I’ve always looked at the Oquirrh Mountains as a kind of backyard playground, full of adventure and intrigue. Since my early childhood I’ve used the now nearly entirely red-tapped Butterfield Canyon Road as a recreation outlet just 20 minutes drive from my home, hiking and camping along the road with friends throughout our teen years and into early adulthood. I’ve spent so much time in the canyon that I can now walk through it in the pitch black of night and tell you exactly where we are. It wasn’t until 2016 that I started to attempt bagging peaks, something that I thought was at least reserved for hyper-athletes and at most neigh impossible to traverse.
Just four years later and I have some 7 peaks down, with 2020 promised to be a big year of peak bagging for me personally. Unfortunately, procrastination and laziness has taken me over, as well as developing other very skill-intensive hobbies (fly fishing) as left me without any big names under my belt this year. Promising to have done Lowe for the last 2 years, I knew I had to get it done, it was just a matter of when; and When was supposed to be 2 weeks ago, in a loop trail that I had concocted connecting Rocky Peak, Lowe, and Flat Top Mountain in a single run, private land permissions in tow. However, I didn’t wake up in time, opting to sleep in weekend after weekend. This past Friday, 7.31.20, I arose at 7am - still late - and told myself that I would make it to the top of the mountain, no matter the conditions.
The first part of the ascent is the hour-long drive through the desert, parking at a trailhead deep in the clutches of the Ophir Canyon community - a sleepy little town that you’d think to be abandoned, but instead is filled with life, even boasting a community school - at the end of a long dirt road. My hike started out with a friendly conversation with a young man who I would assume to be a local hunter, telling me he and his grandfather were in the area just returning from their trip up to Flat Top. We spoke for a few minutes about our hunter adventures, how it was both our first years in the sport, and our admiration of traditional archery. With a few goodbyes and my pack loaded with 3.5L of water, I started up the trail, flicking my new InReach on just for testing.
The beginning of the trail was surprisingly verdant and moist, abundant with free-range cattle that spooked at the slightest step. Several river crossings offered a scenic and refreshing start to a hike you would assume to be almost entirely arid. The trail cut into the coarsing creek many times opting for a nice boot-cooling splash and an excuse to wet my hat before the major ascent.
I continued down for about 1.3 miles before coming across what looks to be a fork in the road, with the trail either continuing further along or fading into a large green field littered with aspen trees and shrub oak. It petered up slightly, guiding my view upward to the ridge above. This is the best way to get up to the saddle between Lowe and The Jumpof - another small but vertical climb before Flat Top - and offered me my first view of Lowe Peak - at this point some 3,000ft above me, it appeared to tower in the distance and flex her best intimidation.
Moving through the field is when I realized the reports of “wear pants!” were necessary. There is no trail in the area from here on out. Few game trails scatter the hillside, as you start to gain elevation and earn greater and greater gradient verticality. The overwhelmingly lush mountainside was not humble in it’s growth, with Oak, Pine, Sage and all sorts of wild flowers and shrubs clinging tightly to your legs, like the fingers of the dead trying to drag you down. Dredging this hillside at almost 20 degrees it felt, the best advice I could think to reassure myself was saying, “Are you moving up? OK, you’re going the right direction". A glance backward every 15 minutes or so to stop for water was proof enough, with each passing step becoming more beautiful and revealing more of the once hidden landscape.
The break in the treeline was abrupt and surprising, the sun beating down hard and hot with the loss of shade and the introduction of a purely sage-covered mountainside. I could see the crest of the ridge now, and continued to move through the richly scented fauna, filling my nose with a delightful aroma of wildflowers and fresh, blowing sagebrush. As I approached the crest of the mountain, a falcon appeared just above me, soaring with angelic grace and laser precision. I watched as it scoured the range for a meal, moving up and down the hills and falling into the valley below before divebombing towards the adjacent mountain range. Looking South, Lowe Peak was just a few tall hills away, from here it looks like it’d taken an eternity to reach.
Moving up the ridgeline was a relief, despite the ever increasing elevation. The breeze coarsed over the top of the mountain range, bringing with it the first clouds of the day, just as I started to make my ascent up the loose and rocky terrain. Several falcons now visible coursing the skies over their homes looking to provide a meal for the tweeting chicks in each nest. I marched forward and upward, moving closer to my goal and stopping at each major hilltop for a drink of water and a bite of energy chews.
I normally don’t bring waffles, sandwiches, or sugary chews on hikes, but this month of July has been my first long term break from a ketogenic lifestyle - something I do intend to return to in the next couple of days in fact - and I thought there would be no better snack to have atop a challenging hike than a half-hoagie from a local grocery store; once my favorite “premade” dinner hoagie available near me, and a staple of the days I used to explore the canyons below. As I looked down thousands of feet below, the Oquirrh Mountains revealed their intricate and ancient geology to me, the memories of my youth spent down below, camping, drinking, getting into mischief and celebrating with abandon, all feels like a lifetime away from where I am now.
Just as my legs began to show signs of stress - a pulling sensation in my left thigh, particularly - I made it to the summit. An American flag clasped tightly to a flagpole or storm rod gave the landmark a position of finality and a place to store the peak’s ledger and survey spike. I broke down my once 19.5lb pack, sat with my back against the pole, and began to eat my well-earned lunch. It wasn’t long until I became aware that I had in fact, just sat on my InReach - screen down - in a pile of rocks. The screen had earned it’s first battle scar, on it’s maiden voyage at that.
Various insects and butterflies kept me company atop the mountain, which provided stunning views of the Wasatch Front’s most breathtaking landmarks; To the North, Kelsey and Butterflied Peaks, Clipper even further behind, with the Stansbury Mountains and the Great Salt Lake peaking through the cracks of the range I stood upon. The Salt Lake Valley, in all it’s decadent smoggy splendor, laid to the East, dwarfed by the Wasatch mountains and the omnipotent Lone Peak towering about it all. Timpanogos and the Utah valley, Utah Lake in tow, all clearly visible to the South East, and the barren wastes of the West Desert and Five Mile Pass to the South West, the small town of Ophir lay in the canyon below, and further out to true West, the small city of Stockton appeared, just barely visible above the Rocky Peak area.
I moved back down the mountain with haste, as I had plans to be in Ogden this night and it was already creeping up to 3pm. It took me roughly two hours to get down the mountain, following the reverse of the information I had given myself before: “If you’re heading down, you’re going the right way”. On this stretch, I was glad to have brought my poles along for the trip, as many steep and barely visible dropoffs would have given me a good tumble into the weeds and fallen logs on my descent.
I’ll be returning to the Oquirrh range soon to claim my first Ultra-prominent peak, just 30ft higher in elevation than Lowe, the Flat Top Mountain to the South. I have obtained permission to walk the land here, all owned by the Ault Family. In earlier years, I had quarreled with that name, giving disdain and jealously that they owned such magic lands. Now in my adulthood, I have a different mindset on the matter, one of reverence and understanding; these folks, who offer hikers permission simply via a quick email, could block off their land, or even worse, sell off to the corporate entity running the all-encompassing mine to the north. But they’ve held out, likely to the miner’s chagrin, and it makes me happy to know that at least some part of the majestic Oquirrh range still belongs to the common people, who will to use the land not as a resource to exploit, but as a place to reconnect to our roots through recreation and observation. Thanks for letting us through, Weston, and I hope you and yours stay true to the land you possess.
