Lyman, Wyoming to Manila, Utah. Sunday, June 30, 2024
Well, I gave it my best shot. I knew this one was going to be a stretch.
The wind, the spacing of the accommodations, and the road conditions were just too much. Despite an early start, I had to turn around short of the goal.
The goal was the Henry’s Fork trailhead (just across the Utah state line), starting point for our climb up Kings Peak, 20 years ago. Unlike the drama of the Granite and Gannett climbs, this one had gone smoothly, a three day trip involving overnights at Dollar Lake up and down, and a long summit day through Gunsight Pass. What stood out to me was the huge flock of sheep that shepherds brought by at our campsite, complete with border collies and bellwethers—showing me the origin of that term, lead sheep were hung with a bell to better keep track of the flock.
So the original climb had gone smoothly, tagging the highpoint parking lot had not. It would involve an 82 mile day, my longest yet, and a 32 mile out-and-back on a steep dirt road. To make it work, conditions would have to be perfect.
The dirt road seemed OK at first, but 2 miles in the gravel got very soft and I was swarmed by biting horseflies. I had to backtrack to where I stashed my bags to get my bug repellent, and also to bleed 20 pounds of tire pressure. That seemed to do the trick, but it put me behind schedule. I had remembered that the access road was wooded, but in fact it was wide open to the full force of those Wyoming winds. I was averaging 3 mph, dolefully calculating I’d be lucky to get in before dark, when I looked up.
There had been no rain in the forecast, but I had forgotten the Rocky Mountain Way. The mountains make their own weather, afternoon thunderstorms are common, it’s the reason why climbs start early, to get off the summit by noon. The road was soft enough, a storm would turn it impassable. Ten miles short of the trailhead, I quickly turned around.
With the wind and slope suddenly in my favor, I was flying down at 30 mph when I hit one of those hidden soft spots and took a tumble, my first in three years. I was lucky to get away with a scraped knee. As I was hurriedly reattaching my bags at the road junction, a farmer kindly stopped by and offered his shed to wait out the storm. There, I filtered some irrigation-ditch water to refill my bottles on this hot day. It was discolored, but tasted OK.
My turnaround had shaved 20 miles off the total, but I was enervated by the drama and my determination not to resort to caffeine, and had to push up some of those last hills.
Limping in to my motel, I was so rubber-legged I was grateful I’d turned around, could only imagine what a mess I’d be if I’d persisted. The room was cheap and nice but comically full of moths, the proprietress said they’d had an infestation, she vacuumed up thirty and I was swatting them all night.
So now I’ve struck out twice, on Hood and at Henry’s Fork. Another one I’ll have to return to, this time with a mountain bike (Jane had suggested I rent one for today, but the nearest bike shop was 60 miles away). I keep reminding myself, it’s about the journey, not the destination. Hmm.
Distance 62 miles, 2,591 total. Time 11 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,525 feet
©️ 2024 Scott Luria
The Ends of the Earth 