Goofin' Around the Markagunt Plateau

 09/22/26

I only had one day off for the week and I decided to spend most of it laying in bed doing absolutely nothing. But then I remembered that my season here in the west was coming to a close and I didn't know when I'd be here again so I was like "fine, I suppose I gotta do something" so I figured I'd just go for a drive and see what was up.

Drove up to Cedar City, stopping at a Maverick along the way for a plastic-flavored burrito and a surprisingly good corndog. Not sure why I purchased it; I'm not very fond of corndogs truth be told. Don't even remember the last time I had a corndog; it's been a fat minute. Almost as fat as that corndog. Thing sat nice and heavy in my gut, as if I'd just swallowed a ceramic brick. Man, you gotta love that gas station food. Does a good job at filling the void, and an even better job at filling the toilet.  

And so I drove through Cedar City with a belly full of slop and I saw a sign for Cedar Breaks National Monument and I was like "well, I haven't been there for a while," so I hooked a right on SR-14 and kept on driving, heading towards the Markagunt Plateau. Last time I was up there was in July of 2021, so I was curious to see if it had changed much. 

But first: some goofin' around. Yeah, I was feelin' a little funky after downin' that gas station grub and I was in the mood to walk it off for a couple hours. I stopped at this dirt pullout for the Red Hollow Trailhead, a place of which I knew nothing about. Seemed like a cool spot, so I went for it. Hopped out the car with my trusty backpack and a single bottle of water and set off on the trail to see what it had in store.

"The Red Hill"

The trail took me up a small valley of sorts, the slopes off to the west highly captivating. Steep, brushy, and peppered with cool red boulders, this area was just begging to be explored. So when the trail eventually dumped me on a saddle, I decided to climb up through the boulders just to see how far I could get. As I was heading up, I recalled a day spent scoping some maps around the Cedar City area and realized I was ascending something called "The Red Hill." Thing ain't much of a hill; it's more of a short ridge that juts out of the earth. But it was neat. Real neat. All the class 2 and mild, unnecessary class 3 scrambling did a great job of distracting me from the brewing storm in my gut. 

View from the "summit" of the Red Hill

North

Cedar City

I eventually reached the top and tried to find a highpoint of sorts; there were many good contenders but since I didn't have a GPS I couldn't say for certain which bump was the highest. I climbed all of them, just to be sure. The views were pretty good along the ridge, especially those towards Cedar City to the west. Little pools of water sat undisturbed in tiny divots and dimples in the fiery-red boulders strewn about the summit area, the air fresh with the scent of recent rain. Without want or care, I kinda just bumbled along the ridge, climbing up boulders, lookin' around, no agenda or anything. Once I'd had my fill, I turned around and hiked back to the saddle where I started up towards the feature on opposite side of the small valley: Thor's Lookout.

I followed a well-worn trail all the way to this ramshackle collection of rocks and sticks and graffiti arranged in the configuration of a sorry, sorry throne, the kind of throne that would make the person sitting in it instantly melancholic. This must've been the supposed "lookout," and I gotta admit, the view from there wasn't bad. But if this was indeed the lookout point for the revered god of thunder then he must've fallen on some hard times, 'cause dang, that thing looked pitiful. 

The pitiful throne

The view from the throne

Still in the mood for some wanderin' and whatnot, I decided to scamper up the hill directly behind the throne. To my surprise, it didn't seem like I was the only person that had this idea. I followed a faint use-trail as it snaked its way up the steep slope, the thing mostly made up of loose dirt. When I got to the summit ridge I decided to head north, hitting up a highpoint that was marked with a little stack of rocks. There used to be a register under there, but years of exposure to the elements had long since destroyed it. 

The summit of the northern highpoint

Heading back to the southern highpoint

I retraced my steps and followed the ridge to the southern highpoint, ducking under crispy branches and avoiding the occasional prickly offender along the way. Didn't find nothin' on this summit. Just a decent view of SR-14 wrapping up and away towards the Markagunt Plateau. 

Looking towards the Markagunt Plateau 

Hikin' back down the Red Hollow Trail...

I was feelin' pretty good by this point; the storm in my gut nothin' but a distant memory. But the afternoon was growing long and I still had to check out Cedar Breaks after all. So I boot-skied down the steep, loose slope back to the lookout, back to the trail, back down the small valley and away to the car. Started 'er up and continued the drive along SR-14, the scenery just as scenic as I remembered it. 

Mysterious canyons, dignified pines, colorful aspens, their leaves brilliant and golden in the afternoon sunlight. I continued along the road until finally making a left towards Cedar Breaks, stopping at a pullout for a brief detour up to Blowhard Mountain. I remembered seeing this thing the last time I was in the area and I wanted to get a closer look at all the kooky metallic structures on the summit. So I walked up the road, the air slightly breezy, everything crisp and cool and colorful. 

Shouldn't have made the effort to go up there; Blowhard Mountain is what you would call a goofy summit. The metallic structures were definitely interesting, but not as interesting as I'd imagined. They were just big. Big and noisy, humming like an asinine boy's choir all out of tune. I wandered around for a bit, found the highpoint, took some photos, and then called it good. The ONE saving grace of ol' Blowhard was the view south towards Zion National Park. Saw the West Temple down there, clear as day in the distance. Ain't never seen the park from that angle, so it was mighty fascinating to say the least.

The metallic structures of Blowhard Mtn

Zion National Park from Blowhard Mtn

Alright, time for the main thing: Cedar Breaks. I pulled into the visitor center parking lot, hiking immediately towards Point Supreme. This was the first spot I'd visited when I was last there five years ago, and you know what? Looked exactly the same. Save for the clouds. It was overcast when I last visited. And the people. Lots of different people, most of them senior citizens just bobbin' around and talkin' amongst themselves about the views and the sky and the trees and whatnot. I didn't linger long; just enough to take one photo and then I was off to a spot I ain't ever been to before: Spectra Point.

Hiking towards Spectra Point

Cedar Breaks

Simply followed a well-developed trail all the way there. Not too many people out and about; I mainly had the whole thing to myself. I stopped at the guardrails and snapped photos of the cliffs and canyons, the whole thing looking like a discount version of Bryce Canyon National Park. Silence in the air; nothing but the breeze and the sky and the shifting clouds.

And while I was standing there, all at once, for no reason whatsoever, I was reminded of why it is that I venture into the sticks in the first place. Solitude. Peace of mind. Meditation. This whole year, I've been putting my body through the wringer, climbin' peaks or doing these long-ass days in the woods, numbing my mind through the sheer act of physical exertion. And that's all well and good, but I've been doing it to excess. And ain't nothin' good in excess.

Standing there at Spectra Point, I was reminded of the days spent wandering the Sespe Wilderness, backpacking with the family, going about my days in the woods in a relaxed, unhurried fashion. No goals, no sufferfest. Just a simple meditation in the calm of the sticks. 

And I stood there behind the guardrails for long, long time, reminiscing on days past, watching the clouds drift by, overcome with this feeling of peace and wonder that I haven't felt since I first started writing this blog. Sometimes you just gotta get out there and goof around and simply enjoy the sticks for what they are. It'll do you good. 

The view from Spectra Point

And so, with this new, relaxed state of mind, I left Spectra Point and casually strolled back to the visitor center, started the car, and drove up the road with the windows down, absorbing the essence of the high country. I made a right and pulled off the road for a minute, deciding to check out the highpoint of the monument, the unassuming Markagunt Hill. This was probably the shortest hike to a summit I've ever done: whole thing was less than a quarter mile roundtrip and only took me just over five minutes to complete. Found a small summit cairn on the top; nothin' else. Just a bunch of downed trees and thorny bushes. 

Markagunt Hill

Finished with that little side-trip, I drove back to the main road, following it out of the monument until I reached a sign displaying things about the Ashdown Gorge Wilderness. Intrigued, I pulled over and walked along a trail that sat right next to the sign, following it until I reached yet another view of Cedar Breaks, unknowingly walking over the wilderness highpoint in the process. Saw the same cliffs at the viewpoint, same shades of red, same discount-lookin' Bryce Canyon-esque terrain. But it was nice. Nice and calm, nice and peaceful. I stood there for a moment or two, watched the clouds again, watched the light dance upon the redness of the soil. And then it was back to the car, back to drivin', back to goofin' around without any plans whatsoever, simply burnin' daylight for the sake of it. 

Brian Head

Saw Brian Head. It was close. There's a dirt road that goes all the way to the top. I saw a few vehicles making their way up that road, all of them in a line going slow and steady as if participating in some sacred ritual. I figured I'd follow suit and I hooked a right and drove up the dirt road but only for a little ways, stopping at the Sidney Peak trail. Yeah, there was still a fair amount of daylight left and I didn't feel like burnin' it away on ol' Biran Head so I decided to venture out into the sticks yet again, back to wanderin' around in the silence of the Markagunt Plateau. 

Sidney Peaks from Peak 11082

Peace and quiet, subtle breeze, low clouds hovering up above. Just me and my thoughts, bumblin' along, goofin' around, hittin' up highpoint after highpoint just to see what was up. Ditched the trail and made the brief and easy ascent to Peak 11082, the top of which displayed an excellent view of the Sidney Peaks collection. I decided right then and there that I'd climb each and every one of them, why, I don't know. Seemed like a good way to pass the time. 

Sidney Middle (left) and Sidney North (Right) from 
Peak 10989

Picked up the trail and followed it until reaching a gentle saddle between Middle Sidney and Peak 10989. Ditched the trail again, following a tranquil ridge to mellow summit, the highpoint of which was hidden in scraggily pines. After that, I retraced my steps and checked out North Sidney, the sun casting long shadows over everything, the breeze seemingly carrying all sound off and away into nowhere. 

View from North Sidney

Brian Head out there

Walked through the grass, dodged the trees, jumped over the deadfall. There were two high points on North Sidney; I climbed both of them, not for any high and mighty reason, but simply because I could. And then I wandered on over to Middle Sidney, posting up and a stack of rocks near the highpoint and I just sat there and leaned my head on my fist and went "wow." 

It wasn't the terrain that struck me most. Or the lighting. Or the views. Or even the mountain itself. In all honesty, Middle Sidney, at least to me, is a very forgettable summit. What got me was this strange feeling of solitude, of peacefulness, of halcyon days long since past. The clouds blocked out the sun, casting dark shadows over everything, adding to the mystique. A crisp moon was just beginning to jut up from the horizon, peeking over the tippy-tops of the trees like a kid trying to steal one last peace of Halloween candy while no one is lookin'. And I sat and gazdd upon it all and I got hit with that same feelin' I got at Point Supreme and I let it ride and ride and ride, simply meditatin' on that summit like an old and weathered rock at the bottom of the ocean. 

North Sidney from Middle Sidney

Brian Head (left) from Middle Sidney

And I watched the sun gettin' lower and lower and I knew that I just had to, just HAD to see the sunset on top of Brian Head. Alright. No more dilly-dallying. I skipped off the summit of Middle Sidney and coasted on down the trail, bobbin' away back to the dirt road. But of course I just had to check out the very last Sidney Peak of the Sidney Peak collection and so I ditched the trail one last time for one final, quick side-trip to a spot that I didn't need to see but saw anyway. 

South Sidney

View northeast from South Sidney

Oddly enough, this was the only peak out off all the Sidneys that had a summit register. And odder still, it would appear that someone gave this Sidney a name: "Noni Peak." Sidney, Noni, I didn't care. Peaks are peaks. Names come and go but the story of the mountain stays the same. It's still gonna be the same ol' mountain no matter what. Don't matter what you call it; it ain't gonna change!

And so I perused the entries in the booklet; placed in 2025, the thing has seen very few visits, surprise surprise. Why anyone would want to hike all the way out to this random bump on the Markagunt Plateau is a mystery to me. But, then again, what was I doing way out there on this random bump on the Markagunt Plateau, hmmm? Couldn't tell you. And I suppose the others in that register couldn't tell you either. Just goofin' off like me I guess.

Satisfied with the mysteries of South Sidney/Noni Peak, I said goodbye and trotted down to the trail, the Sun now hiding behind the horizon, everything around me cold and shadowy. Put on some layers, stuck my hands in my pockets, trucked on out of their back to the road and up to the top of Brian Head. Got there right as the last rays of light were fading away on the horizon, just in time to see the end of the opening act as it prepared the audience for night, night, night. 

Hikin' up the road to Brian Head

There was an old guy up there dressed in a coat and a beanie and he was talkin' on the phone to some guy on speaker about who knows what. He saw me, waved, and then wandered away to the north, babblin' to his buddy about things I can only imagine. I trekked on over to the summit shelter, touched the benchmark, took a long look at the view. Someones car alarm went off down in the resort area; heard it like it was right next to me, everything was just so quiet. And then it was shut off and it was back to silence and I waited until it was good and dark and that about wrapped up the day; I simply moseyed on down the road back to the car and drove on out of there. 

Cedar Breaks from Brian Head

Drove into Cedar City, stopped at a Panda Express for a late dinner, and then it was back to the casa. Shower, teeth, pajamas, beddy-bye time. No more goofin' around. Time for sleep. It had been an excellent way to spend my only day off. A nice reset. A good break from the humdrum of everyday life. All in all I ended up hikin' a combined 17 miles with around 4,000ft of elevation gain, not that it matters. What mattered was the peace and the silence and the reignited whimsy of gettin' out there and enjoying the sticks for what they are. And by did I get my fair share of that!

Cascade Mountain, Spanish Fork Peak

 09/15/26

It was a silent morning. Evidence of last night's bonfire jamboree was nowhere to be seen. No trash, no graffiti. Just footprints and tire tracks. Those college kids sure cleaned up nice. Gotta respect that. And so I sat up and continued to gaze out the window and munched on a Pop-Tart and stretched a bit and hopped out the car and watered the dirt with some golden urine and my mind was not in it to win it. Not one bit. I was still pretty sore from yesterday's hike up to Lone Peak and such, and the cramped confines of my vehicle provided hardly any chance for sufficient recovery. Still sore, still woozy. But I was on the brink of completing a task that had absolutely no meaning. And by golly, I was gonna do it.

I unknowingly began this task last year when Grace and I went up Mt. Nebo on our trip across the country. Little did I know that this peak is part of something called the "Wasatch Seven," which is basically a list of seven peaks in Utah's Wasatch range that, for whatever reason, are worth visiting. 

Maybe it's because they're pretty. Or maybe it's 'cause they're prominent. Or maybe they have secret underground cities in them full of untold riches just waiting to be plundered by those who are brave enough to explore their depths. Whatever the case, someone put these peaks on a list and I guess it's sort of a challenge or something to make the trek to each of their summits. As is stood that morning, I had checked off Mt. Nebo, Timpanogos, Santaquin, Lone Peak and Provo Peak, leaving only Cascade Mountain and Spanish Fork Peak on the table. Cascade Mountain was the only thing on the agenda for the day, but, if by some miracle it didn't entirely wreck my mind and soul, I'd probably make an attempt of Spanish Fork. If I did in fact complete those two peaks in one day I would certainly be in for it. I'd be sore for days and days. And to top it off, I already wasn't feelin' my best and brightest. But like I mentioned earlier, I was on the cusp of completing this wonderful task that had absolutely no meaning, and I like me a good task so I gathered all the optimism I could muster, grabbed my pack, and set off towards Cascade Mountain, my body running on Pop-Tarts and positive thoughts. 

Fall colors on the way to Cascade Mountain

Heading up the chute...

Steep going up the chute...

The first bit of the "trail" to Cascade Mtn weaved through a beautiful mixture of evergreen and deciduous foliage. And it was up. All up. And that's about it. I've hiked a lot of mountains this year. And I've written a fair amount about them as well. And you know what? There really ain't a whole lot to say about climbing a mountain. You go up the thing, reach the top, jump for joy, and then you climb back down. Up. Down. Real simple. There ain't nothin' to it!

And so I continued in an upward direction, wandering through the beautiful mixture of green and red and orange, until finally reaching a prominent chute. This chute would take me most of the way to the top, so I hopped right in and began a long slog up loose, steep terrain. 

Pretty obvious where to go. There was a trace of a use trail and some cairns to aid with navigation, but they weren't really needed in my opinion. Just had to keep going up. That was the name of the game. And eventually I saw the use trail snake to the left so I followed it as it steeply made its way out of the chute, heading up and up through yet another mixture of beautiful deciduous forest. Dusty dirt, fresh pines, pretty leaves, cool morning, sore legs. Yep. Doesn't get any better than that.

Where I exited the chute; head left

Following the use trail...

And I kept on following the use trail, the thing offering little relief from the punishing grade. Kinda just went straight up this prominent slope/ridge that rose to a small saddle. Soon the trees began to disappear and it was back to the familiar alpine scenery of which I'd grown acquainted with on my hikes in the mountains this last month. Hardy plants, dry grass, lots of rocks. Not a whole lot going on in the alpine zone. To live up there full-time requires grit. And very few living things possess said grit. 

At one point, while taking a little breather, I saw this big ol' group of mountain goats wayyy off to the side, all of 'em just chillin' on the steep slopes, performing their morning routines, not a care in the world. I channeled their zen-like energy and lackadaisical aura to propel me up the slope, the Pop-Tarts and positive thoughts proving to be insufficient fuel. With a hop and a skip and a whole lotta heavy breathing I finally made it to the saddle, the summit of Cascade Mtn just a little ways off to the north. 

Heading up the steep ridge

Summit ridge, Cascade Mtn ahead

I continued to follow the use trail as it took me along the summit ridge, the wind slightly angry. Maybe it didn't get it's morning caffeine boost. Got turned away from the coffee shop for being too aggressive or something. I don't know. All I knew was that it was mighty cold blowin' on my sweaty clothes, so I donned the trusty windbreaker and fleece and hiked the rest of the way to the summit with my hands in my pockets, whistling to the tune of a song that didn't exist. 

Cascade Mountain summit

Slightly northeast; north peak on the left

East

South

Southwest

And when I got there, I noticed a pile of rocks and a fancy lookin' register. And I stood around and took in the views and then decided to hop on over to the north peak before settlin' down and relaxin' and enjoyin' the fruits of my labor and what not. So I continued along, hikin' down to yet another small saddle and then up again to the summit of the north peak. Found me a small tower-thingy up there and that was about it; no register, no sign of any recent human visitation. The view of Mt. Timpanogos was especially nice, but I had limited time and I wasn't gonna waste it on a silly ol' view. So I lingered for maybe 2 minutes up there, just enough for a taste, and then turned around and hiked back up Cascade Mountain where I sat down and signed the register and, to my dismay, ate the very last Pop-Tart of my Pop-Tart arsenal. 

North Peak summit

Timpanogos from the North Peak

I signed a booklet placed in 2025, the most recent entry from August of this year. Hmmm. How odd. To my understanding, this peak seemed to be a pretty popular summit. Seemed weird that I was the first person to sign the register in over a month. And then I realized that the pen didn't have no ink in it and I was like "Ahh, that's why" and searched my pack and realized that I didn't have any kind of writing utensil whatsoever and so I closed up the booklet and stared off into space for a while, pondering and scheming about the future. Six peaks down, one to go. Should I do it? Could I do it? I wasn't sure. Figured I'd make the decision when I made it off this gargantuan, windy mound of earth and stone. 

So I took one last look around and then set off down the summit ridge back to that small saddle. At the saddle, I decided to hike up to one more little bump on the ridge, the unassuming Peak 10725, because, why not? And I got to the top of this little bump and took one last photo of Cascade Mountain and then that was it—I was out of there. Nothing but a knee-killin', quad-destroying descent to look forward to...

The unassuming Peak 10725

Cascade Mtn from Peak 10725

Heading back down...

Back in the chute...

I made it back to the car through the simple act of retracing my steps off the mountain. Didn't see a single person the whole time. Just rocks and sticks and trees and that big ol' group of mountain goats. When I finally sat down and started the engine, I already knew what it was that I was gonna do next. I had a lot of time to ponder on my way down. And even though I was as sore as ever, I knew that I'd be kicking myself for years if I didn't at least try to hike Spanish Fork Peak. And so it was settled. I drove on down the dirt road to the highway, windows open and free, the cool morning breeze zipping through the car, the sun nice and bright, everything brilliant and calm and beautiful. 

Cascade Mountain

Drove through civilization, saw the college, saw all the local businesses, saw Spanish Fork Peak off yonder, tall and foreboding. Well, it really didn't look that bad, but in my fatigued state, it looked like it would put up quite the challenge. And I drove straight to the trailhead up Maple Canyon and parked next to the gate and there were a bunch of vehicles there as well as a horse trailer and the creek was trickling away off to the side and the whole area reminded me of the Sespe Wilderness for some reason, filling me with a sense of wistful nostalgia.

The start of the hike to Spanish Fork Peak

Ahh, alright. Time to get to walkin'. I knew this wouldn't be enjoyable in the slightest, so I got it in my head that I had to treat this like a workout instead of a nice saunter through the hills. And that seemed to do the trick, at least, for a while. I put my head down and just started truckin', no thoughts, no hopes or dreams; just focused on my pace and my breathing. 

Crossed a creek at one point, saw a bunch of mountain bikers zippin' on by. The trail just kept going up; no switchbacks or anything. It was built at a grade where switchbacks weren't really necessary but woulda been nice at least every now and then, you know? Just a never ending, steep, straight incline up the canyon through the woods. 

And I passed by these two older guys dragging up a wagon with a bunch of hunting gear in it. They looked absolutely miserable. So miserable, in fact, that the sight of their twisted, sweat-drenched faces broke my focused concentration to the point where I felt obliged to comment on their pitiful condition. "That looks like fun" I said. And they didn't respond. Too out of breath, I suppose. 

And it wasn't long after that when I passed a lady on a horse who was also making her way up the trail. She was leading another horse along, this one loaded down with a bunch of gear. She had dropped the lead rope and kindly asked if I could fetch it. I did, and we got to chatting for a bit. Learned that those two miserable wretches farther down the trail were with her and that they were all gonna set up camp somewhere up the canyon and do some hunting. How far up the canyon was to be determined. I wished her good luck and kept on going, falling back into a state of extreme concentration, the miles passing underfoot one step at a time. 

And then, not too long after encountering the horse lady, I met two young mormon dudes hikin' down the trail. Didn't say much; we just nodded and moved along on our separate journeys. About half an hour later I encountered two more mormon dudes, one of them wearing a name tag. These two looked a little worse for wear and asked me if I'd seen "two young guys that look just like us." I said yeah and they were all like "how far down the trail are they" and I was like "ehh, kinda far" and they were like "oh" and then the one with the name tag said "you got any food to spare? Like a granola bar or something?" And I said "Unfortunately, I do not." And that was the truth. I'd ran out of Pop-Tarts that morning. I was functioning on focus and willpower. That and a little tiny bag of sunflower seeds, but those were for me and I ain't sharin' damnit!

Spanish Fork Peak comes into view

I parted with the mormon dudes and kept on heading up and up, Spanish Fork Peak finally coming into view. It was at this point, on a fairly flat spot next to a dried-up lake, where everything caught up the me and I was hit with a wave of nausea. So I stopped and drank some water and it passed and I felt better and I went, "Whelp, this is gonna be fun" and did the smart thing and kept on pushin' up to the peak, finally encountering some blessed, albeit steep, switchbacks. 

Sticking to the ridge

Spanish Fork Peak

The switchbacks took me to a saddle of sorts, and when I got there, I felt like a million bucks. Or, more accurately, I felt like I'd just lost a million bucks and got punched in the gut and thrown out back in the dumpster. I felt terrible; dizzy, exhausted, legs all cramped up, chest all achy-feelin'. But I was determined and I kept moving forward, angling left at a fork in the trail and taking the ridge-direct instead of wrapping around to the side. Both routes went to the summit; one was just a little shorter than the other.

There was one other guy making his way down; I payed him no mind. I was completely focused on making it to the peak. Didn't have any other thoughts in my mind. Just had to get there, just had to get there...

And wouldn't you know it? I made it. Whoopee, big surprise. I collapsed on the side of the massive summit cairn that was out of the wind and just laid there for a while, feelin' a sense of accomplishment that I haven't felt in like...probably...ever. 

I opened up my small bag of sunflower seeds, the only food I had left. I downed them in an instant and started to feel slightly better. Didn't get up at all for a good half hour. Just laid there, my back against the summit cairn, out of the wind, staring at the gorgeous views. I could see every summit of the Wasatch Seven; Mt. Nebo and Santaquin Peak off to my left, Provo, Cascade, Timpanogos, and Lone Peak off to my right. Bing, bang, bim, boop, bop. I pointed out each one with my finger and nodded in acknowledgment. I'd been to those summits, seen what they had to offer. And what they offered really wasn't much different that what Spanish Fork Peak offered in that moment. But that was of no surprise. Mountains are predictable. Up, down, views, no views, suffering, a mild sense of accomplishment. That's what they're known for. They humble you. Remind you just how small you are in comparison to everything else. And that's about it!

Southwest; Santaquin and Nebo out there

Southeast

West(ish)

North, the rest of the Wasatch Range in full view

I groaned and hobbled over to the register; thing was chock full of booklets. The one I signed was brand-new; placed only just four days ago on the 11th. The last entry was from that guy I'd seen makin' his way down, and before that, the two mormon dudes that looked a little worse for wear. One of 'em even left his name tag in the register. The other two mormon dudes didn't make it, I suppose. That's probably why they looked a lot happier when I saw them, hahahaha...

Looking down Right Fork of Maple Canyon

Still riding the high of actually completing the seven, I didn't wait a moment longer and set off down the trail after leaving my marks in the register, knowing full well that I'd crash at some point. But the high lasted a long, long, time, propelling me down the trail a lot farther than expected. Met up with the horse lady again; she had almost made it to the dried-up lake. Said, "I don't know if this is the spot they told me to stop but I'm gonna stop here anyways." And I was like "Yeah, this is probably it, unless you wanna climb the mountain or something," and she was like "Oh! Definitely not that!" and that about covers the extent of our scintillating conversation.

Still heading down the right fork...

Met up with the hunter dudes again. They looked less miserable this time, probably because they'd given up their effort of hauling that wagon up the trail. They only carried their guns and their packs with them, and they asked me how far the horse lady was. Told them she was at the flat spot, and one of the guys sighed and said, "alright." And that was the extent of my conversation with the miserable hunters. 

After that, had the whole trail to myself. Didn't see a single soul the whole rest of the way down. As predicted, the high ran out and I crashed and hit a wall, propelling myself forward on nothin' but hopes and dreams. I was so beat, in fact, that when I saw a big ol' cinnamon bear about 40ft away from me I didn't even care. I just went "oh" and stood there and watched it. The bear looked at me and immediately started running away, desperately crashing through the brush to get as far away as possible from my alien presence. When I couldn't hear the brush anymore I began to move yet again, still as tired as ever.

Made it back to the parking lot, threw my stuff in the car, changed clothes, and stretched and stretched like my life depended on it. Felt a lot better after the stretching. Really did me some good. And then I hopped in the car, started 'er up, and began the long, long drive back to the casa. It had been a crazy couple of days. As of this writing, this weekend stands as the most challenging couple of days of hiking I've ever done in my life. Two-day total of forty miles, 19,400ft of elevation gain. Good gravy. Don't think I'll ever do something like that again. It's fun to look back on, but in the moment, it absolutely sucked!