Hepworth Peak, Roof Peak

 08/27/26

August was the month of the doldrums. Or perhaps it was the month of laziness. Yep. Month of laziness. That's what it was. I really didn't get up to that much, electing to spend the majority of my time loafing around inside while the days passed on by. Was it the monsoons that influenced this behavior? A general feeling of indifference? A slight degree of burnout? Who knows. Either way, the month of August was a month that was mostly wasted, save for a few bursts of activity here and there.

And if August was the month of laziness, September has been the month of procrastination. Unlike August, I've been going sicko mode on my days off, cramming as much as possible into the briefest of weekends. I've been up to quite a bit lately, but for whatever reason, I just haven't felt inclined to write about any of it. Whelp, not any more. Gotta get back to it, back to the groove, back to splattering my mind's drippings onto the digital page. Perhaps I needed a lil' break from the writing. I don't know. Whatever the case, I'm back and I intend on finishing up all those posts before the end of the month. But first—gotta talk about good ol' Roof and Hepworth Peaks.

What are those you might ask? Just a couple of pointy lil' things on the east side of Zion National Park. I thought about checkin' 'em out way back in June when I climbed Destination and Gifford, but my severe lack of readily available hydration influenced what few braincells I had left into saving them for later, lest I suffer severe bodily desiccation. Yup, 'twas a hot one that day, and like always, I didn't bring enough water to climb all four peaks. 

So I saved 'em for a rainy day. Literally. Gray skies, little droplets comin' down. Not the best lookin' weather but ehh, you work with what you get. Evan and I miraculously found a parking spot at the Canyon Overlook Trailhead which was a good omen and we hopped out of the car and everything smelled like rain. Woulda been weird if it didn't. A monsoon rolled in the day before, blanketing the surrounding sandstone with sweet, sweet moisture. We stood around and looked at the gray skies, felt the occasional tiny little pitter patter of microscopic rain falling from the heavens. Though no thunderstorms were forecasted for that morning, the skies told a different story, growing darker and darker to the north. Oh well. We wasn't afraid to get a lil' wet so we donned the packs and set off towards Gifford wash, the temps nice and cool but the air saturated with an angry humidity that caught our bodies unawares, prompting them to sweat profusely. 

A survivor of the previous day's monsoon

Up above Gifford Wash, cutting across the slickrock bowl

And I hadn't been in Gifford Wash since June and it looked a wee bit different, what with the summer monsoons rollin' in and changin' things up and whatnot. Lots of damp sand. Lots of muddy spots. Got the kicks a little dirty but hey, that's part of the deal. And so we trudged on up the wash, Evan commenting that it was like a strange desert jungle of sorts. 

We reached the spot I knew from last time and then began the long slog out of the wash. Took a couple breaks on the way up, sat on the slabs, watched the occasional droplets of scattered, ephemeral rain falling from the sky and onto our sweaty persons. Made the slickrock all the more slick. Ahh well. Water tends to do that. Woulda been concerning if it didn't. 

Hepworth Peak

And we kept on going up and up and we reached the slickrock bowl I'd seen way back in June and we took a different line of ascent, choosing to cut across it diagonally to the southwest. And we cut across the thing and the skies to the north were this big ol' dark gray mess and I had a strange feelin' that there was a good to fair chance that we'd get absolutely soaked in about half an hour. I'd turn around every now and then to look at the sky, watch as it churned and swirled up above. I wasn't gonna get caught unawares by no rainstorm. No sir. I'd watch it arrive. I'd be prepared. 

Eventually, we crested the bowl and started makin' our way cross-country towards the first destination of the day: Hepworth Peak. We slogged up a lil' ol' sandy hill and got a good glimpse of it; a tall, multicolored wall of striated sandstone. Looked mighty mighty purty. And we walked along in a straight line and wrapped around its eastern side and began a quick descent towards yet another slickrock bowl and then the heavens opened up and it began to sprinkle and it caught me unawares, dang nabbit, and then it sprinkled even harder and Evan stopped in his tracks and I turned around and I said, "What you stop for?" and he paused, looked up to the sky and said, "I don't know" and then the sprinkle magically disappeared and we kept on goin' and the clouds began to disintigrate and the deep grayness to the north kept moving north, farther away, retreating into the safety of the high country.

Down we went, now curving west into the gigantic slickrock bowl that separates Hepworth and Roof Peaks. What a bowl, what a bowl. Definitely one of the most scenic places I've ever seen in Zion National Park. Multicolored, variegated sandstone. Deep colors, overwhelming composition. The closer you look at the sandstone, the more textures and colors you see. And the bowl itself was mostly empty, just a huge, smooth, curvy, sandstone amphitheater, sprinkled here and there with strange, gnarled pines. And scattered randomly through it all were these purple stones, something I ain't ever seen before in my entire life.

Purple Stone

The scenic slickrock bowl between Roof and Hepworth

Ascending the bowl, Evan bottom left

And so we took our sweet time passing through this amazing place and we slowly ascended through the steepness of it all, eventually exiting the bowl and wrapping our way around to the southwest side of Hepworth. Views started coming in now, the lingering clouds elevating the scenery into something truly magical. Shadow and sun, sun and shadow, a sublime painting beyond comprehension right there before our very eyes. 

Views starting to come in...Roof Peak left

Summit in sight!

Scrambled up some loose, white, crumbly nonsense. Saw the tippy top. I gave Evan the honors. He topped out first, triumphantly throwing his arms in the air. Ahh yes. We had finally made it. And we sat for a minute or two and munched on some snacks and took a gander at the terrific views expanding away in all directions. Though not as scenic as Destination or Gifford (in my opinion), the summit of Hepworth offered excellent views of Zion's east side, and the crazy clouds and late morning lighting heightened the beauty of the scene tenfold. 

Roof Peak from Hepworth

Wow

One down, one to go. We retraced our steps off Hepworth, careful with our footing on the steep, loose, crumbly white sandstone that I've come to know and loathe here in ol' Zion National Park. And the clouds continued their retreat to the north and those that stupidly chose to linger in the south became entangled in the sun's wrath, soon disintegrating into nothing; they never stood a chance, poor things. Down, down, down, we eventually reached the base of Hepworth, curving to the northwest slope of Roof. A steep, fairly solid jaunt up textured sandstone awaited us. We didn't linger. We got right to it, climbing up the thing with poise and purpose.

Northwest slope of Roof Peak

We got to the summit, the thing marked with a lil' ol' cairn. Good views, good views all around. Retreating clouds, shrinking shadows, sunlight plastered upon the cliffs and canyons, everything a ridiculous conglomeration of red and white and vermillion and pink and orange and black and green. I heard somewhere that Zion has been described as "Yosemite in oils." And there, standing on the summit of Roof Peak, I stared into the depths of Parunuweap Canyon, gazed upon Kinesava and the West Temple, dark shadows dancing up and down their cliffs, an overwhelming collection of brilliant colors, a puzzle for the mind. And Bridge and G2 rose off yonder way, speckled with polka dots of gleaming sunshine, the peaks of the East Rim a mellow cacophony of topographic insanity. Staring at this, attempting to absorb it all, I came to the realization that you cannot describe this place simply as "Yosemite in oils." Nope, it's something entirely different, something far more complicated, a perfectly unique, exalted, magnificent landscape unlike anything else on this planet. Like I've said in previous posts, it would take a writer of serious caliber to devise the proper words to adequately describe this place. I certainly ain't the one, that's for sure!

Parunuweap Canyon

North, Hepworth across the way, East Temple in sunshine

Good grief

And so we lingered for a much longer time on ol' Roof Peak, the views much better than those on Hepworth. Once satisfied, we said no words and simply hiked back down, stopping at a little crumbly nubbin' along the way, turning big rocks into little rocks. Climbed up the nubbin'. Climbed down the nubbin'. Yep. Very entertaining stuff indeed. Our curiosity temporarily satisfied, we walked back down into the scenic slickrock bowl, stopping often to take photos of the sandstone and pines. 

The nubbin'

Back in the scenic bowl...

Out of the bowl, up an incline, past the east side of Hepworth, back to trudgin' through open country to the southwest corner of the other, less scenic slickrock bowl we'd cut across earlier that morning. And as we were making our way back down, this time choosing a slightly different route, a formation lingering in the limits of my peripheral vision caught my fancy. I turned, stared it down, let out a gasp, a holler. "Oh yeah!" I said. "Now we're talkin'!" 'Cause there, situated no more than 100ft away, was the thinnest arch I'd ever seen in my entire life. 

The impossibly thin arch

Good size too; just big enough for Evan and I to hunker down beneath it in the sweet, sweet shade. Now that the clouds were mostly gone, the heat had come back with a vengeance, the temps quickly reaching the triple digits. This impossibly thin arch provided a temporary reprieve from these scorching temps, plus it was just plain cool, you know? So we lingered there for a few minutes and I took far too many pictures the impossible dimensions of this most interesting natural structure and I couldn't comprehend how it came to be and how it was still standing and all kinds of useless musings that run through a mind saturated in high temps and deprived of digital stimuli. 

I couldn't get over that arch. Never even knew it was there. Almost missed it. And as we inevitably left its sweet, sweet shade and began the hot trek down into Gifford wash I found myself turning around every five seconds to look at it just one more time. But eventually, I lost sight of it and unless you'd been there you wouldn't even know it existed; it completely blends in with the surrounding country. 

And so, deprived of focus, I followed Evan back down into Gifford wash, zig-zagging and hopping down slippery, sandy slickrock slabs. We stopped only once. Why? To scream at the wall. The acoustics in this one spot just above the wash provided an incredibly crisp and clear echo, so we sat on down and spent a good ten or fifteen minutes screaming and cussing and burpin' and makin' fart noises and giggling at the echo. Real simple way to entertain oneself that is, but hey, I gotta admit—it was pretty dang fun. 

Gifford Wash down below

Once done with our screechin', we walked the rest of the way down into the wash and hiked on out of there back to the car. I suggested to Evan that we could do at least two other peaks, Shelf Point and "Mind's Eye" respectively, but he wasn't really feelin' it and, truth be told, neither was I. Blue sky up above meant it was high time to fry, and roughin' it up a couple more peaks in this heat with limited water probably wasn't the best idea anyway. So we settled on something a little less extreme and walked to the end of the Canyon Overlook trail, the view exactly the same as I remembered it. 

Canyon Overlook

And then we hiked on back to the car and put the AC on full blast and drove on into town and picked up the homie Ridge who had just gotten off work. And then the three of use decided what it was that we were gonna do next and Lambs Knoll got thrown into the conversation and that about settled it—we were gonna hike up to the highpoint. Lambs Knoll seemed to be the perfect late afternoon distraction from the heat, plus neither Evan or Ridge had been to the top, so we refilled our water supply, hopped in Evan's car and then drove up to the trailhead, the place mostly empty. 

Class 3 to Lambs Knoll summit

Hadn't been to the top of Lambs Knoll since March, so it was neat to see it again after all these months. And I still remembered the route and followed the use trail most of the way to the top. And we scrambled up the final class 3 section to reach the summit and we topped out and sat down and looked around and the clouds had come back from their strategic retreat to the north and were currently in cahoots with one another, plotting a big ol' rainstorm no doubt. And the breeze was warm but at least it wasn't hot and we spent a mighty long time up there talkin' and laughin' and jokin' and such before callin' it quits and headin' on back.

Stopped at a slot canyon on the way down, the same one Anner and Jacob and I checked out on my last visit. And we climbed around a bit and goofed around a bit more and then hiked on out of there, got in the car, and zoomed on down the KTR, no more walking, no more inclines, just a shower, dinner, and laying prostrate in bed for a long night of restful slumber. It had been a good day on some great peaks. Roof and Hepworth have been on my mind since June, so it was nice to finally check them off the list. Now all that's left is Bridge and G2, but we'll see if I ever get to doin' those...

Walking Along the West Rim Trail

 08/21/26

Slightly overcast. Peculiar lighting. Yup. Time for a long walk in the sticks. I hopped on a company shuttle, its destination the northern terminus of the West Rim Trail. Up and up the Kolob Terrace Road, talking, talking, talking, the drive a complete blur. Before I knew it, we had arrived at the trailhead. The clients gathered their things and left. I lingered behind, tipping the driver in beans. Cannellini beans. And we chatted for a bit and enjoyed this slightly overcast morning with peculiar lighting, the temps hovering in the upper 80's, the day shapin' to be a hot one. 

And then I donned my cap and waved goodbye to the driver and took a bow or something like that and then began my long walk along the West Rim Trail. Ain't ever been on that trail before. I'd heard many good things about it. Time to see if those things were actually true.

Along the West Rim Trail

I eventually caught up to the clients and they were walking two abreast, just a couple of old friends that still possessed the conversational prowess of the typical middle schooler. And I heard them talking and laughing and then I passed them by and their voices faded away and it was back to nothing but warm air and overcast skies and tall pines. Quiet pines. Pines that had seen many things, awesome things, terrible things. So many things, and no way to tell anyone about it. Not a soul. Except maybe another tree. I swear thems communicate with one another. Trust me. They have their ways...

And so I walked beneath the pines and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, the overcast skies slowly dissipating, the the sun growing more intense. Down the trail, walking, walking walking. The concentration of pines began to dissipate, scrub oak and manzanita now taking up all the available real estate. Views started comin' in now. Distant peaks. Rugged peaks. Inaccessible peaks. Variegated terrain, multicolored bumps and humps and precipices and cracks and divots and canyons galore. I stopped often, gazing upon this absurd scene, the image always impressive, the topography infinitely captivating. 

Caught me a horny toad. Put it in the shade. Wandered through a meadow. Never looked back. Sun up above, its rays quickly disintegrating the feeble clouds still lingering in the sky. Started heading uphill. Met a backpacker heavily perfumed with the pungent aroma of a tetrahydrocannabinol product. The scent lingered in the woods long after he was gone, it was so strong. And he was all smiles and sunshine and he said "Heyyyyy!" and I was like "sup" and that was the end of that conversation.

And then the grade began to grow more agreeable. More mellow. Easy on the heart, easy on the legs. But I was warmed up now and was lookin' for more uphill. Why not check out an obscure peak? I'd heard of "Never Done Mountain" and knew it was somewhere along the upper portion of the West Rim Trail. Just didn't know exactly where, you know? But I put on my thinkin' cap and I saw a rise and I was like, "Well, I reckon that's it right there, I reckon" and so I ditched the trail and began zig-zagging through prickly bushes and knee-high manzanita.

"Never Done Mountain" summit

Northwest

Southwest

By jove, my thinkin' cap had paid off. Before I knew it I was standing on the sandy summit, the views pretty dang good all things considered. Off to the northwest rose some familiar sights: Pine Valley Peak, North Guardian, the Northgate Peaks, and off in the distance the long, high, brown line of the Pine Valley Range, crystal-clear through the tepid air. Off to the southwest rose less familiar terrain. In fact, I hadn't a clue as to what I was lookin' at. Phantom Valley was somewhere down there. Ivin's Mountain. Inclined Temple. Emerald Peak. The fabled "Bishoprics." I tried putting names to the features, all for naught. Oh well. Made the views all the more mysterious. 

Once I'd had my fill this mystery, I suited up and made my way back to the trail, taking a diagonal line through the brush as a shortcut. Pro tip: don't do that. Ripped me a brand new hole in my shirt doin' that. Ahh well. That's what I get for cuttin' corners. 

Back on the trail, I walked probably eight more steps until I found myself standing face to face with the biggest bighorn sheep I've ever seen in my entire life. Stocky fellow, thick ol' neck, big ol' horns. Each one was close to the size of a french horn. And I stopped in my tracks and stared him down and he looked at me and was slightly puzzled. And then I saw something click in his eyes and he spun around in half a second and sprinted off into the bushes in the blink of an eye. I never saw him again. 

Staring contest

"Never Done Mtn" top right

And then it was back to up, back to an elevated heart rate, up and up to the top of Horse Pasture Plateau, the highpoint of the trail. Good views from up there. Just make sure to turn right instead of left when you reach a junction. Don't go down Telephone Canyon. I can imagine there ain't no views down there, but hey, you never know...

Continuing along, I left the trail every now and then and walked to the rim and sat and stared at the impressive views to the west. The day, though hot, was particularly clear; no haze, no nothin'. Unimpeded, clear, crisp views off and away into the distant west. Could see the urban sprawl of St. George. Could see West Mountain Peak and Zion View Peak wayy out there. Could even make out the tiny little silhouette of Mt. Bangs in the distance, something I wasn't expecting to see at all that day. Not wanting to rush through this scenery, I sat down at a particularly scenic spot, wolfed down some nuts and took a lil' break. And then, about 15 minute later, it was back to walkin', back to sweatin', they day only gettin' hotter with each passin' second. 

Phantom Valley

Gunsight Point center

And the trail started headin' down and it would remain that way for a good long while. And I saw Gunsight Point off in the distance, an interestin' lookin' spot with an even more interestin' lookin' approach. Didn't have no beta on it, but it didn't look that hard to get to. Just a long walk on a skinny peninsula in the sky. Looked mighty mighty cool. 

So I shrugged my shoulders and darted off the trail, scampering down a class 2 cliff band to access the peninsula. A wee brush buffet of manzanita later and I was walkin' along soft sand and jagged rocks, the deep chasm of Behunin Canyon to my left, the seldom visited Gunsight Canyon to my right. 

Zion Canyon in miniature

Behunin Canyon to my left...

...Gunsight Canyon to my right

The crazy ramp up to Mt. Majestic, no thanks!

I followed ram tracks most of the way to the base of Gunsight, the route nice and open and sandy. I moseyed on over to the west side once I got to the base, mostly 'cause it seemed like the most agreeable way to go. I walked along the side for a brief moment until finding a loose and sandy route to the base of some easy class 3. There looked to be many possible routes to the top; being the lazy fool that I am, I chose the easiest lookin' one. Once past that, and I was nearly at the top, the views down into Behunin Canyon absolutely mind-numbing. 

Where I began the ascent

I went up the brush-filled crack in the center

Behunin Canyon...wow!

I busted through some minor brush to the unremarkable summit; the thing didn't have a single view, but that was okay. I continued off the highpoint to the south until the brush cleared, snapping a picture of Castle Dome and the East Temple in the distance. After that, I backtracked to the north and sat and looked at that crazy view into Behunin Canyon and beyond. Absolutely crazy. Could even make out the tippity-top of Angels Landing hiding amongst the remarkably precipitous, jaggy, irregular terrain. 

South

The peaks of Phantom Valley, northwest

And then I checked my water supply and I went "yep" and I knew I'd run out at some point on the way back; it was just a matter of when. And so I got myself into ration mode and I said goodbye to Gunsight Point and retraced my steps and slid down the class 3 stuff, waltzed across the peninsula, busted' through the manzanita, and scampered up the class 2 cliff band back to the trail. 

Headin' back...

Class 2 cliff band; I went left

Back on the trail, I put my mind in cruise control and busted out the downhill, stopping in the shade only once for a brief snack of mixed nuts and a sip of warm water. Down, down, down, the trail blasted in the side of the cliff, huge switchbacks snaking their way off the rim through white sandstone and scraggily bushes. 

Back on trail, Gunsight Point center

A warm day, a cozy day, the air wrapped around my body like a snug, weighted blanket. Saw some more folks once I'd descended off the rim, sweaty folks, their skin glistening with moisture, their clothing damp and salty. And I caught up to the two clients I'd seen that morning; they'd passed me while I was out messin' around on Gunsight Point. "Ahh, hullo again!" they said. "Yup, hello again. Long time, no see." I nodded and passed them by and as soon as I did, they immediately resumed their middle school-esque conversations, their minds and spirits seemingly unaffected by the broiling temps. 

Started headin' up again, saw Majestic Spur and Little Majestic off to my right. Met my roommate on the way down to Scout's Lookout; didn't recognize me at first. "Yo, same hoody!" he said. "Whaddya mean same hoody? What you talkin' about?" "Oh wow, I didn't know it was you."

And we stopped and chatted a bit and I met his friend who had flown in from DC just last night and they were going up to Refrigerator Peak and I wished 'em luck and told 'em to stay hydrated and all that stuff and then blasted off to Scouts Lookout, heading towards the final side-trip for the day. 

Oh yeah. We all know what that is...

Met up with the Ranger. Showed him my permit. "Oh, you're from Tennessee yeah?" "Yup" "Whereabouts?" "Johnson City" "No way, I'm from Erwin." "No kiddin'." And then we proceeded to talk for a good five minutes about good ol' eastern Tennessee and the fall colors and the mountains and the green trees and the summer thunderstorms and all that good stuff and then the Ranger wished me well and I was on my way, sweat spilling over my brow, down my nose and instantly evaporating once it hit the hot, hot sandstone. 

I started off quick, and then my slightly dehydrated state said "nope" and I regressed to a snail's pace, a simple, unhurried, casual jaunt to the top of the 2nd most popular landmark in all of Zion National Park. Met some folks comin' down, all of them in good spirits but absolutely drenched in sweat. "Careful, chain's hot" one of 'em said. And hot it was. Scalding hot. Didn't touch no chain again after that. No siree. 

And I eventually reached the top and there were only six other people there, all of 'em young guys no older than 20. And I sat down and stared at the views and absorbed the heat and felt the blood pumping through my neck and thought of nothing, not a darned thing. Some of the young dudes complained of the heat. Others began having a heat-induced philosophical conversation about God and geology. The last guy, who wasn't saying anything, just stood around takin' polaroids and shakin' his head every time he looked at the finished product. Ahh...the woes of perfectionism....

I probably stayed for seven minutes, just long enough to guzzle down the last few drops of my water still lingering in my empty Nalgene. And then it was down the chains, back to the trail, zig-zaggin' through Walter's Wiggles, off and away into Refrigerator Canyon and beyond. Didn't see too many people makin' their way up the trail, probably because it was hot as balls outside but you never know. Maybe it was an off day or something. Who's to say?

Headin' back...

I reached the end of the trail. Hopped on the air-conditioned shuttle. Leaned back and enjoyed the ride. As soon as it stopped at the visitor center I went straight to the nearest fountain I could find, filled my bottle to the brim and drank the whole thing in one go. Yup. Two and a half liters was definitely not enough for the whole day but ehh, I made it work.