Since snow levels surpassed all standards last winter (2023), Jason and I did not attempt any local hikes until Memorial Day, and then only after going snowboarding a couple times during the holiday weekend. Following our slushy exertions, we exchanged boards for hiking gear. That exchange, involving voluble beasts and wobbly connections, went something like this.

Having already satiated our craving for frozen H2O, Jason and I decided to seek out a striking display of water’s liquid form, Horsetail Falls. Like that one girl you knew in high school, Horsetail Falls, a 100-foot cascade near Alpine, is both gorgeous and popular. We decided to approach Horsetail via the Northern Route, which is less used than the standard Horsetail Falls Trail on the other side of Dry Creek, to avoid the holiday crowds.

The Northern Route was indeed less busy, but it had some drawbacks. First, online information said there was a log bridge in place to cross the river. Instead, the bridge was just a few tree trunks tied together that bent and swayed when stepped on. Most of the time, I’m sure this rickety passage is perfectly adequate, but with the highest snowpack on record melting away, the river was a torrent of white water pounding furiously against bank rocks. Falling in almost certainly would have meant death. Hazarding that possibility on bowing, jerry-rigged timbers could correctly be categorized as stupid. I should have taken a picture of the span for reference, but my thoughts were on surviving not documenting at the time. Though crossing made me shaky and sick to my stomach, we continued. It was on those shaky legs that I encountered our next obstacle half a mile farther down the path, a rattler.

I have met many a rattlesnake while hiking in Utah. There are seven species of those vipers in the state. Luckily, they are rather gracious as far as snakes go and have the decency to give you a warning buzz when you get too close instead of sneaking up on you. This rattler was next to the trail in some thick underbrush. I immediately retreated to a safe distance when I heard its forceful hiss. Unfortunately, we were on a narrow section of the path with a sharp drop to the river on one side, so there wasn’t space to safely pass the serpent. We tried throwing little rocks in the snake’s direction to get it to move along, but the hissing jangle continued. As the brush was too concentrated to visually determine if/where the rattler was still present, we decided between it and the dodgy waterway, we were ready to try another trail. We turned around and settled on attempting a nearby route with a strange name, the First Hamongog.

What is a Hamongog? It means, “valley of the multitudes of Gog.” More specifically, it is the valley where the slain forces of Gog are buried. It is just one of the many scriptural references found in Utah’s topography nomenclature. Apparently, there are three Hamongogs, aka mountain meadows, on the south side of Lone Peak. I don’t know about the others, but the First Hamongog looks mystical with giant granite boulders strewn at random in its grassy alcove encircled by protective ridges. One could easily imagine it being the hallowed resting place of a nation’s warriors. Thanks to Utah’s wet winter and spring, the Hamongog was soft and a satisfying shade of emerald on our visit. I didn’t feel cheated having it be our endpoint instead of the falls.

If you wish to visit the First Hamongog, what should you know? The path is a five-mile out-and-back. It climbs 1,696 feet and is quite steep in sections. Calling it a trail isn’t entirely correct as it mostly follows an angled and rutted dirt road constructed by Lehi City to access some water tanks. Although not a singletrack, it doesn’t skimp on ambiance as it abruptly winds through hillsides of buttery wildflowers and drifting birdsong. The dirt road turns into a legit trail right as it enters the First Hamongog and, simultaneously, Lone Peak Wilderness. The path from the First Hamongog to the Second, which is 1.1 miles long, is defined but a little overgrown. We didn’t continue all the way to the Second due to the approach of darkness.

Finding the beginning of this trail is somewhat difficult as apps tell you to go down an access road that currently has a no trespassing sign. However, a path next to the road will get you to the trailhead with an extra 0.25 miles added each way. When you reach a rusty gate with “Lehi” stamped at the top, you are at the start of the dirt road and in the right place.

And that is how our 2023 Memorial Day hikes unfolded. No one drowned or got bit by a rattlesnake, though both seemed like a possibility at one point or another. A meadow of biblical status was reached, and muscles were used. Our trekking endeavors were successful in the end and a rewarding way to commence the Wasatch hiking season.