Telluride, September 23 through 27, 2019

We drove from Durango's Mercy Hospital the 'direct' way to Telluride to avoid the windy (curvy not breezy), circuitous road over Red Mountain Pass to Telluride. I was disappointed that we had to drive the 'boring' way over Lizard Head Pass, but what surprise! The Lizard Head route is just as beautiful and in some ways better than Red Mountain pass. The scenery is stunning and it is much less traveled. We rarely saw another car from Dolores over to Telluride. The towns of Dolores and Rico were real surprises - in a good way. Beautiful mountain towns, low key, no traffic and a relaxed, chill atmosphere, and the San Juan Mountain back-drop leaves one staring with mouth agape, wondering why the mountains of Utah seem so simple and squirrley in comparison? Anyway, the "direct" way was stunning! 

I could live in Dolores, Rico or Ophir. Telluride is beautiful but I have to admit it is a total fantasy world: billionaires and ski bums with no middle class. How the hell could I even begin to live there when a 1,500 Square foot home goes for over $1million? Like I said, total fantasy world.

Had to add my grand kids, Lydia and Mark on a mine tour in Silverton.

The view from our condo in Telluride, which was located at the base of the Meadows Chondola (who named this?). The Telluride Mountain Village is a total rat's-nest of trophy-homes, condos and hotels. It took four days of walking, hiking and biking before I really figured out where the base of the real skiing started. I'm just not a fan of the Deer Valley/Canyon's business model, where homes are built up the mountain among the ski runs to give the billionaires skin-in, ski-out access. Huge mcmansions along a ski run totally destroys the ambiance of a ski hill. It's a back-ward leap from that feeling you get of  getting away from civilization. Remember the first time you rode the tram at Snowbird as a kid in a total white-out blizzard and you felt like you were on the mountains of Antarctica? I loved the feeling of being on the edge of the world. That feeling is gone when you're skiing next to a road with BMWs and Audis whizzing passing you by. (Side-note: its fun to "spay" those BMWs and Audis when skiing over the ski-bridges at the Park City or Deer Valley. Try it! It's fun to piss-off those dime-store cowboys who are much better are laundering money than actually skiing. And what are they going to do? Get out and chase you down?). Yeah, I get it, real estate makes huge profits. Ski passes don't. And, yeah, Telluride is known as a bad-ass mountain, but just think how much more bad-ass it would be if you didn't have to ride three or four lifts to get to the good stuff?

Kara feeling much better and looking great. That is Wilson Peak (aka Coors Peak) over her shoulder.

Downtown Telluride.

Kara at the base of Bridal Veil falls. She's the only one I know that looks better than a 365 foot waterfall. Less than 24-hours ago she was undergoing a heart-catheter through her wrist to find the blockage and get a stent. Luckily there were no blocks and no stents were necessary. No, we didn't hike up here, we drove the 4X4 switchback road up from Telluride, about 2 miles and 1000 vertical on the 4X4 track. 

Our condo at dusk as I'm riding the Jurassic and Boomerang Trails.

Palmyra Peak, in bounds at Telluride.

Sign at the base of the Boomerang Trail, about 1,000 feet descent from our condo, and from here I had pedal back up, which was tough at 9,000 feet.

Action-Dudes everywhere.

Sunset over Wilson Peak as I get back to the top of the Boomerang Trail. I made it back with barely enough light.

Wilson Peak

The next day I went looking for the Prospect trail that lead to the ghost town of Alta Lakes. The ride was in-your-face-steep climbing from the start, at our condo at 9,500 feet (via the Jurassic Trail, through the base area hotel/condos rat's-nest then onto the Prospect Trail leaving the pavement over by the gondola parking terrace). The Prospect Trail wasn't marked very well at the huge parking structure, but I found it and started pedaling up. At the junction of Teddy's Way and Double Cabin (ski runs) the trail was closed due to helicopter logging so I had to turn back at about 10,500 feet. To be honest, I was totally gassed by that point, so I wasn't completely disappointed to turn back. Later I wished I could've made it to Alta Lakes but that has to wait for another day. During all my rides in Telluride I felt like crap and upon our return to SLC I felt like Superman. I'm sticking with the high elevation excuse.   

Near the upper terminal of the Sunshine Express ski lift. Our condo is at the base of this lift, about 1,700 vertical feet below.

Sunshine Express upper face, a double black diamond ski run called Holy Cow!

Most of the mountain bike trails at Telluride are downhill trails only, but no-way was I going shell out $$'s to buy a pass just to ride my mountain bike. Ultimately I started riding up those 'down-hill' only trails because I never saw anyone riding down the resort trails. Plus they were totally eroded starting 1/8th mile above the resort base, indicating they see no downhill traffic.   

Palmyra Peak

On the way to Ophir, which is the ghost town in the next drainage and one ridge SW of Telluride. I loved Ophir. It's not a tourist/billionaire/ski-bum town.

The canyon leading to Ophir was lined with avalanche paths which looked huge, 3,000-4,000 vertical foot lines at 35-40 degrees sustained top to bottom. From the look of the avalanche debris all along the canyon bottom, and the paths that looked as if they were cut for ski runs, the road to Ophir must get blocked by slides numerous times during the winter.

The Ophir cut (mining road), which leads over to Red Mountain pass and the Million Dollar Highway.

And the cut leading over to Telluride.

Haunted ghost towns. This is an old mine mill building at the junction of the Ophir Road and the Lizard Head Pass Highway, about five miles from the turn-off to Telluride's Mountain Village.

Overlook info on the way back from Ophir.

Last day in Telluride, I rode the Jurassic, Boomerang and Big Billie's mountain bike trails. If you go, Jurassic and Boomerang are great but Big Billie's is nothing more than a graveled golf cart path, scenic but very boring, but it appeals to the billionare, 'Thurston-Howell-the-Third' mind-set of the locals occupying the Mountain Village. 

Palmyra Peak.

Riding the free gondola down into Telluride from the Mountain Village.

I've never seen bigger or taller aspens that in the San Juan Mountains.

Telluride may be out of my economic league, but it is surrounded by the most beautiful mountains within a days drive of Utah. In comparison, the Wasatch are small and way too crowded. 

El Pico Norte, July 1, 2019

El Pico Norte, North Peak, 6,731 feet elevation. It's the peak on the south side of North Canyon, accessed via the pipeline right of way.

My goal today was to hike up Pyramid Peak, otherwise know as Cave Peak on USGS maps. My planned route was the North Canyon Right Fork access road, which is the northward fork of the main North Canyon Road found just above the lower cabin.  But that road is now blocked, gated a half mile from the cabin, with signage declaring "Private Property - No Trespassing." Pyramid Peak is still accessible via a legal "go-around," on public land, by hiking NE up the ridge just before reaching the gate, but with my recent back surgery I didn't want to chance a steep climb up a virgin slope covered in slippery cheat-grass. Instead I back-tracked to the main road, hiked up to the pipeline crossing, hiked southward up the pipeline right-of-way, and then up the west ridge of El Pico Norte - North Peak. The disappointment of missing out on Pyramid Peak was short lived. El Pico Norte is a beautiful walk with hardly any sign of human presence once you leave the pipeline right-of-way. There is really no trail leading to the summit - terrain I love! Yeah, I'm a total anti-social dumb ass, but, in my defense, with so much noise in today's over stimulated world, the only time I can actually hear my own thoughts is when I am completely alone, away from signs of humanity. But stay focused and forward looking, don't look west or else you'll see Gotham just down the hill. But its reward enough for me to get off the beaten path, not see human footprints, shot-gun shells, half-burned pallets or rusted beer cans. El Pico Norte is as close to virgin, untouched, non-human terrain as one can get to anything I know of in the foothills of Bountiful. Go do it if you don't mind cheat-grass-stickers in your socks and maybe spotting a rattle snake here or there. It's well worth any risk.

If you can't tell I just love Sego Lilies, and 2019 has been the most bounteous bloom of Sego's I have ever seen. But they are wilting now, so get up soon. These are near 6,000 feet on a north aspect, in an area of low-brush, rocky terrain. 

Sego's everywhere.

This is the higher El Pico Norte - South Peak, 7,091 feet elevation, photo taken from the ridge headed east towards El Pico Norte - North Peak. There are two peaks of El Pico Norte. The higher one is the South Peak, 361 feet higher than the North Peak.

South Peak - you can tell it's higher (nearly 7,000 feet) due to the mature Douglas Fir growing on the north face. 

The approach ridge of El Pico Norte - North Peak.

El Pico Norte - South Peak.

Little Black Mountain (high point on south side of City Creek Canyon) as seen through the North Canyon Saddle from the summit of El Pico Norte-North Peak summit. 

Bountiful as seen from the summit of El Pico Norte - North Peak (6,731 feet).

Last Days Of Snow, June 27, 2019

'Number Seven' and its lingering summit drift, as in Peak Number Seven, named for Mad Jack's mule from Grizzly Adams, the cornball mid-1970's mountain-man drama shown on NBC, one of three networks back then so pickings were slim. Although, PBS (KUTV 7, not KBYU 11) was a brite spot outside of the network void, they (KUTV) was daring enough to play Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Two patches hanging on at the top of Mark's Ghost.

One drift just off Rectangle Peak.

Number Seven, zoomed.

Session's Mountain, north aspect. 

Kenny Creek Trail To Miner's Cabin, June 30, 2019 (Last Day of Snow II)

The heart of Bountiful Ridge:
Mark's Ghost (right-side drainage, flaring widest at the top), Crescent Peak and Bowl (middle, rounded high-point, the bowl is directly below.

Number Seven from the Kenny Creek Trail.

Bountiful Ridge from the rock outcrop on the Kenny Creek Trial.

Blue Flax, Lewis Flax or sometimes called Prairie Flax, but the technical name is Linum KLewisii. It grows on ridges and dry slopes, so Utah is a natural home, and it grows from sea level way north (Alaska) and up to 11,000 feet. 

Mt plant APP says this is Mountain Laurel, but I don't think so, they grow in Texas and New Mexico. My brother Brian says its a Sweet Pea (Bonneville Pea or Lathyrus Brachycalyx), so I checked my book Desert Plants of Utah and Brian is right. 

Zoomed view of the Hidden Couloirs: I, II and III. I skied HC II in April (see April 19 post).

Ridge line: (l-r) Burro Mine, Blacks Peak, Mark's Ghost, Crescent and Crescent Bowl, and Rectangle Peak, North, and
Face. Diagonal middle slope, covered with Douglas Fir: (l-r) Hidden Couloir I (middle left line - it's more open than it looks, and it's the upper entrance to HC II), Hidden Couloir II (middle open gully - again, it's more open than it looks when under snow) and Hidden Couloir III (gully, middle right).

The miners cabin of upper Kenny Creek Trail. In the mid 1970's, when I was 14 or 15, this cabin was fully intact with a solid, waterproof roof. In the late 1970's the cabin was vandalized when an upstanding pillar of our community went up there with a pry-bar (or sledge, or maybe just a stout log) and took out one corner which collapsed the roof and, as you can see, it is now barley recognizable as the living quarters of a mine that was operated about 50 yards up the hill.  

Number Seven (the peak) seen from the miners cabin.

Who knows. Maybe an old wheel barrel? And with the Utah-required bullet holes. 

Yes, of course the gunners have to shoot at something. It is their way to self actualization.
Here's a crazy idea, instead why not shoot your Dad's Lexus? It'd look total bad-ass covered with bullet holes when you drive it to Junior Prom, or to your PHD dissertation, whatever the case might be. It's Utah, either scenario is probable. Yeah, the cabin might look like junk, but to some it is history and to some your shooting is nothing more than mindless vandalism. 

Mine tailing's from a long gone era of Mueller Park.

Blue Flax.

Sweat Pea

Sego Lily, June 15, 2019

Calochortus Nuttali, otherwise known as the Sego Lily and sometimes the Mariposa Lily. It is the official state flower of Utah. I'm still rehabbing from back surgery and to gain strength I go on short walks as suggested by my Doctor. I alternate my routes between hilly and flat. My hilly workouts have been a slow, old-man shuffle up Meridian Peak (elevation 5,940 feet). From Tunnels Park it's about 2 miles round trip with a vertical rise of about 700 vertical feet. My pace is pathetic, over 30 minute miles, which is tough to swallow. Before surgery I could run up Meridian at a 10 minute mile pace, but even at my slow pace it feels wonderful to use my legs and lungs again. I've always taken deep breathing for granted, it's often uncomfortable or even painful, but after two weeks on my butt, watching TV and knitting (yes, I'm now a knitter), feeling my lungs fully expand is truly a joyful, almost euphoric feeling.

The exercise though is nothing compared to current Sego Lily bloom. The upper third of Meridian Peak is currently carpeted with Sego's, and it is stunning! This year's bloom is much more prolific and widespread than I can ever remember.  Sego's are not rare but their blooms feel rare. They are only visible for a few weeks each year so it's exciting when I see them each spring. I'm a Sego Lily nerd, maybe because the blooms are so short lived. Each flower is a delicate, creamy-white grouping of three or four petals with purple and yellow deep inside the cup, a beautiful contrast of color that defies the harsh, dry ground where they grow. They open and then almost immediately begin to dry and whither. They are not tall, about 12 inches on average, so they are often concealed by grass or Sage or Gamble Oak, which just adds to their mystic. They seem to avoid attention like a shy schoolboy.  This year's Sego bloom has come a full month later than the the previous ten years (I log it in my running journal) due to the long, cool wet spring in northern Utah this year. On the Lake Bonneville shoreline, between 5,000 and 7,000 feet, they usually bloom in May, so this year's timing is an anomaly.  I've also seen them bloom in late August at much higher elevations, over 9,000 feet, but those high elevation blooms are truly rare, maybe a flower to two in hidden in rocky outcrops, and never in the numbers now blooming on Meridian.

 The Sego Lily's will soon be gone, go walk the foothills and you won't be sorry.

View south from Meridian Peak of the Central Wasatch.

The high points, (l-r) Dromedary Peak, Sunrise (sometimes called O'Sulivan's), Broads Fork Twins, and The Pfeiferhorn on the far right.

High points (l-r) Chipman Peak, Thunder Mountain North Peak, Thunder Mountain South Peak, Bighorn Peak and Lone Peak.

Sego's seem out of place given their surroundings. What a contrast they are to the status-quo flora of the high desert foothills of the Wasatch.

Evening Primrose often bloom along side Sego's.

Central Wasatch and the Beck Street antennas.

Sego's everywhere, hiding in the grass and Sage.