The next day we hiked the Gooseberry Trail, the most strenuous trail in Canyonlands National Park’s Island in the Sky District. It dives 1400 feet from the top of Island in the Sky to the rim of Gooseberry Canyon, 1200 of those come in its first 0.7 miles. While this path is only 5.4 miles out-in-back, its enormous elevation change makes it relatively untraveled so we were eager to assess its rise and solitude extremes for ourselves.
A series of narrow switchbacks coiled precariously downward from the top of Island in the Sky.
The Gooseberry Trail is one of the steepest paths in any national park.
It took us 4 hours and 40 minutes to complete the trek to Gooseberry Canyon and back; the average is 4 to 6 hours. Frankly, it was much easier than I expected. Based on website comments and Canyonlands’ pamphlets, I anticipated having to take numerous breaks just to keep my heart from going all Tommy Lee in my chest but my beater did just fine and didn’t need many pauses. However, this trail was not easier than Jason expected. Yes, my expectations are tougher than his.
The deep dip down was even more daunting than it appears here.
The vibrant layers of the Kayenta and Chinle Formations splashed all around us.
The hardest thing about this path, in my opinion, was its fearsome heights. Gazing down from the top of the mesa, the trail looked like a skinny snake slithering on the edge of oblivion. It took some guts to tell that rising “no” inside me “no” but I shut it down slowly with one foot in front of the other.
Gooseberry Canyon falls just 100 feet from where its trail ends. What an ending!
The White Rim Road, a 4×4 trail, runs along Gooseberry Canyon for a bit so we got asked by a few confused off-roaders where the heck we came from.
After our initial height-shock faded, the trail really wasn’t terribly terrifying but our awe remained. Mighty views kept hitting us until Gooseberry Canyon brought a new wave of wonderment and alarm. With its 200-foot plummets, it was an intimidating and spectacular spot to eat a victory sandwich. What an amazing hike with all the heart-pounding exertion and panic one could want in a day!
I made Jason look so tough. Photography is magic.
Stairs eased the elevation changes on the trail’s gnarliest sections.
Moab was superb once again. You aren’t particularly bright if you thought I would say otherwise. Where else can you freeze your caboose in an alpine meadow and the next day, just minutes away, sport a tank top in desert rapture. It was a little sad not to have our bikes with us but we managed pretty well on two feet.
Jason and I couldn’t let fall freeze into winter without taking our traditional outing to Moab. However, my semester’s relentless presentations, papers, and team projects were creating quite an impediment so we chose to go to Moab for only two days rather than our customary three. Two days of fun is better than three days of no fun. You can check my math; it adds up.
Glorious summer sunshine seemed to seep out of every aspen leaf we came across as we traveled upward.
We decided, reluctantly, not to take our bikes with us because of our shortened stay. Instead, we settled for two day of hiking in two drastically different climates. We visited the towering peaks of the La Sal Mountains and the deep drops of Canyonlands National Park.
Gold Basin held fantastic views of Mount Tukuhnikivatz or Mount Mellenthin. Maybe Mount Peale? It was hard to figure out which peak was which.
Did you know that Utah’s tallest mountains outside the Uintas are not in the Wasatch Range? Don’t lie, you didn’t know that. The La Sal Mountains, barely east of Moab, contain 12 peaks above 12,000 feet, making them Utah’s second-highest range. Not impressed? What’s it with you and your desensitization to massive mounts? Despite our many trips to Moab, we had never been to the La Sals and that just wasn’t right.
This muddy pond marked the end of our path in Gold Basin, not exactly an inspiring stop spot.
At their lower elevations, the La Sal Mountains felt uncannily familiar and foreign all at the same time with sharp hillsides made scruffy by juniper and scrub oak. At their higher altitudes, the vegetation was more of an alpine standard with patches of aspens and bristly conifers.
It wasn’t easy setting my tripod up on giant slabs of stone to get this picture.
We picked a perfect time to visit the La Sals… well, it would have been perfect if our eyes were the overlords of our skin. The aspens were remarkable golden, almost fluorescent, but it was a bit chilly, as in 57 to 42 degrees depending on the elevation and sun’s inclinations.
Moonlight Meadow had already succumbed to winter’s dreariness but it still provided some thrilling views.
Nippy or not, we hiked three miles out-and-back along the Cirque Lakes Trail (Gold Basin) to a silty puddle our trail guide called a lake. Hence, the best part of this trek wasn’t its terminus but its lofty views of Mt. Tukuhnikivatz, Peale, and Mellenthin.
The aspens forming this wall were the last sentinels of color that remained in Moonlight Meadow.
Although temperatures were dropping into the low 40s as the afternoon waned, we opted to do one more hike, a short jaunt to Moonlight Meadow. Moonlight Meadow is, well, an alpine meadow. Did you see that coming? We took an easy one-mile out-and-back path to this grassy knoll. At 10,000 feet, its famous aspens had dispatched their leaves already amid winter’s incoming bluster but it was still an appealing wander. Isn’t it odd that trees go around naked at the times of the year when they could use their shady wardrobes the most?
The liquid hanging precariously in the sky all day poured down just minutes after we jumped back in our car.
Unfortunately, thanks to our frosty climbs, by the time we got back to Moab my body had decided it was done performing the fruitless task of keeping me warm. I was cold all night. I had to wear a t-shirt, thermal top, and hoodie just to keep the goosebumps at bay.
The following day we got goosed in a different kind of way. More on that next week.
Due to the success and satisfaction of our hike to Desolation Peak, my nephews became interested in hiking Mount Nebo, an idea I may have placed in their heads. So, on Labor Day, a select group of my family just went for it. Climbing Nebo was predictably tiring, a little scary, and totally amazing!
Although it was early when we started, we were ready to climb and conquer.
Mt. Nebo, at an elevation of 11,929, is the highest peak in the Wasatch Range. Sorry Timp fans, your beloved’s 11,750 feet don’t even come close.* Getting to the top of Nebo and back requires 8.5 miles of trekking and about 3,400 feet of elevation change, not too bad for a mount of that magnitude.
We passed through meadows lit by brilliant fingers of sunshine.
My dad, brother-in-law, and a couple nephews began the journey with us early from the Mona Pole Trailhead. The weather was predicted to be cold. Temperatures in the 30s at the top and 20-MPH winds were possible. We brought beanies and as many jackets as we could stuff in our packs; they turned out to be unnecessary. The conditions stayed pleasant and temperatures remained in the 60s for most of our hike. This trail did not come with shade, at least not much, so the cooler temperatures were perfect in combination with that constant sun exposure.
The trail to Nebo didn’t mess around with switchbacks; it just scaled straight up.
It took us eight hours to make the roundtrip trek to Nebo’s northern false summit, more commonly known as Wolf Pass Peak. Wolf Pass Peak has an elevation of 11,440 feet, almost 500 feet less than the true summit.
Wolf Pass, at the base of Nebo’s toughest slopes, provided views in every direction.
Why didn’t we make it to the true summit when it was only half a mile away? Excellent question. Well, two members of our party had to turn around 30 minutes before we reached the apex of Wolf Pass Peak due to a poorly-scheduled music lesson. Hence, my dad was placed in charge of my nephew’s safety, a responsibility that made him nervous thanks to the omnipresent drop-offs. (I don’t remember my dad being edgy about taking his kids out on questionable precipices when I was young.) He wasn’t about to scramble to the true summit while on guardian duty.
Not a bad spot to meditate.
Jason and I considered going to the true summit, the North Peak, without my dad and nephew, after all we were only about 45 minutes from the tippy top, but sense eventually got the better of us. Here’s the thing, the terrain between Wolf Pass Peak and the North Peak on Nebo is scary. It’s what mountaineers call “a knife edge.” Why? Because it looks as thin as a blade and feels even more dangerous. On a knife edge, you will find an overabundance of diluted air instead of ground at your feet.
For a big mound, Nebo’s Wolf Pass Peak had a tiny top.
We asked a couple descending groups about their summit experience to ascertain if the trail was as daunting as it looked. The first couple we questioned told us that going to the summit was the most frightening incident of their lives. The next group said it wasn’t as bad as Kings Peak or Timpanogos, both mountains we’ve scaled without issue. These conflicting accounts didn’t help us guess the correct amount of dread we should be feeling.
This picture does not properly portray the sketchiness of the path between Wolf Pass Peak and the North Peak.
We decided to try continuing but after about five minutes of carefully treading through rocky twirls where a misstep could mean taking a swift shortcut to the bottom, I realized I was likely to have a height-induced panic attack and that wouldn’t decrease my chances of hurting myself. Hence, we settled for Wolf Pass Peak and made it back undamaged.
Even on Wolf Pass Peak, the landscape was a little dizzying.
It was a fantastic hike with jaw-dropping views that I got to enjoy with my fantastic family. Sometimes the tough things in life are the easiest.
I would recommend this trek to any stout-hearted nature-lover, with a caution to evaluate skills and conditions before jumping on the path from Wolf Pass Peak to the true summit.
* “Close” has been defined here as 178 feet for the purpose of me being right.
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