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!

Lone Peak

09/14/26

Driving in the dark. It's a fun thing to do. High beams all agleam. Trucks and trailers, slow and steady. Inclines and grade percentages, old signs, new signs, sleepy towns, sleepier stars up above. I didn't get to the trailhead until just after 11:30pm. Late start. Forgot some things. Like water. And food. Man. Can't forget stuff like that! Had to stop at the grocery store and load up on a couple gallons and some nuts and a big ol' box of the ever-lovin', colorectal-cancer inducin', ultra-processed-tasty-as-ever Pop-Tarts. That's all you ever need, really: water, nuts, and a box of cancer. 

I left the interstate at one point, driving through fancy neighborhoods that I'll likely never drive through again. Only a few cars were in the lot when I finally arrived at the trailhead. Rolled in all quiet like, found a spot that was out of the way, crawled into the backseat and tried to fall asleep. A few folks came and went, all of them late-night mountain bikers with lights and bells and everything. They arrived at the trailhead, voices loud, packing up their bikes before driving off into the boring, tepid night. Finally, around 3am, I had the whole lot to myself. At last. Time for the sweet embrace of untroubled slumber.

When I awoke, I noticed that the lot had filled up again, most of the cars bedecked with bike racks. I stepped outside, drank some water, nibbled on a Pop-Tart. The morning was nice and cool, a steady breeze blowing through it all. Absolutely perfect conditions for what I had in mind for the day. 

And what I had in mind for the day was to climb Lone Peak. Pretty famous peak this one is; very popular amongst the Utah locals. Definitely not an easy summit to attain. Lots of elevation gain, some confusing route-finding, and a class 3 scramble are required to reach the top. All of that sounded mighty intriguing, so I figured I'd check it out one day. And apparently that day was a quiet, breezy, unassuming Monday in mid-September. 

Lone Peak

I started along the trail with my hands in my pockets, just moseying along, unhurried, unbothered, simply warming up the legs for what I knew was gonna be a long day. The sun eventually crested the Wasatch range, everything aglow in a washed-out, weak, yellow light. Haze lingered in the low-lands, kicked up by the breeze blowing in from the Great Salt Lake. Hopefully it would dissipate as the day wore on. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. I didn't care much. I've gotten to a point in my life where the clarity of a mountain view means next to nothing to me. It's more about the feel of it. The story of the mountain. The twists and turns, the rocks and sticks, the ups and downs. That's what it's all about. Views are an afterthought, an additional reward that feels more like a participation trophy than anything else. Congratulations! Here's a view! Take it and keep on going! 

And so the haze lingered and I kept on going, noticing several mountain bikers on their morning rides. Followed the signs to the base of "Jacob's Ladder," a series of steep switchbacks that gain quite a bit of elevation in a short amount of time. I ascended the ladder, the lower half shaded, the upper half not so much. The thing was steep for sure, a splendid workout, but I was expecting far worse. Always gotta expect the worse. Mentally prepare for it. 'Cause when you get there and it ain't as bad as you expected, why, you can just cruise on up there easy-peasy. A tremendous mental boost it is, sustenance for an anxious mind. 

Looking down Jacob's Ladder

Salt Lake City out there

Lone Peak gettin' closer...

Once atop the ladder the grade lessened a bit, offering a moment to catch the breath and rest the legs. Lone Peak loomed in the distance, much closer than it was that morning but still a good ways off. I dropped down into a peaceful forest of firs and rocks and dry, brown grass, the trail a little harder to follow. No matter. Several cairns marked the way, some absolutely gigantic. Walking along granite slabs, I'd see a massive pile of rocks stacked five feet high, a lighthouse made of stone, its sole purpose to light the path for disoriented mountain travelers. 

Following the cairns led to terrain that reminded me of the eastern sierra; nothin' but granite cliffs and scraggily pines and dry grass and pretty flowers. Hiked up a gully of sorts, scrambled up some class 2 stuff, wandered northeast, cairns and footprints guiding the way. Though I'll admit that the route-finding certainly wasn't easy, it wasn't as hard as I expected. Just had to stay focused on the route; couldn't let my mind wander too much while enjoying the scenery. 

Follow the cairns!

An imposing view of Lone Peak 

Eventually I reached a brown meadow, Lone Peak rising up above like a sharp little spike. I was gettin' close now; could almost taste the summit. All that was left was a quick scramble up a steep chute and a brief ridge traverse over to the top. Finally, after several miles of wandering around, things were gettin' interesting!

Scrambling up the chute...

Hidey-hole

I found the desired chute, cairns leading me to its base. Started heading up the thing and passed through a little ol' hidey-hole along the way. Once out of the chute, I continued in a southwesterly direction, following use-trails as they snaked their way up steep terrain to gain the summit ridge. Once atop the summit ridge, I could finally see the top of Lone Peak in all its glory; nothin' but fun class 3 standing between me and the summit.

Summit ridge, Lone Peak left

Some class 3

Along the way I ran into a dude making his way off the summit. Asked him if he visited the south peak while he was up there; "no" is what he said, "too tired man, I'm beat." And we chatted very briefly about mountains and such and then said goodbye and wished each other a pleasant day and yada yada yada and what have you and whatnot. Mountain conversations are typically brief. Ain't nobody having a 2+ hour podcast conversation up there. At least, not that I know of...

Lone Peak summit

I reached the summit, the views excellent. Most of the haze had been washed away leaving nothing but cool, crisp views in all directions. Looking southeast revealed the other high peaks of the Wasatch Range, Timpanogos hogging most of the frame. Provo Peak loomed off yonder, Mt. Nebo farther still. To the southwest were views of civilization: roads, buildings, cars, billboards, all of 'em tiny, the whole thing looking like an old circuit board. Rising above the circuit board stretched the Oquirrh Mountains, Flat Top Mtn the tallest in that range. Peeking up behind the Oquirrh's rose the Stansbury Range, gray and blurry and ever so enticing. I knew I'd have to pay a visit to that range sooner or later. But for now: rest. I sat down, stretched the legs, forced down an old banana that I'd brought along (I had left all the Pop-Tarts in the car), and simply enjoyed the exceptional splendor that surrounded me.  

Southeast

South

Southwest(ish)

Northwest; SLC down there...

Satisfied with my meditation on the summit, I decided to check out the southern peak, because...well...it was RIGHT THERE. It would behoove me not to check it out. So I moseyed on down some class 3 stuff off the summit of Lone Peak, finding a spot that looked to be the best way to access the southern peak. Had to downclimb some questionable loose stuff along the way, but for the most part I was able to keep the traverse over to the south peak class 2. I simply side-hilled on the northeast slope, reached a notch separating the two peaks, and then took the path of least resistance to the top.  

Where I began the traverse to the south peak

Class 2 over to the south peak...

The notch

Summit of the south peak, Lone Peak in the background

The top of the southern peak wasn't much different than that of Lone Peak, which was of absolutely no surprise whatsoever, duh! It was a vanity summit; the only reason I climbed it was that I could climb it. And I sure did climb it, by cracky. What a splendid thing. Ehh, not really. Lone Peak was better in my opinion. As such, I didn't linger too long on the south peak. Just long enough for some photos and a quick selfie and after that—ZAM—I was on my way back to Lone Peak, leaving the south peak in the dust, a place I'll likely never return to again. 

Southeast from the south peak

Southwest

I decided to post up on the summit of Lone Peak just one last time; it was simply so nice, you know? It's one of those peaks you can come back to time and again and no matter how many times you do it, you'll never tire of the effort, the views—nothing. Standing there on the summit, I could see why this spot is so popular amongst the Utah locals. It's legit. Definitely a place I'd like to visit again.

Heading off the summit; some class 3 up ahead

But I couldn't stay up there too long; had more planned for the day. So I touched the benchmark one last time and waved my hands in the air like a lunatic and then set off down the mountain, carefully making my way through the class 3 stuff. Hit the ridge, found the chute, followed the cairns—I was havin' an absolute blast. Just wandering around in the midst of an alpine wonderland: stone slabs, solid granite, stately pines, deciduous foliage just beginning to change colors. A buffet for the eyes, nourishment for the soul. Down, down, down, I went, as always, as ever; ain't no other way to get off a mountain. You go up. You go down. Simple as that, capisce? 

Looking back at Lone Peak

And it was on my way down when I decided to check out yet another summit: good ol' Enniss Peak. I'd seen the use trail that led to its summit on my way up to Lone Peak earlier that morning. Figured I'd save it for later. Well, now seemed like as good a time as any and there wasn't nothin' better to do so I hit the use trail and waltzed up the thing to the top. 

Lone Peak from Enniss Peak

Pretty views

Not much going on on ol' Enniss Peak. No register, no burger stand, no 24 carat diamond necklace. Just a benchmark with a brief history lesson and some pretty views of the surrounding country. Without emotion or opinion, I set off down the use trail and continued on my journey out of the mountains back to the parking lot, probably spending no more than 20 seconds on ol' Enniss. I was in the mood to keep on moving along, keep the blood pumpin', the legs shackin', the feet achin'. So I trucked on down Jacobs Ladder without stopping, the temps warming up ever so slightly as I dropped back into the low-lands, everything warm and breezy and neat. 

Back on the trail...

A shady section of Jacob's Ladder

In the low-lands once again...

Hit up the parking lot, the thing swarming with mountain bikers. I sat on a bench in the shade and chugged some water and thought about absolutely nothing in particular. My mind was a blank slate, a condition that it's usually in after climbing a really cool mountain. Kinda had to just sit there and think about nothing for a while. And it was good. Real good. But soon the sounds of jingling bells and shifting gears and the voices of the mountain bikers cut through the screen and brought me back into the here and now and I was faced with a decision: go to a restaurant and eat enough food to feed a family of six or climb more peaks. If you're an avid reader of this blog you can probably guess what happened next...

Heading up the road to "Maack Hill"

Yup. I'm sick in the head. I have a problem. But at least this problem keeps me moving and moving ain't a bad thing so ehh, I suppose I'm doing something right. After my quick break in the shade, I hopped in my car and drove down the road a ways to a parking lot with a trailhead that seemed like it would take me up to a small group of grassy hills in this undeveloped, park-like area. No research, no planning. I'd seen these hills on my way down from Lone Peak and they looked interesting so I figured I'd give 'em a look. 

And I parked at the trailhead and filled up my water bottles and then set off on the trail, which was really just a well-graded dirt road. First hill on the agenda was "Maack Hill," a name I didn't learn until after the fact. I just saw it and went "yep, I'll go up there" and so I did!

A sign on "Maack Hill"

SLC from "Maack Hill"

The other hills I visited

Maack Hill was barren and uninteresting, save for a sign that said "Johnny Runner," whatever that means. I could see the remaining hills that I planned to visit, so I took a good look at 'em, went "ehh," and set off towards the next closest bump: Peak 6570. Just followed the road all the way to the top; nothing insane, nothing out-of-this world. Views were alright, but like I mentioned earlier, the views ain't what matter. It's more about the story man. And so far these little ol' hills weren't putting up much of a story but I kind of expected that. Lone Peak was like a great novel, these hills were more like Buzzfeed articles. 

View from Peak 6570

Goofy trail names

I didn't linger to long on ol' Peak 6570. Only had two more hills to go and I wanted to get through 'em quick. So I backtracked a ways and then left the road and hiked up a trail, "off the beaten path" is what it was called. I soon learned that there were quite a bit of goofy trail names in this area, all of them named after a Far Side Gallery comic. "Beware of Doug." "The Rex Maneuver." Goofy stuff. Each trail also included a picture of the comic of which it was named after, providing some brief entertainment and a wee chuckle to those that took the time to stop and look. 

And so I followed these goofy trails and hopped back on the road at points and hiked up to the top of what I later learned to be referred to as the "Alien Tower." Why it's called this, I do not know. No tower up there. No aliens. Not even any signs of aliens. Gee. What a boring spot. Oh well. Only one more to go, the tallest of them all, the best of the bunch: good ol' View Benchmark.

View Benchmark from "Alien Tower"

Seems like the aliens moved their tower over to View Benchmark. I found a big ol' pyramid-shaped structure up there, a squeaky swing attached to the iron bars like dwarf mistletoe on a pine branch. Nobody up there; just the tower, the swing, and some rocks arranged in a spiral. I sat on the swing and rested for a minute, my stomach berating me on my stupid, stupid decisions to keep on movin', keep on truckin'. Shut up stomach. Now is the time to sit on the swing and enjoy the scenery. 

The structure on View Benchmark

Lone Peak from View Benchmark

Looking towards SLC from View Benchmark

And enjoy it I did. Just sat there in the comfy embrace of the cracked plastic seat, swingin' back and forth, everything squeaky but in a peaceful kind of way, you know? And I could hear the sounds of civilization, hear the semi trucks as they rumbled up and down the I-15, feel the buzz of busyness, people going this way and that in their cars and trucks and motorcycles. And then I looked to the northwest and there were all these people, far away and up above, floating in the sky, parasailing they were, the sun reflecting off their chutes as it does a dewdrop on a leaf. Quite the change of pace from earlier in the day up on Lone Peak, but still nice, still neat. 

But my stomach was angry and I'm a caring landlord to my organs, especially the ones that keep me alive, so I trotted off the summit, following a dirt road all the way back to the trailhead, only passing by a few other folks along the way, all of 'em dressed casually and walkin' their dogs or jogging or listening to music or something like that. Drove to the first mexican restaurant I could find. Ordered me a big ol' bean rice and cheese burrito. Drowned it in salsa verde. Mmmm hmmm. So good, so good...

Driving to Provo Peak, Cascade Mtn center left

Stomach satisfied, I drove off into the mountains yet again, this time with the intention of setting up camp at the base of what I wanted to climb para la mañana. Lots of people on that mountain road, all of 'em crowding around lookin' at the fall colors. Luckily, these fall colors were only concentrated in one specific area; once I'd made it past that spot—not a soul to be seen. Saw Y Mountain and Khyv Peak along the way, the setting sun casting brilliant rays upon their rugged cliffs. Driving along, windows down, radio off, the day coming to a close, everything nice and relaxed...

Y Mountain (left), Khyv Peak (right)

Helicopter on Y Mountain

But then I got to the base of what I wanted to climb and all that peace and relaxation just whooshed out the door. What I wanted to climb was Provo Peak, and brother, it was right there! I knew the route to the top was short, but, c'mon now! The thing looked like a walk in the park; the road practically took me all the way to the top. Just had a teeny tiny, itty bitty ways to go to reach the summit. 

I decided to go for it. Didn't know if there was enough daylight left to complete it before dark but hey, that's what a headlamp's for, dangit! Also, I was feelin' a wee bit tired from my trek up to Lone Peak and my bonus adventure in the View Benchmark area but ehh, how bad could it be? I mean it was so close. Figured I might as well get it over with...

Provo Peak. It's so close!

What ensued was an exercise in determination and focus. I learned very quickly that the trek to the top had absolutely no relief whatsoever. Nothing but the ever-present incline, the steep grade; a StairMaster to end all StairMasters. I powered through, my body quickly soaked in sweat, the peaceful wrap-up to a long day in the hills far from over. And the sun was disappearing faster than expected, so of course it turned into a race. I chased the sun, dashing after it like a mad freak, afraid that the rising shadows would catch me. 

Well, I ain't no super-human so the shadows did eventually catch me and it was all over; I slowed the pace, caught my breath, took a look around. Crimson horizon, shining lights, twinkling stars, majestic peaks. Couldn't ask for anything else. 

1½ miles and 2,700ft of elevation gain later and I was on the summit, the feeble rays of daylight fading fast along the horizon. Man. That was stupid. But fun. Stupid fun. I owe it all to that burrito. It powered me through, got me up there in one piece. 

Since it was practically night, I didn't stay too long. Kinda just stood around in my sweaty shirt and spun around a couple times to soak in the views. Didn't take long for me to grow dizzy. And dizzy was the cue. Time to head back...

East Provo from Provo summit

And I dashed down the hellish grade, careful not to slip or trip. Turned on the ol' headlamp, banged out the last little bit back to the car. Changed out of my sweaty clothes, sat down. Wow. What a day. I was beat. Now all that was left was a drive down the road to the parking area for the 2nd peak I had in mind to visit para la mañana: Cascade Mountain. 

Running down Provo Peak in the dark...

I reached the parking area, the whole thing overrun by a group of college kids having a big ol' bonfire off to the side. Why college kids would be partying in the mountains on a Monday night is beyond me, but I didn't care. Hell, if I wasn't so damn tired I'd probably have joined them (if they'd accept my company). But I was runnin' on fumes and I was ready to pass out so I found a spot under a tree that was kinda out of the way and set up my pad and bag and instantly conked out, sleepin' the whole night through. Had another huge day planned for the morning. Whether or not I'd do everything I'd planned was to be determined...