahh. How pleasant. And I walked over to the viewpoint for Snow Canyon, and I drank the rest of my water and ate the rest of my food and just sat and stared, sat and stared. But it was almost 7:30pm and I had some miles to eat and a longish drive to top it off and so I got up, took one last look, and then set off down the trail.

Headin' back down

Back at the car, the sun hovering on the horizon, the temps finally starting to cool, night on its way. No more hikin'. Thank goodness. All together it was something like 16 miles with 4,000ft of elevation gain. Not too shabby. But more than expected. I was nice and tired, my mind looking forward to the longish drive out of the hills and into the lower desert. 

A simple day, clean-cut and straightforward. Found the places online that morning. Hiked to them that afternoon, with a little extra along that way. Bing, bang, boom. That's how I do.