Unnamed Summit
(Proposed Name: "Bridger Peak")
Rich County
22 July 2000
Hikers
Jared Tolman, Tom Tolman
The Story
"I didn't know about that peak [being the highest point in the county]–or that anyone even cared." The ranger, who stopped and talked to us as we were driving up the dirt road to start hiking, made the quote of the day with these parting words of encouragement. He talked about a steep old jeep trail, a sheepherder's cabin, cattle, and the state line up ahead, but he was not aware of this high point called Bridger–or that anyone gave a hoot.
Hey, man, we care. We're on a quest here to climb to the highest peak in each of Utah's counties. Why? I don't know. But it's a quest nonetheless, and one that could not be accomplished without conquering this lonesome, unnamed summit. I'm thinking this discussion wouldn't be complete if I didn't include a quote by someone named Rene Daumal that Dad often uses to explain the significance of bagging peaks:
You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place?
Just this; what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower region by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.
Dad sent me this quote while I was a missionary in Tennessee, and it has since served as the starting point for many a quasi-serious philosophizing sessions along the trail. Think about it for a second; I think these words make good sense. Not just for hiking–for living as well. As we work to accomplish goals, we can't help but learn something along the way. And the more we learn, the more we understand. This understanding comes from an enhanced perspective, gained by setting and maintaining our course in the right direction–upward and onward.
A healthy curiosity for what's over the next horizon keeps life interesting; the discovery of what's over each new horizon is what keeps life going. We will all take different routes to our eternal horizons. Not everyone likes wandering around in the mountains, and they don't have to; these folks can be just as happy doing something else as I am when I am hiking. We have different ways of learning and enjoying life, but truth does not change to match individual circumstances. It's finding this truth and living by its principles that will lead to an eternal life of happiness, no matter if you’re a hiker, a reader, a shopper, a traveler, or whatever.
This talk is all good, but Rich County's highest horizon is what I sat down to write about, so I probably ought to mention something about our hiking trip there. I tell ya', when I sleep in a sleeping bag, I somehow end up uncomfortably right on top of the zipper every time. It doesn't matter how big the sleeping bag is; my tossing and turning will always position me directly above the zipper by morning, without fail.
Such was the case this morning at Bear Lake's Rendezvous Beach campground. The occasion was the annual Tolman family campout. Dad and I came up Friday evening and slept in "Limo," the gray van, that night. Saturday morning, we rode in Uncle Mitch's canoe, paddling along the line of buoys out in the lake. No hamstring-pulling water-skiing incidents for Dad this year. We got traditional raspberry shakes in Garden City, and we were on our way.
We headed up the Swan Flat dirt road, a turnoff from the main Logan Canyon road a couple of miles past the Cache County line. After a while, the friendly ranger coming the other way in his vehicle stopped and chatted with us for a while about our hiking plans. At his suggestion, we crossed into Idaho, looking for a way not as steep as the old jeep trail we passed. Because we didn't know the area at all, we decided to play it safe and start walking along the jeep trail after all. We did have a map, which was helpful, as you have to cut off from this trail and find your way to the top through a woodsy area mixed with aspens and pines.
Short and steep would be a good way to describe this hike. The first part was hot and desert-like, but once the bushwhacking began, shade was provided by the trees most of the rest of the way up. We never did see another person on the hike; just heard ATVs a time or two. When our ascent concluded, we figured we were at the right place, as it was marked with a couple stacks of rocks, and we didn't see anything higher nearby.
This peak was not one of those boulder-covered, barren peaks with unobstructed views in all directions. There was a different beauty on this mountain top. Pine trees and open areas share the top here. Turquoise-colored Bear Lake highlights the view to the east. Trees highlight–or filter–the view to the west. A quiet solitude surrounds this remote summit. We sat and enjoyed the setting for a while, and I got sticky pine tree sap all over me. Then we cruised down to the van in no time. It was definitely a lot quicker for us going down the steep terrain than it was coming up.
We came home safe and sound to Salt Lake's 102-degree heat and a fire blazing near the mouth of Big Cottonwood Canyon. This quick little weekend trip was a fun one; our journey to Rich County's highest mountain, a peak without a name, was a success.
Maybe every peak doesn't need a name. This unnamed summit just seemed to blend into its natural surroundings perfectly, unsuspectingly. I like it just the way it is.