Backcountry Skiing Malad Idaho, January 27, 2024

 

 . . . here’s the edit, check back later for the write-up.

City Creek Cirque, Wasatch Backcountry Skiing, Janaury 15, 2024

 

 . . . . still catching up, here's the edit, check back later for the write-up.

BC Skiing the Wasatch, Scott Culter’s Yellow Coat, Janaury 6, 2024

 

 . . . here’s the edit, check back later for the write-up.

Grizzly Gulch, December 26, 2023 - NO GONDOLA

Mt. Superior, 11,050 feet.

Went BC skiing today with my boy, Stuart, headed up Grizzly Gulch, aiming for Patsy Marly then Wolverine Cirque to do Big Chute. I did the whole parking reservation thing, now required by Alta on weekends, and, other than the $25 fee, its really not a big deal. 

In some ways the reservations are a good thing, it filters the crowds the parking shit-show disappears when parking is regulated, and the quality of the day is much better. The big debate about the Little Cottonwood Canyon Gondola is nuts. A gondola is a stupid idea. In my mind the solution is simple, DO NOT build a gondola, DO NOT add lanes up the highway, DO NOT add new parking. The solution is already in place, but needs improvement, just enhance the parking reservation systems already in place. Besides, why should the Utah Taxpayers foot the bill for Alta and Snowbird's profit margins? They already make money hand-over-fist, do they really need to become billionaire operations? 

I value the quality of the day much more than I value packing the canyon to way over-capacity. Over crowding destroys quality. How long would the Utah Jazz get away with selling 40,000 tickets to the 20,000 seat Delta Center? I’m guessing there’d be a huge revolt, by the fans and also the NBA, yet that is exactly what UTA, Alta and Snowbird are trying to do by building a gondola. The Wasatch Mountains are a finite resource. They canyons regularly reach capacity and the solution is to limit the numbers trying to access the canyon. Arches National Park as a good example. Until they started reservations for park entrance, there was often 3-4 hour waits, with a line of cars all the way to Moab, just to drive into the park. Then, hiking Delicate Arch was a major shit-show, IF you were luycky enough to find parking. The trail was wall-to-wall with humanity and it was/is impossible to get a family picture under the arch due to the crowding. Yeah, reservations are a pain in the ass, but this isn’t 1975 anymore. Utah’s population has tripled in the last 30 years. The days of spontaneous ‘jump in the car and go skiing’ is no longer possible. Plan ahead, make a reservation, and the quality of the day will greatly improve. It’s the new norm. 

Back to my day with Stuart skiing Grizzly Gulch; we didn’t get too far. Stuart was recovering from Covid and he could not catch his breath. Every few steps he had to stop, gasping for air. He thought he was over the Covid, at home he felt healthy and strong. He’s in excellent physical condition, but up at nearly 9,000 feet his lungs were still struggling with the virus. We made it about two miles up Grizzly Gulch but then called it a day, skied back to the truck and went to breakfast at Silver Fork Lodge. A beautiful, sunny crisp day in the Wasatch, made better to be with my boy. 

Patsy Marly 10,531 feet.

Devils Castle (l) 10,875 feet, Sugarloaf Mountain (r) 11,051 feet. 

 

BC Ski, Base of Bountiful Ridge, December 9, 2023

Above the trail, just below KPF.

Early season and little snow, the cover looked thin and un-skiable when scoping from home, but I went anyway . . just to see. The binoculars didn’t lie, it was thin. When I got to the base of Bountiful Ridge, where the angle dramatically steepens, I didn’t have the heart to continue. It looked like the skiing down would be brushy, trippy hell. When I was younger I wouldn’t have hesitated to go up and ski, but my advanced age has brought a wee bit of wisdom (Kara emphasizes the ‘wee-bit’ part), so I turned back and went home. Surprisingly, when I skied down KPF (short cut to avoid two miles of trail) the skiing was fun and made me re-think my decision to abort they day. Yes, very brushy, but with ramming-speed and direct hits, that brush was nothing more than some superficial ski damage and a few painful hits on my skins. No tripping and no falls. I know there are sharp, cut tree-stumps barely under the snow, but I’d like to think I’d see them before tee-boning or ripping a femoral artery. Luckily today there were no accidents. 

On the approach I booted all the way up North Canyon to the start of the single track (about a mile) before putting on skis and skinning. On the descent I reversed that, the double track was very thin, maybe six inches of semi-packed snow, and I didn’t want to totally destroy my ‘rock skis,’ my faithful Voile V6s. Yeah, they’ve never been my favorite ski, not quick turning and not very playful, but the more I ski them the more I like them, so I try to avoid damage if possible.  

KPF under about 12 inches of snow. Looks much better than expected. Not nearly as brushy as expected, and when I later skied down it, I had no major hits. Last year's work still evident this year. 

At the top of KPF I get the first glimpse of Bountiful Ridge. From here Mark’s Ghost (ski runs left of big Douglas Fir) looks surprising good, but we all know that area is notorious for hidden boulders and rock daggers, scary with thin cover.  

Snow stake boulder showing the thin base.

A new trail to be built along the ridge to Cave Peak, connecting the North Canyon trail the BST, is marked with survey tape, which reveals it’s path going directly through the Mountain Mahogany(directly ahead in this photo). This grove is small, about 75 feet wide by 200 feet long. I love Mt. Mahoganies, and they’re sort of rare up here. 'Sort of,' just know there are very few compared to the sea of Gamble Oak. I’m going to ask the Bountiful Trail Committee to consider moving the route 50 feet to the left to go along the edge of the Mahoganies, and instead go through the endless sea of Gamble Oak.

Fresh tracks. Small Mountain Lion?

Moose bed. I didn’t see them but many signs of moose near Rudy’s Flat. 

A veritable Moose party last night at Rudy’s?

Another Moose bed at Rudy’s, so fresh I think it jumped up and left when it heard me coming, which made me feel terrible for interrupting it’s rest on this cold winter day. 

54cm (21in) at Rudy’s Flat.

This is as high as I went today. This is at the base of the ridge above Rudy’s, where the angle gets steep (35 degrees). Just too brushy, it looked like more work to ski down than skin up. 

Cold day, at least it felt cold compared to the warm autumn temps I was use too. 24-degrees felt really cold, but as I write this (Feb 3) I’m now acclimated to cold. 24 degrees today would be an after-though. 

Big old Douglas Fir, I see these huge stumps and I wonder when this King started life? It’s just off the new BST cut, where the old short cut ascends the drainage off the North Canyon Trial. 

The fence at the North Canyon trailhead has been cut. It was built to keep ATVs and 4x4s from poaching the trail, but those days are now over, unless this is rebuilt. 

 

To Ibex for the Eclipse, October 14 & 15, 2023

 Ibex

We camped at Ibex to watch the eclipse on October 14th. Ibex is a famous bouldering/climbing area about 60 miles southwest of Delta Utah. We camped on the Tule Valley Hardpan, a dry lake-bed, near the most popular climbing area, with big boulders and serious cliffs. I use the term ‘camp’ loosely here, we hardly slept a wink even in our comfy camper, due to the ‘Burning-Man-ish’ shit-show of other campers who never shut the hell up. All night long they drove their four-stroke/two-stroke/no-stroke ATVs on the hardpan - all night, they shot their guns - all night (surprised no one was killed) and they yelled and screamed like it was a frat party, ALL NIGHT. I was naive to think we’d have a peaceful night at Ibex. The last time we camped there we were all alone. Maybe the eclipse had something to do with bringing in the noisy crowds? Of course it did, stupid! It’s an eclipse! And eclipses do strange things to people, it gives them an excuse to be dipshits when Kara is trying to sleep. We weren’t alone, there were other sincere folks there just to watch the moon pass a shadow across the earth. There were old folks like us and there were families with kids just trying to enjoy a spectacular moment in the desert. The tent-trailer right next to us was a young family with four kids, they all looked to be under the age of ten. It was so noisy I don’t think they slept either, I heard the baby and the three-year-old crying most of the night.   

It was a ring-of fire eclipse, the space and distance between the moon the sun and the earth meant the moon did not completely cover the sun, leaving a fiery ring of the sun peaking around the edges of the moon. It was beautiful but wasn’t as stunning as the total eclipse of 2018(?) when we went to Rexburg, Idaho to watch. Still worth it, even with no sleep and the noisy crowd. 

The eclipse began at around 10AM and we were so groggy we went back to bed just after sunrise when the noisy frats-boys and Barbi-girls finally fell into a silent stupor. We went back to bed to nap before the eclipse, and we almost missed it! But in my sleep I heard a young kid nearby yelling, “Its starting! It’s starting!” Panicked, it would last only about an hour, I jumped out of the camper and looked, the moon was just starting its path across the sun. A small bite into the sun had just begun to take form. I woke Kara and we sat there for the next hour, watching the moon in it’s slow dance across the sun. Very awe-inspiring, leaving me humbled to know we are really nothing at all in the broad scheme of things. It made me recognize my arrogance to think all those noisy people should go obediently silent at 10PM, just so I could sleep. It made realize that nothing humanity does is deep and powerful enough to compare to nature, or the earth, or the universe. We are temporary energy and nothing more. 

It looks like we’re alone but we’re not even close. Creative photography erases the riff-raff.

None of my photos captured the eclipse. The best shot I got is this reflection on a cloud.  

After it was done, I hiked up the rocky hillside above our camper (boxy thing sort of alone in the middle of photo), trying to find a way to the top without falling off a cliff. I got near the top but was turned back by a 20 foot vertical chimney. The chimney looked like an easy climb, but exposed enough that a fall would be deadly (40 vertical feet), so I turned back. As we were driving out, seeing the cliff from a different angle, I saw a large diagonal ledge that would have been an easy, non-technical walk to the top. I was surprised no one was trying it? But I realize my interests and hobbies are strange to most people, walk to the top of a mountain? Stupid! Oh well, the bit of climbing I did in my effort was fun, reminding me of a past life when climbing was everything. I miss it. 

Kara and our camper/truck, the white boxy thing, mid-right (there’s a gap in the cars to the left of our camp). My climbing route to the top roughly zig-zags above our truck, using the easy scree then zigging up the ledges. I was turned back near the top, at the shadow just below the top on the right (the small shadow on far right, not the big shadow mid-right). Just to the right of that shadow is the ‘easy diagonal’ ledge that would’ve been an walk-up. It can be seen trending right and down from the shadow, out of the frame.  

Life finds a way.

Notch Peak is the high point in the middle. Notch peak is said to be the largest and highest vertical cliff in the state of Utah, higher than the Great White Throne in Zion.

Best I could do without a tripod and filters. 

Notch Peak (only half)

The plan was to camp at the Notch Peak trailhead and hike Notch Peak the next morning, but when we arrived, there were cars everywhere, every semi-park-able spot was filled with five or ten cars. People everywhere.  Like Ibex, last time there I was all alone. There was no level parking, or camping, anywhere. Who knew Notch Peak would be so popular during an eclipse? We decided to hike partway up the trail, hoping that much of the crowd would leave while we hiked, then go back a find a flat spot to camp. Then in the morning I’d get up early and run to the summit while Kara slept-in. If you drive to the trailhead it's not a long or difficult hike to Notch Peak (8 miles RT, 3k ft vert gain), so very doable in the wee hours of early morning.  Driving to the trailhead requires navigating a rough, high-clearance road, so many people park way down and start hiking much farther away. In the Tacoma, with a camper, we had little problem driving to the trailhead. I was shocked to see some of the cars that drove all the way, most surprising was a Toyota Corolla and a Honda Accord. It’s no 4x4 road, but it is rough. Some of those cars undoubtedly high-centered and dragged oil-pans across rocks in many spots.

We found a side-hill and parked, barely off the road, and hiked about half-way up Notch Peak from the trail head. /the trail follows a cool, serpentine desert canyon, but as the sun was setting we turned back and headed down. Once back we knew it was hopeless, nobody had left. We would be miserable trying to sleep on that side hill, and we didn’t want another noisy, sleep-less night, so we headed home. No Notch Peak. A long drive home, but no bad Tacoma this time.      

Small arches are numerous along the Notch Peak trail.

Gandy Warm Springs, Great Basin NP and a Bad Tacoma, September 17-19, 2023

The plan was a family trip to Great Basin National Park in September 2023, but camping wasn't really feasible with grandkids in school because the long drive from Davis County after school added up to a  late arrival, 10PM or worse, so scratch camping. That revelation did not disappoint various family members. To be honest, I don’t like car camping or sleeping on the ground where others have also camped. It’s weird, but I don’t trust what others do on the ground. Sleeping on the ground is great when back-packing, far from drive-to humanity.

So, last spring I started looking for hotels in Baker, Nevada, but Baker Nevada has like 10 hotel rooms and only 1 of those has sheets washed more than once a month. Of the few hotel rooms in Baker, all were fully booked. Another option is Ely, Nevada, which had plenty of rooms, but Ely is a long drive (1.5-2 hours) from Baker, so I kept looking. Delta, Utah is just as far away as Ely, so not an option. My son-in-law suggested the Bates Family Ranch, which had four cabins for rent, and all four were available. I booked all four. One reason they were available is the location. Gandy, Utah is a 30 miles drive from GBNP, on dirt roads. And they are great dirt roads, well maintained with road base and easily drivable at 60 mph. For reference, Gandy is only about 20 miles south of Callao, which sits at the base of the Deep Creek Mountains. It is lonely, wide-open country, which I love, but those long dirt roads seem to scare off sane folk. Maybe another reason the Bates Family Ranch cabins were available is the cabins are more like Tuff-Sheds than human accommodations. But they had beds, off the ground, they had floor heaters, and they had communal flush toilets, better than sleeping on the ground with other dirty humans. Yes, they are quite rustic if one is use to a Disney Cruise or an air-conditioned house boat on Lake Powell. 

After much searching it was the only realistic option, so I rented all four cabins and it turned out to be a huge win for us. The Bates family are a model for humanity. I’d be flattered to be told that I’m a fraction of their genuine kindness. They are honest, hard-working folks that don’t pretend to be anything but what they are. Honesty and integrity count, and telling fantastical stories of personal triumph and superior intelligence, so common in today's world, especially our leaders and role models, is not in their most remote DNA. They are good people. Our politicians should go stay at the Bates Family Ranch and get a lesson in personal kindness and integrity. But who am I kidding? “Politician" and “integrity" in the same sentence is the definition of oxymoron. 

My Grandson Madsen, at age six is nearly as tall as his momma Karly. My son Stuart and his wife Sarah sitting at the table behind. Don’t believe my idiot words above, the cabins are much better than a Tough Shed. They are clean and quiet and the beds are warm and comfy. The grounds are shaded, wooded and grassy, and you’ll see a gazillion stars at night. They also have a camping area which is nice: clean, green and grassy.  

 

After everyone had gone to bed, I sat and stared at those gazillion stars in that dark sky, until early morning. It was mesmerizing and thought provoking to see the vastness of the universe and humbling to think how tiny and insignificant we really are. Staring at that night sky brought awe and wonder, but it also made me sad, I felt big disappointment knowing how our world now values such trivial things and if one disagrees with popular thought you are vilified as an enemy. No, I didn’t come away with any deeper understanding of my existence, but, I again gained affirmation from our natural world that I can’t shuffle along with the idiocy of our culture. Life has much more meaning than the daily dribble of Utah society. I can’t believe the lies and wild claims without questioning those ideas and positions. God expects us to be discerning . . . with everything. Ronald Reagan once said, “Trust but verify.” That's a good start, but that thought can be improved, “Trust only if verifiable.” 

Gandy Warm Springs are about a ten minute drive from the cabins, on good gravel roads. The water is a constant 82 degrees, or 87, I can’t really remember, just know the water is a bit cool when you first get in but I quickly felt just right. And that was a fall day with temps in the low 80s. 

Hannah at the entrance to the cave. The cave is perfect for kids, about 75 feet from the entrance to its dead-end, it’s never more than three feet deep with head-room of about two feet above the water.  

 

Harper

Kara, Madsen in back, and Mike

Abi

Great Basin National Park

Lehman Caves and Great Basin National Park are a treasure. Timpanogos Cave doesn’t begin to compare. It’s just a stinky hole in the ground compared to Lehman Caves. But not perfect. Our initial tour guide at Lehman was an absolute bitch. My Grandson is on the ‘spectrum' and he periodically has melt-downs, especially when hungry or tired. Before the tour started he started to whine, it was late in the day and he was out of his element, and the tour guide went ballistic:  

“that child CANNOT go into the cave until that child can CONTROL his outbursts!”   

We tried to explain that he’d calm down momentarily, that he’d be fine, but she’d have none of that. After much talking and trying to convice her of his innocence, the other cave tourers, total strangers, even coming to our defense, but she refused to let us in the cave with my Grandson Madsen. I finally lost it and walked out, demanding to “Talk to management.” Yeah, I melted down to a much greater degree than my grandson. Thankfully, another tour guide stepped in and took over and took us on a wonderful walk through the cave. She even let my grandson wear her ranger hat the whole tour, and he was absolutely thrilled - and quiet - for the whole tour. That Guide saved our day. I’m forever grateful.  

Wheeler Peak (13,063 ft) is the high point in the middle, Jeff Davis Peak (12,771 ft) is on the left. 

After touring Lehman Cave we drove up to the Wheeler Peak trailhead, and that drive is not easy. From Baker Nevada up to the Wheeler Peak Trailhead, the drive is on a steep, curvy road, gaining over 4,700 vertical feet in about five miles. The hike to the summit of Wheeler Peak is about 4 miles one-way with a vertical gain of just over 3,000 feet. It’s an easy hike, never too steep and not technical in any way. The crux is the altitude and thin air. But we didn’t hike it this trip; no time, had to head for home for work and home duties. . . but next time . . . . But we were headed to a shit-show on the drive home. In hind site we should have just stayed and hiked Wheeler.

Jeff Davis Peak (12,771 ft), high point on the left.

Wheeler Peak

Cool, mostly dead Limber Pine.

Wheeler again from the Alpine Lakes Loop trail.

Change in the air.

Getting ‘some' at Stella Lake with Wheeler Peak watching overhead.

Kara at Stella Lake

Tacoma, the Yugo of 21st century

Damn Tacoma! It’s a 2019 with less than 40,000 miles and the drive belt broke. It died when we were ten miles north of Delta Utah, while driving north on Highway 6. It was 7PM on Sunday evening. There was no traffic, and our cell phones had no signal. Stuck and just off the highway we finally dialed 911, and, surprisingly, got an immediate answer from the Utah Highway patrol. They, in turn, called a towing company in Nephi, Utah. An hour later this tow truck showed up and the driver said he could take us anywhere. We debated on going just to Nephi (he said there were no mechanics in Delta), then getting a hotel room in Nephi for the night (yeah!) then try to find a mechanic the next day. The tow driver said his day job was a mechanic, and that his shop was backed up until mid-week. He guessed that the other shops were equally stacked, so we had him drive us all the way home, which cost us over $1,000. He could have been feeding us shit just to maximize his miles and the fee, but staying in Nephi and looking for mechanic the next day had no guarantees, and he seemed trustworthy, so we rode in his tow truck all the way home to Bountiful, the Tacoma taking a pathetic nap on the flatbed.  

My loyalty to Toyota took a huge hit on this one. This is my third Tacoma and I’ve never had any issues, ever! With my first two Tacomas, a 1989 and a 2004, both with standard transmissions,  I drove over 500,000 miles and never even had to replace a clutch. Simply put, they were bomb-proof! I never changed anything on them but the oil, the tires and the brake pads. This 2019 is a piece of shit. Two years ago, at just 30,000 miles, that drive belt started whining so I had Performance Toyota in Bountiful replace it, and the whining stopped. Today while driving home from Great Basin NP, I heard a strange whining again. Eight miles north of Delta it got louder, so I stopped and looked, and the belt way very frayed, like it was dragging over a grit stone. Sunday night and in the middle of nowhere, I had no options but to just keep driving for home. Back in the truck I started driving and the whining got even louder. Two miles more and I heard a pop and all the warning dash lights came on, and, being the nervous accountant that I am, I immediately pulled off the highway and shut down. When I looked under the hood there was radiator fluid pouring out of a broken hose onto the ground. Turns out that when the belt broke, the loose end of the belt whipped around a pulley and snapped one of the coolant hoses. It’s a very good thing I’m a nervous accountant, a good thing I didn’t keep driving. 

The next day and back home, I asked a neighbor for a tow to Performance Toyota, hoping, since they replaced the belt two years ago, that it’d be under warranty. It wasn’t. The belt warranty was only 12 months. My next hope was that the belt broke due to a seized water pump. If so it would still be covered under the original Toyota warranty. It wasn’t. There was nothing wrong with the water pump, or any of the pulleys or tensioners. In short, they found no reason for that belt to break. All components were in prime working order, they said.  Their best guess was that the belt was faulty and it "just broke.” Hmmm, I don’t buy it, but what can I do? No explanation is very puzzling. I’ve never had a belt break, ever. I never replaced a belt,  ever, with my first two Tacomas, and did I mention I drove over 500,000 miles in those two Tacomas? The belt was replaced and truck soon back in operating condition, but with no good explanation for the broken belt.  Now I’m kind of a wreck. Now I can’t drive three miles to 7-11 for an extra-large Red Bull Slurpee, with a No-Doze chaser, without checking the belt to see if it is fraying. So far it still looks new. 

All told, I paid about $3,000 for this little adventure in my 2019 Tacoma: $1,000 tow, $2,000 for a new belt and a thorough check of everything under the hood that could’ve made the belt fail. Total BULL SHIT! Maybe I should have bought the F-150, but at the time the new Fords cost $20,000 more than a comparable Tacoma. Perhaps it would've been worth it? Anyone interested in a 2019 Tacoma?