Early in the year I made plans to hike a number of highpoints in the interior of Utah, mainly sticking to the counties east of the Wasatch and other principal ranges that run up the center of the state. Some would be hefty day hikes but most would be short outings, with a lot of driving. So how did I end up hiking Ibapah Peak, about as far west as one can get in Utah and many hundreds of miles apart from where I originally planned? Well, gather 'round little ones and let me tell you a story.

The day was August 9th, 2005, and I hopped into my trusty truck to begin a long drive toward Moab, Utah, with the intent of hiking the highpoint of Grand County, Mount Waas, the next day. I left my home at 6 a.m. and made the 480-mile journey to Moab via Flagstaff, Tuba City, Kayenta, Mexican Hat, Blanding and Monticello. It was a boring, eventless drive other than getting a ticket from Trooper Taylor near Blanding. Temperatures were warm and the sky was a mix of high clouds and the lower, puffier variety. Some were distinct thunderheads. I was not concerned as this is fairly typical this time of year. After two hours in Moab getting supplies, a dinner and some fact checking, I drove up the La Sal Loop Road and up the Miner's Basin access road. This final leg was a 3-mile steep dirt road that I managed fine. I was the only person at the parking area, with a lovely small lake nearby and beautiful forests and meadows above me. Things looked promising. The La Sals were cloaked in clouds but most were high enough to see the summits, and nothing I hadn't seen before. All seemed to be in place for a fun hike the next day. However, that evening some aggressive storms began to build and drop a lot of rain and crackle with lightning and thunder. I sat in my truck and eventually retired to sleep in the bed. Things relaxed a bit for a few hours but starting around 3 a.m. I could hear a steady rain falling, pattering on my truck's shell. I finally awoke at 5 a.m. to the same steady rain.

The rain never once let up, not did it vary much in intensity; just a steady, consistent rain. It was noticeably cool and very, very gray. This seemed atypical of the usual summertime storm cycles. This storm seemed to be something one would see in the northwest, a cooler Pacific-generated storm. No thunder, no lightning, just rain. I lingered in my truck's cab and waited. Around 7:30 a.m. I decided to get dressed up in all my cold and rain gear, and gamble... maybe it would stop and go away. I hiked in about a mile and up a steep old road that switchbacked up a hillside but it became clear quickly the rain was not going away, and I was getting soaked. I returned to my truck and now had a new concern: getting down the steep dirt road back to the La Sal Loop Road. Very concerned about slick mud and possible washouts, I descended in 4-wheel drive low and inched down the slick road slowly and covered the 3 miles in about 30 minutes. Back to pavement I drove back to Moab to assess my options. Apparently a big front was in fact passing through and it looked like all my intended hikes would be impacted by the rain for a few days, whether rendering the roads impassable or simply making everything wet and uncomfortable. So I decided to trade all my plans in and leave the region completely. Instead, I would tackle two (maybe three) big monster peaks in western Utah and Nevada, and come back to eastern Utah in nicer weather and with my wife. I stopped in to an internet cafe in Moab, got some maps and trip reports, and committed myself to the long drive west to Ibapah Peak, which I would hike the next day.

Leaving Moab northbound on US-191 I passed through some extremely heavy rain and hail. I caught Interstate-70 and drove west a hundred miles to Salina. This stretch of I-70 should be made into a National Park. What an amazing array of cliffs, rock formations, canyons and unique features! I had rain, mist and some clear moments, and enjoyed the views when I could. In Salina I followed US-50 west to Scipio, took Interstate-15 a bit south and resumed onto US-50 to the city of Delta, one of the few legitimate cities or towns in the deserted western half of Utah. My goal, Ibapah Peak in the Deep Creek Mountains, was still a good 100 miles west through some more exquisitely remote Utah outback. In Delta, which is located at the junctions of US-6 and US-50, I stocked up on food and gas, even buying some extra in a gas cannister, for the long drive west.

Look at a map of Utah and note the complete lack of anything in its western half, especially south of Interstate-80. The few towns out here do not have any services such as gas, stores or hotels, and very few people live out this way. The few that do have big ranch spreads, do some farming, and in a few notorious cases, live a life of polygamous bliss with their numerous wives and dozens of children. This is the eastern extent of the Great Basin Desert, a land of high-elevation sage-covered desert valleys, populated with beautiful, lonely mountain ranges. Ibapah Peak is in the Deep Creek Range, which is about 10 airmiles from the Nevada boundary. It is the highpoint of Juab County, whose county seat, Nephi, is a good 100+ miles to the east. This highpoint is arguably the most remote of any in Utah, and if one uses the lack of paved roads as a metric, probably in the lower 48 states.

So, me, I left Delta west a tiny bit to Jones Road, then north about 7 miles to the Intermountain Power Plant, a huge plant sticking up incongruously amid the desert flats, and hung a left. I followed a paved road (called Brush Wellman Road on some maps and highway UT-174 on Mapquest, although I saw no evidence of either name on the highway itself), the only significantly paved route that heads into these hinterlands from Delta (aside from US-6&50). This road has no lane markers and I am not sure why it is paved. Regardless, I covered about 40 miles until I turned off onto the Weiss Highway, which is gravel and hardpack. I followed this route west another 40+ miles until I came progressively closer to the Callao area. Callao is a tiny outpost in western Juab County and the closest populated town near the highpoint. I snapped a photo of a sign which underscored the remoteness of everything. I was not without weather as I drove through a couple cells and had some mud and slick roads to deal with. I followed some more local routes and found myself at the entrance to Granite Creek Canyon, the standard route into the Deep Creeks and to Ibapah Peak. From Delta to the turn-off to Granite Creek Canyon was about 90 miles, all of it on fine, wide, well-graded hardpack. I was passed by one person the whole way out and never saw another car until I was near Callao. I stopped to snap some photos of Ibapah Peak.

All the guide books and trip reports mention the road into Granite Creek Canyon deteriorates a bit as it starts to ford a stream. I had no trouble with the first crossing, but the road afterwards was pretty rocky. I bumped and bashed my way another half-mile and stopped when I came upon a couple at a camp. I stopped to chat and discovered they were looking at hiking into the range, maybe even all the way up to the summit. I played it safe and parked at a nearby pullout for my camp for the evening (even though the usual method is to cross the creek a second time and drive up another 3/4 mile to the end of the drivable road at the BLM Wilderness boundary). I knew that I was adding distance and gain to tomorrow's hike, but the campspace and the potential company was too good to pass up! After situating myself I ambled back to talk with my new friends, a married couple from Albuquerque named Dave and Frances. Dave's a research mathematician and Frances a piano teacher, and as it turned out, two of the coolest, nicest people I have met on the trails in a long time. They were still not sure of their plans for Ibapah the next day. I said I'd be ready to go by 5 a.m., and they asked me to 'make noise' as I awoke so that if they awoke and felt up to it, they'd join me. And that's exactly what happened! The three of us were on the move by 5:15 a.m. (my time - Arizona time, or 6:15 local time). According to my altimeter we were at very nearly 6,400 feet elevation. With Ibapah's summit at just below 12,100 feet, we were looking at nearly 5,700 feet of vertical gain - over a vertical mile up!

We walked up the road about a half-mile to the second creek crossing. This second crossing would be a bear even in a jeep, as it has eroded pretty significantly (apparently). Ironically the road past this point is pretty smooth. We walked it, of course, and soon came to the road's end at some plastic BLM markers, after which the road degenerates and turns into ATV tracks. Along this stretch we met a camper and chatted briefly; he had packed in the day before and was heading to higher ground still. Dave, Frances and I strung out slightly but stopped enough to regroup. We still had considerable shadows in the canyon but could see the sun-lit white-faced peak of Ibapah, standing intimidatingly high above us. Emanating off the summit were ridges and massive walls of bare granite, with the forests kicking in a few hundred feet below the top. Red Mountain, which comes in at a shade below 11,600 feet and is so named for its color, stood to the south of Ibapah and offered a contrast to Ibapah's white color. Our goal was the saddle between the two peaks. So we walked. The forest down low was thick with juniper, pine, some sage, low grasses and lots of flowers. After maybe a mile and a half from camp we came to the end of the ATV tracks at a small clearing. Our gain to this point was just a few hundred feet ... sort of vexing given the enormous gain we were facing to summit Ibapah. Sure enough, once we continued up the now footpath, the trail got very steep and basically stayed that way for another 3 miles (I reckon) as it gained deep into the canyon and up its headwall. The flora varied but mainly stayed thick. We passed through aspen and larger pine stands, through small meadows of clover, and criss-crossed the stream in a number of places. It was tiring, tedious trudging but we made good time. Soon the trail began to level and shortly the stream simply 'disappeared' into the meadows and springs that spawned it. The trees gave way to a beautiful sub-alpine meadow at about elevation 10,200 feet. It was about 9 a.m. my time when we came up here, about 4.5 miles from our camp and about 3,800 feet up. We stopped at some rocks to eat and to view Ibapah Peak, still standing grandly to our north a good 2,000 feet above us. It was sobering to realize we had only gained about two-thirds of our intended gain. We still had lots to go. But on the upside, the weather was spectacular, nearly cloudless, and gorgeous. The three of us were feeling energized, and the general beauty of the area was inspiring. After maybe 30 minutes we resumed our trek to the summit.

There is no trail for this section but the way is obvious. Below Ibapah Peak is a smaller subpeak marked as 11,385 on the map. It sits 'left' of Ibapah's mass as viewed from the meadow. A section of forest stands between the meadow and this peak. We chose to generally approach this subpeak by aiming to its left (as the guidebooks suggest). We walked across the meadow, descended slightly, then entered into the forest. Dave bounded ahead of us and blazed a trail. Undergrowth in this forest was very light and navigation was quite easy. We worked our way high onto the ridges where it got quite rocky with large granite talus slabs insterspersed among the open slopes. We were leaving the trees and we worked our way across (northeasterly) the ridge to come to this subpeak's southwesterly facing slope. Dave was about 500 feet ahead of us while Frances and I picked our way across the rocks and up the slopes of the subpeak. At some point Dave disappeared behind this peak, traversing around its east-facing sides where the forest was still sort of thick, while Frances and I chose to work our way higher on this subpeak, eventually having to scramble up some rocks and actually gaining the summit of this peak. Normally we'd be very proud of ourselves - an 11,385-foot peak with over 4,800 vertical gain, but our work was still not yet done! We descended down its east side and found a very faint trail, which then became more substantial as we walked it to the main saddle separating the subpeak from Ibapah itself. We walked across a short flat section, where I took off my pack to lighten my load for the last push to the top. Dave was way ahead of us, nearly to the summit, while Frances and I huffed and puffed up Ibapah's south face. From below it looks like a very difficult talus scramble but the use trail helps considerably. It's surprisingly well defined and maintained given its location. The cloudless skies of earlier were now starting to spawn puffy clouds that might generate into thunderheads, and we moved as fast as we could given our tiredness. Finally the switchbacks fed us onto the summit, an elongated saddle-shaped area stretching maybe 400 feet end to end. Dave was at the east end near some rock shelters while I walked to the west end and tagged the high rock (just to be sure), and where I shot one of the photos at left. I then walked over to join Dave and Frances for handshakes, congratulations and photos. Wow! It was 11:45 a.m. my time and it had taken us six and a half hours to gain the summit, a gain of over 5,700 feet (figuring in some drops and regains along the high ridge), a new one-day record for me! We figured the one-way mileage to be right about 7 miles. I was exhilirated and ... utterly zonked. The views are exquisite; the whole Great Basin deserts of northern Utah and Nevada open up to the north, while massive Red Mountain handles the south view. I only stuck around maybe 15 minutes total. I wanted to get moving before my legs tightened up. I was impressed by my ability to hike up 5,700 vertical feet... now I needed to hike them right back down, not necessarily an easy, relaxing task. I got moving, while Dave and Frances stayed at the top for another 20 minutes or so. Back below Ibapah and the subpeak I gathered my pack, then walked a direct line back to the meadow, which in retrospect might have been an easier uphill approach (if I ever do this again, which is doubtful, I'd shoot for the subpeak's center on the ascent from the meadow. It's steep but open and I did find some small cairns which helped with navigation).

I had mentioned to Dave and Frances that I'd wait up for them at the meadow and maybe even take a nap while there. I found a nice flat open area near a large rock and laid out to relax. I could feel my muscles melt into fatigue; it felt wonderful, but not so much given I still had a long ways to go. I waited maybe 10 minutes and didn't sleep. I discovered that no matter where I sat or laid on the ground there were ants about to crawl onto me. Figuring Dave and Frances were good to go on their own I got moving down the trail. The descent was steep and consistent and tiring. I took rests probably every 10 minutes, or whenever I lost 100-200 feet according to my altimeter. The weather was much warmer as I descended, and I was outright exhausted. I finally found myself back onto the roads, and on one cool, shaded, antless spot, laid out and napped for about 5-10 minutes. A cooler of drinks was beckoning me back at my truck, and I staggered forward, finally coming back to my beautiful truck at about 4:30 p.m., which figures to a descent time of about 4.5 hours. A quick change into drier clothes and some relatively cool sodas later, I laid down in the bed of my truck and napped. Dave came into camp maybe 20 minutes later and we chatted. He was as tired as I. Frances was maybe 10 minutes behind him, and together we celebrated and compared war stories of the climb. For me it was an amazing experience, certainly one of the more exhausting full-day outings I have ever done. Dave and Frances were excited as well, having bagged the peak when they weren't really planning on it beforehand. They asked me to stick around for dinner and I gladly obliged. Dave fried up some steaks and chops and Frances made some home-made guacamole, and we spent an enjoyable evening eating and visiting. It had turned out to be a great day all around, including weather-wise, that I didn't want for it to end. However, the sun was setting and I had committed myself to be out back to civilization by the evening, so I bid Dave and Frances farewell and drove back out of the canyon onto the desert flats.

Once back onto the 'main' road, I went south toward highway US-6&50, about 60 miles south of my present location. I had just enough waning dusk to see for about another 30 minutes, but ultimately I did the last half of the drive in darkness. I had the pleasure, so to speak, of driving through the towns, so to speak, of Trout Creek, Partoun and Gandy. Given the remoteness of this region, these towns offer nothing for the traveler in the way of services. I was curious just what was there. In Trout Creek (about 10 miles out of the canyon) there's an LDS Church. A tidy, neat place, and somewhat curiously, the road is paved for the 200 feet of frontage by the church. That's it for Trout Creek, aside from a few very scattered homesteads. Another few miles later I had just enough light to take in Partoun. The high school for these here parts is located here. Surprisingly, it had a few buildings and what looked like a gymnasium! The rest of Partoun was just a few more very scattered homesteads, but no distinct center or commercial district. I wonder how far away some of the students must live from the high school. Lastly, Gandy was just a few more very scattered homesteads. The roads were graded well enough so that I could maintain about 50 miles per hour, but at night every jackrabbit I saw wanted to dart in front of me, and I also scared up two large owls feasting on rabbit, presumably, but I am proud to say I didn't actually squoosh any bunnies or birdies (that I know of) on my drive out.

I finally emerged onto pavement at US-6&50 and drove maybe a mile west to a curious outpost, a lone gas station-restaurant-hotel-casino stuck out in the middle of total blackness. I rolled in and found a pay phone to call my wife, then treated myself to another small meal and a beer at the restaurant. I inquired about rooms and they had a few left over, at reasonable rates, so I took one. They had set the place up so that the Nevada-Utah state line ran right through the building. The casino and restaurant were barely inside Nevada, while the gas pumps and the hotel rooms were barely inside Utah. The room was clean and functional and actually a pretty good deal given the price and location. I took a wonderful shower and crashed deeply and slept a good 10 hours. Heaven! The next morning I stuck around a bit and relaxed. I was reading in my room with my door open to catch the breeze when all of a sudden I was visited by a cute little year-old toddler who came running into my room! Her mom was right behind her to scoop her up and to apologize, but I said it was okay. The girl's name was Beth, which my wife found very amusing when I told her the story later on. I sepnt a good part of the morning touring the Lehman Caves at nearby Great Basin National Park, and the rest of the day driving across the state to set myself up for my next hike, Middle Sister Peak in Lyon County, Nevada.

I want to give my deepest thanks to Dave and Frances for joining me on the hike of Ibapah and for being such cool people. Thank you for the steaks afterwards and the great converstaion and camaraderie up on the hill. You are two great people!