Hikin' in the Heat on St. Paddy's Day

 

I was sore in the morning. Real sore. Climbing 15 summits in four days had finally caught up to me, my legs weary and worn out. I felt like doin' absolutely nothing, completely content with a day relegated entirely to sloth. But it was St. Paddy's day after all so I had to honor my ancestry by doing at least something. Go to a pub? Wear some green? Find a pot o' gold at the end of a rainbow? Naw. How about the dumbest thing I coulda done: climb more peaks!

Yup. I suppose my brain melted a bit during the unprecedented March heatwave, perhaps serving as an excuse for this boneheaded endeavor. But ever since moving to the area I've felt compelled to explore the territory, as if there was some magnetic force zipping me away from all that is good and decent. I'm drawn to the wilderness like a silly little moth to an electric zapper, and on St. Paddy's day I simply couldn't resist the call.

And so I set off on the road, bound for a couple of lower peaks near the town of Hurricane. I wasn't completely braindead (at least, not yet) as I had decided on climbing what I thought would be "easy" peaks; that is, peaks that demanded a short hike on a maintained trail to their summits. The first of these "easy" peaks was Mollie's Nipple, a noticeable landmark that does, indeed, look like a nipple on top of a big ol' boob. 

Mollie's Nipple

I followed the road to a small parking area, not a car to be seen. Had the whole place to myself; couldn't wonder why, hahaha. Everyone else was probably out on the down drinkin' Guinnesses with the leprechauns, doing everything they could to beat this early morning heat. Determined to reach the nipple, I started up the trail, the thing mean and steep. On the drive over, I caught a glimpse of the route to the summit and boy did it look interesting. Lots of up, super sunny, no shade. Definitely not an "easy" hike per se, but at least it was short. My wobbly legs trudged up the trail like a couple of overworked horses, likely compiling a whole list of complaints and grievances for HR to send to my brain. But soon I had surpassed the steep section, now having entered much more agreeable terrain, the titular nipple finally in sight. 

I moseyed on over to the thing, most of it made up of sharp volcanic rocks. The trail took me all the way to the top of the nipple; a tad steep near the end but nothing too crazy. I plopped down on some rocks and took in the wonderful views of Hurricane and beyond, noting with my finger the other summits I'd planned on visiting later in the day.

South(ish)

West+Northwest Pano

I spent quite a long time up there, considering to make it the only objective of the day. That woulda been the smart thing to do, but then the stupid part of my brain kicked in and told me to climb more peaks and I unfortunately obeyed and grabbed my pack and set off down the trail in great haste. I only stopped once along the way, just long enough to watch a small plane take off from the nearby airport, the thing probably shuttling a bunch of fed up leprechauns tired of Utah's weird drinking laws to Las Vegas where they could guzzle and sup and frolic and prance and rob the casinos blind to their heart's content. 

I finally reached the bottom, hopped back in the car, and drove off down the road to another peak. This next one, East Cinder Knoll, was lookin' to be significantly easier than Mollie's Nipple. I drove straight there, parking along the side of a dirt road. I found the beginning of the trail, hopped over a metal gate thingy, and then began the mellow ascent to the summit.

East Cinder Knoll

The thing was taking almost no time at all to climb, so, to draw things out, I decided to make a loop of the whole knoll, following the trail in a clockwise fashion. I hit up this one spot to the west first, the highpoint marked with an American Flag. Under the flag were solar powered lights, and near the lights, mixed in with some rocks, was a register. This wasn't no regular summit register; wasn't even no geocache. Nope, this was a first: the register proclaimed that it could only be signed by those who have served this country, in both military and civilian positions. Since I didn't fit the criteria I honored the register's request by not signing it, instead putting it back and setting off once again on my clockwise loop, the wind slight, the air nice and toasty. 

"Volcano Mountain" center left

Hurricane

Continuing along, I encountered a large spiral made out of volcanic rocks situated in the middle of the trail. Bypassing this outdoor art installation, I began heading east, beginning a slow walk to the true highpoint of the knoll. Decent views of La Verkin appeared before me, much of the terrain quite similar to that seen from Mollie's Nipple. I reached the highpoint, spun around, said "yep" and kept on going, heading back to the car and driving off to the next couple of summits for the day.

Northwest

La Verkin

I drove no more than two minutes down the road to the next objectives: Middle Cinder Cone and West Cinder Knoll. Could I have hiked from East Cinder? Absolutely. There was a beautifully maintained trail that led from East Cinder all the way to both Middle and West Cinder. But being the lazy dullard that I am, I decided to drive the distance, much to the delight of my overworked legs. 

West Cinder left, Middle Cinder right

I hopped yet another metal gate thingy and began walking on a well-maintained trail, hitting up Middle Cinder first. I followed what appeared to be a popular path to the "summit," which ended up being a ridge of sorts covered in tiny volcanic cinders. To the north of the summit was a small drop-off, and sprawling before me down in a bowl was a whole bunch of rock art. Spirals, circles, and declarations of love galore. There was even a neat little UFO just vibin' there in the cinders, its tractor beam scanning the two-dimensional ground for unsuspecting victims. I took some pictures, dropped down from the summit, skirted the side of the bowl, and met up with the trail once again, following it counter-clockwise to the high point of West Cinder Knoll.

East Cinder from Middle Cinder

More rock art

Purty

West Cinder Knoll

There was a strange structure on the summit of West Cinder Knoll; a large, semi-circular tube made entirely out of volcanic rocks. Nothing inside it, nothing outside of it. Maybe the leprechauns made it. I don't know. By now the temps were hovering in the low 90's and I was running low on water, but I had just enough to make one more peak: the prominent "Volcano Mountain" looming in the distance. I could see it rising off to the southwest; a large, weathered, grass-covered cinder cone that looked to be worth a visit. After Mollie's Nipple, this would probably be the 2nd most strenuous hike of the day, but I was still feelin' peachy so I decided to go for it. I followed the trail the rest of the way back to the car, noises of construction and cars providing a peaceful ambience for this lovely walk through nature. 

Strange structure

Mollie's Nipple

Volcano Mountain far left

I drove through Hurricane and parked along South Panorama Drive, deciding to walk the short uphill section to the gate. Once past the gate I followed the road pretty much the rest of the way to the summit. The closer I got to the mountain the more it looked like a slog. Ahh well. It's a cinder cone. They tend to be like that.

I decided to climb it clockwise, ascending the northeast ridge first. Several mountain bike tracks and a few soda cans full of bullet holes indicated that this spot must be pretty popular spot with the locals. Or maybe it was just those spunky leprechauns again. Who knows.  

Volcano Mountain, I ascended left

Near the summit

I continued along, following the road as it became more and more rutted and steep, turning into something more like a trail near the top. I saw mountain bike tracks pretty much the whole way to the summit; crazy tracks from crazy folks. Near the top, I noticed two protuberances sticking out of the mountain. Looked like tiny little horns. They turned out to be big ol' cairns upon closer inspection, both of which were made out of volcanic rock, neither of them marking the highpoint. One was just off to the west, the other just off to the east. Very strange. 

I took a few pictures, spun around, absorbed the view. I could see much of everything I'd climbed that day, with Mollie's Nipple rising in the southeast and all the rest of the Cinder Knolls visible to the northeast. Hurricane and La Verkin stretched before me, and out west I could make out some of the vestiges of St. George. Blue skies, hot desert, a few lakes, and lots and lots of ridges and bumps and mountains and whatnot. Yep, them views were pretty good. 

Southeast

Southwest

Northwest

East

Once I'd had my fill, I set off down the steep north ridge, slipping once or twice on loose cinders. Back at the bottom, I followed the road the rest of the way to the car, the day coming to a close, my legs just about done. But by this point I was completely braindead; whatever was left in my ol' noggin' had been slow cooked in the desert heat and it was telling me to do stupid, stupid things. And of course I obeyed and I put in directions for Red Reef, another peak that was about 25 minutes away. Unlike the others that I'd climbed, this one required off-trail navigation and some scrambling to reach its summit. Plus I was pretty much out of water by this point so I knew that if I were to climb this peak I'd definitely get dehydrated. And so I was faced with two choices: I could drive home, take a shower, eat some grub, and drink all the water I wanted OR I could intentionally dehydrate myself by climbing another stupid peak. You can probably guess what happened next. 

Red Reef Trailhead, hahahaha

It ended up taking 30 minutes to get to the trailhead, what with the traffic and whatnot. I parked the car, shut the door, and set off down the trail, my mind empty, my legs defeated. There was a group of students situated a little ways down the trail, some frowning, others shading their faces from the sun with their notebooks. All of them wore expressions hinting that they would rather be anywhere else than on that silly ol' trail. Their red-faced professor stood close by, asking them to identify plant species. I didn't hear much of the conversation but it sounded rather unenthused. They needed some moxie. So I walked right through them, parting the group like Moses did the Red Sea, my body oder wafting through the air into unsuspecting noses. Perhaps it woke them up a bit. I never found out. I kept going down the trail and never looked back. One can only hope though, you know?

Heading up a canyon...

I didn't really know how to climb this particular mountain; the beta had long since been stored away in an unknown location in the recesses of my mind. All I knew was that I had to leave the trail at some point by entering the first canyon on the left, follow it to a class 3 exit chute and then climb up to a saddle and skirt the eastern side of the mountain until more agreeable terrain appeared to ascend to the summit. Pretty straightforward stuff. Hopefully I remembered it correctly. 

So I left the trail for the first canyon on the left, following it a ways until I reached an impassable slot. I bypassed the slot by going up a faint use trail to the right, walking up the canyon just a little farther until I reached another impasse. I figured this was where I needed to leave the canyon; all that I needed to do was find that darned class 3 exit chute. And wouldn't you know, I found the thing pretty quickly, spotting it just off to the left beneath a tiny, scraggily tree. A short, fairly unexposed climb later and I was out of the canyon and making my way up to the saddle.

Class 3 obstacle

There were two use trails at the top of the class 3 obstacle; I decided to go left. Didn't really matter because it petered out almost immediately, but hey, that's just the way it goes sometimes. The route to the saddle appeared to be a choose-your-own-adventure sort of deal, so I decided to follow the path of least resistance. Soon enough I had gained the saddle and began skirting the eastern side of the mountain, noticing some old footprints embedded in the dirt. Hallelujah. I was on route!

Skirting the east side...

I followed some semblance of a use trail, weaving in and around boulders and bushes and stuff. Though I wouldn't call this hike a bushwhack, I did somehow manage to rip a hole in the sleeve of my shirt. Ahh, so disappointing. I continued on regardless, staying close to the mountain, never straying too far east. 

Eventually the terrain in front of me became more steep and weird, which I took to be my cue to end the skirt and begin the climb to the summit. To the right was a large, steep, class 2 smattering of hundreds and hundreds of red boulders. I began the climb, not exactly sure if this was the correct point to start ascending. But soon I saw a cairn and then another and my empty mind was finally put at ease. Heck yeah. Still on route!

Climbing up through the boulders

Looking back, the parking lot visible down below

I moved through the boulders like a salamander through a creek, gaining the summit ridge in no time. At long last, my goal was in sight. Didn't look too far, didn't look too hard. I decided to build a small cairn for my return, marking the spot where I finished the ascent through the boulders. This was probably the only smart thing I did all day, and thank goodness I did because it made things so much easier on the way back.

Red Reef

I reached the summit after a few minutes of pleasant ridge walking, rugged desert terrain stretching out before me in all directions. I sat on down, drank the rest of my water, and enjoyed the views. Though they weren't as good as those I'd seen on Volcano Mountain and Mollie's Nipple (totally subjective btw), the interesting route finding and scrambling and beauty of the red rock landscape made this out to be my favorite summit of the day. Plus, like the other summits that day, the route was nice and short; I was only looking at about a 2.5 mile roundtrip hike. Not too bad. But I was definitely a little dehydrated, so, not wanting to overstay my welcome, I reluctantly said my goodbyes and set off down the mountain, my tongue craving the sweet taste of sugar and electrolytes. 

South

Southwest

North

East

I walked down the scenic ridge, noticed my cairn and then began the fun descent through the boulders. For whatever reason, it was significantly easier going down this section than it was on the ascent. I reached the bottom, dusted off my shorts and then moseyed back along the eastern side of the mountain, following my footprints to the saddle.

At some point along this scenic walk I began philosophizing to the rocks and the sticks and the bushes about the different levels of dehydration that one can experience in the outdoors. I, for instance, was currently "comfortably dehydrated," which is a state of parchedness that one can endure rather contentedly for a long time. Next up is "uncomfortably dehydrated," which I explained has three levels of discomfort: annoying, bothersome, and bad. After that, there's only one more state that one can find oneself in, and that is to be critically dehydrated. Nobody wants to be this dehydrated. Man, I get thirsty just thinkin' about this level of dehydration. And of course I probably sounded like a complete wackaloon explaining this to the foliage around me; the bushes and shrubs and cactus simply wishing for me to shut up and move on. But it helped to pass the time so I kept on talking and philosophizing all the way back to the saddle and down past the class 3 obstacle and into the canyon. 

Heading back down

Confounded Mylar Balloons! 

I shut up once I got back to the trail. The students were long gone, the sun had fallen behind the mountains, everything was in the shade, the heat of the day slowly evaporating into the ether. I waddled back to the car and drove straight to the grocery store, picking up frozen peas (for dinner) and gatorade (to quench my immediate thirst). It occurred to me that I coulda stopped at the store on my way over to Red Reef, but that woulda been too easy, hahaha. 

It had been a rather hot St. Paddy's day, rife with terrific elevation gain, pointy plants, dust and dirt and a whole lotta rocks. No Guinness, no four leaf clovers, no gold, no sprightly leprechauns, no disgusting green milk. But it was a good one nonetheless; in fact, it was probably the best St. Paddy's day I've ever experienced. But it came at a cost, my excesses in the woods finally catching up to me. The next day at work my left shin cried out in pain whenever I went up or down the stairs. Seems like the thing finally had enough and went on strike. Oh well. It was inevitable. 

Since then I've rested and recovered and have gone out on a few more adventures, all of which I plan to document on this blog. I'm definitely behind on the posts at the moment, but I'll get to them eventually.