Deseret Peak, Mt. Olympus, Khyv Peak

 09/29/26

The rain was comin' down with the rage and fury of a landlord bangin' on the door of a delinquent tenant weeks behind on rent. That was why I didn't do anything on this first day of my weekend; rain+recreation in the high mountains=no good for me. Been there, done that. I ain't never climbin' no mountain in a rainstorm again. But I still wanted to check out at least one more high peak before my season here in the west came to a close so I found myself drivin' through this angry, angry rain on the I-15, heading north towards Salt Lake. According to the radar, the following morning was supposed to be relatively clear, the temper tantrum in the sky only needin' a long, cold night to simmer down and move out of town. 

On and on I drove through the dark of the night, millions of raindrops hittin' my car, all of 'em sounding like TV static turned up to max volume. Backroads through the desert, driving through tiny, empty towns clinging to existence by some weird twist of fate. Who lives in these places? What do they do for a living? What are their wants and needs, hopes and dreams? I'll never know. I drove through these quiet, rainy places with the ephemerality of a fart in a fancy restaurant: present for one moment, acknowledged without words, then inevitably forgotten.

Soon the clouds began to break up and the rain turned into a mist and then, all at once, it was gone. Just a cold, partly cloudy night drivin' through the dark on desert backroads to a place I ain't never been. Saw the lights of a town, Tooele no doubt. But I wasn't going there. I was headin' into the mountains, headin' back to the high country, makin' a left on South Willow Cyn Road, following it as it turned to dirt and rose away into the hills, finally reaching its terminus at the Mill Fork Trailhead. It was well after midnight. I parked next to some empty, raindrop-plastered vehicles, set up my pad and bag, and drifted off into uncomfortable slumber. 

Deseret Peak ahead (didn't know it at the time)

I awoke around 8am, the skies littered with the remnants of last night's storm. I hopped out of the car and began my trek into the woods, Deseret Peak the main objective for the day. Unlike all the other major peaks I'd hiked this year, I did practically zero research for this one. Didn't know how much elevation gain there would be, didn't even know what the peak looked like. Just knew there was a well-maintained trail that led to the summit so I figured I'd follow it all the way to the top, leaving most everything else a surprise. Makes the trek a little more interesting when you do that, you know?

Well, maybe I shoulda at least brought a map or something because it wasn't long before I realized I was off route. All morning long I'd been hikin' up this trail, thinkin' I was going the right way. And the trail got worse and worse, growing faint and hard to follow as it steeply ascended through sharp rocks and mud and brush. And then it kinda just disappeared entirely and I was simply hikin' through the woods, low-lying clouds beginning to obscure many of the high peaks. Dang. I'd definitely made a mistake.

I soon realized that I shoulda made a left a long ways back at a marked junction. That was mistake #1. The second mistake was heading left up some goofy use trail that wasn't even a part of anything. Must've been a use-trail for hunters or something. Heard some of their shots ringing out that morning. They were out there, just couldn't see them.

So I stopped for a moment and reoriented myself and I figured out where I was and what had gone wrong and I cursed myself for being so careless. But cursing can only get you so far. Still had a peak to climb. Alright. Now what? 

There was a large ridge off to my left; I knew that behind it was the blessed, official trail that I'd lost earlier in the morning. Instead of retracing my steps and losing a considerable amount of vertical gain, I decided to climb directly up the ridge, off-trail, through a loose, steep gully towards a high saddle. Figured it would save me time, plus I'd get to see some neat terrain in the process. 

 

Going the wrong way...

Heading to the saddle...

I reached the saddle, the low-lying clouds slowly consuming the high peaks. Though there wasn't any rain in the forecast, it wasn't lookin' very promising. Them clouds were rollin' in and rollin' in thick; if it didn't rain, I'd definitely enter a gray, viewless void, making navigation all the more difficult. Oh well. I'd play it by ear; if things got any worse I'd simply turn around. I ain't repeating the same mistake I made on Wildrose Peak, that's for sure!

There was a highpoint that sat just to the northeast of the saddle, the seldom-visited Dry Lake/Mill Fork Point. I was practically on the summit already, so I decided to head to the top to see what was up. Turns out a whole lotta nothing, but it did give me a great vantage point upon which to view the side-hillin' buffet that awaited me. I scurried down from the summit, hit the saddle, and then began a short but steep and loose and somewhat brushy side-hillin' quest back to the blessed trail. 

From Dry Lake/Mill Fork Point

Deseret Peak obscured in clouds

Looking back at Dry Lake/Mill Fork Point

Up the trail, up some switchbacks to another saddle, this one marked with a sign. I had now reached the Stansbury Crest Trail, which I would take the rest of the way to the summit. I made a right, following the trail as it snaked higher and higher through gorgeous alpine terrain, the scenery strangely reminding me of an Appalachian Bald. The clouds spilled over the crest like mashed potatoes over the rim of a boiling pot, the wind rippin', sending them off and away into infinity. I had to stop and don more layers; it was gettin' quite chilly up there I tell yah!

Heading up the Stansbury Crest Trail

South

Decided to check out the summit of East Deseret Peak along the way, a very short detour off the main trail. Hiked up to the blustery summit, the whole thing passing in and out of long, thin train of wispy clouds. A very interesting thing to see; it's weird how something a simple as suspended, crystalized water vapor can elevate a scene into something truly magical. I stood up on the summit for a long time, watching the clouds hit the high peaks like a tidal wave, breaking over the crest, spilling off the other side into the cold, dry, empty desert. And though a scene such as this makes one think of great violence, what with the crashing into the mountains and all, the whole thing was rather peaceful. The clouds made not one sound as they barreled into the mountains, not one peep as they spilled over on the other side. It was as if I was watching a silent film; the clouds churning and swirling, the wind tearing them apart and bashing them into the rocks, the sheer noiselessness of it all leaving it up to my imagination to create the sound of the agony of the clouds. 

Deseret from East Deseret

But as silent as the clouds were, the wind was still present and it was whooshing and gushing and rippin' over everything, battering my face, causing thin little rivers of snot to run down my nose. Had to keep moving. I backtracked to the trail and followed it the rest of the way to the top of Deseret, the summit nice and flat and covered with these sparkly rocks. 

Northeast

North

West

South

The clouds were losing their battle with the wind. Soon they'd be gone. But for now—more violence. They continued to crash and slam into the mountains, spilling over the side, disappearing forever into the dry of the western desert. It was this battle between the wind and clouds that defined the views from the summit of Deseret Peak; the scenery was constantly changing. Sometimes I'd see the Great Salt Lake, and then, in an instant, the view would be swallowed in a churning, swirling gray void. But I got a good look at the surrounding landscape regardless. According to the register booklet (placed in 2025), Deseret Peak is the 4th most prominent peak in all of Utah, and the views did not disappoint. Could see most of everything when it wasn't blocked by clouds. Could even make out Timpanogos wayy out there in east, lookin' like it got a nice dusting of snow. I sat up there for a long time, knowing that this was probably the last time I'd be on a high peak for a while. I breathed in, breathed out. Ok. That was good. Time to keep going. There's always more to see...

North Deseret Peak

Descended the trail for a ways and then made a detour to North Deseret Peak, because, why not? Didn't find nothin' up there; just a bunch of rocks and grass and more clouds. Backtracked to the trail, descending a series of steep, slippery switchbacks. And then I left the trail yet again to hike up Big Creek Canyon Peak, because, again, why not? Like North Deseret, it too was just off to the side, makin' it an easy side-trip that would only cost a little bit of wear and tear to my legs. A small price to pay for a little bit of adventure, wouldn't you say?

Big Creek Cyn Peak

Looking back towards Deseret

Back on the trail...

Found a super nice, flat, protected campsite on the descent off Big Creek Canyon Peak, the thing perfectly preserved from the elements. Looked like no one had been there for a long, long time though. That ain't no mystery. Who would lug a bunch of gear up a steep slope off-trail through thorns and branches and sharp rocks just to camp in a random secluded spot on the side of a mountain? 

Back on the trail, I decided to check out one last peak before callin' it a day. Hiked up Pockets Peak, the summit completely enveloped in clouds, not one slice of view to be seen. But that was okay. I climbed it to get a feel of the mountain. And you know what? Felt steep. Who woulda thought?

No views on Pockets Peak...

Heading back down the trail...

I descended a faint use trail off of Pockets Peak, hit a saddle, and then continued down the official trail as it switchbacked down into a valley. Met a hunter makin' his way up; asked me about the clouds. Seems like I wasn't the only person fascinated with them that day. And I continued heading down, only meetin' one other person along the way: an old timer without a hat or a backpack or anything, simply out walkin' his dog through the mountains. 

Rounded a corner at one point and was gifted with a lovely view of Deseret Peak. Now that I'd been there I finally knew what it looked like, and brother, it looked absolutely beautiful. The clouds were mostly dead; nothin' but blue skies, bright colors, radiant trees. I had to stop and take it in for a few seconds. Deseret Peak is, and I'll stand by this, the prettiest peak I ever did done see. Maybe the conditions that day made it extra pretty, I don't know. Whatever the case, it was simply gorgeous, and I found myself paralyzed in place for a minute or two, its beauty utterly hypnotizing.

Wow

But I snapped out of it and continued down the trail, reaching the spot where I'd made my 2nd mistake of earlier that morning. Damn, how foolish of me. It was so obviously not an official trail; why I took it I do not know. Perhaps I was in a hurry. Or perhaps I'm just stupid. I propose it was the latter in this case...after all...I did practically zero research and you know what? That's what happens when you do practically zero research—you get good and lost!

But I wasn't lost anymore and I zoomed down the trail back to the trailhead where I saw a whole bunch of vehicles that weren't there that morning. Must be more hunters. I sat on a soggy wooden bench and had me a lunch of old banana and some ultra-processed donuts. I call that a cancel-out meal: the healthiness of the banana cancels out the evils of the donuts, leaving you back to square one. It's like I didn't even eat nothin' at all...

Drivin' back down the road...

There was still a good amount of daylight left, so I figured I'd try and see if I could do anything else in the area. I drove back down the road, passing some rock climbers trying to ascend the cliffs next to a narrow, cliffy section of the road. I was thinkin' of hikin' Flat Top Mountain on this trip, but I didn't know how long Deseret would take so I wasn't really planning on it. Plus, Flat Top Mountain (or at least a large chunk of it) is on private property and anyone who wishes to climb it must get permission from the landowner in order to do so. 

I'd sent a request to the landowner the day prior before setting off on this silly adventure into the high country. And there I was, checkin' my email with only a few bars of service, and wouldn't you know it?  No response, no reply, nothing. Whelp, looks like I wasn't climbin' no Flat Top Mountain. Oh well. Time for Plan B!

Plan B: Mt. Olympus

I drove through Grantsville, hit SR-138, following it until reaching Interstate 80. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror at Deseret; I simply couldn't keep my eyes off it. Hardly any clouds at all now; the thing stood tall and regal in the full beauty of the ever-lovin' sun. Driving along I-80, it would soon be out of view. So long Deseret Peak. You were a goodun.

And then it was off and away into the bustling metropolis of Salt Lake City and I joined I-15 and then I was back on I-80 and then I left it again in favor of the 215, lots of cars zooming hither and thither, a complete change of pace and scenery from earlier that morning. I soon reached the trailhead for Plan B, the parking lot mostly full. Oh boy. Here we go.

Starting up the trail to Mt. Olympus

Right where things get REAL steep... 

And what was Plan B exactly? Why, good ol' Mt. Olympus of course! This thing had been on my radar for a while now. I'd known about it ever since I made my first journey to the Wasatch in early September. It was always an idea, never a concrete destination. I suppose that's why it made such a great Plan B.

Mt. Olympus, from my understanding of it, required a short but crazy steep jaunt to reach its summit. Whole trip out-n-back is no longer than 7 miles, but it's got quite a bit of elevation gain. To put it in simple terms: over the course of 3½ miles, you gain over 4,000ft of vert. Good lord. What was I getting myself into...

So I started off nice and slow, following the well-maintained trail as it gently made its way up the mountain. Some switchbacks, some steep sections, nothing too bad. And then I crossed this dry creek and things picked up dramatically from there; super steep switchbacks and long stretches of trail that were just up, up, up. No relief, no respite from the grade. I was soon dripping sweat, lungs on fire, legs on fire, you know—the usual. I had to stop at one point just to let the heart rate settle; my pulse felt like it was about to break out of my neck. 

Yeah. The trail is steep. 

But I was making good time and it wasn't long until I reached a flat section of sorts; at last—a reprieve for my weary legs. The summit of Mt. Olympus was only a little ways off; nothing but a short scramble up good rock standing between me and the top. So I took another little breather, chugged some water, and then banged out the short and fun scramble to the top in what seemed like no time at all.

Mt. Olympus

The scramble

The summit. Whoopee!

There was one other guy up there; young fit trailrunner dude that payed me no mind. We didn't exchange words, only glances. And then he got up and left without a word, leaving me to enjoy the serenity of the summit all by my lonesome.

Saw SLC down there, the skyscrapers tiny and insignificant. The urban sprawl was infinitely more impressive; the whole thing like a giant circuit board. I know I've described this urban sprawl like that before in previous posts, but is there a more apt description? Thing looks like a damn circuit board! That's all there is to say. 

Northwest, SLC down there

West, trailrunner dude headin' down...

East

Wanting to get a better vantage point, I ventured a little ways off the summit a bit to the west, finding a spot where I could lean back, stretch the legs and relax for a minute or two. I could see Deseret Peak way off in the distance, too far away to appreciate its beauty. The clouds were making a valiant comeback, attacking the mountains little by little, obscuring the higher peaks of the Wasatch Range from view. Couldn't see Twin Peaks, couldn't see Lone Peak. But that was okay. Like I mentioned before, clouds have a way of elevating a scene into something truly magical. The views that met my gaze were no different; they were awesome, simply awesome.

Wow

Closer picture of SLC

I took a good, long break at my chosen spot, watching the sunbeams filter through the clouds like hundreds of spotlights shining down from the heavens. Once I'd had my fill I got up and began the short, quad-destroying descent back to the car. I stopped about halfway down the scramble section; got a phone call from my Aunt. That was nice. Hadn't heard from her in a while so it was nice to catch up. And then it was back to the grind, back to the punishing downhill, back to sore legs and dead knees and achin' feet. 

Heading back down...

I reached the parking lot, opened up the car and ate the last of my donuts. Didn't have no more food. That meant it was time to go. So I drove on out of there, windows down, drivin' through suburbs and strip malls and the like, Steep Pulse on the radio, not a care in the world. Got back on I-15 and hit some serious traffic, but that was okay—I wasn't in no hurry. But it did leave me time to ponder and ponder I did and perhaps I pondered a little too hard 'cause I decided to climb yet another peak before the day was done. Good gravy. What is wrong with me?

Yup, while I was sittin' there in traffic I remembered good ol' Khyv Peak. I'd planned on maybe hikin' it way back in early September when I went up Y Mountain, just never got around to it. And while I was sitting there in traffic it occured to me that this was probably the last time I'd be in the area, at least for a while. Khyv Peak would be an excellent closer, a fantastic way to end my adventures in northern Utah. Start with Y Mountain, end with Khyv Peak. Yep. It was music to my ears.

Only problem was that it was almost 7pm and I knew I'd reach the summit after dark and on top of that I had no food and was pretty damn tired from Deseret and Mt. Olympus. Oh well. Too bad. I was determined and I was sick in the head, a dangerous combo but hey—it gets things done. 

So I reached the parking lot for the Rock Canyon Trailhead, found a spot, hopped out the car and immediately started jogging. I was so focused on reaching the summit I didn't even remember if I shut the car door or not. Oops. That would be a problem for later... 

Khyv Peak

I jogged the first mile, after which my body said "you're done now" and I went "ok" and stuck to a brisk walk, the fall colors absolutely spectacular in the last dying rays of the setting sun. I don't think I've ever been so focused in my life; didn't stop once, just kept a steady pace the whole way to the top, ignoring the ache in my legs and the sweat dripping into my eyes. 

Beautiful fall colors

Reached a junction, made a left, kept going up and up, the sun well beneath the horizon by this point, the lingering light of dusk guiding my path up the trail. Ran into a few folks along the way, all of them making their way back down the mountain, but for the most part I had the whole trail to myself. Reached a flat, open spot of sorts, the grade now mellowing out, at least for a little bit. Saw the summit up ahead, it was close but yeah, I was definitely gettin' there in the dark. 

Khyv Peak summit

Cascade Mountain

Provo Peak center right, Y Mountain far right

I reached the top in a puff and a wheeze, the western horizon a deep red-orange glow, lookin' just like the burning cinders of a dying campfire. I stood around, looked at the dark mountains to the east, the cliffs of Y Mountain to the southeast, the lights of civilization gleaming in the west. It was quiet, real quiet, save for my excessive panting. Didn't linger too long up there; I was feelin' a little woozy and was dyin' for some greasy food. So I took a bow and mumbled some words and then jogged off the summit, gravity doing most of the work for me. 

Headlamp shining bright, I kept on runnin' and runnin', my breath visible in the chilly mountain air. I was zoomin' so fast I caught up with some of the people I saw earlier. "Wow" they said. "You're quick." And all I could say was "Thank you" and I kept on runnin' until I couldn't run no more. Why run anyway? That greasy food ain't going nowhere!

So I slowed it down to a leisurely stroll and I turned off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust to the dark and I must say it was a rather peaceful way to end the day, all things considered. Saw the lights from some climbers trying to ascend the south face of Khyv Peak, their headlamps tiny against the massive cliffs. And then I ran into a big ol' group of climbers who were coming back from who knows where, their gear jingling and jangling with every step. They too were walkin' in the dark; we didn't say anything. They talked amongst themselves and I continued on, pressing forward, reaching the car just before 9pm. And you know what? The door was closed. And locked. Hooray!

I changed into comfier attire and drove straight to In-N-Out where I demolished two double doubles, some greasy fries and about 2 liters of Dr. Pepper. Feelin' satiated, I hobbled back to the car and started the long drive back to the casa, my adventures to northern Utah finally over for the year. Didn't get home until nearly 2am. Wow. What a day. 

I'd hiked a combined 24 miles with over 12,000ft of elevation gain. Wasn't plannin' on doing all that, but sometimes that's just the way it goes. As of this writing I haven't come anywhere close to repeating a trek as insane as this, and, to tell you the truth, I probably won't for a long, long time. But it definitely served as a great conclusion to my sojourns into northern Utah. Deseret Peak was especially nice. I'll undoubtably visit it again in the future.