Destination Peak, Gifford Peak

 06/11/26

There's a whole collection of peaks on Zion's east rim that, for whatever reason, I've avoided all these months. Maybe it's because of the convoluted approach to get to them. Maybe it's because they're scary. Bridge? G2? Destination? Gifford? Them's some scary lookin' mountains right there. But my curiosity almost always reigns supreme and I knew that sooner or later I'd have to check out the area. It was an itch that desperately needed to be scratched. And scratch it I did. 

It all started with a reconnaissance hike up Gifford Wash back on May 28th. The main thing preventing me from accessing this collection of summits was the weird approach through Gifford Wash. From what I'd read about it, you gotta go up the thing, leave it at some random spot, scramble up the steep grade to a weakness in the cliffs and maneuver through a large slickrock bowl to a sandy saddle. Even with beta, I figured this would be pretty tricky to pull off in one go. Such was the reason for the reconnaissance. No pressure for the day. No worries. Just simple exploration. 

And of course when I got there, I left the wash far too early and climbed up some pretty sketchy terrain to a spot that was really really stupid. Always a good sign when you're scramblin' up on crumbly sandstone and you see some ancient webbing tied to a scraggily tree. Really makes you feel good about your life decisions. 

But I stayed relaxed and nonchalant and I found a weakness in the cliffs and climbed up a little bump and realized my error and corrected it and made my way down to the proper route, the thing sparsely marked with cairns. And I made it to the slickrock bowl and found a way through it and got to the saddle and saw all those funky, scary ol' peaks just sittin' around minding their own business. And I climbed up to a spot known as "Destination Point" and retraced my steps back down into the bowl and into the wash, burning the route into my mind for later. 

And the days went on by and I did a whole lot of other things but the itch was still there and finally, finally, on June 11th, I couldn't bear it anymore and so I grabbed my approach shoes and 2.5 liters of water and set off for Gifford Wash yet again, this time with the intention of reaching a few of those spooky, scary ol' summits.

Gifford Wash

And I left in a hurry and skipped breakfast 'cause I'd overslept and I wanted to beat the heat but it was too late, too late. The sun was up and it was there to stay. Oh well. So with an empty stomach I stopped at Sol Foods in Springdale and went straight to their clearance rack and bought me a box of expired "protein cereal" and some "sun dried tomato bagels" that were a couple days past than their sell-by date. No problem. I munched on the dry cereal and stale bagels all the way into the park, up the road, through the tunnel, past all the hikers and walkers and talkers and influencers making their way to the Canyon Overlook Trail. Found me a spot. Got out of the car. Tightened the shoes. Ahh yeah. No more messin' around. Time for hikin'. 

And I walked on down the road and entered Gifford Wash, the route still fresh in my mind. Recent rains had washed all traces of anyone having been in there; I was treading new ground, my footsteps the very first to disturb the freshly smoothed sand. Walkin' along, the sun behind the eastern wall of the wash, everything shady, nice, cool. Oh boy. If only it would last just a little longer...

But soon I saw the exit point and it was time for the slog up out of the shady wash and into the broiling hot sun. Up and up, my body a sweat machine leaving a trail of salty droplets on the slick, red sandstone. I went straight up the thing, angling towards the weakness in the cliffs. There's a large horizontal crack in one of them; this is the one to aim for in order to access the use trail. 

Leaving Gifford Wash; head for the cliffs center left

Once at the weakness, I found the use trail and followed it until it dumped me once again into the slickrock bowl. There are many ways to get through this thing. Some go straight. Some angle to the south. I stuck to the north, climbing up out of the thing via a steep lil' chute. Once at the top, I angled to the west to gain the sandy saddle.

Ahh, the sandy saddle. What a wonderful spot. You could sit there all day in the shade of a dessicated pine without a care in the world, watching the minutes burn away into hours, maybe see a herd of bighorn sheep if you're lucky. On my last visit, I did exactly that. Took a lil' break on a rock on my way down from Destination Point and just sat there for who knows how long and watched a small group of sheep effortlessly stride down the cliffs until they were out of sight.

But I had places to be and things to do, all of them completely optional, but hey, that's just the way it goes sometimes. No time for sight seeing. No time for dilly-dallying. It was only getting hotter and I was beginning to regret bringing only 2.5 liters of water. Oh well. This seems to be a recurring theme for me. 

Destination Peak from the saddle

And so I ditched the saddle and weaved my way down convoluted terrain towards the base of Destination Peak. Definitely not easy going. Lots of pokey things. Lots of loose nonsense. Some class 3 sprinkled here and there. Man. I sure didn't find the easiest way off the saddle. But my old friend gravity greatly assisted in getting me to where I wanted to go and soon I was at the base, staring up at an impressive formation on Destination's southeast flank.

The impressive formation 

Back on slickrock, I kept wandering west, climbing up some class 2/3 slabs to yet another saddle. Once there, I saw a large snag rising up out of broken shards of ancient sandstone. The thing sat right on the side of a super steep gully: climb down the thing and you'd be on the approach to Bridge Mountain and G2, climb up the thing and you'd end up on Destination Peak. I knew what to do. I'd read the beta. I tightened my shoes yet again and then began the steep ascent up the gully, the going slow and tiresome and hot, hot, hot. 

Ascend this gully

Walking along, the ground made up of a mixture of steep slabs and crumbly nonsense, absolutely nothing on my mind. Just up, up, up. That was the name of the game. And the sandstone changed from red to white, and soon the gully narrowed into a little ol' brushy canyon. And it was there, in that narrow section, where I encountered the crux of the route.

Not too hard, just a wee bit loose. I stayed to climber's right, climbing up loose boulders and then angling to climber's left up some steep (but straightforward and fairly unexposed) class 4 stuff. Once atop that, I continued along, leaving the gully too early for the summit and encountering the most sketchy, stupid, crumbly terrain I've ever had the displeasure to make acquaintance with in Zion National Park. Disquieted, I retraced my steps back towards the gully. My advice would be to stay in the gully until it ends, then head east towards the summit. It ain't too bad at all. Definitely better than the route I took...

The crux. Go right, then angle left

The correct route to the summit 

Woo hoo!

I eventually made it to the summit after a quick bout of easy route-finding. The correct way to the top is fairly obvious; if it's harder than class 3, you're off route. Once atop Destination Peak I sat on down, took a gander at the register. The thing contained scattered pages with entries going back to 2007 as well as a nicely preserved booklet placed in November of 2023. The last entry was from May 26th of this year. Somewhat of a popular place this one is. And I could definitely see why. 

Man, what terrific views. Can't really describe them. I've tried in previous posts to capture the essence of Zion's east rim. Never can get the words right. It would take a writer of a more serious caliber to construct the necessary prose that could convey the absolute and overwhelming sense of awe and wonder this place invokes upon the soul. I, unfortunately, am no such writer. I simply cough up the words and spit them onto this digital page and hope they're coherent enough to get the point across. Sometimes they are. Most times they're not.

And so all I will say is this: as I was standing there on the summit, gazing upon the incomprehensible, the sky a fierce sapphire jewel existing in stark contrast to the infinite and utterly inconceivable conglomeration of red, purple, green, orange, and white of the cliffs, the Towers of the Virgin across the valley like fat little fingers reaching to heaven, the East Temple rising directly to the north, massive, gargantuan, intimidating, ferocious, and its twin, the West Temple, rising out of the canyon floor, its northeast face a sheer cliff, appearing as if it were cut with a cosmic knife from some behemoth celestial entity, and Bridge Mountain and G2 there as well, standing not too far away, scary lookin' as usual, rugged, foreboding, inexplicable, and off to the south, there it was, Gifford Peak, the thing steep, gray, these deep gashes slicing through its north face hundreds of feet into the unknown...the only thing I could conjure in my mind while gazing at all this, the only way to describe the whole scene, the magic of the moment, the monumental beauty that surrounded me, the only thing I could think of was mmmmmm purty red rock n' big ol' cliffs and canyon. Yeah. Pretty eloquent stuff. 

East Temple

Ahh, the East Rim

South, Gifford Peak front and center

View West

And I'll leave it at that. No more nonsense. Time for another peak. I said my goodbyes and left the summit, entering the gully yet again. Climbed down the class 4 section, scurried on out of there, my left leg starting to cramp for some reason. Always gotta be something you know? Always gotta be something...

After carefully making my way down the gully, I finally made it to the snag and hopped over the saddle and saw what looked like a much easier way up to that first big ol' sandy saddle I mentioned earlier. Yep. Just a nice, long, fairly brushless series of sandstone ramps. Wayyy easier than the route I took to get to the base of Destination. 

Back in the gully

Looking down the class 4 section

Heading up to Gifford Peak

I ascended the slabs, angling towards Gifford. I saw a cairn, started up a ledge, and then pretty much climbed straight up the thing. Steep going, very steep going. And, wouldn't you know it, loose as well. Steep 'n loose. Gotta love that. 

And all was well and good, just a nice ol' classic Zion scramble, making progress, eatin' vert, and then, suddenly, the summit came into view. Ahh, so close, so close. I could taste it. It was right there. But first: the crux. Always gotta be a crux. 

Gifford summit...so close...

...but first you gotta make it past this hullabaloo 

Yup. The crux. I'd read about it. I was expecting it. I was prepared for it. Well, not really. Mentally prepared. Maybe not gear-wise. Most folks bring a rope for this part. Gotta climb up a 25ft vertical crack, the thing probably 5.5 on the YDS. I didn't have no rope. But what I did have was stupidity and stupidity goes a long ways. And so, very slowly, carefully, with great control and a wee bit of grace, I climbed up the thing, climbing down some tricky parts just to see if I could. Gotta respect that golden rule: I never climb up something I can't climb back down. If at any point I lose confidence, I'd call it quits right there. But the route went, and it went well. Once atop the crux it was a nice and easy stroll the rest of the way to the summit. I sat down. Chugged some water. Took a gander. Same ol' views. Same ol' wonderful, eye-watering, soul-smashing, mind-bending views. 

View west from Gifford summit

Lookin' north towards Destination Peak and East Temple

The east rim...again. 

View South, Hepworth Peak left

I checked the register, that like the one on Destination, had written entries going back to 2007. The most recent entry was from June 9th of 2025. Not a very popular summit this one; the thing gets very few visitors. 

And I didn't stay too long 'cause it was too dang hot and I was runnin' out of water and so I made my way back to the crux, fully prepared for the descent. And I climbed down the thing without issue because I knew I could do it and it was actually rather relaxing, truth be told. Almost like a meditation. 

What wasn't relaxing was the loose, crumbly, steep descent back to the sandy saddle. But I took my time,  one step after another. And I stopped often and looked out on Bridge and G2, knowing that someday, yes, someday I'll make the attempt to visit them. Just gotta conjure up the proper chutzpah. Those peaks ain't for the faint of heart. Them's the real deal.

Looking down the class 5 crux

Loose, crumbly nonsense

G2 and Bridge left, Destination center right

And I made it back to the base of Gifford and I took stock of my water supply. Wanted to do more peaks, particularly Roof and Hepworth, but I only had a little over half a liter left and brother, that simply wasn't enough. So I made one of the smarter decisions of my life and decided to call it quits and head on back to the car before I got super dehydrated. 

The slickrock bowl

And I made a beeline for the slickrock bowl and kinda just climbed straight down the thing, angling towards the spot where I knew the use trail would be. And I stopped about halfway through and posted up against a sandstone slab and drank the rest of my water and rested for a bit and admired the scenery around me, every little part, everything from the towering mountains to the smallest granule of sand. And everything was beautiful, simply beautiful, and I didn't want to leave, but of course I had to leave, and leave I did, wandering out of the slickrock bowl, down into Gifford Wash, off through the sand, back to the road, back to noise and cars and walkers and talkers and hikers and influencers. 

Gifford Wash down below

Back in the wash...

And I drove on out of there, the day complete, the adventure finally at an end. Wow. What an excellent pairing of peaks. Definitely a little tricky to get to them. But that was expected. My only regret was not bringing enough water. Seems to be a recurring problem with me. But then again, now I got a reason to go back. Roof, Hepworth. I'm comin' for 'em. Bridge, G2. Maybe. Probably gotta wait until the fall when things cool off a little bit. 

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 in the sticks.