A Pathetic Attempt of South Guardian Angel

05/04/26

Late start, 11:36am. Mean looking clouds floated high above, some especially dark, threatening rain. Driving up the steep curves of the KTR, I was overcome with a nagging feeling that the day would not work out the way it was supposed to. With a late start, hardly any prep and very little research on the route, I had successfully combined the prime ingredients for a day of complete failure. I could feel it in my bones, but I kept on driving anyway. 

And I pulled into the parking lot for the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead and I grabbed my pack and set off down the trail, the skies gray, the wind sharp, the air filled with the vibrations of impending failure. My mind wasn't in it to win it. I wasn't confident in the slightest. But I figured I might as well try. It was the least I could do.

And what was it that I was gonna try? Good ol' South Guardian Angel. I've been meaning to check this one out ever since I first laid eyes on it while driving up the KTR. I got an even better view of it when I climbed North Guardian back in March, a more technically challenging mountain that has a significantly easier approach. I saw South Guardian in the distance. Saw its beautiful northeast ridge, a true "sidewalk in the sky." An exquisite mountain, absolutely stunning. I knew I had to check it out. Too bad I didn't look too hard at the approach though. If I did, I might have had second thoughts...

First view of South Guardian

I walked along the trail, making a right towards the Northgate Peaks Overlook. Miles and smiles, smiles and miles. I'd done this section of trail so many times I didn't even notice the time passing, the clouds shifting overhead, the dark patches moving this way and that. Simply hikin' in cruise control. Yessiree Bob. Legs moving, feet shuffling, mind wandering. That was the name of the game.

And then I made it to the overlook and hit up the ol' use trail, wandering to the east, approaching a low saddle of sorts between North Guardian and this little knob of reddish sandstone. Once past the saddle I was gifted with my first view of South Guardian, the thing still long ways off. Alright. Easy part done. Now the real trekkin' could begin.

Somewhere horribly off route...

I'd imagined there would be a pretty well-worn use trail snaking its way down into the Left Fork of North Creek. If not, then at least a handful of cairns here and there. Well, this was not the case. No trail, no cairns. I don't know if I'm just bad at hide and seek, or maybe I'm just a terrible observer, or perhaps I lack the patience, or maybe it was just destiny, I don't know. Whatever the case, I couldn't find a trace of a use trail or a single dang cairn for the life of me, so I kinda just wandered down the steep slickrock terrain with a vague understanding to move slightly east the farther I descended. 

Of course, this did not work. I'd get down into cliffy and brushy terrain, the route obviously incorrect, and I'd stand around, put my arms on my hips, say "yep" and then turn around and hike back up. I did this a couple of times, each one sucking away my morale like a data center does water in a desert. Things were not looking good.

But alas! Finally, finally, I managed to find a cairn, and then—behold—another cairn, and then, ahh yes, a faint use trail, hallelujah. Just when things were getting sour, salvation arrived in the form of little stacks of rocks and dusty footprints.

But then the thing petered out almost immediately and I was back to sloggin' it down through the cliffs, not even close to the bottom of the Left Fork, South Guardian far, far away. It was after 1:30pm. I sat down, ate a PB&J, looked at the views, gazed at the heavens, and accepted my defeat. Had to call it. Yup. This approach got the best of me. 'Twas a mighty pathetic attempt to be sure. Gonna have to come back some day and try it for real. Earlier start, more research, a stronger mindset. 

The view from where I turned around

South Guardian...I'll come back one day...

So, now what? Had to do something. Couldn't wallow in the juices of my own self-loathing on the side of the canyon all day long. Had to do something. Why not try another peak that had eluded me, one that's been at the back of my mind ever since I failed to reach its summit over a month ago. I'm talkin' about good ol' Little Northgate Peak of course, the little nubbin that shut me down after my exciting ascent of North Guardian back on March 30th. Had to give it another go. And so I stood up, brushed the dust off my seat, took one last look around, and then began the slow ascent through confusing terrain back to the saddle. 

East Northgate (left), Little Northgate (right)

After an uneventful slog through brush and steep slickrock, I finally made it back to the saddle, the clouds still churning up above, the wind picking up, the sky teasing rain. East Northgate rose ahead, Little Northgate flanking its eastern side. I waved at them. Pointed at Little Northgate. I'm comin' for you Little Northgate. Ain't nothin' gonna stop me now. 

And I descended a mellow slickrock bowl into a narrow wash/gully/whatever-you-call-it, the thing filled with patches of brown, murky water. And I crossed the gully and began hikin' up to Little Northgate's southern ridge, the going slightly brushy, slightly loose, nothin' too crazy.  

Ascending out of the gully, false summit left

Looking back at North Guardian, quite imposing from this angle

Little Northgate Summit

Goin' up and up, I eventually gained the southern ridge, North Guardian rising off to the west, its northeast side lookin' quite unclimbable from this angle. I turned my gaze back to the ridge at hand and proceeded on what turned out to be a steep, somewhat loose slog the rest of the way to Little Northgate's pointy summit. I decided to stay east of the ridge, avoiding exceptionally loose and exposed nonsense on the western side. Perhaps there's an easier route on the western side a bit farther down, but I didn't look and didn't care. Lingering to the east worked out just fine.

After a bit, I cut to the west a little ways, now walking pretty much dead center on the ridge, following it through sandy and brushy terrain to the summit. Once there, I sat down, ate another PB&J, contemplated whether or not it was gonna rain, and stared at the views to the southwest, South Guardian taunting me in the distance. Taunting? Nah. It was standing completely indifferent to my existence, not a care in the world. I pointed at it. Said I'd be back one day. It didn't listen. How could it? It don't got no ears. 

East(ish)

Southwest

East Northgate from Little Northgate

Sitting there on the summit, I figured it was gonna rain. I waited one minute, two minutes. The dark clouds softened. The sky loosened up. The heavens became wispy and silky, the atmosphere the color of tin. And then little splotches of blue popped up and I knew, then and there, that it definitely wasn't gonna rain. Remind me to never become a meteorologist. I'd be far too wishy-washy. 

Satisfied with finally getting to visit Little Northgate, I guzzled down some water, took one last look around, and then retraced my steps off the mountain. I hopped back down the ridge, jumped into the gully, moseyed on through the slickrock bowl, followed a use trail to the Northgate Peaks Overlook, hit the main trail, zoomed on out there, the skies gentle, the weather excellent, the day a mixture of success and failure.

Hikin' up the slickrock bowl, East Northgate right

Back on the trail

In the car, driving down the road. I was bored. Felt like I had to do more, like I had to redeem myself in some way. Plus I couldn't let this fantastic weather go to waste. So I decided to check out a few minor peaks on the way back home, little nubbins that sit just off the road, all of them short little jaunts. Spendlove Knoll, an old, brush-encrusted cinder cone was the first of these little nubbins that I encountered while driving down the KTR. I pulled off the side of the road, chugged more water, and then began a short and brushy walk to the summit.

Spendlove Knoll

A tad brushy

There was no route, no use trail. No need. The thing was real short. Just followed animal trails through the brush, some a little more well-defined than others. The brush lessened near the summit, the views surprisingly good. A small stack of rocks and a USGS benchmark marked the highpoint. No register, no sign of any recent human visitation. I spent roughly 2 minutes up there, spinning around, absorbing the scene. And then it was a brief bushwhack back to the car and off to the next little nubbin' of the day, the provisional "Bobbie Knoll."

Spendlove Knoll summit

South

Northeast

Sitting just northwest of Lambs Knoll, the unassuming "Bobbie Knoll" rises up out of the ground, a gentle, somewhat brushy mound of cinders and dirt that sees very little visitation. Really no reason to go up there, as I soon found out. I pulled into the parking lot for Lambs Knoll, got out of the car, and made a beeline towards the summit. I walked through some unoccupied campsites, weaved around some sage and brush and stuff, hit the gentle incline, and kinda just moseyed on up to the top. No register, no benchmark, just some old, broken glass that's been there for who knows how long. Not much of a view from Bobbie Knoll; the whole thing is covered in scraggily pinyon pines. 

Bobbie Knoll

Bobbie Knoll summit

Back in the parking lot, back down the road. My eyes scanned the horizon, moving to and fro, noting the various landmarks, trying to find just one more nubbin to explore. They finally settled on a formation known as "North Moqui," a precarious, jumbled mass of boulders and brush that caught my fancy for whatever strange reason. Perhaps I expected it to be like Moqui Peak. If it was anything like that, then I'd be in for one hell of a jaunt, however short it was. Curious to find out, I pulled off the side of the road and then eagerly began a short walk through the desert to the base of this most interesting lump of rocks and brush. 

Approaching North Moqui

While I was driving on the road, I spent a little time trying to figure out the best route to the summit. I saw a steep, rocky, brushy chute on the peak's northeast side that seemed to be the most viable option. So as I was walkin' through the desert, dodging cacti and juniper branches, the peak growing larger in view, it was this northeast chute I was aiming for, the thing lookin' like a tricky route for sure but entirely passable. At least, that's what I thought.

The brushy northeast chute

I entered a dry wash, climbed up out of it, and then started the uphill slog to the base of the northeast chute. Heading over, the thing looked steep, brushy, a bit precarious, definitely a tad more exciting than I had imagined. But imagination can only take you so far. Maybe it was actually pretty mellow. Only one way to find out. 

I began climbing up the chute, the initial section incredibly steep and loose. I used the ample brush inhabiting the chute to haul myself up, the going steep but nothing crazy. And then I encountered what turned out to be the "crux" of the route, a brief and interesting bout of steep class 3. I kinda just climbed straight up the thing, ducking under the bushes at the top, using them for support. Once past this section it was a steep, brief bushwhack the rest of the way to the summit.

Class 3 crux

Interesting rock formation

I reached the summit plateau, the thing covered in multiple stacks of boulders rising this way and that. I climbed up on top of one, immediately found it to be a false summit, the true summit rising just a bit to the south. I hopped down the thing, making my way towards the true summit. There were a few options available to reach the top, none of them particularly easy. I decided to approach it from the north, hopping up a tricky section that required some funky moves to gain the summit block. A little challenging for sure, but luckily it wasn't too exposed. 

North Moqui summit, I climbed up from the bottom left

The tricky section

Wow, what a peak. Easily my favorite of the day. Though it wasn't as insane as the slightly taller Moqui Peak to the south, it still offered plenty of excitement. Lots of brush. Lots of steep terrain. A wee bit of scrambling. Ample rock formations. Cool boulders. Cool views. I plopped down on the summit block, the thing nice and wide, the weather nice and and cool. Time for a break. I sat, I looked, I pondered, I gazed. That's all there was too it.

Looking towards Moqui Peak 

Tab Dome (left) South Guardian (right)

North, Lambs Knoll left

Southwest

Puffy clouds, the sky a layer of gray, a light breeze, the high desert sprawling before me, a peaceful scene, a good scene, a fantastic way to end the day. Didn't wanna leave though. That's how you know it's a good summit. It's always the ones that you wish you could linger on top of for days and days, watching the sunrise and sunset and everything in between, watching the colors shift, the shadows passing over everything. But one must always leave the mountain. That's just the way it goes. And so I retraced my steps back to the car, hopping down that tricky section on the summit block, entering the northeast chute, sliding down through brush and loose rock, down climbing the class 3 crux, exiting the chute, wandering through the desert. I got back to the car, covered in sweat and dirt and some lingering thorns and sticks and leaves that had hitched a ride on my person. Started 'er up. Drove on out of there, windows down, music in the air. 

Looking down the class 3 crux

Wandering through the high desert...

It was a weird day with weird emotions and weird sensations. Definitely my most pathetic attempt of a mountain, that's for sure. I suppose my main error was not really wanting to do it in the first place. Deep down, somewhere in the aortic valve or something, there's a desire to climb a mountain, or to do something challenging or something like that. There's a want. An urge. An aim. There's a need to complete an objective, and the need fuels the brain, and the brain tells the body what to do. I did not have the need that morning. My mind wasn't in it. Wasn't the right time. 

But there will be other times. Just gotta get out there and climb it when I feel like it's right. As for the other peaks of the day, I really don't ever see myself visiting them again, all except for North Moqui. That was a goodun.