Jardine Juniper

I hiked up to Jardine Juniper tonight, an incredibly old tree that is estimated to be at least 1500 years old.  I had no idea Junipers lived so long (fun fact: Bristlecone Pine Trees [which are different from Junipers, of course] are the oldest non-clonal organisms on earth.  They grow in the Western/Southwestern U.S. at high elevations.  One is known to have lived close to 5000 years).  Actually, the sign at the top said it was 3200 years old, but I’m going by the more conservative estimate listed by the Cache Valley Visitor’s Bureau.

The trail follows a shallow canyon until it mounts the ridge between Cottonwood and Logan Canyons.  It’s not very steep, so 10 miles round trip ends up being relatively easy.  Everything I read about it said the trail was popular with mountain bikers, which was evident once I was up there, seeing as I was the only person not on a bike!  I passed a poor guy who was obviously too out of shape to be on his bike (it must be embarrassing for a biker to be passed by someone on foot).  I also saw a girl at the top who looked very nice in spandex.

There was a little oasis of trees next to a stream early on during the hike. The stream was full of rocks covered in thick moss. I like fuzzy rocks.

Paintbrush (thanks, Sarah. I should have remembered it from 9th grade biology. I've also heard it called 'Indian Paintbrush')

Views toward Logan Canyon from the ridge.

Old Jardine Juniper and the view behind it.

Near the trailhead on my way back.

The trail splits near the Juniper into a loop.  There was a sign that marked one direction as “scenic” and the other as “shaded.”  I took the scenic route to the tree, but the shaded route was much better.  It wound through dense pines and aspens and smelled like Christmas and camping trips during summer vacation rolled together.

Jardine Juniper is a really cool tree to see, as are the Bristlecones I mentioned above.  It’s pretty amazing to think of what was going on in the world when that tree was just a sapling.  Not only were these canyons devoid of the highways, campgrounds and people, but the entire continent was an entirely different place whose only human inhabitants were those of the native tribes.  Even by the conservative estimate of 1500 years old, this tree would have begun to grow shortly after the fall of the Roman Empire.

Cool beans, huh?

 

Camping, hiking, backpacking, and a lesson in preparedness…

For the last week, I’d been planning to use this weekend to spend a lot of time in the mountains near Logan.  After last weekend’s camping trip with my dad and brother, I had some wood to burn and the itch to see more of the surrounding area.

Thursday, 8/6

Walking home from work Thursday evening was somewhat ominous, though.  The weather forecasts for the weekend called for cool temperatures in Logan (meaning even cooler temperatures in the mountains where I’d be) and some possible thunder storms.  As you can see below, the winds had already been at work on the dust in the west, blotting out all but a small bit of the sun and bathing the valley in a fiery red glow:

This is the view from my apartment building as I was packing the last bit of gear into my car.  It’s not really the most comforting image, but I was too committed to the trip to let this omen stop me.

As it turns out, the night was beautiful.  I was camping in Lodge Campground, which is in Right Hand Fork Canyon (an offshoot of Logan Canyon).  I had a large bundle of wood that kept my fire burning strong, a small creek next to my site that bubbled and hummed comfortingly, and a book to occupy myself.  When it finally got dark enough to make my book obsolete, I sat close to the fire and just let my thoughts run.  I’ve always found a campfire to be a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, it gives me light and warmth.  On the other, it makes the surrounding darkness deeper and blacker than it really is.  It’s easy to feel isolated in an oasis of light when sitting so close to the fire, but once you step away or the fire has died, the forest lights up brightly from the stars and the moon.

Friday, 8/7

Morning

I woke up pretty early the next morning and packed up camp (which is pretty easy when you have as little as I do).  My next plan was to hike the 5 mile trail to Old Ephraim’s grave, which marks the spot where the last grizzly bear was killed in Utah.

Unfortunately, through a mix of my incompetence and poor signage, I didn’t really know where to go to get to the trailhead.  So, I just picked a dirt road and followed it.  I learned later in the day that I had followed Cowley Canyon, a road that would have eventually taken me to Old Ephraim’s if I had gone far enough.  All in all, I found out I went at least 5 miles one way (likely more) and spent a total of 5 hours hiking.  Although I didn’t get the chance to pay my respects to Old Ephraim, the hike was spectacular.

After following the canyon road surrounded by trees, this was the view at a junction on a ridge.

This is one of the most pleasant hikes I've ever been on. The farther I went, the more alone I felt. Not seeing any other people on the road had an immense effect on my psyche, and there seemed to be an exponential increase in the feeling of solitude as I continued to go deeper and deeper into the mountains.

The trail constantly alternated between open views of the surrounding valleys and enclosed corridors of thick aspens and pines.

This photo doesn't really capture the scenery as I wanted it to. There were scores of yellow, purple, red and white flowers all over the place.

Afternoon/Evening

After the hike in Cowley, I went home briefly to refill on supplies and pack for my next trip.  In a short time, I had my backpack (graciously loaned to me by a pharmacist at the hospital) packed and ready to go.

The plan was to hike to White Pine Lake, which is accessible by trail from Tony Grove Lake (not to be confused with the White Pine Lake in Little Cottonwood Canyon).  Maybe I was just in a good mood from the hike up Cowley Canyon, but I was so impressed by the beauty of the 4 mile trail to White Pine. It’s definitely in my top five hikes.

I've been seeing these plants in the mountains for years and they've always been one of my favorites, yet I have no idea what they're called.

The trail climbs a shallow slope most of the way until it crosses over a saddle and drops into a valley where the lake sits against a high rock wall.

Once I was at the lake, I found a spot to set up camp and went to work immediately.  I needed to search for firewood before it got too dark.

My firewood search was somewhat hindered by the fact that I had no hatchet or saw, so I could only find small pieces.  I was able to scavenge enough to keep a decent fire going, but I forgot my newspaper to start it!  So, using my amazing survival skills (ha ha), I just used dry pine cones and pine needles.  Worked like a charm, though I was often frustrated by gusts of wind that would blow out my fledgling flame (let’s hear it for alliteration).

As the light faded and I sat feeding my fire, I couldn’t help but wonder how the day could have been any better.  There was a part of me that wished I had someone else there to share the experience with.  It was still a nice nice night, anyway.

And considering the fact that the weather forecast had been for cold, wet weather, I had been soooooooooooooo lucky!  It would turn out to be the perfect trip, right?

Right?

Saturday, 8/8

My Saturday began with an early morning awakening.  How early, I don’t know.  It was dark, and there was a steady rain pounding the top of my poor little $25 tent.  I wasn’t worried, though.  I like the sound of rain on a tent and there wasn’t any wind.  No big deal.  I went back to sleep.

I awoke again later, the rain still coming down.  I checked my phone and found it was 6 am.  Good.  By the time I’m up, the storm will have passed.  Back to sleep.

8  am.  The rain doesn’t seem to want to stop.  Worse yet, I can see my breathe in my tent.  Hm.  Maybe there’s a blue sky on the horizon. *Peeks out of his tent, still wrapped in his sleeping bag.* Nope, overcast and dark as far as the eye can see.

So I decide to wait it out.  Maybe leave no later than noon.  It’ll have warmed up a bit by then and the storm will have passed by then.  Surely it will.  Oh boy, who am I kidding?  I figure I should get out of here before the weather worsens.  So, I reluctantly lower my sleeping bag down to my waist and take the full brunt of the icy air.  I reach into my bag to pull out my trusty jacket, the water-proof one that I take on every hike and every camping trip, no matter what.

I hit bottom, jacketless.  Remember that newspaper I forgot?  Yeah, it’s with my warm clothing back at home, waiting to be packed.  Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay…

I put on my t-shirt and shorts, the only clothing I have other than a clean pair of socks.  Shivering violently as the temperature drops, I pack everything up as quickly as I can.  The rain isn’t letting up at all.  Once my pack is full, I unzip the tent and head out into the wet.  Quickly, the pack is placed in the shelter of a tree and I get to work on the tent.  By the time it’s folded up, the tent and I are both a soaked, muddy, freezing mess.  Something tells me the tent doesn’t mind it as much as I do.

I hurriedly stuff the tent into my bag, muddying the rest of my possessions (my poor book hasn’t completely dried yet).  By now I can’t feel my hands and my shirt is soaked through.  I take my tent’s rain fly and wrap it messily around my pack.

Once my pack is on, I take a moment to observe my surroundings.  No more than 150 feet above my elevation, snow is falling HARD.  Did I mention I was in a deep valley and had to climb to higher elevations to get back to the trailhead 4 miles away?

I head off along the trail, passing fellow campers who look at me like I’m mentally ill.  The temperature is probably in the mid to upper 30′s at this point.  I get clear of the other campers and start making the climb.  I can now feel the temperature drop steadily and quickly as I head upward, and the rain quickly turns to snow.  Meanwhile I’m breathing on my hands to warm them, but I can’t even feel it.  My arms are bright red and the hairs are catching big clumps of snow.

The trail steadily becomes softer and wetter, making progress much slower and the possibility of a fall more likely.  I have visions of being caked in mud from head to toe.  Maybe it would keep me warm.

I pass a few others on the trail, making jokes about Christmas come early and acting like I’m doing just fine, but they know I’m miserable and I’m actually starting to worry a little bit.  By the time I’m at the saddle, I’m close to 9000 feet in elevation, the snow is starting to cover the ground, and the tips of my thumbs are turning bright white.  I have to alternate sucking on my fingers to keep them somewhat warm, though I literally cannot feel the inside of my mouth with my fingers.  My arms are almost completely numb at this point, too.  So is my face.  I tried smiling at a passing hiker, but I think all I got was an awkward grimace.  I probably looked like I had had a face lift.

An hour and a half after leaving my camp, I saw the lake (which was covered by an eerie mist).  I was ecstatic.  All I could think about was getting to my car and turning the heat on full blast.  When I finally arrived, I struggled—actually struggled—to put my hand in my pocket for my car keys.  My hands wouldn’t do anything I wanted them to.  I took multiple attempts just to unbuckle my pack, something that takes the strength of a 3-year old.

After taking way too long to get my pack in my car and my keys out of my pocket and into the ignition, I sit for 15 minutes in my car, hands at the vents, burning as the feeling slowly returns.  Once they’re functional enough to hold the steering wheel, I head down the canyon.  The hot air is blowing all over me, but I’m shivering the entire 45 minute trip back to my place.  I wasn’t in any danger, so I could at least enjoy the beautiful scenery of the canyon with low-lying clouds and mists hanging in the crevices of the rocks.  But still, all I wanted was a hot shower.  Oh God how I wanted a hot shower.

When I got back to the apartment, I stepped out of my car and started shivering more than I was comfortable with.  I really must have been frozen to the core.  I grabbed my stuff and walked stiffly to my door.  I really wanted to just dive inside, but I had to stay outside and clean up because I didn’t want to track mud onto the carpet.  My legs were  a bit messy:

Once inside, I figured the warmth of my apartment would finally settle me down, but I just continued to shiver.  I really don’t think I’ve ever been this cold before. I tell you what, though: 45 minutes of soaking in a hot, steamy shower did the trick.  Oh man…I’ve never had sex, but I really think it was better than sex.

I write this from the perspective I had while on the trail.  Looking back on it, I don’t know that I was really ever in any danger.  Even on the trail I was convinced that I was going to be fine and it was simply a miserable experience, but I couldn’t help worrying a little bit about my health and some of the physical signs I was showing.

I should also say that I’m embarrassed for myself.  I know better than to make a stupid mistake like that.  I’ve spent years going into the mountains and know that anything can happen with the weather.

Despite the misery, I actually did enjoy the trip.  Looking back on it, the scenery around me during the snow storm was breathtaking.  I simply wasn’t in the state of mind to enjoy it.

At least I can say I learned a lesson about packing.  Next time, my coat will be the first thing in.

 

Wind Cave

Today I drove down Logan Canyon after work to do a short hike to Wind Cave.  The hike is in the lower part of the canyon where the trees are more sparse and the pines don’t even grow, but the views of the canyon were beautiful and the little cave at the top is kind of neat.

The weird thing is that Wind Cave wasn’t created by wind.  It was created by water flowing from two springs that pooled and eventually eroded the limestone to create the holes.  Why they don’t just call it “Water Cave” or “Spring Cave” is beyond me.  Silly explorers and/or scientists.

Logan Canyon

Grasses lined much of the trail. They were really gorgeous with they're golden tops shining in the sun.

When I got to this point, I was excited that there was a nice ledge where I could sit and enjoy the scenery. I didn't realize until a few seconds after getting up and leaving that I was sitting right on top of the cave!

Wind Cave, in all its glory. Kind of looks like a giant could use it as a toilet.

And the view from inside the cave.

Fin.

 

Naomi Peak and camping

My first weekend in Logan was highlighted by the arrival of my dad and brother to go camping a few miles up Logan Canyon.  We ate well (bratwurst, burritos, fajitas, and french toast) and spent a lot of time around the campfire talking, joking, reading and relaxing.

Drinking coffee Sunday morning. Zach is starting to look more and more like a redneck with that stupid mustache.

My dad’s getting old enough that he no longer has the energy to motivate himself to take a long hike on a weekend like this, and Zach is just plain lazy.  However, I was able to convince both of them that we should climb Naomi Peak, the highest peak in northern Utah.  It’s really not very high (9980′) and the elevation gain of about 2000 feet over 3.5 miles means it really isn’t very strenuous, but they were kind of wussy about it, anyway.  I guess dad has a good excuse.

The trailhead starts at Naomi Lake, which is chock full of weekenders camping, swimming and canoeing. I was a little bit worried that the trail would be really busy, but we only ran into a few groups on the way (including one with a big fluffy dog that was adorable).

The mountains in this area are much less majestic than those in the southern parts of the Wasatch range, but the views are still spectacular.

As I waited for the other two to make it to the peak, I decided to attempt a self-portrait. The valley in the background is Cache Valley, where towns like Logan and Smithfield sit.

Proof that they actually joined me. Zach looks angry, as usual. His hick-stache doesn't help.

I love the smell of campfire smoke in my clothing when I come back from camping trips.  It’s such a distinct smell that brings back a lot of memories for me.  The three of us take 2 trips a year, and it’s always a blast.

I’m planning on going camping again next Thursday night, partly because I love it so much and partly because I’ve never gone alone.  I may end up being bored sitting by a campfire all by my lonesome, but I’m good on my own and will most likely enjoy the night of solitude.  I can spend the time reading, thinking, singing (if no one’s around), and exploring.  More on that later.

 

The Logan Move, Part III: USU Campus

One of the first things I did in Logan was take a long walk around the campus of Utah State University.  I live across the street from the administration building, Old Main.  Old Main is (according to the plaque next to its front doors) the oldest university building still in use today in Utah.  Nifty.

The stairs leading to Old Main. There's an "A" on the roof of the building's bell tower that lights up at night (it stands for "Aggies").

Besides having some mildly entertaining historical value (aw, who am I kidding.  It isn’t entertaining), Old Main is a really cool building.  It’s so dignified and academic.  The green hill that sits below it is filled with trees, some that are obviously very old.  There’s also a sign near the top that says “Anyone using Old Main Hill for winter activites does so at their own risk,” which probably means this hill his filled with college students sledding in the winter.  I’m kind of jealous.

On the way to the stadium...

The campus sits up on the hills surrounding Logan, much like the U of U in SLC.  Sunsets up here are beautiful, especially on the farmlands on the outer edges of the town.  Moving up here has had a similar effect on me as my first few days of college.  Walking around campus, living in a new place, enjoying a different life, all brings back that sense of freedom and independence.  It’s a lot of fun.

Freshman dorms

This building really isn’t anything special except that I recognize it from 9 years ago when I helped my brother move into his first dorm.  I still remember being so jealous of his move into college and thinking about my own big move to high school.  My walks around campus have been innundated with thoughts of my brother back then.  I keep imagining his college life, walking around with friends, eating at the cafeteria, skipping classes, not doing his homework, possibly experimenting with drugs…ah, memories.  I think he and I probably had very different college experiences.

This makes me want to sing something cheesy. "It's the ciiiiiircle of liiiiiiiiife!"

I kind of want to go back to college.  Oh, wait.  I am in college.  Never mind.

 

The Logan Move, Part II: Move-in Day

Ok, so this morning’s rant about hating moving was just my frustration playing out.  In reality, I’ve really been looking forward to this entire experience.  First of all, I’ll be working at a much smaller hospital than I’m used to, which should prove to be interesting and different in a lot of ways from what I’ve heard.  Second, I’ll be living in a new town for the first time in my life.  I love SLC, but I could use a different experience, even if it is only for a short time and a few miles away.  And finally, I’ll have my own place for the first time in my life.  Whoo-hoo!

The apartment is actually a little nicer than I expected.  It has brown sculpted carpet, which is my favorite (this isn’t a joke.  I love it.  I think it reminds me of the 80′s, which remind me of being little and rolling around on said carpet).  My piano came along with me because we haven’t spent enough quality time together in the past couple of months.

The TV doesn’t work, but I brought my piano and this loveseat was included. It’s my greatest hope that no one has had sex on it. I’ll try not to think about it.

It's hot here. I shouldn't have brought my quilt.

The apartment is a studio, but the living room is partially separated from the bedroom/office by a wall.  The cupboards that act as the dresser are waaaaaaaaaaay too big for the amount of clothing I brought, as you can plainly see here.  I guess if any missionaries come to my door and I get scared, I can crawl inside and use it as a panic room.

My work space AND my eating space. That's called 'efficiency.'

The big desk is…well, a big desk.  Which is nice, I guess.  The kitchen is relatively spacious and contained a bag of trail mix, some sweet potato soup, and a bag of frozen ravioli.  Luckily I remembered to bring my own ice tray, ’cause there wasn’t one here and I don’t have A/C.  It’s almost 10pm, I have three windows and my door open, and I’m sweltering.  I don’t know if I’ll even get to sleep tonight!

I also brought 1 plate, spoon, fork, butter, knife, steak knife, frying pan, spatula, can opener, and crock pot.  Hopefully I won’t need anything else.

No cockroaches. I have found a few box elder bugs, though.

The bathroom was my greatest reminder of what I forgot to bring: toilet paper.  Lucky for me there are local businesses that will give me said item in exchange for currency.  What a neat system these small-town folk have.

I also forgot a shower curtain.

So that’s my new hovel for the next month.  I’m looking forward to my time here and have already taken a couple of long walks aroud the area, including the Utah State University Campus.  Now I just have to gain acceptance from the locals.  I’ll start by calling myself “Elder Hampton.”

My ghetto building looks a lot nicer with such a beautiful backdrop.

 

The Logan Move, Part I

Let me just take this opportunity to say that packing for a move sucks.  Anyone who’s ever moved knows the frustration of working each bit of your life as efficiently as possible into every box and bag you can find.  I wonder if Tetris lovers find some sort of twisted pleasure in the chore.

And although moving your entire existence (in terms of worldly possessions, I mean) is a hell of a task, I’m beginning to wonder if the move I’m making is worse.  I’ll be living in Logan, UT for 4 weeks for an internship I have to do to eventually graduate.  So the challenge in all of this is figuring out what to include and what not to include in my packing for the next 4 weeks!  In any normal move, you just take everything.  Now?  I’ve spent the last 3.5 hours combing over my entire apartment trying to figure out what I need and what I don’t.  The most frustrating part of this is the fact that every time I think I’ve got it all, I realize I’ve forgotten something else!  Bathroom stuff, bedroom stuff, entertainment, kitchen supplies, laundry supplies, very large musical instruments I don’t want to abandon, on and on.  And what’s worse is I can’t take everything I need because I’ll be depriving my roommate while I’m gone.  I don’t even have an extra spatula to take with me!

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks cleaning and throwing things away from my room in anticipation of this event, but not even my meager pile of possessions can be whittled down very easily.  I can’t imagine how difficult this would be if I owned a lot.  Good thing I’m poor.

Maybe I just need to get a little house and a few friends to help me move it.

 

2009 Colorado Irish Festival

I joined my brother and two good friends for our second trip to the annual Irish Festival in Littleton, CO.  The road trip has fast become a favorite tradition of ours.  We all love Irish music, both traditional and modern (no, U2 doesn’t count) and look most forward to the performances put on by Gaelic Storm and The Elders.

The festival itself is publicized as more than just a music festival, but when it comes down to it, that’s the main focus.  The vendors, food and otherwise, are pretty underwhelming.  However, the total of 22$ we spent for two days of performances is well worth it.  In our time there, we saw the bands Brother, Gaelic Storm, McPeake, Leahy (2 performances), and The Elders (also 2 performances).  Pipe bands compete at different times throughout the weekend and dance competitions take place on Sunday.

I’ll let pictures describe the rest.

Day 1

We left Friday morning at 5:15 am and, after a stop in Breckenridge for food and beer, arrived at the hotel (a 2-bedroom suite with kitchen and living room) in good spirits. In fact, I attribute everyone's willingness to pose for this picture to the fact that we were all low on sleep, tired from the drive, and excited for the coming weekend. We decided to stay in for the night eating pizza and playing cards.

Day 2

Saturday we went to the festival early afternoon to catch McPeake at the main stage (we spent most of the trip at this stage), a group out of Ireland. Each member is a product of the McPeake Music School (or Academy, or something), which was started by the lead singer's grandfather. Unfortunately the music was fairly generic, but it was still entertaining enough.

The Elders! A group based out of Kansas City with only one Irishman (the lead singer), these guys put on a great show. Unfortunately they were slated at 4 in the afternoon Saturday when they should definitely be a later show, but the crowd was large and the music was excellent, as always. This is one of the few bands I know of who sound better live than recorded. They're high energy and a lot of fun. Their performance the next night was even better, but more on that later.

The Elders have incorporated performers from a local dance company called Celtic Steps into their show both years I've gone. The youngest member looked like he wasn't much older than 10, which made his dancing all the more impressive. They'll have only the girls come out and dance during "Moore St. Girls," one of my favorite songs of theirs.

This was the fourth Gaelic Storm concert I've been to and it was my absolute favorite. The crowd was packed and energetic, the song selection was awesome, and the band does an incredible job of getting everyone involved. Patrick Murphy is a great performer and knows how to interact with a crowd. I have a bit of a crush on the fiddler, Jessie.

The video below is pretty crappy quality (not surprising considering the camera I was using), but I wanted to attempt to capture the atmosphere.  Gaelic Storm has a tradition of having one half of the crowd sing “I brought the whiskey,” and the other half sing “He brought the light” (referring to moonshine) in their song “Me and the Moon.”  First is the “danced around, danced around, danced around” part, where everyone spins around in a circle like an idiot.  It’s great fun.

Me and Nick waiting for Leahy to start after Gaelic Storm had finished.

It stormed every day we were there, but the afternoon storms led to beautiful evenings perfect for a concert in the park.

The evening finished with Leahy, but more on them for Day 3.

Day 3

After eating lunch at Nick’s aunt’s house (where we were entertained by 3 golden retrievers, one only 15 weeks old), we went back to the festival where a band called Brother was playing.  After about 3 songs we decided to walk around and see the vendors.  Brother kind of sucked.

This shirt was being sold by one of the vendors. It made me laugh. I didn't have the heart to point out their grammatical error. What a waste of money...

Leahy ended Saturday night's festivities and played second-to-last on Sunday. They're a family of 11 siblings with incredible talent. They all dance very well and each of them plays multiple instruments. My main complaint for them was that they focused too much on one guy. His fiddling is like nothing I've ever seen (fingers simply shouldn't be able to move that fast) and the music was very good, but they spent too much time trying to showcase their abilities (or HIS abilities) and not enough time just trying to play some good music. I enjoyed parts, especially one song where 4 band members fiddled and step-danced simultaneously, but I didn't think they lived up to the hype. Maybe it was just too much hype.

Another complaint: they only used the banjo for one song and you couldn't hear it! Banjos deserve more face time, not less!

Another beautiful sunset between bands.

The Elders finished the festival in fine fashion. The audience sung along energetically to most songs and they finished off the set with a cover of "Message in a Bottle." I think that's what it's called. Any Police fans out there?

The Elders sang "Love of the Century" for a couple who was married at Sunday morning mass at the festival. They danced their first dance on stage. I think even unsentimental people were getting into the moment, especially when the band quieted down and the crowd sang for the couple without accompaniment. I have to admit, it was very sweet and moving and impossible not to sing along.

Beer, whiskey, and cards. Oh, and Taco Bell. High class, if you ask me.

Day 4

Up at the crack of 10 am, we got out of the hotel and headed to Pappadeaux’s, a cajun seafood restaurant that my dad recommended.  It was awesome.  I had fried alligator, crawfish, shrimp, and catfish.  Yum.

We decided to take Highway 40 home instead of I-70 or 80.  The scenery was well worth the extra time it took.  There were times when it seemed like the landscape went on forever and we were the only car around for miles.

We stopped to check the engine when a warning light came on. It was eerie and beautiful to be out on the road as the sun went down in the distance. I kept expecting a guy with a hook to come out of the bushes and murder us in cinematic style.

We arrived home around 11pm.  Nick and I didn’t have to work the next day, haha.

Cheers to a wonderful weekend

 

Lake Blanche, take two

My second go at Lake Blanche was much better than the first.  Since I’ve already talked about it in a past post, I’ll get straight to the pictures:

Sundial Peak above Lake Blanche

Following the east side of the lake leads to a small waterfall bordered by rocks. I climbed up and found a comfortable spot to enjoy the sound of rushing water and the spray from the rocks.

The east side of the lake

The flowers were out in full force today. Plenty of yellows, pinks, and purples.

 

White Pine Lake

Big Cottonwood Canyon is the hiker’s paradise from Salt Lake, but Little Cottonwood has some nice scenery, too.  Last year I did the White Pine Lake trail and loved it.  It’s 8 miles round trip, but it’s far from strenuous and has some fantastic pine-bordered lanes to meander through.  Today’s hike ended prematurely as I was stopped just short of the lake by a layer of very slick snow that I couldn’t keep good footing on (and the fact that the sun disappeared for a while making it very cold at that elevation), but it was a nice day, anyway.

The trailhead to White Pine is the same as that of Red Pine Lake, which I’ve been told is one of the best and most scenic hikes in the wasatch.  I’ll be doing it in a couple of weeks and will post pictures then.  White Pine is easy to find about 5 miles up the canyon and very clearly marked.  It was pretty muddy today and parts of the trail were completely covered in water, but the water is a blessing and makes for some really nice streams.

My favorite part of the hike is a long, flat part of the trail where aspens and pines line the trail thickly.  It shades the trail and makes everything smell wonderful.

The sheer granite walls of Little Cottonwood

I saw a deer on the trail and almost took a picture, but I didn’t want to stop because it was about 15 feet from me and was giving me a dirty look.  I thought it best to move on.

Happy 4th of July!