I have a hiking book that refers to Box Elder Peak as the red-headed stepchild of the central Wasatch Range. This is true: Box Elder is a lonely 11,000′ mountain stuck right in between the big and impressive Timpanogos and Lone Peak massifs. The other day Dave Hanscom and I decided to climb it. Neither of us was at full power: Dave had done a long trail run two days earlier and wasn’t totally recovered; I had spent much of the previous month either traveling at sea level or mildly ill — becoming weak either way.
We started at the trailhead near the Granite Flat campground in American Fork Canyon and hiked to a saddle on Box Elder’s north ridge that overlooks Dry Fork. From there, we followed a faint trail along the ridge to the summit, for a total elevation gain of about 4300′. The wildflowers on the summit ridge were great — they showed up very late this year but are making up for lost time. We had planned to hike over the sub-peak just south of Box Elder, meeting a trail on the other side. However, when we got to the saddle between the two peaks, the gully heading east looked inviting. If it had been filled with snow we’d have needed axes, but the top was melted out and lower down we walked on low-angled avalanche remnants until our trail crossed the gully. Total time was 6 hours — I guess the nice thing about being slow is that we got to spend longer on a nice mountain.
Yesterday the local news had this story about a guy who took an uncontrolled slide down a chute in Maybird Gulch in Little Cottonwood Canyon outside of Salt Lake City. The slide took him over some rocks and he was lucky to survive — the video accompanying the story is terrifying.
Video Courtesy of KSL.com
One has to wonder:
- If he had made it across the snow safely, would the boy scouts in his group have followed? If several of them had gotten out on the snow and fallen together, there could easily have been multiple deaths.
- Why did he go out onto the snow almost lying down? This position made sliding a certainty.
- Why did he go out onto steep snow, with an obviously bad runout, without an axe?
Whenever this kind of thing happens the news likes to warn people to carry an ice axe — but without substantial training and practice this is useless and may actually increase the risk since an axe has lots of sharp parts that you don’t want sticking into your face or gut.
Here’s a quick summary of what he should have done differently:
- A quick look at the fall line — the line an object falling from a particular starting point will take — makes it clear that this is a very dangerous place to fall. So it would have been a great idea to simply turn back before stepping onto the snow, particularly for someone leading a youth group.
- If he had to cross the snow, he should have stayed on his feet and kicked steps. The snow was soft enough that he could have done this in sneakers, though stiff-soled hiking or mountain boots would have worked better. Just doing this, he would have had a good chance of making it across the snow.
- Every time he took a step, his axe should have been planted firmly in the snow. Since the slope doesn’t look extremely steep (40 degrees maybe?), he should have used the “cane position” which is pretty much like it sounds — you hold the head of the axe and use its shaft and spike like a cane, only moving the axe when both feet are solidly planted. In this position a fall can usually be stopped before it turns into a slide.
- If he somehow managed to start sliding, he should have performed a self arrest. Although it’s not 100% clear that this would have succeeded in the soft snow, it would at least have slowed him down and ensured that his feet pointed down-slope (as it was, not hitting his head on the rocks was pure luck).
My judgement is that roping up would have been overkill — a competent group could have safely crossed this chute unroped. At most a piece of webbing for a hand line would have sufficed, with a belayer sitting on the rocks. Crampons would only have added to the danger in the soft snow.
I’ve climbed in this area; it’s spectacular but definitely not a good place to fall. (In fact, the fall in the video happened in one of the “nice looking couloirs towards the East end of the headwall” that I mentioned in a trip report on Summitpost five years ago.) Every year Accidents in North American Mountaineering contains a lot of entries under “fall on snow, failure to self-arrest.” Most years I practice self-arrests on a safe slope, and I’ve been lucky enough to never have to do this for real.
With some travel coming up and hot weather rapidly eroding our epic snowpack, I decided to sneak in a quick snow climb on July 1. Since I couldn’t convince anyone else to go along, I made a conservative choice and climbed Red Baldy, whose northwest slopes present one of the easier and safer routes found on a local 11,000′ mountain.
The only problem with Red Baldy is that the approach is on the White Pine trail which — due to being an old mining road — has a lot of switchbacks and is just long. This year it was more of a pain than usual with a ton of trees down due to avalanches, big snowbanks starting quite low, and plenty of standing and running water from the snowmelt.
Though I started walking kind of late (8:15) I brought crampons in case the snow had frozen up harder than I thought it would. This was definitely not the case, though the snow was nicely consolidated and I only punched through onto talus in a few places. It took about 3.5 hours to get to the top, which seemed really slow. I blame this on the obstacles and the fact that I was breaking trail the whole way — lots and lots of steps were kicked.
I was surprised to arrive at the summit at around the same time as two other guys. It is very uncommon to share the top of an 11,000′ mountain around here with anyone. One of them was on skis and didn’t stay long, the other was camped on the highest dry ground in White Pine and had come up the west ridge, from near White Pine Lake.
The most fun part of this hike was a monster (probably 1300 vertical feet) sitting glissade starting a little below the summit. Glissading is an easy way to shred pants and skin — my secret weapon is a pair of armored shorts I bought years ago after losing too much flesh during my (thankfully brief) career as a mountain biker. With the shorts, an axe, and a good runout I felt safe doing this. After the glissade, it was just a long walk out.
Incredible to see so much snow at the end of June; these pictures show what Lake Blanche (at 8900′) more commonly looks like on Memorial Day.
Near my house the other day.
People who visit Salt Lake City for a meeting or something often end up staying downtown, and often don’t bother renting a car. The other day I was mailing a friend a list of things to do in this situation. Here it is, cleaned up a bit:
- Sam Weller’s Bookstore is on Main St between 200 S and 300 S; it’s a great store (be sure to check out all three levels) and has a good coffee shop with free wireless
- Ken Sanders bookstore at 268 South on 200 East is another of my favorites
- The taco stand on State St just north of 800 S (in the Sears parking lot) is awesome; $4 gets you four carne asada tacos plus a coke; catty-corner from here is the Epic Brewery which makes some good products (not a brewpub — just fridges full of bottles)
- City Creek Canyon is a very short walk from downtown; the paved road is a good place to walk; the total length of the canyon is 14.5 miles and there are plenty of side trails, so there’s a lot to do here; the upper part of this canyon is seldom visited and quite wild; even-numbered days are most pleasant for walking the road since bikes are not allowed (directions)
- The main Salt Lake library is a neat building, it’s on 400 S between 200 E and 300 E; if you take the elevators to the top floor, the big sloping ramp that descends back to ground level has nice views of the city and mountains
- Salt Lake Roasting Company on 400 S between 300 E and 400 E (just east of the library) has great coffee and pastries
- The light rail system provides easy access to some other parts of the city
- Lots of restaurants can be found along 300 South between Main St and 300 W
- Some good bars are scattered throughout; the best beer selection is found at Bayou and Beerhive (but the food isn’t that great at either place)
This list is heavily biased towards what I would do given a free day in SLC. Hopefully it’s useful.
Southern Utah is famous for its canyons and arches. Utah’s West Desert, on the other hand, is not as well-known and is perhaps not as easy to appreciate. It encompasses a large area, containing entire mountain ranges that are virtually unknown (ever heard of the Confusion Range or the Wah Wahs?). It is also very remote: services are hard to come by and in many areas you could go weeks or months without seeing another person.
Yesterday Matthew Flatt and I drove to the House Range with our combined children. The main goal was to look for trilobite fossils: Isaac, my four-year-old, has become obsessed with them. Being completely clueless about fossil hunting we decided to make things easy by visiting U-Dig Fossils, a privately owned quarry where they use machines to remove the overburden and break up the rocks somewhat. This turned out to be a great idea. The fossil-finding process is to select a thick piece of shale and repeatedly split it using a rock hammer. This is not hard since the shale has a distinct bedding plane — the kids could do it too, by selecting smaller rocks that had already weathered a bit. Nineteen times out of 20, the split rock reveals nothing, but every now and then a happy little trilobite is hiding inside — having waited in the dark for half a billion years.
After a couple hours’ fossil hunting and a picnic lunch, we drove through Marjum Canyon on the original unpaved road connecting Delta Utah with Nevada, superseded by Highway 6 in the 1950s. We hiked a short distance up a side canyon to see the cave where a hermit lived from the 1920s to 40s. It was a lot more comfortable-looking than we’d expected, with a concrete floor, stove, shelves, and two windows.
After exiting Marjum Canyon we entered Tule Valley, a bleak basin between the House Range and the Confusion Range. The main thing I wanted to do is see Notch Peak’s west face, which at 4450 vertical feet is one of the highest cliffs in North America. I had climbed this mountain (from the other side, obviously) in 2006 but had never seen it from the west. I’m not especially afraid of heights but had found myself totally incapable of looking directly over the edge of these cliffs.
We got back to Delta around dinner time, had pizza, and got home around dusk. A fun trip.