Arguably the greatest capstone endurance experience in Utah is known as the Wasatch Ultimate Ridge Link-Up or WURL. An “endurance hike” can be considered many different things to different audiences. It can be considered a gnarly hike. Or a long trail run. Or a knife-edge ridge scamper. Or a dusty bushwhack. Or a white-knuckle free climb.
Or... All. Of. The. Above.
That is exactly what the WURL represents to me: an all-out, all-encompassing, all-demanding, all-consuming wilderness experience in the high mountains. I have visualized it. I have trained for it. I have purchased correct gear for it. I have modified my diet and sleep for it. I have sought out expert advice on it. I have obsessed over it. So naturally, it has become a bucket list item for me for at least 2 years now.
But where did this all start and how did I get here?
Having grown up in Utah, I have always loved the summits of mountains. It all started with that iconic and charismatic guardian peak of the Salt Lake Valley, Mount Olympus. This is my mountain, an old friend, a constant visual companion. From a very young age in Boy Scouts, we would do our annual hike up Mount Olympus. I have the trail memorized. This is really a “back porch peak” for me. I vivdly remember growing up and looking out of my parents’ backyard porch to clearly see ‘Mount Oly’ in lovely Holladay, UT. Hiking it taught me that there was more – much more to experience in the Wasatch. Summitting Oly was not the end of my hikes in the Wasatch, but rather the beginning. From the top of Oly, I realized that there were loftier peaks out there to be conquered – peaks beyond Mount Olympus. Peaks like Twin Peaks and Dromedary in Big Cottonwood Canyon, or peaks like Thunder Mountain and Lone Peak in Little Cottonwood Canyon. I couldn’t believe there was so much to experience, all within a 20-minute drive from my home. So in my early twenties, I scratched the itch and sought after the summits of these peaks. I was consistently focused with focused consistency on tackling every summit in The Cottonwood Canyons. It would not be an exaggeration to say I was relentless, borderline obsessed. There were two summers I recall in particular where me and my friend John decided to challenge ourselves to a goal of a “peak per week”. We found our groove for hiking. We met that goal with surprising success.
Then after we hit all of these summits for the first time, we began hearing about alternate “secondary” routes (read: “trailblazing”) to each of these summits. For example, there are 5 known routes up Twin Peaks alone - each one representing a completely different approach, from a different drainage, with different topography, and different views! This really fired my imagination, and motivated me to take on these routes. I then got a map called “Trails of the Wasatch Hiking Map” about 30 years ago. In the days prior to GPS and cell phones and blogs, this map became my training partner. Just seeing the worn edges and dust-filled creases will tell you it has been around the block. I still own and use and refer to it today.
But 3 years ago I heard of this new challenge. It could be called “the hike to end all hikes” - it was based on the concept of linking up summits of the Wasatch via ridge scrambling in one continuous, herculean effort. Staying on the high points along the Big Cottonwood Ridge and Little Cottonwood Ridge created a horseshoe on the map that started with Twin Peaks and ended with Lone Peak. This sounded like a crazy mix of endurance and insanity. I thought to myself, “so you mean to tell me that when I summit Twin Peaks, tired and exhilarated, that this just the beginning, just a warm-up peak, as it were? That I will then summit peak after peak after peak as I work my way east along the Cottonwood Ridge?” And that of course, is just half of the WURL. Once you work far enough east on the ridge as you summit every high point separating Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons you get to that blessed half-way point called Catherine’s Pass. Then you turn west and work your way down the other continuous ridges of the horseshoe by summitting all the peaks separating Little Cottonwood drainages from the American Fork drainages.
I wanted in. Sign me up. I had to try it. You only live once after all.
But how do you train for such an event? After talking with several mountaineering friends who have either done it, attempted it, or researched it, a consistent pattern of advice emerged: do every section of the WURL multiple times and make the training sections as long as you can, linking up multiple peaks in one effort. And do this at all times of day so your body gets used to climbing at different times and in different temperatures and, most importantly, at different energy levels. And so for the past 2 summers, I have done just that. Just last month, I finally finished my last training leg. Below is a summary of my experiences with these different training legs. I have listed them in geographical order, rather than chronological order. This was done so that it reads as it climbs rather than by the calendar.
LEG1: Ferguson to Mount Superior, July 10, 2022. The WURL route starts rather inconspicuously in a quiet neighborhood along the east bench of Cottonwood Heights. The trailhead of Fergeson Canyon would be easy to miss if it weren’t for recent signs that guide hikers into it off Wasatch Blvd. Even then, those signs don’t draw crowds to this trail the way they do to places like White Pine Trailhead in Little Cottonwood or Mill B Trailhead in Big Cottonwood on a Saturday in August. For that reason, Ferguson Canyon is one of my favorites. I certainly hope this post doesn’t change that by drawing more people in.
The trailhead works its way past a water tank and into a sheltered and intimate side canyon of the much larger Big Cottonwood. The granite cliffs at the bottom are littered with carabiners and bolts and chains, remnants of sport climbers pursuing their trade. You then take a few big switch backs and ascend into upper Fergie. The trail stays steep and unrelenting for the next hour until suddenly you come to a series of stepwise flat meadows, each on a different mini plateau. These aspen-lined meadows are welcome breaks from the steep climb. The trail turns southeast after the intersection in the way that leads to Storm Mountain. The trail ultimately disappears as you work your way up a pine-filled slope to the saddle that represents two things: 1) the exit of Ferguson Canyon and 2) the entrance to the Cottonwood Ridge. Let the WURL begin…
Now the adventure really begins. I realized that if I were doing the WURL, I wouldn’t see a drainage again for probably at least 24 hours. That means I wouldn’t have access to the wonderful things alpine drainages provide: water, shade, breeze, and visual variety. I would be above the treeline, exposed to altitude and views, jagged boulders and slabs of all sizes, aridity and wind.
The first peak is unnamed. Arriving at the top, you are looking directly into Stairs Gulch, the infamous drainage known for powerful glide avalanches in the winter and tenuous slab cliffs to downclimb in the summer. I have always wanted to further explore Stairs Gulch in either season, but today wasn’t the day. Onto the Black Thumb. The name is self-explanatory – it is a large outcropping of black and smooth rocks, with a steep eastern flank. Then I moved onward to a saddle that started Robinson Ridge. This ridge looks down to amazing ski runs that are a bit more ski-able than Stairs Gulch, known as Bonkers and The Diving Board. (There is great value in scoping these places in the winter and then re-visit them in the summer, if not for any other reason than the winter names are far better than the boring summer names).
Next up was Twin Peaks (11,330'), those famous sister peaks forming the perfect letter “M” in east-west orientation. This section was steep and strenuous - my lungs and legs certainly felt that they were leaving the 10,000 elevation range and entering the 11,000’s. I decided I would honor the accomplishment of each peak by taking a few minutes, at least, to bask in the view. I wouldn’t rush these summits. I would stay in the moment. Each. Time. After a brief food break on top of magnificent East Twin Peak, I gazed east at what local hikers call The Triple Traverse: East Twin Peak, O’Sullivan Peak and of course Dromedary. This is a nice training hike for those who want to explore Broads Fork to it’s fullest – with all of the perspectives, protection, and power provided by these peaks. These 3 sentinel peaks that form the backbone of Broads Fork represent some of the finest in Big Cottonwood, each one so distinctive, so full of character, so challenging.
From Lisa Fall’s pass to O’Sullivan, the first section of true free climbing is experienced. This is one of perhaps 5 sections along the entire WURL where a fall would have serious – perhaps life- threatening consequences. So it was time to slow down the heart rate, gather my wits and confidence, keep my blood-sugars up, and essentially switch from speed to accuracy, a skill that I would have to hone many times over the next 6 months of practice sessions on these ridges. The top of O’Sullivan had a worn-out mailbox tucked among the rocks. I didn’t see anyone famous who left their note in it so I moved on.
There are some very loose sections of trail going down to Tanner’s Notch. Large microwave-sized boulders were periodically pitching off into Tanner’s Gulch drainage. I quickly learned to tune out the crashing rocks that echoed below me – too unnerving that it could be me if I lose concentration by just one mis-step. The bottom of Tanners Notch was a welcome break, taking one final gaze into the heart of Broads Fork on my left and the heart of Tanners Gulch on my right – both very remote and rugged drainages of the Wasatch. Oh, how I wish I had my skis and 2’ of powder over 10’ of base at this point, all on a “green” (or even “yellow”) avalanche hazard day. I would easily abandon any WURL training regimen I set for myself and gladly enjoy the heavenly ride down on the greatest, lightest, most exhilarating snow on Earth! I diverted off course and down ridge by about 50’ elevation on the way up to Dromedary Peak. Admittedly, this was done a few times when the climbing looked too treacherous, or, more honestly, when I simply didn’t focus enough to stay on ridge, even for just a few minutes. I was amazed at how quickly you could lose the ridge by taking just 10 steps off it to avoid some obstacle or follow someone else’s trail that looked easier. Elevation is hard-fought and easily-lost from the knife-edge Cottonwood Ridge if you lose concentration.
I took a 10-minute break on top of Dromedary (11,107'). Here I was starting to feel mental and physical fatigue. Looking further east on the Cottonwood Ridge, I knew that the next section would require great focus. There wasn’t a lot of vertical from here to Monte Cristo, considering you were already over 10,000’, but there was a lot of mis-shaped, sharp, pointed rock on a 2-3’ wide ridge with steep drops on both sides. These rocks thrash the shoes for sure. The scramblers A-Game was definitely required here.
There were a few un-named high points between Drom and Cristo, but not many. The most significant features here were those found to my left in the Upper Mill B drainage. Looking down on The Sundial and the 3 sister lakes it protects – Blanche, Florence, and Lilian – was so inspiring. I had spent many days looking up at Sundial, but not many days looking down at it from the ridge behind it. I couldn’t believe how vast the carved out cirques were that melt away from the Cottonwood Ridge at this elevation. Finally, I was at the base ridge of one of the steepest ascents of all: Monte Cristo.
This was one peak I knew would be very technical. I had heard from friends that to navigate this peak correctly, you have to be willing to work your way right and go “off-ridge” to avoid cliffs on the way to the summit. In this case, losing elevation is preferred. The problem was that the right side of the ridge didn’t look much more navigable. There is an open section of climbing diagonally on a narrow shelf across a 200’ cliff band that eventually terminates in a gulley. My heart was definitely racing here, just like it did hours earlier at the base of O’Sullivan. In reality skirting across this ledge of the cliff band was a welcome change to the monotony of the ridge that can dull one’s senses after 7 hours of doing it. Once in the gulley, the climbing once again became hiking, albeit very steep and loose hiking and scrambling, hand-over-foot. Soon I was on top of Monte Cristo (11,033'). I decided to skip my break because from Cristo I was just 500’ from the top of one of my all-time favorites of the entire route, Mount Superior.
My spirit was soaring at Superior, knowing I had just passed one of the three most difficult sections of the entire WURL. Better yet, I hadn’t experienced the extreme muscle cramping in my hamstrings and quads I had felt when I went on this route with Keaton in July 2021. Knowing that this was due to lack of regular salt and water intake, I did a much better job of keeping up with salt requirements during this training session – thankfully. Once on Mount Superior, I allowed myself a pause long enough to enjoy a well-deserved power bar with warm water. I was so happy to say that I had finished my solo ridge training objective for the day unscathed and healthy. It took me 8 hours to accomplish about 1/3 of the total WURL. I said a silent goodbye to my friend the Cottonwood Ridge, at least for now. I then began the long descent of boulder hopping into Upper Mill B. This boulder hopping converted into bush whacking. I rewarded myself with a quick hoosh in an un-named lake above Blanche. Keeping the Sundial to my left, I eventually arrived at Lake Blanche. Not long thereafter, I found the official Mill B trail – and the crowds. I remember thinking how odd it was to actually see and hear people in the mountains again – my hard-fought solitude was broken, as I hadn’t seen another human since hiking past some ladies in Fergeson Canyon some 9 hours ago.
An inevitable side effect of intense natural beauty near intensely crowded cities is use and abuse of the resource. I saw this as I passed dozens of people as I walked down Mill B. I sullenly worked my way down to Big Cottonwood road, and then jogged back to the Park and Ride Lot where my Honda was parked. It took me 12 hours to complete my mega-looper.
LEG 2: Mount Superior to Twin Lakes Pass, August 26, 2022. An inevitable result of true endurance sports is at some point you are bound to encounter darkness. There is no way around it that if you want to go long distances you will need a lot of time. While out on the trail in those situations, the daylight will eventually melt away to dark night. I love sleep as much as the next person. As my body ages, in fact, I love sleep even more. Specifically, after about midnight, my body and my mind and- most critically-my reflexes just start shutting down. The reaction time slows, eyelids get heavy, and the metabolism decelerates for the day, and there’s not a whole lot I can do to fight it. So in order to complete the WURL, I knew I needed to do some serious night training sessions to simulate that experience – and keep exercising right through it. I need to be alert on that ridge during all hours – night and day.
I pulled up to the base of Mount Superior at 10:25 pm. It was a black and moonless night. I was alone. I already felt tired from a long day in the office. Fortunately, it was so black that not even the wind wanted to blow. The South Ridge held up its ominous teeth against the dark sky. This was my chosen route, my onramp to get up to Superior and back on the WURL route. The bottom consists of a lot of boulder hopping. As the angle gets steeper, the rocks also get looser. I worked my way into another ski run I had done this past winter called Suicide Chute, a.k.a. Country Lane. Why this particular line had such juxtaposed names was beyond me. But theorizing about it gave me some good thinking time as I climbed up, causing me to forget about the lung strain against the chilling air. Soon I came to the top of that chute, finally turning on my headlamp, and taking some fluids in.
It was time to climb.
From this point on, there is no more trail and no more cairns. You simply need to read the mountain – but read it with your headlamp. This lamp gives you a halo of light but no more. Therefore, your peripheral vision is totally unusable. I don’t think we appreciate how much our peripheral vision helps us each day, especially when moving in uneven and unpredictable terrain. So I was down to focusing on a very narrow sphere of light ahead of me. I found a rhythm of climbing, up one mini rock spire and down another; over one cliff band, and skirting around another. My pace was steady with the sweat helping me to keep just warm enough. My focus was to stay as true to the ridge as possible. I only got “cliffed out” once, where I lost momentum and had to down climb a bit. After coming over 2 false summits, I then realized that I was looking at the true summit, where the ridge would not ascend upward any further. This was all so familiar from ski season where I would boot pack the last 0.5 mile up to Mount Superior. I gave a burst these last 100 yards, knowing that the top was close. And then, I arrived.
Being on top of Mount Superior (11,132') around midnight was mystical and unforgettable. The breeze picked up a bit, but everything else was just so calm and quiet. Silhouettes of peaks of all sizes surrounded me in every direction of the compass. Although I wasn’t, it felt as though I was looking down on all of them. That’s what happens when your spirit soars in the mountains – you feel like you’re floating. I took 15 minutes to meditate on this, my favorite summit of the Central Wasatch. Then I came to myself – I was back on the WURL route. And I had to get moving. I headed east down the ridge. I skirted around Little Superior, accidentally losing about 100’ vertical of the ridge in the process. I continued my long descent to what I call Weather Station Mountain. I then descended a bit further and was at Pole Line Pass. In the real WURL, this would be a major aid station where I would have a stash of fresh water and power bars waiting for me. Here, it was just a brief stop. I was now on new trails I had never been on before. I worked my way upward now toward Toledo Peak. The ruggedness of the ridge caused me to again lose some vertical and get of the main ridge. To my surprise, I soon saw a tent right in the middle of the trail. This was a big shocking because it was such a bad site to pitch a tent. I soon came up the east side of Toledo Peak, which is a large and flat-topped peak. I paused at Toledo Chute off the summit to again reflect on some good ski days in these parts with my brother Danny Hubrich. Then – onto the next one.
Flagstaff Mountain came next, or more appropriately, Flagstaff Shoulder (10,530'). The true peak lies to the east of the shoulder, but didn’t have time to make that detour. Again, good memories of skiing up here filled my mind. I looked down into Days Fork from Flagstaff. Then – onto the next one.
I was able to run a good section of the Emma Ridge here until the next peak. Silver Fork Peak came next, at the headwall of Silver Fork Cirque. This is arguably the most popular of all back country ski tours, at least in Little Cottonwood Canyon. While it gets so much traffic in the winter it looks like a mogul field, it looks like a soft and barren meadow in the summer. Then – onto the next one.
I was able to run along the whole headwall section of Emma Ridge (home of amazing powder skiing on the right days) until I came to the steep climb up Davenport Hill, home of many abandoned mines. This summit contains one of the great secret stashes of powder in all the Cottonwoods. It is an unnamed line, at least on any map. Skiing this line on big powder days is so consistent and long, it’s like sowing seeds of pure joy in long rows of deep snow, even with a nice rock to catch air off at the top. So I decided to call it Silver Garden once when I was in this area with John 'Lingo' Curtis. Such great memories of pure bliss up here, serving as a nice distraction from growing fatigue. Then- onto the next one.
Coming down from Davenport Hill I came to an area called Corner Pocket. Here the ridge begins making a sweeping turn to the south. But first you have to get on top of Black Bess Hill. I don’t know if this is the official name, but again it’s what we call it in the winter so I’m sticking with it. The trail became full of switchbacks here, which was drainingt. I knew I wasn’t on the ridge any more and this was frustrating. Especially since I had been on the trail for 4 hours at this time, putting my watch reading at 2:30 am. Mentally, things were getting challenging, as the body was begging for sleep. Finally I arrived at the weather station on top of Black Bess. I took a nice glance into Honeycomb Canyon, which nestled underneath a very treacherous and dark cliff band. I kept back. Then - onto the next one.
I thought I would descend into Twin Lakes Pass relatively soon after Black Bess Hill. Here was a key learning for me on this section. It turns out that there are actually 2-3 unnamed peaks between Black Bess and Twin Lakes Pass. I had no idea. Plus I was so tired here that I honestly felt like I could have sleep-walked right off the ridge, plummeting down to Solitude Ski Resort. So I really slowed down in this section, trying to stay true to the ridge and truly safe on the ridge. Safety became a top concern for the next couple of miles, much more than speed. I went over a few more high points on the ridge I had never touched before, before I finally was looking down at the telephone wire poles that signified I was looking at Twin Lakes Pass, with Twin Lakes on the left side and Michigan City on the right side. What a relief to get to this pass. I was back to familiar territory - deep relief.
Honestly, I wanted to go on to Catherines Pass. This was my unofficial target when I started at 10:25 pm that night. But looking at my watch it was already 3:30 am by now. I wanted to be home by 4:30 am but I knew if I went onto Catherines Pass it would be more like 6:00 or even 7:00 am. I still would have Patsey Marley, Wolverine, and Tuscarora to navigate at night and with a decent level of fatigue. I thought about it and prayed about it long enough to fatigue further – in other words, I procrastinated the decision, which is a bad idea. Before I knew it, I sub-consciously just started trotting down the trail, westward into Michigan City, Grizzly Gulch, and eventually Alta upper parking lot. I then walked down canyon toward my parked car below Superior. I had left it there nearly 7 hours earlier. I was done for the night.
This night ridge run was my favorite training session of the entire WURL. I wanted to test myself to be alone, on a very dark night, un-supported, on some new sections of the ridge that I previously hadn’t been on. All these objectives were met. It was a memorable night adventure. I fell into bed at 5:00 am that night, only to have the baby wake me up 2 hours later. What a night…
LEG 3: Twin Lakes Pass to Hidden Peak, September 17, 2022. Although a few months had passed since my night training on Superior, I was so eager to redeem myself on this section by actually getting from Twin Lakes Pass to Catherine’s Pass – and beyond. I chose a day when I had sufficient time (or so I thought) and would not be rushed, as well as when the Fall weather looked prime for scrambling. I hiked up the gut of Grizzly Gulch until I was back to Twin Lakes Pass. It felt good to be back on the official WURL route. Scrambling up the shoulder of Patsey’s Peak got me to the top quickly. Here, the expanse of the rugged and boulder-strewn Wolverine Cirque opened up. I only stayed on Patsey’s for 2 minutes and then was on to the next one.
I worked my way around the mini-horsehoe ridge that represents Wolverine Cirque, passing several skiable, short shots down to the base. Once again the thought was: “I must come back here again on a big powder day!” Soon, I was on top of Mount Wolverine (10,795’), one of my favorite peaks on the Alta/Brighton periphery. The direct views down U-shaped Little Cottonwood Canyon to the Salt Lake Valley are so expansive. I stayed for 3 minutes and enjoyed some water, then turned further east. It was on to Mount Tuscarora. The nice thing about Tusky is that is only 10-minute jaunt from Wolverine. While lower than Wolverine, it provides idyllic views of the 3 sisters of Brighton: (Lake) Mary, Martha, and Catherine. I have spent many fishing trips, jaunts, runs, hikes, campouts, and ski runs over the past 3 decades on the 3 Sisters. They are intimately nestled together as a string of 3 black pearls, ultimately forming the headwaters of Big Cottonwood Creek.
After a brief stay on 'Tusky', I could now feel the half-way point coming on and really wanted to get to this symbolic milestone. I navigated down a rocky ridge line until arriving at the half-way point: Catherine’s Pass. I visualized myself arriving at the half-way point during the actual WURL. What would be there? Food? Water? Friends? Family? Fresh socks? Hopefully, all of the above. Feeling good, I headed on to the next peak: Point Supreme. The next section of ridge is known as The Beach, because it consists of deep and loose sands. Memories came back to me of the Wasatch 100 where I arrived at The Beach with nearly 70 miles on my leg on another dark night a few summers back, accompanied by my trusted friend of the high country Ari Leeflang. I felt much fresher today than that life-changing night of doing The Wasatch. Arriving at Point Supreme, I had a direct view of the second most technical section of the WURL: Devil’s Castle, i.e. The Castle.
I knew that this next section was one area of potential “short cutting” on the route. Still feeling relatively fresh, I had no excuse to shortcut today so I stayed “ridge-true”, following the actual course. This section felt very remote and not well-traveled; I could see that many people had skipped this mile of ridge, based on the trails I saw. I worked my way around the eastern-most flank of the course until the ridge finally turned west again. Now I was directly in-line with the jagged rocks and knife edge ridge of The Castle, situated due west of me.
This is one section that I had heard some horror stories about from different climbers and runners who had attempted the WURL in the past couple of years. Examples: “Whatever you do, don’t plan on doing Devils Castle at night”; or “Make sure you have a good guide to take you through The Castle”; or “always stay ridge left at the Castle.” This last piece of advice became immediately helpful to me. Massive amounts of exposure over hundreds of feet of sheer cliffs soon appeared on the Castle. I had no choice but to stay left. But how far left?
From a training session up here the prior summer I learned how quickly you could lose elevation and really get off course, just by going a mere 20 steps off the true ridge. So it became a balancing act of avoiding the death-defying cliffs to the right and not losing too much elevation on the left. The acteual Devils Castle Summit (11,000’) was pretty short-lived because I had so much work to do in front of me and I couldn’t really relax with what I saw was still coming; just a couple of sips of water, then onward. The crux move consist of a 5’ chasm that’s probably 20’ deep, bridged by a single island of crooked and wedged rock in between. If you can land on that island, you can cross that gap; if not, you’re going to have a bad fall, likely accompanied with bruises and breaks. I took a good 10 minutes navigating different approaches to just this one move before finally crossing that chasm to safety. I remember going through this section too quickly a couple of summers ago. While I was safe, I was much too scared and unstable here, as manifested by my “sewing machine” legs and shaking calves. After that, I came on to another 200 yards of jagged rock and spires. I stayed left whenever I had the opportunity, giving myself a wide safety margin from the cliffs to the right. Once I did get close enough to the right to peer down directly at the intimate Cecret Lake. Just looking over those cliffs made me scared. Seeing 2 other groups of hikers going the opposite direction definitely gave me some comfort that I was nearing the end of The Castle. Finally, I came down to the saddle between The Castle and The Sugar Loaf, where some ski patrol gear was stashed. I could feel my muscles finally relax as the stress subsided from being on that dicey knife edge for the past 40 minutes.
While The Castle is very technical and demands total focus, The Sugarloaf (11,051’) is just a simple and plain big hill that one can easily walk up. In 20 minutes I was on top. What a perfect rest peak after such a heart-racing ordeal the prior peak was. The WURL is full of vast variety in each and every peak, if nothing else! I welcomed the mental and physical confidence builder that the Sugarloaf represented. From here, I took a few minutes to peer into Alta Ski Resort, then I was on to the next one.
Mount Baldy (11,068’) is one of the iconic peaks of the Cottonwoods. It towers toward the sky between Alta and Snowbird. It is basically Sugarloaf on steroids – higher, windier, more barren – but sill just a big hill you can walk up. I love this peak because it has so many memories for me, both in the summer and the winter. In the summer, this peak represents the high point of The Speed Goat 50K (34 miles). Both times I made it to the top of this peak during this race, my thighs were knotted in pain and cramps. I could hardly walk during those races they hurt so bad. In the winter, I had been up here a few times with Lingo and Wetzel to ski Baldy Main Col. We came up here once in May and skied it in shorts, which was an amazing run in the slush. I spent 5 minutes here taking in Mineral Basin and Timpanogus way to the South. Then - on to the next one.
While Mount Baldy is rugged and wild, the next peak down-ridge, Hidden Peak (11,000’), is unfortunately commercialized and monetized. It represents the high-elevation mark for Snowbird Resort, where the iconic Tram terminates. Recently, an ominous-looking restaurant and conference center has been constructed near the Tram, all in black. I call this unnatural-looking structure The Death Star. It is out of place, no doubt - I think Snowbird has certainly gone too far in developing this once-pristine peak, and I hope they are now done messing around on Hidden Peak. Notwithstanding these feelings, I was happy to be here and enjoyed the water fountain in the conference center. Then the loud and boisterous group of tourists exited the Tram and diluted the experience for me, so I was done. I decided to take the Tram down, as it was a free ride. At the base of the Tram, I ran/hiked along the Bypass Road the mile back to my car parked at Alta. It’s amazing how energy returns when you are at lower elevations, compared to several hours at higher elevations. Another mega-looper was complete.
LEG 4: Hidden Peak to Red Baldy, August 30, 2022. I had just finished up a long Tuesday in the office. In my job, I spend way too much time staring at a computer screen while sitting. As much as I appreciate my career, I wish I moved more and that I didn’t live in my chair. I get so restless and antsy after a few hours, sedentary in the office. As my mountaineering friend says about sitting too long, “I feel like a caged blue heeler!” So I was happy to see my personal and family schedule totally free and clear that Tuesday night, allowing me to go exercise in the mountains and get the wiggles out of my system. I headed for more WURL training in the dusk light. I cruised up Gad Valley Trail and into Little Cloud Bowl. It is a familiar trail to me, as this is the same approach we take in the Speed Goat 50 K. The light was softening by now and I knew I needed to move quickly. I hopped on the southern cat track trail off Little Cloud ski lift called “Road to Provo” and then scrambled up to my old friend that I now simply call - The Ridge. Looking up from the rocks and looming over me stood my first objective of the evening, American Fork Twin Peaks.
I had not done the section of The Ridge from Hidden Peak to American Fork Twin Peaks for probably a quarter century. I had totally forgotten the 20-30’ sections of very narrow and slippery ridge, leading to 10-15’ drops. That would be painful fall for sure. It was hand-over-foot climbing through this section most definitely, causing me to slow down and take my time. I had learned my lessons from earlier ridge slips this summer: no matter how good you feel or how much energy you have while scrambling on a knife section of ridge, slow down. I navigated this knife section slowly, but in a good rhythm where heart rate and exertion levels stayed constant. The final 300’ consists of tight switch backs, until I could climb no higher and I was standing on the East Summit of AF Twin (11,489’). Once I realized how close I was to the West Summit of AF Twin, I didn’t want to stop there and kept moving west over another low hill until I realized I was on the West Summit (11,489’), which represented the highest peak in the Cottonwoods, not to mention Salt Lake County. This was my first resting point of the evening, taking a good 5 minutes to soak it all in. Then - on to the next.
Down-ridge from AF Twin stands a smaller and unnamed peak that locals simply call Red Stack. My old adage of “stay ridge left” held true here. Although the left consisted of a gentle grassy slope leading into American Fork Canyon drainages, the right consisted of a sheer drop off into a rocky cirque down below. It was very reminiscent of the drop offs experienced earlier on the Devils Castle training – I had to split the difference, straying only strayed 10-15’ off the true ridge trail so as to not get lulled into into a much lower elevation game trail. I took a nice break on top of Red Stack at 7 pm, looking down into upper Little Cloud cirque and its amazing terrain. This terrain was truly mesmerizing to me
At Red Stack, I realized I was out of time for The Ridge that evening. I didn’t have a headlamp and needed to allow myself 1 hour to get to the car before dark, which was around 8 pm. So I said goodbye to the ridge and started working my way north past a famous backcountry ski line I have never done, but need to called Temptation Chutes. I scrambled down onto the boulder field in upper Gad Valley for some rock hopping, one of my favorite past times of high alpine scrambling. This requires cat-like reflexes, iron-like core strength, and a gymnasts balance. Soon I was back on the trail that lead past Gad 2 Ski Lift. The final remaining feature was a beautiful sunset with 6 deer looking at me from a meadow just off the trail, including 2 stately bucks that seemed to be asking, “What’s all the rush, running down this dirt trail? Stop and enjoy this moment in the mountains before it gets too dark, silly human.” I took that buck’s advice and slowed down to looked around. It was a 3.5-hour training run that was well worth my time, turning that particularly boring work Tuesday into a memorable one.
LEG 5: Red Baldy to Red Pine Lake Shots, August 8, 2022. Having just done the Speed Goat 50 K two weeks prior and feeling somewhat recuperated by this time, I was eager to get back on The Ridge to get sore again. Endurance running is an odd sport, where you seek out pain, heal from pain, avoid pain, and then seek out pain again. And the cycle continues in perpetuity, or at least all summer long. I also wanted to explore an area of The Ridge called Birthday Chutes. I started at White Pine Trailhead. At about the 2/3 distance mark to White Pine Reservoir, I took a hard left to bushwhack up a gulley. This eventually opened up to another boulder-strewn cirque. Only this time there were large patches of snow still showing in this cirque, which caused post-holing or sinking when walked on. I worked my way up to The Ridge at last, with amazing views down into American Fork drainages and the backside of AF Twin Peaks I didn’t know existed. It felt good to be back on the WURL.
I took a hard right because that’s what The Ridge wanted me to do. The terrain narrowed and became off-angle once again. I had to veer off the ridge, toward the left, just to avoid getting cliffed out. As usual, the cliffs were on my right. Making it to the top of Red Baldy was a very nice treat, rewarded with some physical treats for nourishment. I observed that this Baldy doesn’t feel very bald at all, but rather pretty jagged. Then - onto the next one.
The section between Red Baldy and White Baldy was actually runnable in spots, which was a welcome change. The WURL is not a race at all. Trails are sparse. You are using all your faculties to go from peak to peak to peak, and running is a very rarely-used tool up here. It is definitely much more of a mixed climb. I got to the notch between Red and White Baldy called West Pass, then started the long grinding climb upwards to White Baldy Summit. There were many sections of The Ridge here with overhanging mini-cliffs that had to be navigated around, and portions where the route took you off the pure ridge line. I ended up back-tracking 3 times on the ascent to White Baldy, which was an exhausting experience. Finally, I made it to the top of White Baldy, where I took the rare opportunity to actually sit down near the mailbox up there. Now I was directly straddling two of the most breath-taking drainages in Little Cottonwood: White Pine to my right and Red Pine to my left. Then - on to the next one.
The descent off White Baldy toward the Pfeifferhorn is deceptively difficult. There are frequent and unpredictable drops in the ridge, all in the form of very steep and off-angled slabs. At this time the wind really started picking up as well. It was a bit nerve-wracking to have gusts so strong that it could blow your hat off, if not your person. And it wasn’t a warm wind, but rather a chilly northern wind. My original goal was Pfeifferhorn, with a descent down Maybird Gulch, one of the most lonely and untrodden gulches of the Wasatch. I admit I bowed out of this goal by dropping off the ridge to my right at the Lake Shots turn-off. The chill was adding to the familiar fatigue. At this point, I was about half-way between White Baldy and The Pfeiff as the crow flies. It was admittedly disappointing, even discouraging, to not be able to finish this training run’s initial objectives: Red Baldy to Pfeifferhorn. But my water was low and my core temperature was dropping from this cold wind. I probably could have taken a good rest to warm up there in a sheltered spot, and then eventually recovered to push through on my trek to the Pfeiff, but it wasn’t meant to be that day. I realize then and realize now that I have to be smart in my training because: 1) I’m all alone, 2) I’m in very remote country, and 3) Search and Rescue crews are incredibly expensive. So I threw in the towel at Lake Shots, came down past the serenely turquoise Red Pine Lake, and then jogged the trail back to the car at the WP Trailhead. Another training session – completed.
LEG 6: White Baldy to Finish, September 2, 2022. So now I finally get to The End of my training story About The Ridge. The Last Push. The Final Chapter. The 4th Quarter. I knew this would be a tricky one because it contains the most technical peak of the whole ridge: Big Horn Peak, i.e. Bells Peak.
I wanted to simulate fatigue from distance for the last couple of peaks on this section, so I actually “backtracked” a bit up The Ridge to start this training session. Rather than pick up where I left off at Lake Peak Shots, I went eastward toward White Baldy. The scramble up from the west face was both steep and loose, often resulting in 1 step forward and 5 steps back, while clutching rocks and weeds and dirt so as to not make it 50 steps back. I was relieved to arrive on top of White Baldy once again and be back on course, but didn’t stay long. Then - on to the next one.
Fortunately the weather was perfect on September 2, with no wind to deal with. Together with high energy levels, I was able to make good time descending the asymmetric slabs off White Baldy, across the flat section and over past Lake Shots, where I had previously bailed in my attempt. Here a trail actually re-emerged, thankfully. I gladly hopped on it and was actually able to run for a quarter mile. What a rare change of pace, perspective, and muscle use that quarter mile was! The Pfeifferhorn waited patiently for my arrival, straight ahead, like giant roadblock on The Ridge. There was literally no way around Pfeiff, even if I wanted to cheat. The only choice was up and over. Known as the Matterhorn of the Wasatch, this is my second favorite peak after Superior. A near perfect pyramid shape, it stands solo and solemn, lofty and looming. Then I met several groups descending it. The ridge becomes very boulder strewn, with house-size rocks strewn at every angle and configuration. (Turns out that this was but a preface of what was to come later on this training session…). The final east ramp of the Pfeifferhorn is trail-less and random. Some people take switchbacks and others prefer a straight assault. Either way, your lungs will be burning by taking on the East Ramp. I chose switch-backs so I could keep my pace consistent and not have so many spikes in physical exertion, which actually exhausts you quicker. It was a blessing to stand on the Pfeiff at 11,326’. I admired the rugged and less-traveled Maybird Gulch with its small alpine ponds while eating a powerbar lunch here for 7 minutes. Then - on to the next one.
After Pfeiff, the hiking crowds totally vanished – why would anyone dare go west from the Pfeiff rather than east and back the way they came. This was a nice reprieve. All I heard was a few ravens and the sound of a breeze. All I saw was Lighning Ridge ahead of me. But first I had to get over an un-named peak at the back of Hogum Fork. The map doesn’t give me a name for it so I call it Hogum Peak. There was a clear option to shortcut around this peak and go around the base of it. It’s interesting how the temptation to cheat on the ridge becomes stronger the more tired you become. I weighed it out, but ultimately was true and got up Hogum Peak. I enjoyed the view for a few minutes. Then - on to the next one.
The next one was really a series of mini-summits along Lightning Ridge. Fatigue started setting in here as I worked my way up the first mini-peak. I knew I needed to slow down and re-charge better here since I didn’t do it properly on Hogum Peak. After a few energy gels, I was recharged enough for more hand over foot technical climbing. Breathing was labored and heavy here. And I stayed left, as the consequences of going right here and having a slip back into Hogum Drainage would certainly have been fatal. The drop was estimated at 500’ + of sheer cliff face.
I then came around to a point where I could clearly see Big Horn Peak in front of me and to my left. There was a large field of cracked granite slab, something I hadn’t seen on the entire journey. It looked like the surface of the moon, pale and gray and cracked in a consistent pattern by water in liquid and solid form. Straight ahead, up-ridge, was South Thunder Mountain, with probably 400’ of vertical and a big arching bend in the ridge to get there. But… I was just so exhausted. The body felt weak. The mind felt unfocused. And that lead to questions I started asking myself here: “Did I really have to go up South Thunder Mountain? Couldn’t I just cut straight across the granite field and avoid South Thunder? No one would know, right? Does it matter” I finally noticed my body just taking the cut-off, almost inadvertently. That wasn’t expected. I didn’t think much of it, as I worked my way across a couple of old pond beds. I just kept trudging along, reeling in the ridge, not thinking too much of the peak I just avoided. Suddenly though, I was at a huge cliff face, which came off a sub-ridge that would lead back to my ridge. I tried climbing down, but it got too sketchy. I didn’t want to back to my shortcut starting point. I was frustrated, to say the least. What was I supposed to do here?
Finally, I found an overgrown and faintly trodden game trail that went east and upward along the cliff band. Keep in mind that I had been traveling west since Catherine’s Pass. So going east at this point not only felt un-natural, but also felt frustrating – I was officially backtracking. But it absolutely had to be done in order to circumvent this cliff band to get back on the sub-ridge, which was the ramp back on to the main ridge. It was a lot of painful bushwhacking and dust stirring, with a few falls on the back side in between. I know better. I began regretting the fact that I taken this shortcut, leaving the true ridge that defined the WURL course for all this time. Regret was building like a pressure cooker. Why did I do this shortcut – it clearly was not worth it.
After some dusty and steep bushwhacking, I finally gained the sub-ridge, leading back to the main ridge. I was now finally looking directly into Upper Bells Canyon. While Upper Bells Reservoir was hidden and elusive in an hanging alpine valley, the granite boulders, spent wildflowers, and ragged pine tree stands still made for gorgeous views here. This was a welcome sight, knowing it would be the last drainage I would have to navigate along the ridge. And it is a dicey ridge section here for sure. The ridge goes over 3 rock chimneys with trees strewn among rocks that were more time-consuming to navigate than they should have been. Finally I took a long-ish rest, drank some precious water, and rested. Then I looked straight ahead – and there it was – The Big Horn Peak.
This peak is one that I had been warned and forewarned about during the duration of my training, by blogs and friends who knew this route. It was very steep on the east side, very reminiscent of what I had done 6 hours earlier ascending the east ramp of the Pfeifferhorn. I arrived at the flat summit of Big Horn Peak thinking to myself, “that wasn’t too bad – what’s all the fuss about?” Then I began descending the west side of Big Horn and the answer to that self-query soon became evident. Small, flat boulders gave way to large, jagged boulders. The pitch steepened, with large drops between the boulders, and I got to a point where the drop was so large that I was forced to go left or right. For the entire time that day when I came to a ridge, I had always instinctively chosen left. So at this point, exhausted and sweaty, I again chose left.
I was immediately funneled down an incredibly steep, loose chute about 15’. It felt like a controlled fall here. This tight gully ended abruptly in a ledge over a 30’ drop off that would definitely require climbing gear. I stood there considering my options, ultimately deciding to work my way right along that ledge out on a broad cliff face. There were some hand holds as I climbed laterally, but then I reached an open slab on the cliff. While hand holds still existed, they didn’t exist for me in my physical condition and at my climbing skill level. I again paused and struggled to make the right decision here. I felt stuck and anxious. It took a while to control my rapid breathing and profuse sweating. I was as scared as I had been on the whole summer of WURL training - I knew that one wrong move here would be injurious, if not fatal. I offered a prayer and finally calmed down. Then I decided to back-track, up the chute I had just descended and back to nearly the top of Big Horn. Ridge Left was not the way down.
Ridge True was not the way down either.
The only option left was Ridge Right. This also looked extremely cliff-ridden, although not as bad as the tight gulley I had just emerged from on the left side. I was moving very slowly here as fatigue set in, trying to pick my way down a cliff face that fortunately had more hand-holds than it’s left counterpart. Suddenly, I spotted a cairn along a ledge about 10’ away, that blessed marker known to all mountaineers that essentially means – “this is the way.” A shot of hope and energy now shot through my weary body. It’s truly fascinating to me how and when my body chose to respond and recover in long-distance training sessions. This ledge eventually took me back to the run-out ridge of Big Horn onto the true saddle between that peak and Lone. I rested at this true saddle for a good 5 minutes, looking back and thanking the Good Lord that I was able to finally navigate Big Horn – scared but safe. Then, on to my final summit – Lone Peak!
Now, I was back in familiar territory - finally. I had climbed Lone Peak a few select times over the years from the Alpine route through the Hamengog Meadows so I knew what to expect here. Although I was above 10,000’ here it was actually not too steep here and very navigable. Afte 10 minutes of moderate hiking, I came to the top of a grassy hill. To my slight right was that amazing bastion, Lone Peak Summit. I tucked under the rocky ridge on a sub-ridge trail. After 15 more minutes of hand-and-foot climbing, I was now on top of Lone Peak on that broad 10’ x 10’ slab, defined by that USGS Summit Marker. Gratitude swelled – I had made it from White Baldy to Lone Peak in one push. It was an amazing feeling to realize that there is not another summit to go conquer. Why? Because the ridge ended here. At this point, the only way forward is to go down, down, down – back to the car, back to family, back to comfort. I scanned my Salt Lake Valley from south to north, one final time. I partook of my final energy bar and a sip of water that I had been carefully saving for the last 7 hours, really for this very moment. I love powerbars on summits. After a well-deserved 15 minute break on Lone Peak, I began cramping up and knew it was time to head down. From here, there was no more “then - on to the next one” because Lone Peak was “the last one!”
But the physical and mental challenge wasn’t over yet. To finish the WURL, one must exit down Big Willow Canyon. The challenge is getting into that drainage; it requires down-climbing along the ridge to a landmark called “The Notch”. For obvious reason, this formation is a perfect notch in the cliff band. To the east from The Notch, is a steep, loose descent into Bells Canyon. To the west from The Notch is an equally steep and equally loose descent into the scree fields of Upper Big Willow. The route goes west. I was able to finally get into the scree field, then work my way northwest across a forested ridge and then down another drainage. The trail here is very faint, but when I finally found it I let out a yelp of celebratory relief here! After losing and re-finding the trail 3 more times while skidding and sliding over a cliff band I took in search of some springs I could hear below, I finally found a gurgling spring that came out of the side of a cliff. This was the headwaters of Big Willow Creek, a rare find indeed. I drank 20 handfuls of water here and re-filled my Camelback bladder as well. Then I jogged/walked down 4 miles on a good trail to the bottom. Meeting my wife at the church on Wasatch Blvd told me that the mission was indeed accomplished!
The Ridge Is Over - So What Now? That was it. Twin Peaks to Lone Peak in one continuous ridge effort. But not really "continuous", to be honest. I had done the WUR: the Wasatch Ultimate Ridge. I was missing the “L”: the Link-Up. While I had done several 8-10 hour training sessions over 4 months, I had yet to link up all those training sessions to truthfully say I had done the WURL, which requires that the hiker be on that ridge in a continuous effort. I have no regrets though. I pushed myself as hard as I ever had during the training sessions in the Summer of 2022, experiencing adrenaline and agony, exhaustion and ecstasy, incredible fearlessness and incredible fear. I don’t know at this time that I can say I will every link up these training sessions into the WURL. Time will tell if next summer (or the summer thereafter) I can once again get my mind, body, and spirit ready for such an effort, not to mention the time to re-train. Moreover, I need to have a support crew to bring food, water, and most importantly partner runners to swap out at certain exchange points. It is definitely a commitment spanning several months. I have all winter to ponder that question, so I’m not in any rush. For now, I have seen every step of this route. I have experienced every named and un-named summit in person. I have gazed down each and every drainage, each with it’s own character and feel. I have seen beauty that has brought tears to my eyes. And I have hiked, walked, climbed, stumbled, and run that ridge from Twin Peaks to Lone Peak
My appreciation for these beloved Wasatch Range, these backyard mountains of mine, has grown deeper and stronger. I won’t forget the Summer of 2022 doing WURL training. Doing truly hard things is an unforgettable and impactful experience. There is not a better feeling in the world than looking at a map the night before to create a route and then actually accomplishing it the next day. I’m now changed.
