Hike 'Em Up!
The annual Shirley family campout was held last weekend at Tanner’s Flat Campground. We camped on the lower loop, where we had no threat of mountain bikers coming through the camp. My tent was so close to the creek that my kids and I had the sound of water to lull us to sleep both nights. The number one activity on any camp trip is eating, and this was no exception. Whitney has been asking me all summer to make Navajo Tacos again, so Friday night we did just that, with buttered and cinnamon scones for dessert. I also brought marshmallows, graham crackers and Hershey bars for s’mores. As did Alley. As did Heather. As did Dad. The level of stickiness was off the charts. Saturday night we feasted on tinfoil dinners that Kate prepared for us (even though she was unable to attend the camp trip). Instead of potatoes she added frozen tater tots, which were a big hit with the kids. And of course no camp trip would be complete without the requisite banana boats.
To counter the mass calories consumed, we embarked on a hike up the side of the mountain. As Tanner’s Flat is a watershed area, we couldn’t ford the river, and needed to walk downstream to find some logs that had fallen across, which we used to walk over. As usual, we did not follow a defined trail. We went straight up the face of the mountain, picking between the bushes and trees as we went. After cresting the shoulder of the mountain we looped back in with the waterfall we followed last year, which I have since learned is called Red Pine. The first thing I noticed was that the water was much higher and faster this year.
Our goal was to see how high we could get this year, so we followed the Red Pine up. Because of the steepness of the canyon walls there were times that we would have to climb away from the river to more level ground, and then make our way back to the water as we got higher. At one point Dad, Patrick and I became separated from Chas and Hannah. We continued up for a time, assuming that they were somewhere ahead of us. After a while Dad decided to wait for them, while Patrick and I continued on. Up and up we went, until I could see that P-man was getting tired. For a nine year old boy he is a great climber, but the hike was a lot for even me. We were at a very steep spot, and I told him that we would just climb up to a large rock above us, and then turn back. When we crested the hill, we took a break, and as we did I looked over and saw some people with backpacks. We hiked over to them and learned that they were on the Pfeifferhorn trail, headed back from Red Pine Lake. He told us that we were still an hour away from the lake (I later learned that was a lie). Since we had no water I decided to head back.
We started down the trail, but after a quarter mile I decided to cut off the trail and make my way back to the river, looking for Dad, Chas and Hannah. We never found them, but I wasn’t worried, assuming that they had started back down ahead of us. The further we got down the waterfalls the more I started wondering what I was thinking. Because of the higher, faster water, the climb down was far more treacherous, and I found myself looking at my son, wondering how I would get him back to camp safely. The last half mile was painstakingly slow, as boulders slipped from under our feet, crashing into the water below, and we had little vegetation to use as we lowered ourselves down. I have no pictures of this, as I was spending all my energy not getting killed.
Eventually we got to the bottom, where the Red Pine connects with Little Cottonwood Creek. We began picking our way through the trees looking for the downed logs. Eventually we came across a large stone outcropping that went right into the river. We were both too spent to climb up over it, and were stuck. I decided at that point to break the rules. I placed Patrick on my back, and began to quickly cross the icy cold water. Midway through the creek I took a step and found nothing underneath me. The water went from knee deep to chest deep in an instant, and I slipped, falling forward. I grabbed Patrick’s arm and started pulling him across. His arm slipped from my grip, and in an instant I had a vision of him being swept downstream. I threw my camera up on the North bank and turned in time to see him scrambling back to the South bank. I waded over and picked him up, this time in a fireman carry. More slowly this time I waded across, pitching him up on to the bank, soaking wet and muddy.
After returning to camp and depositing him in the tent to change clothes I went to see if the rest of the party had returned. To my dismay, I found Chas, but not Dad or Hannah. They had met up, and then become separated. Chas had also found the trail, and hiked all the way up to the lake, then down to Snowbird and down the canyon, back to camp. We went to the river and looked across at the waterfall to see if we could spot them coming down, which we could not. We were about to cross over and again ascend the waterfall looking for them, when Dad came down the road. As it turns out, he and Hannah had also come down the Pfeifferhorn trail, which I guess I should have done. It was a good adventure, but we were all gassed by bedtime, and slept well.
Unfortunately I don’t have any pictures of the campout’s last day, as I completely submerged my camera. Luckily, after drying it out for a day with everything open, it recovered, and works as good as new now.
I think a nice easy hike is in order for next year, like Mount Timpanogos
