Bits and Pieces along the KTR

 4/20/26

What to do, what to do. The days had spilled into each other, a Wednesday no different than a Saturday, all of them busy busy busy. And then it was the weekend and it caught me unawares and there were groceries to buy and laundry to fold; just a whole assortment menial errands that by themselves don't amount to much but, when combined, really destroy a whole day. I had just completed such errands and found myself with only a few hours of daylight remaining. Ahh, what to do, what to do. Lay in bed? Stare at the sun? Play tiddlywinks with the stinkbugs down by the river? Had to do something. But what? And then it hit me: why not drive up the KTR and wander around aimlessly for a bit? Yep. That'll do the trick. And so I grabbed a pack and some water and set off up the KTR, no specific itinerary in mind other than a vague desire to wander around in the woods and climb something awesome. 

Onward and upward, the road curving this way and that, scenic, high desert scenery coming into view. Red rocks, green trees, emerald grass, blue skies, puffy white clouds, windows down, the breeze blowin' through the car, on and on and on. And then I found me a pullout I ain't ever stopped at and pulled over and grabbed the pack and started wandering.

I'd driven by this pullout numerous times on my way to the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead. Always saw people parked there and had always wondered...why. What's out there? What could be so very interesting, so captivating, so alluring that one would pull off the side of the road and wander off-trail to go and see it? I had to find out.

The only thing that came to mind was a large formation called "Jobs Head," a big, crumbly mound of crazy red sandstone rising high above the pines, clearly visible from the road. I decided to wander towards this behemoth, rambling along through the slickrock and sand, the pines silent, the air still. And I entered a creek of sorts and rock-hopped for a bit and then got tired of that and left the creek and bushwhacked a bit and kinda just wandered along, heading in a somewhat straight line to Jobs Head. And there was a group of three having a late lunch (or early dinner) in the shade of some pines and I waved to them and they waved back and then we never saw each other again.

And I started heading up, up, up, climbing through prickly bushes and manzanita, skirting the east side of Jobs Head, trying to find a more agreeable way to reach its summit. And then I found a steep little gully that led to a saddle, the thing full of dead pine needles and an old dead tree and rocks and sticks and shrubs and not a single trace of recent human visitation. And I reached the saddle in a huff and a puff and gazed at the north ridge and said "Oh yeah" and I knew that this was gonna be a good one. 

Proceeding along the North Ridge

I proceeded along, the rock okay for what it was, a little crumbly, but hey—that was expected. And I kept things class 2/3 for a bit, wandering along the ridge, skirting to the west when I could in order to avoid crazy terrain. And then I started climbing up some funky stuff, ducked under a pine, moseyed on over to the east side of the ridge, walked along a fairly exposed class 2 ledge, and then encountered the first major obstacle of the day. 

The first major obstacle

A large chute had to be surmounted, the holds great but the going very very steep. Not wanting to climb up stuff I didn't need to climb, I hugged a wall and moseyed up over a bush and traversed into the chute from there, keeping things class 3. Once in the chute, it was an enjoyable scramble up to a notch, the breeze picking up a bit, the sky a crystal blue, the pines gently swaying down below, the afternoon nice and easy and relaxed. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about. That's what it's all about.

The second obstacle

At the top of the notch was the second obstacle of the day, perhaps the crux of the route. It wasn't too steep or technically challenging, but the rock quality was exceptionally poor. Lousy lousy nonsense; just a bunch of downward facing, brittle, crumbly, class 3 slabs with a sprinkle of exposure added to the mix. No good. I probably broke off seven pieces on my way up. But at least it was brief and I was soon past it and I wrapped around to the east again, now facing one final obstacle inhibiting my quest to the summit. 

The final obstacle

This was by far the steepest part of the whole trek, definitely class 3/4. But the holds were great and the rock quality was far better than the crumbly nonsense I'd just passed a bit farther down the ridge. Up, up, up and away I went, surpassing this final obstacle, the breeze nice and cool, the afternoon sun hitting everything just right. And I was greeted with a view of a very crumbly false summit so I wrapped around to the west, avoiding all that silliness. And then, finally, ahh yes, there it was—the true summit in all its glory.

Jobs Head summit

And I scurried up there in a jiffy, the rock quality a little horrible in the final stretches (more of those god-awful downward facing, brittle, crumbly sandstone slabs). And I threw down my pack and spun around, the views excellent, the air nice and crisp, everything vibrant and green and bright. And I wandered off the summit a bit to the south and climbed a little nodule and kinda just sat there and let the minutes roll on by, watching the cars zoom up and down the road, watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky, watching life take place, little by little, piece by piece. 

Jobs Head Plateau

Red Butte way out there

Windy Peak

South

And I lingered and lingered and pondered and sat around and then it was time to go and so I began to retrace my steps and a chunk of awful stupid brittle sandstone broke loose and I slid with it for an exhilarating 2 seconds and good thing it wasn't exposed 'cause if it was...oooh boy. And I wrapped around the false summit and moseyed on down that steep section, careful with the footing and whatnot, and then it was a very slow and careful butt-scoot down those terrible, awful, no-good, very bad, horrendous, stupid lousy downward facing sandstone slabs. But I made it just fine and I was back at the notch and I was looking down at the chute and I knew that once I made it past this, it was pretty dang easy walking the whole rest of the way.

Looking down the chute

And I carefully made my way down and from there on out it was a very straightforward jaunt back to the saddle. Not wanting the adventure to end so soon, I decided to check out the northern peak, a tall lookin' protuberance of pine and dirt and shrub and red sandstone rising just in front of me. And I scurried on up the thing, the going super steep but not very scrambly, and I eventually reached the breezy summit in a cough, spit and a burp. And I could see Jobs Head off to the south and I realized that it was by far the more interesting of the two, but hey—ain't nothing like some good ol' wanderin' to ease the mind and quell the spirits. I was satisfied with the detour, satisfied with the view. Ain't nothin' but a thing. And I stood there for a moment or two and soaked in the afternoon and then made my way back to he saddle and down the gully, slippin' and slidin' in the pine needles the whole way down.

Heading back down from the saddle...

Jobs Head

And I took a different route on my return, crashing through bushes and trompin' on slickrock and driftin' and roamin' and wanderin' wherever I pleased. And I'd turn around every now and then and give Jobs Head a salute or two; a show of gratification for being such a wonderful little mountain. And I continued along, found me a use trail, followed it for a bit, encountered more slickrock and sandstone, the pines nice and green, the breeze still kickin', the afternoon growing long, not a care in the world. 

And I made it back to the ol' vehicle at the ol' pullout and the adventure was over and the mystery as to why people visit this spot was still unresolved. They sure ain't going up to Jobs Head, that's for sure. I saw absolutely no sign of any recent human visitation up there. So where are these people going exactly? Who knows. Perhaps it shall remain a mystery until the end of time...

And I got in the car and drove a little ways up the road, my mind still curious, still hungry for aimless wandering. And I found me another pullout and I dropped into a little creek and bushwhacked for a brief minute and then found a nice animal trail breaking through the rocks and sticks and grass. And I followed this trail for a bit, hikin' underneath the shade of the pines, and then I left it at a random spot and scurried on over to Pocket Mesa, climbing up a noticeable class 2 ramp on its northwest side. 

The animal trail

Pocket Mesa

Windy Peak

And the summit of Pocket Mesa was covered in a blanket of manzanita; a noticeable highpoint nowhere to be found. So I wandered around for a bit, hoppin' through the manzanita, moving along, trying to find a view. And I saw some really old footprints in the dirt and I wondered who they belonged to and why their owners would want to climb up to such a weird, unassuming summit and then I thought "well why did I want to climb this weird, unassuming summit" and I couldn't answer my own silly question and I bet the owner of those footprints couldn't either. 

Pocket Mesa summit

And I found an animal trail and followed it for a little bit and took some photos of some pretty pink flowers and saw some views, all of them just alright. Yep. Don't see myself ever coming back to Pocket Mesa. But it fulfilled the urge for wandering and for that I was grateful. I said my goodbyes and made my way back, crossed the road, and then started climbing its next door neighbor: Windy Peak.

Heading up Windy Peak

Looking back at Pocket Mesa

Gotta love an aptly-named peak. 'Twas mighty windy indeed. Walking along, heading up a ridge of sorts, I had to secure my hat so that it wouldn't fly away into the blue infinity of the sky. And the going was steep but it was all rocks and sticks and grass and I took my time and the views started coming in, little by little. And then I saw the summit and it was covered in—you guessed it—a bunch of manzanita. That stuff sure likes to set up shop on the tops of mountains, that's for sure. 

Windy Peak summit

And it was a wee bitty little baby of a bushwhack through this manzanita, all of it waist-high or shorter. And I topped out on the brushy summit, took a photo of the golden benchmark, spun around, and then made for an open spot with tremendous views of the surrounding country. 

Jobs Head, Red Butte, Pine Valley Range

Southwest

Wind, light, clouds, green. Sandstone formations, sandstone mountains, sandstone hoodoos, sandstone canyons, sandstone cliffs. Emerald meadows. Dark forests. Rugged, rugged country, rugged rugged country as far as the eye could see. You'd think I'd be desensitized to it by now. I've been frequenting this area for the better part of two months, seeing the same sights and same views, just from slightly different angles. You'd think I'd get used to it. Accustomed to it. Habituated. Just an ordinary day in the backyard. No, no, no. It ain't like that at all. It's overwhelming. All of it. There's just so much going on. So much to see. So much to do. And the terrain is grand and wild and, like I've said many times before, completely incomprehensible. I never tire of these views. And I likely never will. 

But my eyes get physically tired of looking at 'em and I can't just stay up on a mountain for the rest of my life and so, reluctantly, I have to leave, hike on out of there, return to my vehicle, go back from whence I came. And it was no different on the summit of Windy Peak; I got up, dusted off my pants, and then walked back to the car.

But I still wasn't quite done yet. Still had some daylight, still had some time to grab one more lil' nubbin' before the day came to a close. And I already knew what it was I was gonna do. And I knew it was gonna suck, but, oh well. 

How delightful

What I'm talkin' about of course is the provincial "Goose Creek Knoll," a super short, super brushy little knob that sits just north of the West Rim Trailhead parking lot. And I drove on over there and parked and then immediately began the delightful bushwhack to the summit. Yep. Textbook bushwhack. Reminded me of the ol' Los Padres. Lots of crawlin'. Lots of poky bushes. Lots of dirt. Fun stuff, fun stuff. 

Goose Creek Knoll

And I broke on through and tore a hole in my pants and I emerged on the summit covered in scrapes and dirt and a strong conviction to never visit this spot ever again. Ain't no reason to climb this thing. Unless you love bushwhacking. In that case, have at it. 

North

South

And I probably spent no more than two minutes up there and then used gravity to my advantage and busted my way back, crashing through the brush like an angry bear. And I broke on through and jogged down the road for a bit back to the car, the whole endeavor taking just under 13 minutes but feeling much longer. And I drove on out of there, windows down, dust clouds billowing out the back of the car, the road bumpy, the road smooth, up and down, off to the KTR, the day finally finished, my hunger for wandering finally satiated. 

Got home, took a shower, cooked up some meatloaf, hit the sack. It had been a terrific afternoon; glad I made the effort to get out there and see the sights and whatnot. Jobs Head was by far the best excursion of the day. Definitely see myself going back there someday. As for the rest...they were...ehhh...alright. Not too good, not too bad.