Maple Mountain Hike

For nearly ten years we’ve lived in the shadow of Maple Mountain.

The USGS refers to it as Spanish Fork Peak. And indeed, if you are looking for information on the Internet about this mountain, that’s the name you should look for. However, people around these parts call it Maple Mountain, and so do I. We’ll refer to the highest point as Spanish Fork Peak.

Anyway, having lived here and looked at it for so many years, it only seemed logical that Derrick and I should climb it someday. So early this year, we set a goal to climb it this summer. I sold Derrick on it by convincing him that it would be neat to say he’s climbed a mountain. I had a slightly different motive. Of course, I wanted to climb it myself. But my main reason for doing it was to give Derrick a character-building experience. I felt he needed an opportunity to do something hard, something so challenging that it would break his body down to the point that he’d have to dig past what his body wanted and rely on the will of his spirit and the help of God in order to achieve it. Experiences like that stay with us and strengthen us forever.

The big day was actually two days, last weekend, August 21 and 22.

Here’s some information about the mountain:

• The elevation at our house is about 5200 feet above sea level.
• The base elevation at the trailhead is 5612 feet.
• The official elevation at the top of Spanish Fork Peak is 10192 feet.
• That gives a total elevation gain for the hike of 4580 feet.
• The distance from the trailhead to the summit is 5.2 miles.
• The average grade (slope) of the climb is 20% — that means you’re going up a foot on average every five feet (about one foot up per full pace).

Here’s a map of the trail, in blue:

This is a pretty good map if you know how to read contour maps. However, it isn’t really labeled, so I added some:

My friend Greg came with us. Greg’s done this hike before, and he thinks this is one of the most difficult hikes in Utah, because:

• The trail is rough and uneven, strewn with large rocks and tree roots or loose topsoil for most of the trail
• The trail is steep — as we’ve said already, you rise almost one mile in just over five miles of hiking
• The trail is almost consistently climbing — there is very little opportunity for rest
• There are no sources of water anywhere along the trail — you have to pack all of the water you need

Because there was no water, I brought my own in, about 8 or 9 liters for Derrick and I.

We started up the trail around 6:00 in the evening on August 21, 2009. The plan was to hike about 2 miles up to about 7100 feet, the first place where the trail has any sort of flat space where you can pitch a tent.

This is pretty much what the trail looks like for the 1 to 1 1/2 miles preceding the campsite (in other words, the bulk of the trail):

It is CONSTANT CLIMBING for that 1 to 1 1/2 miles over terrain like that. There are some neat distractions though, like this wild raspberry we found:

We didn’t eat it.

My pack was pretty heavy because I was trying to keep Derrick’s pack light so I was hauling a bit more than my share. The trail was not only strewn with rocks as shown above, but also had a lot of large steps to climb created by tree roots crossing the trail. These big steps were really hard for Derrick: With smaller legs and a backpack hanging off his back, it was hard for him to get up those big steps without falling over backwards. I caught him and helped him a couple of times.

Hauling that pack up that trail was TOUGH. I was pretty relieved to finally see the meadow. Derrick was tired also, but did pretty well. We got there about 8:00 p.m. Dinner was rehydrated chicken and rice. I used my awesome new backpacking stove and a sweet mess kit to prepare it. I must’ve been awfully tired. I know the ground I slept on wasn’t real soft or flat, but I slept like a rock anyway.

The next morning, we got up, ate, packed up our stuff, and stashed most of it. Derrick and I were just going to take the small pack up the hill with a full 2L bladder of water and some energy gels and power bars. Derrick offered to carry the pack.

Here’s a view of the campsite looking up the trail. By the time we got to those aspen trees Derrick decided I could carry the pack for the rest of the day.

Here’s a picture of Greg at the campsite. He looks a lot more chipper than I do.

We headed out of camp about 10:00 a.m. The next landmark on the trail is called Maple Lake (labeled in the annotated map as “Disgusting Water”). They call it Maple Lake because that sounds a lot better than Maple Mud Puddle. But in truth, it is not much more than a large mud puddle. It’s pretty much just fed by snow and rain; there’s no exit and no streams or springs feeding it.

I guess what I’m saying is, don’t start thinking you can avoid packing water and just purify this stuff. I’d have to be almost dead to drink it.

We made it to the lake at about 11:30 a.m. We rested for a bit on a log that you can barely see in the shade of the trees in this picture below, then continued on our way. Just after the lake you start climbing again.

About this point you come out of the trees a bit and things open up. Lots of mountain flowers up there, for one thing.

By this time Greg is starting to wonder why I am taking so many pictures of flowers.

Great views at this point, also:

This one is Spanish Fork Peak from the back side.

There’s a set of switchbacks that lead up to the mountain ridge; as you crest the ridge you can see Utah Valley again. Anyway, just before we started up these switchbacks we saw this bald eagle:

At least, Greg said he saw a white head and was convinced it was a bald eagle. I couldn’t tell, but in my opinion this was much too big to be a hawk for sure. We watched it fly over and nest in the cliffs behind Spanish Fork Peak. We thought we could hear eagle babies crying out from the nesting area.

So, yeah, it is pretty and all, but it’s still a rough hike, and it was really hot that day. We started up those brutal switchbacks (labeled in the annotated map as “Pure Hell”). Greg had been cramping up for about a half hour already by this time, and one time he almost fell down the mountain because of the cramping. On our way up, we ran into some guys who were leading horses down the trail. Dirty rotten cheaters.

Eventually we crested the ridge (labeled in the annotated map as “Great Views”). That was really cool to see our home again from that perspective. It came just in time, too. Derrick was starting to get tired of all the walking. I think coming up over the top of that ridge helped him realize that he did want to go the rest of the way. Or maybe he was too exhausted to complain anymore. He had been complaining a bit, but it pretty much stopped by this time.

In this shot, we’re looking back over the trail we’ve just followed, from about 9600 feet up. In other words, this shot is looking about straight east from that first ridge.

This shot is looking ahead from the same place, basically looking south. You can see the trail in the bottom right portion of the picture. Spanish Fork Peak is up in the upper left corner. We have to go around the front side of the peak directly in front of us.

Once you’ve scaled that first ridge, the trail goes through a stand of trees on the front side of the mountain, and then you emerge on the other side with a really excellent view of the whole valley (labeled in the map as “Awesome Views”). We got here about 1:00 p.m.

Flickr won’t accept the full size picture; click here for the whole thing. The view is actually much more open than this appears; in the picture I’m covering about 180 degrees.

Oh, and sorry it doesn’t line up well. Hey, I’m a computer programmer, not a graphic artist.

From here you continue around to the south side of that peak and crest the ridge again (labeled in the annotated map as “Excellent Views”). Here’s another view of Utah County from this point:

And here’s the view looking back at the back side of the mountain. You can see Maple Lake in the bottom right corner. We’re looking straight east in this photo, and Spanish Fork Peak is southeast of us, or kind of ahead and to the right.

It was at this point that Greg ran out of water.

We worked our way up the final part of the trail. By now we were pretty pooped. Even if you’ve grown up a mile above sea level, adding another 5000 feet makes a difference. The trail heading up the final slope (labeled in the annotated map as “The Utter Depths of Hell”) to the summit is a killer, but we were determined not to quit. We made it all the way to the top (“Killer Views”).

Spanish Fork from the top of Spanish Fork Peak. Home is down there somewhere.

Looking south from Spanish Fork Peak, at Loafer Mountain and Covered Bridge Canyon.

Looking southeast from Spanish Fork Peak at Spanish Fork Canyon. There’s a forest fire burning off there in the distance.

This ridge extends from the peak almost straight east. You can see the cliffs off to the left, where an eagle lives.

Looking northeast from Spanish Fork Peak. You can see Maple Lake at the bottom there.

A view straight north shows Provo Peak, and beyond that Mt. Timpanogos.

Looking northwest from Spanish Fork Peak across Utah Valley.

View straight west from Spanish Fork Peak. Great view of Utah Lake (which, unlike Maple Lake, is actually a lake).

Here’s Derrick, myself, and Greg at the top: 10192 feet up.

I really love how this backpack flatters my waistline.

In that pile of rocks there is a mailbox that holds the registry. Derrick and I wrote:

“Derrick Ryan, Matt Ryan – 8/22/2009 – We Made It! Woo-hoo!!!”

So look for that if you ever go up there.

Also at the top of Spanish Fork Peak is a large orange triangular structure that has to be at least 12 feet high. Select peaks in Utah have these; they are used as surveying landmarks.

It was awesome up there, and totally worth the climb. But we were honestly pretty worn out by this time, and we still had five miles back down the trail to hike before we were done. Plus, the top is actually pretty pointed; I’m not sure there’s enough square footage up there to make a proper-sized bedroom, even. Think of a bedroom, that’s about how big it is up there. It was about 2:00 p.m. by this time, so we started back down the trail. It’s a bit nostalgic to leave. I mean, you know you have to leave, because you have to get home, and there really isn’t a lot to do up there. But nonetheless you kinda hate to leave when you’ve worked so hard to get up there in the first place.

We continued down around the front peak and back to the saddle ridge, the first ridge you crest when you come up those switchbacks. It was here that I ran out of water.

We were out of water and still about 2 1/2 miles from our campsite. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon on one of the hottest days of the year.

We headed down the switchbacks. Greg was cramping up pretty badly and having a hard time walking down those steep slopes. The trail there is covered with loose soil and small rocks, making it very slippery. A number of times one of us would step, slip a bit and catch ourselves. This is not good if you are cramping up or running out of energy. Finally, just before we got to the bottom, Greg’s momentum got the best of him and he found himself jogging down the trail trying to keep from falling. He put on the brakes and completely lost his footing. He landed hard on his elbow, which hurt plenty, but what hurt him even worse was the cramping in his legs as he tried to stand up again.

We were getting into a bad situation here, but the only way out was to keep going and try to make it to camp.

Meanwhile, my toes were killing me. If you’ve hiked down a hill, you know how your toes can start to hurt as they jam themselves against the front of your shoes. I worried that I might have my nails too long, exacerbating the problem. When we got to the lake we sat down to rest again at the log and I took out the first aid kit. We didn’t have nail clippers in there, but we did have scissors. I took my boots off and trimmed my toenails with scissors. This is not a recommended procedure under normal conditions, because it is very hard to control and you sometimes end up cutting off too much, like I did.

We started off again and made for camp. All we kept thinking about was the fact that I still had about 2 liters of water waiting for us there, leftover from the hike the evening before. I could tell that we were getting more and more tired, as we’d just trudge along for several minutes without anyone saying anything. The only noises we made were usually dull, trudging footstep sounds and those deep sighs you take to try to reassure yourself.

We finally made it to camp about 4:30. I went straight for my pack where the remaining water bladders were stored. I pulled one out and gave it to Derrick, and pulled the other one out and handed it to Greg. With all his cramping I knew he was more dehydrated than I was. After he’d had a bit to drink, I took my turn. As I started drinking, I could feel my body start sweating again.

We just rested there for probably 1/2 hour.

Derrick was mentally in a place he’d never been before. Oh, he was fine, it wasn’t like he was losing his mind or anything. I think he just had no idea something could be so hard. And he knew the worst was yet to come, at least for him. He sat down on the grass to rest.

“Dad, will you sit next to me?” he asked.

I sat down right next to him. He rested his arm on my leg and leaned against me. Derrick’s never really been much of a cuddler, so when he acts like this you know something’s going on. I just put my arm around his shoulders and patted him.

We knew we had to get going. We were all really tired. But we were running out of water, and the only way to get more was to get back to the truck. We stood up to go, and I stared and stared at those packs. Even though Derrick was carrying hardly anything, I knew he dreaded the thought of having to put that on. I hated that thought myself. And I couldn’t even fathom putting mine on. I didn’t know how I’d be able to stand up with it on, I was so tired.

Greg offered to say a prayer. We stood in a circle while Greg said the prayer. It was a good thing he did it, because I don’t think I could have spoken at that moment.

I’ll never forget that prayer. It wasn’t long or fancy. But I felt at that moment that Heavenly Father was aware of us. I felt that He knew why I’d tried to do this — to help give my son a valuable growing experience — and that He would help us get out. I wasn’t worried anymore.

I’m grateful for a friend like Greg who thinks of that sort of thing. I’m ashamed to say I would not have thought to pray on my own. It isn’t that I don’t believe in prayer; I do. I don’t know why I don’t think to do that more often.

I picked up Derrick’s pack and put it on him. I felt horrible doing it. I wished I could carry it for him. But I knew there was no way I was going to be able to carry his and mine also. I readjusted it to fit him and then put mine on. I felt the way Derrick looked.

We headed off down the trail again. Derrick had a water bladder in his pack and I had one in mine. Greg was out, having run out on the saddle ridge earlier, but we were letting him use ours. But we didn’t really have much left. About a half hour down the trail, Derrick and I both ran out. That was the end of the water.

The first 1 – 1 1/2 miles down that hill after camp were basically a controlled stumble for me. I never thought I’d get tired and have to rest going down the hill. Every so often Derrick would stop and put his hands on his knees and rest. He’d say some variation of, “Dad, I’m tired. I don’t think I can go on anymore.”

This worried me. It was different from the complaining. He wasn’t saying he didn’t want to; he was calmly expressing his concerned belief that he was unable to.

I’d tell him different things to keep him going. Sometimes I just reassured him: “Yes, you can. You can make it.”

Another time, I told him: “We can stop and rest whenever you need to. But every minute you stop to rest is a minute longer you are holding that pack and not getting any closer to the truck.”

It worried me, and yet, this is exactly what I was hoping for when I made these plans in the first place. He was having exactly the experience I wanted him to have, and it was about killing me having to watch him go through it.

Finally I told him how the prayer had made me feel. I told him I knew Heavenly Father was aware of us on the hike. He knew where we were. I told him He would help us get back, and I knew it. We didn’t have to worry — we just had to keep doing our part, keep walking.

Finally the trail flattened out. My left big toe was throbbing. I was relieved to get to some flat ground that was a bit easier to hike. Suddenly we could see the gate at the trailhead, and the parking lot, and the truck. We’d made it.

We got to the truck and I took Derrick’s pack off of his little body and threw it in the back. I put my arm around him and gave him a hug. I told him how proud I was of him. He was sobbing quietly to himself.

I got my pack off, then helped Derrick climb into the truck to sit and rest. The trailhead is at the top of Whiting Campground, and the campground had a culinary water tap about 100 feet away. So I took Derrick’s water bladder over to the water tap and filled it up with nice cold water and brought it over to him. I had a 1 liter bottle for water in the truck, so after I got Derrick some water I filled that bottle up for myself. It was almost gone by the time we got home about 20 minutes later.