Pyramid Peak, Eagle Mountain

 04/14/26

Dry lips and sore legs greeted me at dawn, the morning lazy and lethargic. I got up, ate the last of my muffins, and then stepped outside. What a day, what a day. Cool temps, crisp skies, perfect weather. Only the faint odor of damp earth reminded me of the previous day's hectic thunderstorms, the memory of them ephemeral, slowly evaporating from my mind. 

And I walked around, woke up the ol' legs, drank some water, took a wee. Pyramid Peak loomed in the distance, and, truth be told, I didn't really want to climb it. Legs hadn't fully recovered from yesterday's antics on Telescope Peak and such. But I couldn't let this beautiful weather go to waste. Plus the peak looked interesting and I'm a big fan of all things interesting so I figured, ehh, might as well give it a looksie. And so I packed up my stuff, started the car, drove out of "The Pads" and down the road for about 1 minute before pulling off and starting a long walk through open desert towards the base of this most interesting mountain. 

Pyramid Peak

Alright, I'll be honest. This peak didn't look interesting at all. I'll admit that. Just told myself it was interesting as an excuse to climb it. The thing looked utterly gigantic, a massive conglomeration of red, white, brown and black, of jagged ridges and deep ravines, its massive bulk rising out of the open desert like a bad dream. And I walked on through the desert, the dirt crunching underneath, the skies clear, the temps more than agreeable. Yellow and white and purple remnants of the superbloom could be seen all around, the tiny little flowers painting this otherwise hostile landscape in a delicate fashion, softening the harshness, elevating the terrain into something quite beautiful. And I walked along through the open desert, the morning nice and cool, Pyramid Peak growing closer and closer, growing more and more massive with each passing step. Ahh yes. This was gonna suck. 

Through the desert, the flowers, the creosote and cactus, though dirt and rocks and pokey shrubs and in and out of a wash I continued on, entering a wide canyon and turning left in order to gain access to my chosen saddle. I passed an old metal barrel of unknown origin. Passed a mean lookin' wasp. And then I was at the base of the climb to the saddle and the scenic walk through the desert had finally come to an end and now it was time for up, up, up. And I saw the first sign of human activity in the form of a cairn and ahh yes, another cairn and hey, wouldn't you know it, a nice use trail snaking its way up to the saddle. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought. I changed gears, my mind now solely fixated on the effort of the slog, and slowly began the steep ascent to the saddle.

Heading to the base of the saddle

Hiking up to the saddle

And the trail was good and the trail was bad and there was a cairn here and there and it was obvious where to go. Just had to go up. Up is where you have to go. You'll get there eventually. And wouldn't you know it, I, yes, ME got there eventually and I was drenched in sweat and was regretting my decision to hike in sweatpants but how could I be mad—they were simply doing their job. So I rolled them up to my thigh and that seemed to do the trick, and I took a quick swig and looked at the remaining climb. Still had a long way to go. So much vert, so much vert. Doubt creeped into my mind, but I thought ehh, I'll just slow down. And that's what I did, simply inhaled the fresh desert air and took it easy, one simple little step at a time. 

Pyramid Peak from the saddle

So much vert...

Looking back 

And those simple little steps really payed off; I was making good progress, expansive desert views stretching all around me. The use trail helped me get through some interesting sections, keeping things nice and straightforward. Sometimes it would disappear, but, like the climb to the saddle, it was very obvious where to proceed. Up and up and up, that was the name of the game. Up dirt and rocks, big rocks, little rocks, rocks that broke apart, rocks that looked mean and sharp, rocks so fine and crumbly they made me perform the ritual one-step-forward-two-steps-back dance, again and again, up through shale and looseness, up hard-packed dirt and solid awesomeness. Up. Up. Up. Yep. That's all there was to it. 

Eventually, I reached the top of a particularly long and steep section, two cairns on one side and the other marking an invisible doorway to another domain. And I passed through the cairns and entered a land of black rock, the summit still a long way off. And I climbed up to the top of another steep section, following the use trail as is weaved its way through the black rocks, eventually topping out and gifting me with a view of an extremely rugged ridge.  

The land of black rocks

A rugged ridge

And this is where things got interesting. Real interesting. Had to go down for a change. Who woulda thought? Satisfied with the momentary change of pace, I followed the use trail as it dropped down and skirted the side of the crazy looking ridge. A more adventurous soul coulda proceeded directly through the ridge without losing much vert, but as for me, the coward, I kept things nice and easy. 

Moseying along, the use trail finally started heading up again, weaving in and around some class 2 stuff, the land of black rocks transitioning to a land of quartz. Peculiar rock formations rested here and there, carved through the eons by wind and rain. Bright quartz, shiny rocks, rugged formations—almost felt like I was walking through the ancient remnants of a grand crystal cathedral. The breeze picked up, whisking away the droplets from my salty face. I looked around at the brilliant scene. Ahh yes. The summit was close. Just a few minutes to go. Tick tock, tick tock and violà—I was there.

Looking back at the ridge

Telescope Peak in the distance

A peculiar rock formation

Pyramid Peak summit

The views were quite similar to what I'd already seen on the way up, although now I could see pretty much everything north and west, including the snow-capped Sierra Nevada. How pretty, how nice. There was Mt. Whitney in all its glory, snowy and cold and distant. And there was Lone Pine Peak and Mt. Williamson and, could it be, Olancha Peak, standing there way off and away from everybody, tall and lonely and wistful. And the desert stretched out before me, little patches of yellow here and there, the sky a blue jewel, Telescope Peak and Co. still covered in snow from yesterday's storm, Charleston Peak covered with a dusting of its own, rising out of the desert to the east. And everything was nice and cool, the country nice and quiet, everything rugged and crazy and weird, mountain ranges visible in all directions, their summits mysterious and captivating. So I sat on down and enjoyed the fruits of my labor, marveling at the radiant elegance of spring in the desert. 

North

Southeast

Southwest

Northwest

A blurry Mt. Whitney and Co.

I examined the register, that, like those on Wildrose and Telescope, came in the form of a fancy green book. Placed in 2012, the thing had several entries, the most recent from just 3 days prior. There was also a smaller register that had been placed by the Sierra Club; this too had entries going back to 2012 but for whatever reason nobody had signed it after 2022. Seems like the book is the more popular of the two. I made my marks, closed up the book, took one last 360° sweep of the land, and then began what I knew would be a complete knee-killing descent. 

Heading down...

Down, down, down, retracing my steps, following the ol' use trail, walking through the land of quartz, skirting the crazy ridge, climbing up to the land of black rocks, down, down down. 'Twas a lot easier on the lungs going down, but my oh man were my legs sore. They eventually found a groove, a sort of perpetual squat and wobble, dancing up and down the loose rock and dirt like a cat trying to do ballet. And I boot-skied down the loose sections and slowed down on the tricky sections, occasionally using my hands for balance. The weather kept getting better and better, the sky more and more clear, the temps absolutely perfect, the springtime desert terrain a delight for the eyes. I took my time, heading down the mountain at a leisurely pace, enjoying the light and the sky and the little purple and pink flowers blooming on the cacti. 

Back to desert walkin'

And I made it to the saddle and hiked off the thing down into the desert, finally off the mountain, finally back to pleasant desert walking. By now the sun was reaching its zenith and everything was bright and brilliant and wonderful, springtime sunshine bathing everything in the best lighting imaginable. Everything seemed so fresh, so clean. And I walked along, out of the mountains, out into the wide, flat expanse of desert, walking in a straight line to the tiny speck of my parked vehicle. And there were lizards and bugs and creepy-crawlies out doing creepy-crawly things. And then there was a jackrabbit and it saw me and darted off into the bushes, never to be seen again. The desert was wide awake, popping with life, with energy. Too bad I couldn't use any of that energy. By the time I got back to my car my legs were quite dead. 

Tiny white flowers

An old bottle

I changed into shorts, sat in the car, munched on the last of the meat sticks and crackers. I was almost out of food; just had one freeze-dried meal left. The smart thing to do would've been to call it a day and drive on out of there, maybe stop in Pahrump for lunch or something. My legs were dead, my hips sore, but my spirits had never been so high. I needed more, needed something nice and quick, something awesome and inspiring, a crowning touch to finish what was turning out to be one of (if not the best) weekend trips of my life. And I knew exactly what this something would be. I'd seen it that morning. Saw it from the summit of Pyramid Peak. Saw it on the way down, saw it while walking through the desert, saw it rising up out of the flatland, a lonely, isolated, jagged-looking island in the sky. Eagle Mountain. Yep. It was happening. 

Eagle Mountain

Water in the desert

I drove off to Death Valley Junction and turned right, windows down, heading along State Route 127 to some random dirt road that marked the start of the climb to Eagle Mountain. Bumping along, I saw an old white truck parked on the road. Now who could that be? Who on their right mind would be way out here in the middle of nowhere on a random Tuesday afternoon? Another mountain climber perhaps? Only one way to find out. I got out, grabbed my poles, and started walking.

The steep west chutes of Eagle Mountain

Going up...

I'd read very little about Eagle Mountain. Just knew it was nice and short and that I had to stay on route, follow the cairns, stuff like that. Going off route meant encountering some cliffy terrain. And me no likey no cliffy terrain. And so, walking through the desert, I gazed at the steep west face of Eagle Mountain, trying to discern what the correct route actually was. As I got closer a cairn popped up, and then another. Seemed like they wanted me to hike up the left chute. So that's what I did.

Holy guacamole, that thing was steep. But the rock was excellent; nice, sharp, grippy limestone as far as the eye could see. Quite the change of pace from my time sloggin' it up that blasted white sandstone in Zion. This stuff was gourmet. I was lovin' it. 

And I hiked up and up, the going no harder than class 2, maybe a little easy class 3 sprinkled here and there just to keep things interesting. And I found that I didn't really need poles and kinda just lugged them along for the ride but hey, at least I wasn't wearing sweatpants anymore. That was a plus. A nice cold breeze on the ol' legs was more than enough to egg them on, and, though completely tired, they carried me up the west face to a crazy saddle near the summit. 

A view from the crazy saddle

Following a use trail to the summit

A final, exciting class 3 obstacle

From there on out it was pretty straightforward: a lovely, well-worn use trail took me the rest of the way to the final climb to the summit. It skirted to the west, the surrounding views absolutely astounding. Cliffs to my left, wide open desert to my right. Yessir. Doesn't get much better than that.

And the trail wrapped around a corner and I followed it straight to final climb: an exciting class 3 scramble up good rock with solid holds. A lone trekking pole was sticking out of the ground at the base of the climb. This must belong to the owner of the truck I'd seen wayyy down at the bottom. Which meant that they were probably hangin' out at the summit. I'd have to say hello. I tightened my shoes, secured my poles, and then began the exhilarating final scramble to the summit. 

There was an old man up there. Dressed in a bright orange sun hoody and tan colored pants with sunscreen on his face and sporting a big ol' beard and dark sunglasses, this guy seemed to know what he was doing. And we greeted each other and shared some time on the summit, exchanging stories, talking about life and mountains and stuff like that. Learned that he'd climbed this mountain at least 50 times. Learned that he'd climbed most of the peaks in the Sierra. Learned that he knew and had hiked with all these renowned local peakbaggers and climbers. And the more we talked the more I realized that I was talking to a genuine legend, a guy who knew these mountains and this desert better than most people on this planet. It ain't everyday that you meet a legend. Especially in the middle of nowhere on top of a mountain on a random Tuesday afternoon. 

The legend

And we talked for quite a while, time passing slowly, the colors shifting, changing, the breeze growing lighter and lighter. And then we said our goodbyes and he told me he'd see me on the way down and I said something profound like, "Ok" and then he set off, climbing down the class 3 section like someone half his age. And I sat down and checked out the register, inside which were two booklets. The older of the two was placed in 1981, and I saw the legend's name in there more than a dozen times. The newer one was placed in 2000, with the most recent entry (other than the legend's) from 9 days prior. And I made my marks and stood up and looked around, enjoying the airy summit one last time before heading back down. Wide open spaces, patches of yellow, salty white swaths of nothingness, towering mountain ranges, Telescope Peak to the west, Charleston Peak to the East, vast, immense, marvelous desert in all directions. Yep. This was a good one. Short, steep, exciting, scrambly, good rock, good views. If there's any mountain to climb 50 times, this is it. Standing there in the sun and the breeze, I knew, someday, I'd be back. 

South(ish)

East

North

West

And then I grabbed my pack and began the quick descent back to the car. My legs had gone through all five stages of grief by this point and were running on pure emotion. I retraced my steps, carefully climbing down the class 3 section, pausing once or twice to observe the insane views just one more time. And then it was back on the trail, back to the saddle, down, down, down, things wrapping up, the day in diminuendo, the symphony coming to an end, slowly, slowly, nice and quiet and peaceful.

Looking back at the summit

Looking down the class 3 section

Back on the trail...

Heading back to the saddle...

And I caught up to the legend and he wished me well and we parted ways, most likely to never cross paths ever again. And I took a different way on the descent, managing to keep things class 2 or under the whole rest of the way, keeping an eye out for cairns and such, careful not to end up in some class 5 terrain. A moment here and a moment there and soon I was back to the flatlands, back to the pretty desert, out of the steep stuff, back to good, clean, fairly level walking. And I walked on back to the car and started 'er up and drove on out of there, the day finished, the symphony complete, every goal met, nothing on my mind but a strong sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. What a day, what a day...

Heading back down the west side

And I drove on through Pahrump and into the outskirts of Vegas and I stopped at a restaurant and got me a big ol' burger and salty fries and they coulda been endless but that's ok, I made the mistake, I'll simply have to go back. And I got on the 15 and took it all the way back to Utah, driving into the night, gettin' home nice and late. And that was it. Wow, what a weekend. That's all there is to say. Drained me through physically, that's for sure. I was sore for days afterwards. But mentally—wow, what a weekend. Can't come up with the words to describe it.