T-Bone Hill, Yellow Knolls, Snow Benchmark

05/21/26

I was drivin' down a dirt road, Shuggie Otis on the radio. I'd woken up that morning, downed some chow, looked online, saw some spots near St. George, thought, "hmm, well that looks interesting" and then I grabbed a pack and some water and set off to go see what they were all about. T-Bone Hill. Yellow Knolls. Snow Benchmark. Each one offering something slightly different, all of 'em fairly close to one another. Figured I'd make a loop of sorts, starting with the easiest spot first, saving the hard stuff for last.

T-Bone hill was first on the list. I found the trailhead, parked the car, started down the trail, the afternoon sun beating down on my head. I soon left the trail and started heading up a steep little ridge, hopping up huge, hot, sun-baked volcanic rocks along the way. 

T-Bone Hill. I ascended on the left.

I began heading towards the highpoint once atop the summit plateau, the thing flat, wide, mostly devoid of brush. No footprints. No use trail. Just dirt and rocks and prickly plants. A slight downhill here, a slight uphill there. Volcanic rocks, hot to the touch, baked by the sun, off to the side, minding their own business, not bothering nobody. And I moseyed along, still walking towards the highpoint. And then the brush kinda disappeared and it was back to walking on those hot, hot, hot volcanic rocks. And the going was easy and I reached what looked to be a highpoint, located conveniently at the bottom of the "T." 

Looking at the "T" from the highpoint

I stopped. Dropped the pack. Took a gander. Yep. Looked exactly how I imagined it would from the trailhead. A funny little summit in a funny little place. I looked east, looked at the "T." Pretty accurate "T" all things considered. Don't see that too often in the wild, probably because Earth can't write too good. Never did went to grade school after all...so can you blame it?

A funny ol' hill in some funny ol' light. Cars zoomed up and down the road to the west, a black line cutting through a bunch of red rock. I plopped down on my haunches and watched them like a buzzard watching a group of well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. Buzzards have no interest in well-dressed schmucks playing croquet in the park. If they did, all hell would break loose.

And so I watched the cars uninterested and then decided to take a different way down, scrambling off the highpoint to the south, finding the remnants of an old summit register, the tattered remains of some underwear and an empty, dried-up, partly sun-bleached tortoise shell. Funny little things in a funny little spot. 

And I cut across to the trail and got back in the car and then high-tailed it up the dirt road to the 2nd destination of the day: Yellow Knolls. From the trailhead, these things did, in fact, look quite yellow. But as I approached the illusion was shattered and I saw them for what they really were: reddish, whitish, crumbly mounds of reddish, whitish, crumbly rock. But they looked cool as can be and I'm all for things that are cool as can be, and so I walked down the trail, left it at a random point and began scrambling up to the summit of the southernmost knoll.

Yellow Knolls

Scrambling up the southernmost knoll

Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 was the name of the game. Just ziggin and zaggin'; a simple, foolproof method for climbing most mountains. Most mountains. The rest require zaggin' and ziggin', but that's an advanced technique that takes years of practice and is only utilized by the most experienced of mountain climbers. 

So I zig-zagged my way up the thing, keeping it class 2, the going steep, the rock crumbly. And I topped out on the summit of the southernmost knoll and took a gander and went "yup" and snapped some photos and then decided to do a lil' traverse, walking from the southernmost knoll to the northernmost knoll via an interesting lookin' ridge. 

View from the southernmost knoll

The interesting lookin' ridge

Gotta love a good ridge. I descended from the southernmost knoll, weaving in and around rocks and shrubs and stuff, some mild scrambling here, some mild scrambling there. Walking along, I kept expecting things to get spicy, things to get wild. Kept expecting to get to a point where the fun would stop and I'd have to lock-in and turn on my brain and route-find my way through a maze of sheer, crumbly rock. But that never happened. The ridge goes. And it goes well.

And I'd scramble here and scramble there, none of it too challenging. Down the ridge, up the ridge, a grand ol' time. I walked along the sandstone, the afternoon sun still nice and hot, the wind nice and warm. And I scrambled up to the northernmost knoll, sticking to the ridge the whole way, hopping from one rock to another.

Almost to the northernmost knoll

Looking south from the northernmost knoll

Atop the northernmost knoll, gazing out upon the others, observing the strange landscape that surrounded me. Crumbly white sandstone, crumbly red sandstone, black volcanic rock, dying grass, yellow grass, prickly, pokey shrubs. And interesting scene; so much to see, so much happening at once. So I sat down and felt the warm breeze pass over me and I took a gander and a glance and went "yup" and then set off to the northwest knoll, the final stop on this romp through dirt and stone before heading off to other things.

Interesting sandstone

Heading towards the northwest knoll

I descended a different ridge, walking straight to the northwest knoll. I looked off to my left, to the east, gazing upon strange, intricate sandstone that looked like the scales of a dragon. Snapped a few photos, took a lil' break, and then carried on with my rollick through the hills. And I approached the eastern base of the northwest knoll and immediately began scrambling to the top, some of it class 3. I'm sure there were easier ways to reach the summit, but I'm an impatient sod and I was in a scramblin' mood and so I went up the thing no questions asked, see you later, goodbye. 

And I reached the top and it definitely had the least interesting views of the three, in my opinion. Stood around for like two seconds and then started heading off the thing, trekking southwest. Steep, loose, crumbly class 2 greeted me, and I skirted down the thing lickety-split, deciding to scramble down some fairly precipitous sandstone slabs near the bottom in order to avoid the boring, loose stuff. And then it was back to the trail, back to walkin' through the desert, back to walkin' next to more volcanic rock, huge volcanic rock, big ol' boulders, the sun high up above, backing everything to a nice crisp. 

Heading down the northwest knoll

Back on the trail...

And I got back to the car and started 'er up and continued driving up the road, stopping at the Mesa Rim Trailhead to check out some bonus peaks before heading over to Snow Benchmark. I'd seen them on the drive up, seen them from the summits of the knolls. Two little knobs of volcanic rock, situated right next to each other. "Twin Peaks." I figured they'd be interesting to visit, and so I did. 

Yellow Knolls from the Mesa Rim Trail

Twin Peak #1

Walking along the trail, dry shrubs, low shrubs, grass and sticks and rocks and dirt and foxtails gettin' in my socks. And the taller of the two peaks came into view and I left the trail and walked straight to it, more grass, more sticks, more foxtails. And the going was mellow and I reached the base of this mellow little peak and mellowly climbed up the mellow slopes through mellow volcanic boulders to the top of the mellow summit.

And there was a tiny little mellow register up there with tiny little mellow entires in it. Not a whole lotta entries in there. Very few people visit this spot. And I sat down and spun around and looked at the views whilst munchin' on brazil nuts and cashews, the desert expansive, never-ending. Off to the northeast rose the massive, prominent bulk of Signal Peak, the thing completely dominating the whole scene. Looking east revealed the high peaks of Zion National Park, the West Temple standing tall and proud, clearly visible on the horizon. Off to the south lay the urban sprawl of St. George and Washington, Mt. Bangs hazy in the distance. Southwest revealed T-Bone Hill and Yellow Knolls, both of them looking quite small. And off to the northwest rose Snow Benchmark, a brushy ol' knob that looked mighty mighty interesting. I took some photos, signed the register, and then set off for the 2nd, smaller summit.

Signal Peak

West Temple wayyyy out there

Southwest

Twin Peak #2

Down through volcanic rock, out across foxtails and dried grass. And then up volcanic rocks again, these a little steeper, although I did see an easier route a little to the south. Refused to take it. Like I said, I was in a scramblin' mood. And so I scrambled. 

Not a whole lot going on up at the summit of Twin Peak #2. No benchmark, no register. Didn't linger too long. Took one single photo and then set off down the volcanic rock, walking in a straight line back to the trail. Things were cooling off now, the afternoon growing long, the breeze not so warm anymore, the sun not so intense. I got back to the car, rolled down the windows, and then drove off and away on dirt roads through dry, desiccated country, slow and unhurried, the afternoon casual and relaxed.

Twin Peak #1 from Twin Peak #2

And I drove through a lil' ol' town called Diamond Valley and I saw a cinder cone rising in the distance, the famous "Diamond Cinder Cone" no doubt. Since it was right there, I decided to give it a visit before heading over to Snow Benchmark. Wouldn't take no more than half an hour, tops.

And I walked up the trail and I saw the first people I'd seen all day. And then I started jogging up the trail and I reached the summit in just about 10 minutes, no diamonds to be found. A quick aside, nothing to write home about. And then I turned around and ran the whole way back, got in the car, drove up the highway, finally heading towards the last stop of the day. No more side trips. No more brief asides. It was time to finally get to Snow Benchmark. I'd procrastinated long enough.

Diamond Cinder Cone

Turned off the highway, parked in the expansive dirt lot. And I began walking on the trail, the thing nice and wide and rocky, not a soul to be seen. And on and on and on and on, walking along dirt and rocks, walking amongst the birds and the scraggily pines, the sun goin' down, the shadows growing long. I crossed a wilderness boundary, following footprints on the well-trodden trail towards my chosen destination.

There, in the distance. I saw it poking up. Still a good ways off. But nothin' I couldn't handle. Put the legs in cruise control and chugged out the miles, one step at a time. And I reached a junction and made a right, walking towards the peak, stepping through the crunchy dirt and slippery sand. 

And then I started heading downhill and I walked a little ways off the trail and I saw a tremendous view of Snow Canyon, half of it in shadow. I stopped for a minute, took a few photos, said "wow" or something brilliant like that. And then it was back to the trail, back to truckin', walking along, gettin' closer and closer to the summit.

Snow Canyon

Snow Benchmark

And I had no beta and I didn't know when to leave the trail. But then I remembered what I had been doing all day; just had leave the trail whenever I felt like it was right. Did it for T-Bone Hill. Did it for the southernmost Yellow Knoll. Did it for Twin Peak #1. Didn't do it for Diamond Cinder Cone though. That sucker had a trail all the way to the top. It don't count. It was a distraction. An interruption. A brief amusement, a digression from the pace of the day, a small tangent, extra, extra credit, the kind that only the teacher's pet would complete for little or no reward. 

So I left the trail when I felt like it was right, walking up a brushy gully to a saddle of sorts. And then I scrambled up some class 2 stuff, more loose rocks, you know, the usual. Dodged some yucca and pinyon pines and the occasional spider web and I walked straight into the sun, Snow Benchmark dead ahead. Nearly there, nearly there. A hop, skip and a jump later and I was on the rocky summit, a small cairn marking the highpoint. At long last. I'd seen this thing for most of the day, and here I was, finally, standing on the summit. Good times, good times...

Walking up the gully...

A quiet summit, a peaceful summit. No sounds, no breeze, no bugs, no nothin'. And it was almost seven o'clock and the sun was well on its way to the other side of the world, slowly falling out of the sky, the shadows on the canyons growing longer and longer with each passing second. And I stood there and looked at the ruggedness, looked at the tall pines and the short pines and the white rock and the red rock and the jumbled, broken scar of Snow Canyon cutting through the scene, breaking up the pace, the flow, and off and away rose Signal Peak, keeping watch over everything. Quiet, quite, peaceful, peaceful. An interesting summit. An interesting place. An interesting way to end an interesting day spent wandering around some interesting places. Yup. That's what it's all about. 

Signal Peak

Snow Canyon

West

Northwest

And I'd had my fill and started heading back down, retracing my steps. Back on the trail, now completely in the shade. Ahh. How pleasant. And I walked over to the viewpoint for Snow Canyon, and I drank the rest of my water and ate the rest of my food and just sat and stared, sat and stared. But it was almost 7:30pm and I had some miles to eat and a longsih drive to top it off and so I got up, took one last look, and then set off down the trail.

Headin' back down

Back at the car, the sun hovering on the horizon, the temps finally starting to cool, night on its way. No more hikin'. Thank goodness. All together it was something like 16 miles with 4,000ft of elevation gain. Not too shabby. But more than expected. I was nice and tired, my mind looking forward to the long drive out of the hills and into the lower desert. 

A simple day, clean-cut and straightforward. Found the places online that morning. Hiked to them that afternoon, with a little extra along that way. Bing, bang, boom. That's how I do.