Twin Peaks, Unconventionally

Twin, with Storm Mountain in the lower left.

For many years, I have stared at Twin Peaks from various vantage points throughout the valley. I admit to have even had some near accidents in my car while being so mesmerized with the peak during my commute home on I-15. The summit was first attained for me when I was a Tenderfoot Scout and I have loved that area ever since. As I've grown older, the summit itself is not as important to me as how it is attained from different approaches and angles. Sometimes the route matters more than the destination.

Besides the traditional Broads Fork trail, there are two other valley approaches: Deaf Smith Canyon and Fergeson Canyon. A few Saturday's back, with a rare open schedule and a good map in hand, I decided I would link them all together. I parked at Fergeson and worked my way past the climbing routes. This tight canyon is always 10 degrees cooler in the summer, and is a personal favorite spot of mine to beat the Dog Days.  The trail fades, but remains as a game trail into the upper reaches of the canyon.

Minimal bushwhacking up here

 I came up the back side of the canyon to find the pass into Storm Mountain to my left.





More bushwhacking, but not too severe still...



Finally, I came over into the Deaf Smith bowl area. The minor bushwhacking gave way to down-climbing and scrambling over rocks. There was so many cliffs and extensive downclimbing on the ridge into upper Deaf Smith Cirque that I didn't have time for pictures. You will just have to take my word at this point. :)  I worked my way down into the cirque and straight up a col leading up to West Twin Peak. Sorry I didn't take the customary summit self-photo, but there are lots on the web, so just use your imagination. It's a beautiful view - one of the best of the Wasatch for sure.  Also, this would be an amazing place to ski in the winter. Total time up was just under 4 hours. Leaving the summit, I headed down into the south fork of Deaf Smith Canyon. This was a very mystical area that had been ravaged by fire, but was now recovering with a lot of wildflower growth.



Now the bushwhacking gave way to Indian Paintbrush viewing with dead pines in the background

The other cool part of this area was the mix of Little Cottonwood Canyon granite with Big Cottonwood Canyon shale rock. 

Gorgeous views of the valley through the pines



Working my way through the upper cirque and down into the meadow, I soon realized that the views would be lost. I was now going into how I remember Deaf Smith: lots of rock hopping through thick forage (the Amazon Jungle of the Wasatch in places) with little to no trail, as one follows the river down. Luckily it made for some nice shots of the lush river.



Give said the little stream...



...creating dense foilage amid the deadfall



Bushwhacking my way to the lower half of Deaf Smith Canyon, I suddenly  began severely itching. Worse yet I scratched the itch, quite literally. I looked around only to find a large field of these plants I had just trod directly through.

Stinging Neddle: Enemy Number 1 of Hikers

This was not a fun experience, but I kept moving onward. I have decided that Deaf Smith is a very anti-social canyon, compared to Fergeson, which is much more approachable and tame. No wonder no one I know has done this loop up and back Twin Peaks. But I would do it again, only in long pants next time!

During the last mile, I texted my buddy Scott Wetzel to see if he could give me a ride from the Deaf Smith trailhead back to my car at the Fergeson Canyon trailhead. His response: "it's only 1.5 miles away and should make for a short jog." Reading between the lines he was really saying: "finish the job dude, and get yourself out of the situation you got yourself into!"  So I accepted the challenge. However, my jog was definitely more of a hobble along Wasatch Blvd due to extreme fatigue and thrashed, itchy legs. I know it looked bad because never have I been picked up so quickly when I stuck my thumb out for a ride. Sympathy worked for hitch hiking to finish off my 8 hour 10 minute day...

Some Father-Son Fun

Saturday, I was able to take out  the Harouny Father-Son combo to the Middle Provo. It was a final fishing jaunt for Jake Senior to be with Jake Junior before he leaves on his mission to California. This was a dynamic father-son fishing duo. Air temperature was in the 90's, while water temperature was in the 60's, making for some cool  wading.

Dad stayed with the trusty nymph, working the deep runs and back eddys. The beadhead pheasant tail and the blond sow bug seemed to be working best for him. We did run into some nice tree trout and rock fish as well.

Son did some nymphing, but then a nice green drake hatch came off at noon. He quickly switched over to the beefy #10 green drake and hooked up. He was so confident in his abilities, he even caught one while literally sitting in the water to cool off. Here he is releasing one of his browns he caught.

Note the fine coloring on these fish. These wild browns of The Mid are so well-colored and healthy, even in a low-water year. I quickly realized we were in the midst of a healthy fish-catching competition between the two Jakes.

Jake Senior caught the most at 4 with 2 long-line releases, while Jake Junior caught 3 with 1 long-line release. Both of the long-line releases were big fish that I really wish we could have landed. All numbers haven't been audited and are subject to further review, which I will let the father and son debate. :) Junior did get the biggest fish landed of the day award, as shown here.   Hey, 11"  is better than nothing for a final fishing trip before a 2-year mission...

All in all, a beautiful day, with productive fishing, and great company.  The guide even snuck in a couple of small 6-inchers just to get in on the mix of the competition.

The Tradition Lives

Ever since 2001, I have enjoyed a tradition begun by my older brother Kevin: an annual Hegewald guys-only fishing trip. It started when Kevin had just graduated from med school and yearned to get "back to his roots" as he likes to call it. His roots are in the Wasatch. But for him the local hills were not enough; he wanted Alaska. It was a fabulous trip with me, Kevin, Zak, Gordon, and Bruce, all orchestrated by Kevin. We haven't missed a year since. We have been all over the West, sometimes with a lot of family, some times just him and I. And the older I get, the more I realize it wasn't about the fishing; it was about the getting out together. If we did that, in this demanding, overscheduled, stressful world, the trip was already a success. In fact, last year we included some of Kevin's posterity up on The Green.

I am pleased to tell you all, and especially Kevin, that the tradition he forged still lives on. His vision has not been diluted The only difference is now Kevin was looking on from above, as he fishes the eternally clear waters from The Other Side. He would have absolutely been at this trip had he had the opportunity; front and center rallying the troops, flirting with cashiers in Mountain View, WY; with his classic Hegewald overstated smile. That smile is accentuated when fish and family come together in the outdoors.

Abe, Zak, Mario, and myself comprised the group this year, as we floated from the dam down to Little Hole. The dynamic always shifts a little bit, but that is what makes it intriguing.

The fishing was slow at first. The Green is a temperamental stream. Despite 6000 fish per mile, they can be picky, lazy, and downright slothful pigs, especially on bright, hot, sunny days (which are nonetheless gorgeous!).

But for the patient, it paid off. Speaking of patience, here is a nice brown from Zak.

Abe got the award for most improved and for the best form, just like when he displays his golf swing.

Mario, the oldest and wisest, gets the best sportsmanship award. He feigns interest in fly-fishing, and usually only comes out for this trip after I really have to talk up the river, and maybe tempt him with a round of 18 holes if "we have time afterwards" (which we never do, but it's still fun for Mario to dream).

After spending the majority of the day rowing, tangle un-doing, coaching, stressing about hitting rocks, and sweating in general, I was even rewarded with a beautiful rainbow in the perfectly still twilight of the evening at Little Hole.

We left the river on a high note, with no serious boat or flesh injuries, exhausted and famished, even better brothers in arms. Till next year, tight lines brothers. And Mario, I "promise" we'll sneak in that round of 18 if it's the last thing I do...

The Top Down

So many times we look at mountain summits from the bottom up. Here is one of my favorites in the Wasatch.

As you might have gathered by now, I am fixated with Mt. Superior. Because it is such an alluring mountain to me, it is not enough to look up at it all the time. I wanted to be on the top looking down. So to celebrate the end of a long 3-month study process for the P.E., I took a journey on April 14, 2012 to find that elusive view from The Top Down.

It is a 2 hour skin and hike via Pole Line Pass starting across from Alta. There are a few false summits along the ridge line toward Superior, and here is one of them. It reminded me a lot of the appropriately-named Misery Hill, a false summit below the peak of Mt. Shasta in northern California.

Here is my new-found friend Justin making the final push to the real summit. I passed 14 people (!) all heading to the summit of Mt. Superior. (Word is getting out that Mother Nature is shutting down this poor winter early, so BC skiers are getting their licks in whenever and however they can at this point.)

Finally, the summit arrived when my lungs and legs were burning and there was no further vertical steps to take. I was so excited to be on top, I decided to do some self-photos, which didn't turn out the greatest.

But, having made friends along the ridge line with other like-minded skiers, they obliged and took some better summit shots.

Note Monte Cristo in the background. I was tempted to keep going and break trail along the ridge line, but then remembered the burning legs and lungs and decided that one monolithic peak was enough.

Now, it was time to head down. But which direction? The beauty of being at 11,132 feet is you have oh so many options! Mill B South past the Sundial, and the accompanying "rock sharks" waiting to bite my skis?

The South Face back to Snowbird's Entry 4?

Or The Main Col down into pristine Cardiac Bowl?

I chose the latter. And it was the right choice, to the point I had to re-summit and do it twice! Here is our "skier's artwork" on Cardiacs canvas of 14" of fresh powder.

My feelings of this most Superior Summit of the Wasatch are summarized in a poem by Rene Daumal:

"You cannot stay on the summit forever;
You have to come down again.
So why bother in the first place?
Just this:
What is above knows what is below,
But what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees.
One descends, one sees no longer.
But one has seen.
There is an art of conducting oneself
By the memory of what one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see,
One can at least know."

Superior by Moonlight

The snow in winter 2011-2012 has not been worth writing home about. So we have tried to make up for for it with pictures. It's been a good season to fine-tune our photography skills. Like on this morning when we went to ski Upper Patsy, but stopped to absorb the full moon first...

Morning light just flirting with the peak.

That light is now kissing the peak.

Full sunrise on the peak all of which forced me to...

...stop and enjoy the surroundings and beautiful snowy creation all around.

Turn It Around

Maybe, just maybe, we'll have a decent season yet. We have got to turn it around some time. Admittedly, I've been having hard withdrawals in winter 11-12 after being so spoiled with snow in winter 10-11. Having said that, the best day of the season so far (key words "so far") was last Saturday up in The Willows. Arie, Johnny, and I actually had an entire half-day to enjoy ourselves. What a nice break from having to rush up the mountain, rush the skiing in, then rush to work while changing out of my long johns and into business casual on I-15. The colors at dawn were unbelievable. Check out the view into Wolverine Cirque, with Mt. Milly in the foreground.

Once dawn burst forth, McDonald's Draw was bathed in a pinkish glow.

The snow wasn't super light and fresh because it was a couple of days since the last storm, but still had a buttery consistency.

Johnny just had to give into his Boy Scout instinct for rolling objects off of high places so he cut away a fridge-sized cornice high on the ridge line, which propogated a decent sluff slide that went all the way to the base of the bowl. Little did we realize that a fatal 2400' x 700' slab slide had just recently occurred on the West Face of Kessler Peak that same morning: http://utahavalanchecenter.org/accident_west_couloir_1282012. Safety first, especially this season.

On a lighter note, it was a superb day of weather, views, colors, company, and snow. I certainly wasn't complaining. The perma grin resulting from that experience has lasted a long time for me. Let's just hope Mother Nature gives us a few more days like these.