Signal, Burger Peak Combo

 06/04/26

Kolob Arch, Gifford Canyon, Destination Point, Deertrap Mountain. I'd seen all these places between the 22nd and 29th of May and I had the full intention of writing individual blogs for each one. But I didn't. Why? I don't know. I suppose I simply lacked the urge to dictate them onto the digital page. Plus I came to the realization that I don't need to write about every single dang thing I do in the woods. Sometimes I gotta just relax and let the memories rest in the confines of my own mind. 

Didn't do a whole lot in the days since. Felt a tad listless. Needed a change of scenery. Yep. That's what it was. I'd seen too much of the same thing. Too much red rock. Too many sheer cliffs. Too many prickly bushes and slippery rocks and sandy washes and crumbly sandstone. Beautiful for sure, but weary on the eyes. Gets a little tiresome after a while, like drinkin' too many root beer floats. Awesome in moderation, hell in ubiquity. Needed a break. Needed something else. 

The Pine Valley Range that sits just north of St. George came to mind. I'd seen it looming there in the distance from several Zion peaks, taunting me with its mysteries. When I finally got somewhat close to the range back on the 21st of May, on my brief side trip to Twin Peaks, I knew, then and there, that I'd have to see what was up there.

June 4th seemed to be the right day. It was my only day off that week and by golly, I was gonna make it count. So I awoke at a reasonable hour and hit the road, driving down through St. George, off onto Highway 18, driving past Snow Canyon, Dammeron Valley, Veyo and Brookside. Hooked a right and drove through the quiet town of Central off and away to the even quieter town of Pine Valley. Slowed down. Rolled up the windows. Found the trailhead. Parked the car. Got out, stretched, and then began the trek. 

The beginning of the Forsyth Trail

The goal of the day was to visit two peaks: Signal Peak, the highpoint of the Pine Valley Range, and Burger Peak, the next summit over. There are a couple of ways to reach the summit of Signal Peak, both of them somewhat cardiovascularly challenging. I'd elected to use the Forsyth Trail approach for whatever reason. Not too sure why really. Something about that name just tickled my brain. 

And so I walked along the Forsyth Trail, the charred remnants of a once lush pine forest scattered around me. All was quiet, not a sound to be heard. And then the trail left the burn scar and entered a land of green and brown and gray, all bright, all color. And there were birds in the trees and the sound of cool, refreshing water rushing down through it all and it was no longer quiet and all of it was very quite scenic truth be told. I entered the Pine Valley Mountain wilderness. Walked past a couple of folks making their way back down the trail. I looked ahead. Green trees, lush foliage, running water. My brain hummed. My eyes wandered. I carried along, slowly gaining elevation. 

And the trail got steep and it zig-zagged up through beautiful scene after beautiful scene. Higher and higher, everything brilliant and green, the dirt a wonderful shade of brown, dark pines, bright aspens, all of it an assault on the senses, overwhelming for the mind. And I took a break on a log underneath a towering aspen and I looked around and turned my brain into a pretzel thinking about how just that morning I was driving through a dry, desiccated, sun-baked land of red rock and cactus and now here I was, surrounded by green, gazing upon scenery that reminded me of the lower Sierra. Very strange, very strange...

I kept going, the trail unrelenting with its grade, until finally reaching the junction with the Summit Trail. I hooked a left, wandering through a tunnel of juvenile aspens off and away through tall pines and subalpine foliage, the trail quite steep. Soon the views started to appear, the desert stretching out far below. Looked hot down there. And it would only get hotter as the day grew long. 

Along the summit trail

Views starting to come in...

And then the views really started to come into play and soon I could see most everything to the south and west, the desert sprawled out before me, stretching off into the hazy distance for mile and miles and miles. Stopped a moment, soaked it in, and then kept on truckin'.

I walked by the spur trail for Burger Peak; I'd hit it on the way back. From what I'd heard about Signal Peak, the thing really ain't so good in the views department. It's more of a "goal" peak than a "views" peak. So I figured I'd check it out first, saving Burger Peak for later. 

And I walked along, the views disappearing, entering a land of rock and pine. I passed a guerilla campsite, the trail getting a little trickier to follow. And then I started losing elevation, following the faint trail as it snaked its way down through the pines. Signal Peak eventually came into view, a large, pine-encrusted lump in the distance. I stuck to the trail for as long as I though necessary and then, when the moment felt right, I ditched it and started wandering up a shady slope. 

Signal Peak

Off-trail on the way to Signal Peak

No use trail, no problem. It was obvious where to go; just had to go up. And I wandered up the slope, the thing a wee bit steep in places, ziggin' and zaggin' underneath the tall pines. No views. Just forest. And then eventually the grade disappeared and I found myself wandering around on flat ground. Could this be the summit? Yes. Yes it was. 

Wide, flat, forested, little to no views. Yup. Looked exactly how I imagined it would. I walked around, trying to find a highpoint or benchmark or register. Couldn't find nothin', nothin' except a small campfire ring and a memorial for someone who probably loved this mountain more than most. I sat down, ate some PB&J tortilla wraps, looked around, shrugged, and then retraced my steps back to the trail.

Signal Peak summit

This is about the best view you'll see from the summit

Back on the trail, I wandered up to that land of rock and pine near the guerilla campsite and then moseyed off the trail, you know, 'cause I felt like it. I sauntered on over to the south, approaching some cliffs. I walked to the edge, unobstructed views stretching out before me. A slight breeze, no clouds in the sky. Blazing desert down below, crystal blue up above. I sat on a rock, my eyes trying to locate various landmarks. There's St. George, way down there. And ahh, yes, there's T-Bone Hill. Snow Canyon, that's an easy one. And that was about it. All the rest, all the undulating ranges, the mysterious peaks rising through the haze, barely perceptible, were simply unknown to me. 

And that kinda makes it better to look at, you know? Gazing upon the unknown stirs the stew of curiosity within us all. Some like it, some fear it. I relish it. Makes me feel all fuzzy inside. What could be out there? What's there to see? I gotta get out there, see it for myself. It's the only way to quell the curiosity. I imagine myself ambling through these unknown places, seeing the sights, absorbing the scene. If I imagine enough, I just might actually get out there in person. Sometimes it works. Lookee here now. I imagined myself in the Pine Valley Mountains. And here I am. Crazy how that works!

View from the cliffs

Heading up to Burger Peak

Once I'd had my fill, I strolled on back to the trail, followed it for a moment or two, and then took the spur trail up to Burger Peak. Not much of a trail, truth be told. Lost it a few times. But no matter. Like Signal Peak, it was pretty obvious where to go. Only this time I had to contend with some big ol' boulders here and there. 

Wrapping around boulders, hopping over deadfall, I finally made it to the base of the final summit push. Rocky, steep, no worse than class 2. At one moment I was at the base, in the next I was at the top. Rocks, rocks, boulders, rocks. Three benchmarks. Hundreds of ladybugs. A beat-up register that had definitely seen better days. And views and views and views galore. Wow. What a nice summit. I sat down, chomped on some cashews, and took it all in. 

Slightly southwest

Northwest

Northeast

Slightly southeast

West Temple and Co. visible in the distance

I spent a good long while up there, soaking in the ultraviolets, listening to the hum of the ladybugs. Didn't even bother signing the register; the thing was water damaged beyond recognition. And I plopped down on my back and looked around and put my hat over my head and dozed for a lil' while, simply letting the minutes pass on by. 

And then I got up, looked around some more. Gorgeous scenery, gorgeous scenery everywhere. Dense pines, ebullient aspens, cool skies, scorching desert. So much country, so much to see. Could even see the West Temple poking out in the southeast, a world away, completely different from the terrain that immediately surrounded me. Weird to think that these two places, so very different from one another, live so close to each other. Strange, strange, strange...

These buggers were the only ones that would
sit still long enough for me to get their picture

Couldn't stay up there all afternoon. Had to get back down eventually. Might as well be now. And so I said my goodbyes to Burger Peak and followed the spur trail back to the Summit Trail, walking down the steep grade back into the forest. Hit the junction with the Forsyth Trail, the aspens carved with the names of loners and lovers going all the way back to the 90's. Down, down, down. Down through the pines, down into the valley, across cool streams and crunchy dirt. Makin' tracks, chuggin' along, enjoying the afternoon, each and every second of it. Stopped at a stream crossing. Dipped my hat, washed off the salt that had built up on the brim. Soaked my head, let the water run down my neck. And then it was back to walkin' and gawkin', walkin' and gawkin'. 

Heading back...

Made it back to the car. Started the engine. Sat there for a minute or two. Rolled down the windows and then drove through the town of Pine Valley. Ain't nothin' going on there; not one single thing. And then it was back down the road, back into the heat, back to State Route 18 and quiet towns and dusty desert and open sky and wind and dryness—all that good stuff. I drove through the town of Veyo. Saw the namesake cinder cone rising ahead, keeping watch over the town. Decided to climb it. Why not? 

And so I found me a pullout and then immediately began hikin' up the thing, traipsing through juniper and sagebrush and dead and dry grass. And I reached the base and I was dripping sweat, the temps hovering in the low triple digits. But no matter. The sun was falling, dipping below the summit. Soon I was in blessed shade, the slog to the summit now slightly more bearable. 

Loose cinders, crunchy cinders, one step forward, two steps back. Red cinders, dark cinders, some small, some large and I stepped on 'em and they sounded like ancient shards of the finest terra cotta. And I got to the top, the sun in my face, the heat intense, emanating off of everything. Wandered over to the summit. Thing was marked with a cross. Found the benchmark. Sat down. Looked around. 

Veyo Volcano

The summit

Saw the tiny town of Veyo to the north. Saw the Pine Valley Mountains to the east. Saw Signal Peak and Burger Peak rising out of the furnace. Cooler up there in the land of rock and pine. Not here. Not on this ol' cinder cone. And I looked to the south and saw juniper and sagebrush, off to the southwest rose higher peaks of which I am unfamiliar. West revealed more unknown, more mystery, more haze, more dust, more distant mounds of earth rising in the distance. And I sat down in the heat and watched the sun fall lower and lower towards the horizon, sweat slowly dripping off my chin and onto the thirsty ground. A moment here, a moment there, minutes passing by, the surrounding heat almost audible, a slight buzzing in the ears. And then it was time to go. Got up, took one last look, and then followed my tracks back to the car.

East

The town of Veyo, view north

Southwest

Down the road, driving, driving, driving, the temps static, unchanging. It was approaching evening now. Things were starting to cool off, just a tad, just a tad. Barely perceptible. And I wasn't quite done yet and I figured I'd make one last stop on the way back home, one last place before callin' it quits. 

On the drive out, I rode past this spot called "Dixie Rock." Looked interesting. Kinda like a park of some kind. Benches, parking lot, paved trails, information signs, you know, the whole nine yards. Saw some folks rappelling the namesake rock, a giant mound of bright red sandstone rising above St. George. Figured I'd have to give it a look. And so I did.

Pulled right into the parking lot. Found me a spot. Got out, stretched the legs. Lots of people out and about, enjoying the warm, balmy evening. I walked over to the rock. Climbed up the steps carved into it. Walked across a metal bridge covered with locks. Found myself on the summit. Other people were there, wandering around. A group of climbers were just sitting there, shooting the breeze, their bag of gear just layin' there in the evening sun. And I sat down and watched the traffic zoom on by and felt the air grow cooler and gazed upon the city and everything was all well and good and nice. 

"Dixie Rock"

And that about wrapped up the day. I was feelin' mighty hungry, so I stopped at In-N-Out on the way back home. Hadn't eaten at one of those in over a year. Tasted just how I remembered it. Now I don't know if it was because I had climbed a mountain called "Burger Peak" or what, but for whatever reason, I still wasn't quite full after finishing my meal. So I did something I ain't never done before: got back in line and waited another 15 minutes for another dang burger. And I gobbled up that one too and I was still hungry but I sure as hell wasn't gonna stand in line and wait another 15 minutes for a silly ol' burger. So I left the place and drove on back home, snacking on bread and olive oil well into the night, a good way to end a good day.