Dessert

 09/04/26

"Get out of the damn car, 'cmon now! Get OUT of the car!" These were the words that awoke me from my troubled slumber. Was it finally happening? Was I gonna have to fight some bloke? I rolled over with a start and looked out the window, only to see an old guy standing next to his old truck trying to coax his even older dog outside. "C'mon now! Get out. OUT!" Whew. Thank goodness. To tell you the truth, I wasn't feelin' like throwin' hands with some fool at 4am in a dirt pullout up a mountain road on an empty stomach. Not even a little bit. Relieved, I rolled over, pulled the sleepin' bag over my head and listened to the old man and his dog wander off down the trail as I fell back asleep. 

Woke up three hours later, just as the sun was cresting the horizon. Alright. Time to get after it. I performed my morning rituals, you know, chuggin' water, gettin' dressed, lots of coughing and spitting and stuff like that. I hopped outside, grabbed the pack, and then set off down the trail, Santaquin Peak and Loafer Mountain the destinations for the day. 

I figured they'd be a nice way to close out the weekend. Y Mountain was the gut-stuffin' appetizer, Timpanogos and Co. the gigantic main course, so Santaquin and Loafer would be the nice and light, fluffy dessert. At least that's what they seemed to be. Truth be told, I didn't know much of anything about them other than that the hike to their summits wasn't terribly long. Hopefully they'd be like a couple of cookies instead of a gargantuan fudge brownie sunday. I wouldn't be able to eat no fudge brownie sunday. Despite nearly 12 hours of rest, I was still mighty sore from the appetizer and main course. If Santaquin and Loafer turned out to be anything richer than a cheesecake, whelp, I'd have to pay the check and leave. 

Heading off towards the peaks

So I trekked on down the trail, walking through aspens and pines and stuff, following the signs, everything well-marked. Hit a junction with the Loafer Mountain Trail and started headin' up, up, up, the surrounding foliage transforming into the hardy, scrubby kind. Shorter and shorter, the foliage shrank in height with each passing step, eventually revealing views to the southwest of Mt. Nebo and Co. 

Mt. Nebo and Co.

Up, up up...

The trail curved to the east, ascending a ridge for a ways before offering any kind of substantial relief. Like the trail up Slide Canyon on the way to Y Mountain, this path had very few switchbacks. Just a steady grade and a whole lotta up. But no worries. My legs were so accustomed to eating vert that I hardly noticed it. Just put my head down kept on truckin', one little step at a time.

Met the old guy at one point. He was on his way down, dressed in jeans, a flannel, an orange hunting vest and carrying an antiquated lookin' shotgun in his right hand, the thing open and unloaded. His older dog had a vest with an antenna on it, and it was trudging along in front of him, an empty expression on its gray face. "Mornin'" he said, all smiles, his voice warm and fuzzy. The venom in his words from that morning were long, long gone. Hard to imagine that this affable chap was the same boisterous bloke who awoke me from my slumber. I suppose the mountains had calmed him down. They tend to do that, you know?

The peaks come into view

Eventually, I reached a saddle of sorts, gettin' my very first look at Santaquin and Loafer Mountain. Not too far, not too scary lookin'. Yessir. Looked manageable. A little steep in places, but manageable. So I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and snap a photo and then I continued along the trail, nothin' but wispy grass and the occasional conglomeration of fragrant pines. 

Loafer Mountain

Heading up Loafer Mtn

I decided to check out Loafer first since it seemed to be the more difficult looking of the two. I followed the trail for a bit before leavin' it at the base of Loafer's southwest ridge, now following a use trail as it snaked its way up to the top. Real steep it was, but nothin' my fatigued legs couldn't handle. Just took my time, kept the heart rate low, looked at the scenery, you know, actually enjoyed myself out there. Not every hike gotta be a death march. Shoot, this was dessert after all. And I'd be damned if I didn't enjoy it. 

Empty can on top of Loafer Mtn

I reached the summit, the thing more of a long, open, breezy ridge than anything else. Found an empty can that probably once contained the register; other than that, the place was pretty barren. Good views in most directions, particularly of Mt. Nebo and Co. to the southwest. Still feelin' pretty peachy at this point, I decided to keep going, heading off Loafer's steep northwest slope back to the trail and off to the summit of Santaquin Peak.

Southwest

Southeast

Santaquin Peak over yonder

Super steep on the northwest slope

Man that slope was steep. Real steep. Probably shoulda backtracked a little down the southwest ridge...but...oh well. I'd made the commitment and I certainly wasn't gonna turn around. Besides, I don't mind me a steep slope. Keeps the mind occupied. Focused. Grounded. 

And so I slid on down that slope, careful not to lose control and face plant in the sharp rocks and unwelcoming dirt. Off to my right was this large family of mountain goats moseying along across some cliffs and loose rock, makin' it look easy, the showoffs. I stopped and watched them for a minute or two as they maneuvered up this impossible terrain, slowly wrapping around a steep ridge out of sight. How they're able to so casually saunter through the insanity of the mountains is beyond me...

Making it look easy...

Santaquin Peak ahead

Summit attained!

Finally, I hit the trail at the bottom of the slope and banged out the last little bit to the summit in no time. A tad windy up there, but luckily I had my trusty windbreaker with me so it wasn't a problem, dang it! And I sat on down beneath the American flag and looked at the register, the thing filled to the brim with entries going back a number of years. Seems like this peak gets at least one visitor a day. A very popular summit indeed.

And I could see why. Excellent views of all around, especially the view north. The urban sprawl of Provo and its surrounding enclaves expanded before me, the massive blue jewel of Utah Lake to the left, the mighty summits of the Wasatch Range to the right. Looking west revealed basin and range country; dry deserts, rugged peaks. South revealed rolling, forested hills, bumpy summits, Loafer Mountain takin' up most of the frame. And off to the west was nothin' but a vast expanse of green wilderness, peaks and canyons and ridges galore. 

North

Northwest

Southeast

Southwest

I stayed up there for a while, soakin' in the scenery, enjoying my dessert. Hikin' the two peaks definitely wasn't like eatin' two cookies; more like a large slice of key lime pie. Filling for sure, but it didn't destroy me. At least, not yet. Still had to make it back down. Still had to digest it. But that could wait. For now: the views.

And then the wind got me cold and the sun started to sizzle and so I was like "aight, time to head out." And so I donned the pack for the last time that day and strode off down the trail, the early afternoon colors nice and vibrant, everything bursting with energy and brilliance. Goodbye, Santaquin Peak. See you later, Loafer Mountain. You were both mighty delicious. 

Heading back...

Down the trail, down through gorgeous alpine terrain, nothin' but windswept grass and those ever-fragrant pines. Hit the saddle where I'd stopped that morning and began the steep descent down the ridge, down, down, down, back into the land of heat and scrub. I had no thoughts, absolutely nothin' goin' on upstairs. I'd done it. I'd finished the meal. The feast was complete. Wow, wow, wow. 

I suppose I was in a post-feast-induced stupor, the kind that you experience after Thanksgiving dinner where all you wanna do is lay on the couch and pass out. But I didn't have no couch. All I had was the trail. And so I checked-out on the trail, my body cruising on auto pilot, my legs escorting me the rest of the way to the trailhead.

Back in the scrub...

Got to the ol' car, changed out of my stinky, disgusting hikin' clothes into my less stinky, slightly less disgusting pajamas. Rolled down the windows, put up the sunshade, read for a little while. And then 2pm came and went and I had a long drive ahead of me and I wanted to get back before dark so I figured I may as well start 'er up and head on out of there while I still had the chance. 

Wow wee, what a weekend. Hiked about 40 miles with just about 16,000ft of elevation gain in 2½ days. What a feast, what a feast. I'd for sure gotten my fill, and, driving out of those mountains, back on the I-15, off and away into the distant horizon, I figured I'd never have to eat like that again. Oh how naive of me. 

Little did I know, this modest weekend trip would spurn two more endeavors of the same caliber, each one absolutely ridiculous in their own right. But those are stories for another time...