St. Archer Mosaic IPA and Gunsight Couloir at Alta

A week from now, the holiday skiers will invade Little Cottonwood Canyon. That’s why I have been elated to get some good days in at Alta before the lift lines are filled with name labeled skis and rainbow dial-a-bindings. When the start date got pushed back from Thanksgiving, I worried, but now, 4 days in, I feel spoiled. Today I feasted on Frosted Face Flakes for breakfast and a St. Archer’s Mosaic IPA for lunch.

No one gets “me” time on a powder day?! Well, Jared (my usual ski partner) was enjoying the day in the company of his soon-to-be ski partner/son and my father-in-law was watching his grandchild do awesome stuff on a diving board. [Hah, the rewards of parenthood.] Two less competitors for freshies.

It wasn’t too crowded but, it’s still Alta. You got to be quick or else Stonecrusher will be tracked before you know it. I don’t get bitter about this. Snow was designed to be tracked. You can’t fault other skiers for holding powder in high regard. Today, I got my turns in and was very happy. I think the best run of the day was Gunsight. Even though it was more avy crunch than powder, I still felt great coming down it. That’s because when I was at the top, I was all alone and enjoyed a summit brew.

When you have a reputation as a beer snob, as I do, people tend to want to give you strange and exotic beers from their travels; as if they are providing some sort of gift of the Magi. Today’s summit brew was courtesy of a co-worker that returned from San Diego last week with a 6 pack of St. Archers’s Mosaic Double IPA.

I don’t think I’ve had St. Archer. The curiosity was killing me all week. But when I saw that Friday’s storm might make Saturday great, I chose to save my sampling. After quaffing it atop Gunsight, I discovered now another beer I wish we had in Utah. Perhaps with MillerCoors owning them, that will happen.

This brew knows how to show off a hop. It lets the name of the hop sell the beer instead of pandering with some overly creative play on words using “hop”.

Goes well with a fire... or at least a gas log.

Goes well with a fire… or at least a gas log.

Yes, there is some bitterness, it is an IPA after all. But it doesn’t knock you over with that bitterness. It’s just like the drop into Gunsight. Yes, it’s not easy, but it doesn’t require a Scott Schmidt hop turn or a menacing cornice drop. Upon that first sip, there is an odd lack of any overpowering bouquet but, the fruit really comes out in the sip. There is some mango and the typical citrus, presented in an incredibly pleasant cascade of consistent and predictable IPA-ness. Like the fall line of a straight and narrow chute. It is gold color and almost looks like a pilsner, but obviously has so much more character. As you drink it, there is this expectation that it will give way abruptly to a oversaturated explosion of hoppiness yet, it keeps inviting you to drink more and come back for more. A 9% beer that really doesn’t seem like 9%. I enjoyed every hoppy exhale on my exhaustive trip down Gunsight.

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Back in my Turf with the Namesake Beer – Sawtooth Tandem Double Rye IPA in the Sawtooth

Sawtooth Brewery Tandem Double Rye IPA

Sawtooth Brewery Tandem Double Rye IPA

No innovation in brewing has meant more to SummitBrew than the crowler, the “canned on-the-spot” alternative to the 64 ounce glass growler. Sawtooth Brewing in the Wood River Valley of Idaho was where I first saw this magic in action and realized, “I can bring any of their ‘tap only’ offerings back to Utah without fear of them going flat. Or even better, I can take them into the mountains.” Which is exactly what I did last weekend when I returned to my adopted home of Idaho for a long overdue backpacking trip with my wife.

The mountains of central Idaho offer countless backpacking options, but for me, the Sawtooth Mountains northwest of Sun Valley hold some of the best options for a memorable wilderness trip. The range has very little in the way of roads bisecting its nearly 50 mile length and most of the area is a designated wilderness, meaning that even though it’s a very popular destination, your company on the trail will only consist of other hikers and horses– no ORVs or mountain bikes.

Farley Lake in the Sawtooth Wilderness

Farley Lake in the Sawtooth Wilderness

When we pulled up to the crowded Tin Cup trailhead at Pettit Lake, I immediately felt a wave of jealously watching lightweight packers storm up the trail with their 45 liter packs, but “going light” has never been easy for me. Over the years, some of the items I’ve lugged into the high country have been embarrassingly extraneous. For instance, I’ve learned with the help of my wife that I likely don’t need to carry copies of Dharma Bums and Turtle Island into the wild, no matter how appropriate it seems to read them among the mountains and streams. Hell, Gary Snyder himself, (the subject and author of those books) would probably see me pull out his thin book of poetry and lump me in with the fools that don’t know a rucksack from a haversack. (I thought that was a quote from Dharma Bums, but I couldn’t find it. Not sure where I heard it.)

The weight savings practices like restricting my journal to a small 3 inch notebook and ditching the cookware and eating right out of the Backpackers Pantry bag has been somewhat counteracted with other amenities like aerosol cheese, beer, wine and a hammock; four items that are the backpacking equivalent of wing sauce, DVRs, bitters and female leg shaving (sure, they aren’t essential, but they sure make a pleasant thing more pleasant). We had all four of those things on this two-night trip up the Toxaway Lake drainage and for the beer, I chose a Sawtooth Tandem Double Rye IPA.

Lexi and I had started from the same Pettit Lake trailhead 7 years ago for a memorable trip to Alice Lake, but we wanted to see something new, so we choose to hike to Farley Lake, which is in the next drainage to the north. Farley Lake lies 6 miles west of the trail head and at approximately 8000′. The trail climbs south over a 400 vertical foot moraine that separates the Alice and Toxaway drainages, then proceeds southwest to Farley Lake and eventually Toxaway Lake, three miles further. Alice and Toxaway Lakes are equally beautiful and many hikers choose to cross the Snowyside Divide between them and make a loop out of their trip, but we were hoping Farley might be less populated.

One of the waterfalls on the way to Farley Lake

One of the waterfalls on the way to Farley Lake

Most of the hike to Farley Lake ascends through a pine forest, but not long after you cross the wilderness boundary and encounter a fairly large stream crossing, you pass some roaring waterfalls. The lake itself is perched right above and below hidden waterfalls that are worth a closer look. The lake is also squeezed between Imogene Peak to the north and Parks Peak to the south, with particularly steep banks on the south and we struggled to find camping around this small lake. The narrow north shoreline had limited options, but we did find a perfectly cleared tent pad on a rocky hilltop about 75′ above the lake surface. While being near the water would have been nice, our perch gave us a great view down the canyon and across the Sawtooth Valley to the majestic White Clouds in the east. The downside to this dry camp though was that I didn’t have a cold lake in which to chill my beer.

As we prepared to day hike up to Toxaway Lake on our second day, I debated stashing my Sawooth Tandem in the stream, leaving it to chill while we were out on the trail and retrieving as we came back. But without a drag bag or something to anchor it with, I was afraid my 32 ounces of refreshment would tumble down the stream and get punctured open as it dropped one of the waterfalls. Not the way I want to share my beer, as much as the otters might enjoy it. So I found a crevice in some rocks that looked like it would stay shady most of the day and hoped that it would at least retain room temperature for the evening.

Toxaway Lake is a spot where you can easily spend an hour just soaking in the scenery.

Toxaway Lake is a spot where you can easily spend an hour just soaking in the scenery.

When we returned from our afternoon at the stunning Toxaway Lake, my Double Rye was still shaded by the talus. I was pretty elated that the silver can at least felt cool on contact, not like a dashboard in August.

Sawtooth Brewery started in 2011 and I discovered them the following year on a fall trip up to Hailey. The story of their struggles to get their beer in local establishments (it used to be on their website, I couldn’t find it now) made for an interesting read about how difficult the brewing business can be, mainly due to distribution. Yet they persevered and the small tap room they had in a Ketchum hotel has now grown to a full service pub and an expanded brewing facility in Hailey. It’s a treat every time I return to the Sun Valley area to stop in and try their creations. The Freeheeler Rye and Twin Stop Pale are two of my favorites which are bottled in 22 ounce bombers, but the Tandem Double Rye IPA has been one of the draft offerings I’ve been taking back to Utah since I tried it this winter.

Drinking Sawtooth in the Sawtooth

Drinking Sawtooth in the Sawtooth. Castle Peak erupts in the east.

20160730_184205Tandem Double Rye IPA probably favors the rye over the IPA in terms of flavor. It has a malt characteristic that I really like, but IPA lovers looking for heavy citrus or hop flavors might not. It’s a strong beer at 9% (which is a heavy undertaking to drink in the backcountry when your wife prefers wine), but I found it really smooth to drink, especially considering it wasn’t chilled. I poured it into my collapsible rubber cup (no, I’m not lugging steel pint glasses in my pack no matter how cool they are) and enjoyed the amber colored brew while looking out over Farley Lake and the monstrous Castle Peak in the distance. I thought it had a bit of a sweet character, but not sugary, just like the hint of fresh bread with some undertones of hop bitterness. The “tandem” in its name probably means I should have shared more of it, but as I mentioned, my wife isn’t much of a beer drinker. However, she did enjoy what she tasted and I quaffed much of it while looking at my favorite mountains in my favorite state.

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Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop with Upslope Belgian Blonde with Guava

Fruit beers, fruit beers, everywhere there are fruit beers. I’m not complaining, as I like many options that are now available, especially those session beers popping up in Utah grocery stores. The newest entry in this emerging category is the Belgian Style Blonde with Guava from our friends at Upslope Brewing.

Tilting back the new, Utah-exclusive, Upslope Belgian-Style Blonde with Guava.

Tilting back the new, Utah-exclusive, Upslope Belgian-Style Blonde with Guava.

Ski season is over (it is June after all) but much snow still remains in the upper Wasatch. Brewddah and I recently took our skis to Grizzly Gulch at Alta for some turns. Sure, everyone is mountain biking and rock climbing now, myself included. But I have a “can’t stop, won’t stop” attitude when it comes to skiing. If there is snow, you can make turns, and I like to eek it out when I can.

After a few runs in Griz, we perched up on a view-laden spot looking down Little Cottonwood Canyon, and that’s where I cracked open a can of Guava Goodness.

Upslope Belgian Style Blonde with Guava 

Upslope Belgian Blonde with Guava in the glass. A perfect, summer scenario.

Upslope Belgian Blonde with Guava in the glass. A perfect, summer scenario.

What is most awesome about this beer is that it was brewed just for us Utahns. At 4%, it’s a low ABV brew that can be sold in grocery and convenience stores here in the Beehive State, and it’s soooo nice of this Colorado brewery to think of us. We Utahns have a reputation of loving quality beer, the dominant religion be damned, and breweries around the west are taking note.

This Belgian-Style Blonde is the epitome of easy drinking. The body is light and airy, with champagne-like carbonation. The Belgian yeast imparts it’s typical funky flavor, which is balanced out by the fruity guava. Many flavored beers go too heavy on the fruit, but the guava here is subtle, imparting just enough kick to make you take note and drink some more in order to figure out the complexities of this bang-up brew.

Back home, while enjoying another on the back deck in a glass, I could see the light, straw-like color. The nose is very strong. As soon as I bring the glass to my face, the citrus and banana-like esters have a smack-upside-the-head aroma. Both in the can and in a pint glass, this beer is quite delicious. A strong and welcome addition to the stable of session beers in Utah, and just in time for summer.

For more, visit them at

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Upslope Belgian Style Pale Ale paired with Geyser Pass Yurt

Geyser Pass Yurt and Haystack Mountain

The Geyser Pass Yurt from Talking Mountain Yurts.

The Geyser Pass Yurt from Talking Mountain Yurts.

Good beer on a yurt trip is a requirement. Without being able to crack open a cold brew after a long day of skiing… well… you might as well not even be there. Such was the case on a trip to the Geyser Pass Yurt in the La Sal Mountains of Moab, Utah. This is one of two new yurts built by Talking Mountain Yurts, and staying in these palatial digs paired well with the also new Belgian Style Pale Ale from Upslope Brewing Company.

Sean Zimmerman-Wall boots up to the summit of Haystack Mountain.

Sean Zimmerman-Wall boots up to the summit of Haystack Mountain.

The Geyser Pass Yurt is situated just a few hundred yards from… you guessed it… Geyser Pass. This is a popular spot to drive to for summer peak bagging, and is also the start of the famous Whole Enchilada mountain bike trail. In the winter, however, you must snowmobile, skin, snowshoe, or Nordic ski 3.7 miles from the winter trailhead to the yurt. The approach alone is deserving of a beer.

To claim my Upslope reward, I continued on with my pals to ski Haystack Mountain, located just to the west of the yurt. This large-ish peak rises to an elevation of 11,641 feet, which is lower than the surrounding summits. But Haystack is not to be derided. A steep summit cone requires bootpacking with skis strapped to packs, and exposed faces on all compass points are severely prone to avalanches. Indeed, an old avalanche on the east face tore large aspen trees out by the roots and snapped trunks in half. But spring brings stable snow and corn shredding, and so we shredded.

Adam Symonds skis the east face of Haystack. Next stop - beer:30

Adam Symonds skis the east face of Haystack. Next stop – beer:30

After an excellent run, it was time to relax at the yurt. The Geyser Pass Yurt is the larger of the two (the other being Gold Basin Yurt). At 24 feet, there is tons of room inside to spread out beer and gear. Two bunk beds and a futon sleep 8, though having 6 guys sharing the space felt like plenty. A kitchen table encouraged us to sit around for conversation and brew sharing, while a wood-burning stove kept the place heated.

Taking off our boots after a long day in the skin track (BOOTGASM!), it was time to drink up. Stepping outside, I withdrew my can of Upslope Belgian Style Pale Ale kept cold in a snowbank, and popped the top for an outdoor quaff sesh.

Upslope Belgian Style Pale Ale

A can of Upslope Belgian Style Pale Ale at the Geyser Pass Yurt.

A can of Upslope Belgian Style Pale Ale at the Geyser Pass Yurt.

I’ve seen and drank a lot of Belgian Style IPAs lately, but I think this is the first time I’ve wrapped my lips around a Belgian Pale. The main difference in taste, I thought, is the pale version would be lower in alcohol, and have a bit more malt backbone with a little less hoppy bitterness. Overall, I was right.

The smell off the top is full of Belgian yeast. Banana esters are prominent and reminded me of a Trippel-style in a way. The taste is the same, with a slight banana flavor and spiciness of coriander. Maybe even some clove, though it was hard for me to tell while drinking it from a can without letting it breathe and getting the full flavor profile and proper nose in a glass. But really, this beer is very typical of the Belgian style.

That being said, I don’t find many Belgian beers to be “easy drinking” as they tend to be more sipping beers for me. But Upslope’s is dangerously drinkable for a 7.5% ABV. This is good, because it’s a spring seasonal, and I like my spring beers to be a bit lighter and poundable. You know, beers you can down after a long bike ride without it making you feel like you’re 10 months pregnant.

Upslope nailed it. Check them out at

For more information about Talking Mountain Yurts, click the link (as if you didn’t know).


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Millvue Peak Paired with Odell Isolation Ale


Looking across Millcreek Canyon at Alexander Basin

With the explosion in popularity of backcountry skiing, there’s a risk that I use my years of experience in the sport as an excuse to look upon the johnny-come-latelys with a bit of disdain. This last weekend, I had to suppress the urge to yell, “Get off my lawn,” multiple times when Beartrap Fork seemed as busy as Catherine’s at Alta. However, my nature to seek solitude and isolation, the need to discover less trammeled areas leads me to the relatively obscure corners of the Wasatch, like it did a few weeks ago when myself and three friends searched for safe, tree protected snow on Millvue Peak.
This just under 9,000’ peak sits on the north boundary of Millcreek Canyon. With most of its slopes covered in trees, it seemed like a good bet on a day when the risk of triggering slides on higher, more exposed terrain, was high. The south face, which runs into Millcreek, is pretty steep, but the Lambs Canyon trailhead on the opposite side does provide access to the ridge from the north, which is the option we chose. More popular with snowshoers than skiers, this trailhead is found by taking the Lambs Canyon exit on the way to Park City and driving up the road to the first designated parking area with a pit toilet. The starting elevation is around 6,600’ and as we started up the trail, I already began training myself for an adventurous exit. Like Millcreek Canyon, the slopes were filled with deadfall, thinly covered and I suspected other travelers on the trail were not likely to expect descending skiers. It’s places like this where I feel backcountry skiers need to behave like guests with a privilege, not thrillseekers with a right. So please, be courteous if you do choose to ski here.

Adam finds some good turns in one of the few open spots.

Adam finds some good turns in one of the few open spots.

The route follows a draw to the southwest until about 7,700’ when it begins making a wide traverse up to a saddle that overlooks into Millcreek. While only at 8,200’, the vantage point is quite rewarding. Gobblers Knob and Mount Raymond are clearly visible across the canyon and back over your right shoulder you can see Mt. Aire. After a brief break to take in the view, we set our skis to the east and began skinning up the ridge to the summit. The final 700’ to the radio tower had its challenges. The sub-9,000’ elevation belied the peak’s steep and windswept west ridge and the sudden exposure to the south winds now had us grabbing layers out of our packs.

If you're going to rip skins, RIP SKINS.

If you’re going to rip skins, RIP SKINS.

Less than 3 hours after leaving the vehicle, we were at the top, inspecting our options on this somewhat unimpressive peak. One of the things I like about skiing the upper reaches of canyons north of the Cottonwoods is the relative isolation one gets when they are removed from the sight of a ski resort. This is why we like to call it ski touring after all. I remember a friend in high school mentioning that her idea of the perfect life would be to live alone in a library. I can definitely relate to that feeling, although I might prefer the library to be a humble little cabin in a remote sub-alpine area. Each day I could see the subtle changes from one season to the next, watch the snow pile up on my roof and feel satisfaction knowing untracked slopes surrounded me. That spirit of isolation and the opportunity to live, even for a brief time, without any distraction is the spirit of this installment’s summit brew, Isolation by Odell Brewing.
I can’t remember when I discovered this seasonal beer from Fort Collins, but until last season, it had become a yearly ritual to drive to Evanston and seek it out. But last weekend, on a trip into Idaho, I saw it in the Ice Cave of a small Preston grocery store and remembered how much I loved it. The label displays a small, remote cabin with an evening glow emanating from the windows. You can’t help but want to see that cabin after a long day of touring, hanging your wet clothes by the fire and watching a new snowfall cover your tracks.

I don't like the look on my face here. Trust me, I am happy... very happy.

I don’t like the look on my face here. Trust me, I am happy… very happy.

I’ve often maligned winter seasonal beers for overdoing it on the spice. Some people have a problem with fruit beers, I can do without an excess of star anise and nutmeg. Like egg nog, some winter seasonals lose their novelty before you even finish the bottle. But in the case of Isolation, Odell created a dark copper colored seasonal that I feel like is gone from store shelves way too soon. While bottles are normally not a great choice for “ski” summit brews, I had to start 2016’s blogs with this beer.
Looking north along the Wasatch and down into the empty depths below Alexander Basin, I zipped up my jacket and opened the bottle. Smooth and malty it seemed to warm me up as much as a hot beverage would. I like how both the sweet and bitterness stay out of the way of this beer. It has a medium body and very light hoppiness that cuts through the sweetness, just at the very end. The IBU is a very reasonable 42 in a world where IPAs seem to be driving the hop standards to the extreme. The fact that my IPA friend enjoys this beer as well tells me they got it right. When the opportunity comes to pour it in a glass, the cream colored head lasts through much of the beer and leaves a fairly thick lace on the glass. I think the nice caramel quality of this beer gives it all the “winter” season character that it needs. Savoring a beer like this in the backcountry feels pretty rewarding, (you can’t get it in Utah, you can’t get it year round) and like the tour up Millvue Peak, you tend to feel pleasure at choosing to go outside the norm and try something rare.

Typical Rambo Exit in the Wasatch.

Typical Rambo Exit in the Wasatch.

The mood of the day was beginning to change. We were losing our sun and it made me wish that instead of skiing back to my Outback, we were skiing to the cabin on the label. If we were, then that cabin was going to sit beyond some pretty thick trees with thin snow however, and we put a second lap out of our mind when we realized our short tour in the trees became a Rambo-exit. Back at the narrow bottom of Lambs Canyon, the boots came off and we sat at the car, gear spread out like a yard sale, and talked skiing. It would have been much nice in a cabin. If I squint and hold my nose, maybe that pit toilet could pass… nah.

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“I Can See My House from Here” – Broads Fork Twin Peaks Paired With Sockeye Galena Gold

East Peak of Broads Fork Twin Peaks. Viewed from the saddle below Sunrise.

East Peak of Broads Fork Twin Peaks. Viewed from the saddle below Sunrise.

Very few people in this world know what what it’s like to not have to wear a uniform for work. At some point in our lives, unless you’re Donald Trump or Prince William or the fortunate (or unfortunate) heir to a nudist colony empire, you know what it is to have a job that requires a name tag and some sort of smock, apron or, in my case, a green REI vest. The purpose of the vest is two-fold: provide pockets and loops for any assortment of pens, pads, pins and paraphernalia and also provide customers a clear and unmistakable indicator of which people in the store they can ask questions without feeling self-conscious or intimidated.


The choice for my highest summit of 2015, Sockeye’s Galena Gold Kolsch style.

As my wife has observed, when it comes to queries from strangers at the trailhead, I’m figuratively still wearing that green vest. Perhaps it’s the clothes I wear that suggest I know what I’m doing. Inadvertently, I have shown up at the trailhead sporting a yellow shirt/brown hat combination that made me look like an on-duty forest service employee. Guess I have to blame myself for that one. Then there is the severe over-preparation I seem to undertake in the parking lot as I prepare to disembark for even the most inane hikes. Even for a short day hike, I will often load a 45 liter pack with maps, first aid kit, rain gear, and headlamps which likely makes other hikers assume I take things way too seriously. If they also saw me loading the beer and flasks, observers might think twice about trusting my council. Finally, I think there is this non-threatening aura I give off that makes people gravitate towards me whenever their disorientation is jeopardizing the the enjoyment of their hike. I’m the equivalent of the average, non-muscle head at the gym that no one worries about asking if they are done with the bench. I’m not threatening, I don’t give off an attitude, but I don’t appear to be an idiot either.

And so it happened a few Sunday mornings past at the Mill B South Fork trailhead as I was preparing for a hike up Broads Fork. A solitary man in a red shirt called out, “Excuse me,” at least twice while I was angrily back at my car grabbing my forgotten sunglasses after starting up the trail once already. While I zipped up my pack, I thought, “Green Vest Gravity strikes again”. The guy was pleasant enough and just wanted to know the way to the Broads Fork trail. Since I expected most people in this lot were likely heading up the Lake Blanche trail, (a far more scenic and reasonable hike), I did have a brief thought of disappointment as I imagined Broads Fork being equally crowded, but I explained to him how the Broads Fork trail starts up the Lake Blanche trail and then eventually splits off on its own.

An expansive, birds-eye view of Little Cottonwood canyon is just one of the rewards for climbing Broad's Fork Twin.

An expansive, birds-eye view of Little Cottonwood canyon is just one of the rewards for climbing Broad’s Fork Twin.

“I’m pretty sure it’s marked,” I said, “but it has been a while since I’ve hiked it.” That disclaimer would be prophetic because, in fact, the trail to Broads Fork leaves the parking lot in the exact opposite direction as the Lake Blanche trail, a fact I realized about 15 minutes into my second hike up the trail. I was on the wrong side of the divide between Mill B and Broads and had to turn around a second time. I finally started my hike up the actual Broads Fork trail with my frustration over the 30+ minute compounded by the anxiety of how I likely ruined that guy’s day by sending him up the wrong trail.

I’m going to open up to the public a bit here and share the fact that I cannot let shit like that go. All I could think of is how I steered him wrong and what must he think of me. I tried to convince myself that eventually, any good hiker would figure it out and turn around. If he didn’t, then he probably shouldn’t be hiking Broads. How’s that for rationalizing? The thought of him getting all the way to Lake Blanche before figuring it out ate at me for about 45 minutes up the trail. Eventually though, I was able to lose myself in the moment. I hadn’t seen anyone since the trailhead and the solitary, narrow path was so overgrown in some spots that you really couldn’t spot your footing. The bushes, still wet from the previous day’s rain, were cool and made the summer’s 100 degree days down in the valley seem like they took place on another world.


Upper Broads Fork. From left to right, Dromedary, Sunrise and the East Twin.

My goal for the day was the Twin Peaks of Broads Fork (not to be confused with American Fork – Twin Peaks near Snowbird). The west peak of this Wasatch mountain is one of the more prominent peaks visible from the Salt Lake Valley. As one scans the Wasatch front from north to south, the front ascends between each major canyon; Grandeur, Olympus, Twin and Lone. Lying on the Cottonwood ridgeline, these twin summits are clearly visible from my kitchen window in Sandy and ever since I moved in to my new home in May, I felt they had to be the next peaks I bagged in the Wasatch. The east peak is the highest at 11,330′, but the west twin is only 2′ lower. The Broads Fork route approaches from the east on a long steep hike to the east peak, making the west peak an “icing on the cake” if I made the summit, Since the west peak was the more visible spire from my home perspective 7,000′ below, I was hopeful I could bag them both.

90 minutes in, I started to reach the upper limits of Broads Fork and was treated to a beautiful view of the additional peaks that crowned its cirque: Dromedary and Sunrise which lie just east of east Twin. These dark and defined summits, while lower than Twin, seemed more menacing when compared to the triangular nature of the east Twin, yet by no means would it be an easy hike. I was already prepared for things to get tough. From the get go, there really is no respite on the pitch of the Broads Fork trail and I was already dreading the steep hike down, but once I passed the head of the stream, I realized the challenges had yet to really start. In the bowl below the three a fore mentioned peaks was a long talus field that made me thankful I brought trekking poles. While talus is a part of almost any mountainous hike, this field had a particularly nasty mix of small rocks on steep slopes on which my footing always seemed to be slipping. There was also a bumper crop of prickly thistle weeds that had a knack of growing right where you wanted to step.

Over 1,000' of steep talus to the saddle makes Broads Fork twin one of the more time consuming climbs in the Wasatch,

Over 1,000′ of steep talus to the saddle makes Broads Fork twin one of the more time consuming climbs in the Wasatch,

At the top of the talus was a saddle at 10,800′, between Sunrise and Twin and I encountered another barrier, a narrow ridge with angular jumbles of rocks shooting out tow either side and and falling off sharply before meeting a small rock spire that blocked the route. This minor cliff required a short climb in order to continue on to the base of the peak. I couldn’t quite tell what other options I had, so I convinced myself to keep going, (at least until I couldn’t go any further), rather than talk myself out of the climb before I even tried.

As worked my way along larger boulders on the saddle, I began to sense that a trail did drop of the ridge somewhat to the left (south) and run along the base of the cliff where it met the slopes above Lisa Falls, but I still couldn’t see any spot where you could get back on to the ridge; the rock only seemed to get more sheer and higher. Around this time, I saw a large group of people coming down from the peak. I’m not sure how I was able to make this judgement given they were so far away, but I felt if they were able to make it over this obstacle, then so could I. I took my time climbing around to the south side of the ridge and by then, some of the descending hikers were above me looking for a way to downclimb the cliff back to the saddle. None of them seemed too certain of the route and there was a lot of discussion and second guessing, but eventually they were finding a route. Then I started seeing hikers coming towards me at my level, not from above. One of the hikers mentioned a chute further ahead that could be hiked if I didn’t feel like scaling the wall. Deciding that the path of least resistance was the best bet since I was alone, I continued on below the ridge staring down awestruck at the uninterrupted slope above Lisa Falls. This long chute slides 4,000′ down to the floor of Little Cottonwood Canyon. Thanks to that perspective, a simple traverse along relatively solid and level ground seemed much hairier. However, I felt better when I saw a red-shirted hiker come out from the chute I was seeking. I realized that hiker was the same guy I gave bad directions to in the parking lot. As I passed him, I asked, “Are you the one I gave bad info to in the parking lot?” He sure was, and he explained a quick glance at the trailhead map helped him realize my error long before I figured it out. Climber Karma was swung back in my direction.

While difficult in it's own right, this chute on the L. Cottonwood side of the saddle is am alternative to climbing over some minore cliffs on the ridge.

While difficult in it’s own right, this chute on the L. Cottonwood side of the saddle is am alternative to climbing over some minor cliffs on the ridge.

Climbing the chute back up to the ridge wasn’t easy due to lots of loose, small rock and waiting for others to descend the narrow 100 vertical feet since falling rocks would pose danger for those below. The scrambling eventually got me back to the trail at the base of the peak as it switchbacks up the slopes of the east twin. From that point, the remainder of the climb is steep, but pretty elementary; not even a false summit to dash your spirits like so many other climbs. Once on the top, I was fortunate to have the mountain top all to myself. I looked over at the west twin and decided, at that point, I would be satisfied with summiting just the higher of the two peaks. Rather than add more hiking to my day, I would sacrifice the two-for-one in exchange for a few extra moments on the highest point of the Cottonwood ridgeline to enjoy my summit brew, a Sockeye Brewing Galena Gold.

Anyone familiar with the central mountains of Sockeye’s native Idaho knows that Galena Pass marks the divide between the Wood River Valley (home of Sun Valley) and the Sawtooth Valley, home to some of the most picturesque mountains in the west. A light, refreshing Kolsch in a can with a modest alcohol content seemed like the perfect choice for a peak where I would want all my wits about me for the descent.

More deliciousness in a can, courtesy of Idaho. Sockeye's Galena Gold.

More deliciousness in a can, courtesy of Idaho. Sockeye’s Galena Gold.

I feel like Kolsch’s are and underrated beer. When you want a summer style beer that is crisp and light, the answer these days seems to be, “put some fruit in it”, but a Kolsch gives you those same refreshing qualities while still tasting like a beer. The malty bouquet doesn’t get overdone in the taste. You smell it, but but it doesn’t hijack the taste if that makes sense. Instead, you taste the essentials of what makes “beer” beer, a little grain, a little hops, a little yeast, and of course clean, refreshing water, like it was just brewed out of the Salmon River itself. OK, maybe I’m going a little far, but as the temperature was beginning to warm, even this barely cool beer that had been in my backpack for 5 hours tasted incredibly refreshing. The smoothness of the beer is it’s main characteristic, but there is just a bit of spice at the back of it to make it unique. Watching it in a glass against the light and seeing the bubbles rise to the top, you almost feel like a miner catching a shimmer of gold dust in his pan as he works his claim. A really drinkable summer beer that doesn’t have that overbearing carbonation that usually stricken Kolsch’s.

With such close proximity to the valley floor and being the highest point on the Cottonwood ridgeline, Twin Peaks gave me yet another new perspective on the Central Wasatch. From Coalpits to Baldy, I was looking across at every detail of Little Cottonwoods southern drainages like never before. Only birds had a better view than me that day. And if the view of the surrounding Wasatch wasn’t enough, I could also look westward into Salt Lake and survey the patchwork of major streets and large retail complexes to help locate the Fort Union area. Somewhere, in a cluster of residential streets was my home in Sandy.  Hardly 4 months in our possession, I’ve learned to appreciate the nearly perfect view of Twin Peaks  I have from my deck. (I say “nearly” because perfect wouldn’t include my neighbors swamp cooler and satellite dishes, but that’s a small blemish when I think of the view at our old condo, a grassless strip of lawn separating our property from an apartment complex.)

While the elevation of Twin Peaks doesn’t quite qualify as one of the highest in the Wasatch there are, (depending on whether or not you count multiple peaks of a single mountain as individual high points or not)at least 5 mountains in the Wasatch Higher. However, the climb to to the East Twin of Broads Fork covers over 5,000′ in elevation gain. That dwarfs the commonly used route to Nebo (the highest in the Wasatch) and makes Timpanogos seem easy in comparison. While Timp is a long day, you hike a pretty solid, well worn trail the whole way and your elevation gain is about a 1,000′ less than the Twin climb. I was feeling pretty accomplished as I made a quick note in my journal that I was choosing not to summit the west peak. Then I remembered how painful that descent would be. Non-stop stabbing of the legs into the ground as you tried to brace your steps against the steepness of the trail while probing for a solid spot to plant your trekking poles as you awkwardly try to save whatever is left of your knees.  As I considered the pain of the descent, I was looking out at a pretty rudimentary scramble to the second peak, the true Twin Peak from the perspective of my backyard. So before even finished writing my turnback time in my journal, I wrote, “Fuck it,” and started west.

"I can see my house from here!" The view west from the West Twin.

“I can see my house from here!” The view west from the West Twin.


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La Sal’s South Mountain paired with Moab Brewery Rocket Bike Lager

South Mountain, located on the southern edge of Moab’s La Sal Mountains, is a remote (in the winter) destination. Therefore, if one wants to make turns from her summit, they best be prepared for a 13-mile round trip tour. Skiers will also need to pack along a tons of calories, so it’s a good thing I had a can of Rocket Bike Lager from the Moab Brewery in my pack.

Rocket Bike 1

The idea for this trip began in December of 2013, which will go down as a bleak month for backcountry skiing in Utah. After a few good storms, the powder faucet shut off, leaving high pressure and rotting, wind-blasted snow in the Wasatch. Southern Utah, however, had been buried in white. Utah was a state divided, and skiers starved for powder had to choose sides. Seeking soft snow, Adam Symonds and I drove to Moab to find that elusive Utah powder.

South MountainAt 11,817 feet, South Mountain is among the smallest peaks in the range, but it stands out like a lonely mountain, separate from her sisters like Mount Peale and Tuk to the north. While the bigger mountains get all the love from skiers, due to size and accessibility from Gold Basin, South Mountain is harder to appreciate. The approach is extremely long for day tours, and the summit is a full 1,000 feet shorter and barely goes above tree line.

With the mobile yurt parked at the La Sal Creek winter trailhead, Adam and I skinned up the closed, snow-covered road. We stayed on the La Sal Loop Road all the way to an open meadow where snowmobiles had a heyday. Finding a creek crossing, we skinned up a side-gully between the South Mountain Glades and South Mountain. Though the obvious route was to the saddle between the two mountains, we stayed looker’s right and ended up on the east ridge, where a gnarly, wind-scoured shoulder got us to the summit after 6 hours of skinning. Beyond tired, we were rewarded by the unparalleled views of Utah’s red rock desert all around us, followed by the best run of the season.

South Mountain 2

The glades and meadows on South Mountain’s southeast face are sublime. While open snow was crusted by late-afternoon, the sheltered pine forests offered perfect, settled powder through perfectly-spaced trees for thousands of feet. Adam and I whooped, hollered and laughed at our burning thighs as the vertical and never-ending fall line seemed like a dream.

Moab Brewery Rocket Bike Lager

Moab Rocket Bike 2

To celebrate our accomplishment at finding the only soft snow in the state, we cracked open some cans of Rocket Bike Lager from the Moab Brewery. This american-style steamer lager is smooth and creamy, and has a tons more flavor than the name “lager” would signify. The taste is very malt-forward, with even some slight spiciness to it. This lager is rich and full-bodied, yet refreshing at the same time.

South Mountain SkiWhile I think it’s excellent right out of the can, when poured into a glass it has a amber/orange glow. A nice topping of foamy head leads to good lacing in the glass, but somehow drinking it outside the can makes the mouthfeel a bit thin. Perhaps the fact that it’s a low-alcohol beer betrays it, and the can hides that fact when you quaff it from the pull-tab hole.

Overall, even though I’m more of a hoppy, IPA type of guy, the Rocket Bike Lager is one of my favorite beers from the Moab Brewery. It’s tasty, and it comes in a can, so it’s also very Summit Brew friendly. You can find it at the Moab Brewery in town, and pretty much every grocery store/gas station in Utah.

South Mountain is a feisty girl. She plays hard to get, but if you work hard and earn your turns, she’ll give up the goods. So powder-starved, soulful skiers, head south to the mountain of the same name. And bring some local micro-brews like the Moab Rocket Bike Lager with you… you’ll need the calories.

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Zion N.P. Observation Pt./ Duvel Golden Ale

"Look at the ants down on Angel's Landing!"  Observation Point in Zion N.P. takes you much higher than this landmark in the foreground.

“Look at the ants down on Angel’s Landing!” Observation Point in Zion N.P. takes you much higher than this landmark in the foreground.

Zion National Park really never really slows down.  Some credit for the continual traffic goes to the entrance town of Springdale itself, which seems to find great ways to to attract tourists outside to the convenient travel brackets of Memorial Day and Labor Day.  However, much of Zion’s “off-season” pull is aided by the much more tolerant temperatures that exist in this desert temple during the fall and winter.  My first visit to Utah’s most famous national park was in the nadir of Zion’s slack season, December, right after a light snowstorm sprinkled the red rock with a delicate blanket of white.  That journey during a period when Springdale, relatively speaking, is a ghost town, spoiled me, and I’ve been trying to find opportunities to enjoy this popular national park in unpopular times ever since.  Mid-November was our most recent weekend trip to the canyon and my wife and I decided to revisit one of my favorite hikes, the same hike we did on our first trip there in late 2010– Observation Point via Echo Canyon.

I can’t really speak to the popularity of this trail in terms of numbers, but I can guarantee you this, step for step, view for view, it’s just as rewarding a hike as the incredibly popular Angel’s Landing trail.  Located on the east side of the canyon, just opposite the famous aforementioned landmark and starting from the Weeping Rock area, the Observation Point trail switchbacks up 800′ of Zion’s sheer canyon wall before entering a slot canyon that marks the entrance to Echo Canyon.

Echo Canyon's narrow characeristics.

The trail passes along Echo Canyon’s narrow chasms.

Within a few steps, we went from having the North Fork’s footprint spread out below our feet to entering a mesmerizing chasm where slits in the sandstone seem to be bottomless.  Shelves, overhangs and outcrops block any view of the bottom.  Swirled and flowing textures speak to the evolution of this landscape over millions of years while the impressive stature and majesty of the rock reminded me of our insignificance as an element of this worlds neverending story.  While zigzagging into the narows, creases and openings above our head changed the perspective constantly, forcing us to piece together the surroundings like a puzzle.  At one moment, we see a checkerboard sandstone wall, another moment, a vegetated tower that curls out of the rock, close enough to climb, and very enticing except for the 1000′ chasm separating us from this turret juting out of the cliff face.  But my favorite monument to stare at during this hike is the precipice of Cable Mountain which pokes out and looms just southwest of the Weeping Rock alcove.

Cable Mountain.

Cable Mountain with Deer Trap Mountain just visible to the right.

The 6,500′ Cable Mountain actually stands more as a prominence of the eastern rim than a mountain.  Jutting out from the mesa’s edge, it draws my attention with its chiseled flat face.  Looking closely, I point out to my wife a replica of the timber scaffolding that at one time lowered logs harvested from the forests on the Markagunt Plateau. Cable Mountain’s unique position and unimpeded vertical drop to the canyon floor made it a logical, but frightening choice for the risky transport of lumber.  The procedure still seems unimaginable to me.

After emerging from the slots into the widening chamber of Echo Canyon, the trail forks.  One branch, the continuation of the the Observation Point trail, begins ascending to the north, up the sandstone walls of Echo Canyon.  The other branch, the East Rim Trail (not to be confused with the East Mesa trail) continues further east into Echo Canyon before meandering south and eventually ascending to the rim opposite Observation Point.

Via the East Rim Trail, hikers can access both Cable Mountain and Deer Trap Mountains’ by looping back around the southern boundary of Echo Canyon.  Each of these are worthwhile hikes, but the distance could be a lot for a day hike– 7 miles one way from the Weeping Rock trailhead to Cable Mountain.  My suggestion for reaching these points would be to either plan a hike to these destinations as an overnight or long through-hike with a shuttle at the East Park Entrance.  However, a third (and the most user friendly) option for approaching either peak would be from an obscure trailhead 3 to 4 miles north (line of sight) from the East Entrance.  This trail gets you to Cable Mountain in just over 3 miles of relatively flat hiking through sparse forests and gamble oak groves.  In the warmer months, this can be a pleasant change from the sweltering heat in the depths of the canyon.   A note of caution however, this is not an easily found trailhead, it is accessed from outside the park boundaries via a dirt road than can be impassible winter/wet conditions, so check with a ranger for more details and have a map.  A GPS and a high-clearance 4WD vehicle wouldn’t hurt either.

The trail begins ascending out of Echo Canyon and more of the west rim of the canyon can be seen.

The trail begins ascending out of Echo Canyon and more of the west rim of the canyon can be seen.

But back to the SummitBrew hike.  The Observation Point Trail is basically at it’s halfway point at this junction… in many ways other than distance and altitude.  In the first two miles, the trail meandered up in the shadows of Zion’s great walls.  With the low winter sun, we found ourselves in a slight chill for most of the morning.  On our original hike of this trail, remnants of a snowstorm buried much of the trail in crusty white mounds which needed a few more days of sunrays to melt off the trail.  Traction was at a premium on that first hike in December.  Uneven patches of snow made my newly purchased MicroSpikes a “hike-saver” for my wife, who actually lead most of the way while I struggled to plant my Asolo’s on level footing.  But at the two mile mark, where the trails split, we found ourselves in the glow of a unimpeded southern exposure.  Snow disappeared from the trail and it was time to lose layers.  This is what I mean when I say the halfway point of this hike symbolizes more than completion of 50%, it symbolizes emergence into the light.

As we climbed up the actual Observation Point pedestal, the rock becomes brighter, almost golden, and the foreboding canyon walls with monolithic presence change to crumbling, cartoonish figurines of eroded sandstone.  Gnarled and twisted trees sprout out of the rock, hoodoos captured my imagination and the distant highlands of the west rim could be seen across the North Fork’s gash.  The green tops on the opposite side of the canyon seem other worldly compared to the chasm that splits open the earth, reveals the sandstone oasis of Zion Canyon.

As the trail levels with the top of the East Mesa, it straightens to a northwesterly course and we can clearly see the congregation of hikers taking in the vista.  20 to 30 minutes of hiking after spotting the trails end at Observation Point, we reach the terminus.  From the perch, I remind myself why I consider this hike one of the best in Zion.  The view up and down the canyon is just as stunning as Angel’s Landing, and from this point, I’m towering over Angels Landing with a much better view of the surrounding highlands.  Yes, Angel’s Landing is the signature Zion hike, but while most adventurers on the west rim landmark hike are clinging to the safety chains with white knuckles and focusing on their feet, we were enjoying our ascent , taking in the scenery, and climbing at least ‘500 feet higher.

DuvelAfter my wife and I picked out a spot to sit, I took out my refreshment for the hike, a Duvel Belgian Golden Ale.  The word “Belgian” in a beer usually creates a distinct premonition of taste for any beer drinker. but in the last month or so, I’ve discovered the other side of Belgian beers.  Beers with less of that characteristically “yeast and banana” taste and more hop and dryness.  Leffe Golden Ale has been one of my favorite “lighter” Belgian beers… when I can find it (usually in Utah County, go figure), but for this hike, I thought it was time to try something new.  Duvel has a somewhat foggy, yellow color with a creamy and hoppy head.  This pale is 8.5% and has a delightfully light bitterness that many hop lovers are probably yearning for in a Belgian beer.  It has some citrus notes without overpowering the palate, going down very easy with an afternote of light yeast (there’s that Belgian).  I would suggest this beer for anyone looking for a combination of Belgian-style body with a discrete hop note.  In a time when beers are trying to out-hop eachother, I find this beer to stay somewhat true to the personality of a Pale Ale.

me&develMy wife and eye soak in the fading run of Zion Canyons southern end while munching on almonds and granola bars.  Sun and haze dilute the Watchman and Eagle Crags into watercolors, but we’re just happy to be basking in the sun and scenery.  Chipmunks get way too friendly as they search for any crumb that my fall their direction while I turn north and try to pick out Brian Head Peak.  The ascent to Observation Point isn’t an easy one, but the textures and alcoves of Echo Canyon combined with the less anal-puckering climb make this my choice over Angels Landing.

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Turtlehead Peak with Tenaya Creek Hop Ride

Turthlehead is one of the more accessible summits in the Las Vegas area.

Turthlehead is one of the more accessible summits in the Las Vegas area.

Moments after I stepped out of the Las Vegas airport, I remembered why I liked Reno and, until now, had never stepped foot in Clark County.  Reno appealed to me for the easy access to the Sierra Nevada and its rough-hewn personality.  Its southern Nevada counterpart had a greater degree of two of my nemeses: brash, commercial excess and lines.  To me, Vegas was no different than Disney World and I disliked the touristy facade.  However, I kept a positive attitude knowing that beer would be much more plentiful here than in Utah and that I was staying at the Red Rock Resort; a less thematically poisoned casino well off the strip where my wife was attending a conference.  Part of our reason for choosing to stay at the resort was it’s proximity the Red Rock Canyon Rec area where I headed Saturday morning for a hike.

Surprisingly, a subset of gamblers do find some appreciation in nature because the one way road that loops through this canyon west of Vegas was loaded with traffic and I barely found a parking space at the trailhead.  Red Rock Canyon holds some geological features that many of us in Utah take for granted and might also feel pale in comparison to the Navajo sandstone treasures  within our borders, but the broad, layered spires and sprawling, rounded mounds of rock are well worth the visit for any Beehive state desert rat.

This was the view from my hotel window.  Nice to see your quarry from the comforts of your room.

This was the view from my hotel window. Nice to see your quarry from the comforts of your room.

I chose to hike up to Turtlehead Mountain, a ramped, turret like mountain that juts up prominently in the foreground of the massive plateau that shapes the canyons northern and western borders.  The trail is well marked in the early, flat stages as you walk on gravely washes and pass through sandstone corridors, but eventually, you come to a steep draw that climbs lookers-left of the peak.  Being that I was alone and most of the hikers found themselves distracted playing on and gawking at the slickrock, I found myself passing numerous groups.  I wasn’t even sure which peak was Turtlehead, but I had a hunch it was the grey inclined mass that looked like a tortoise poking its head above water, and I was determined to get to the top of it and enjoy the beer I had wrapped up in my pack.

Once you reach the draw that runs lookers left along the peak, the trail gets significantly more challenging.

Once you reach the draw that runs lookers left along the peak, the trail gets significantly more challenging.

As I worked my way up the draw, struggling to keep focus on the trail, I could tell Turtlehead was in fact the peak I hoped it was.  This made me pretty happy because there is nothing worse than reading a park guide trail description and realizing the “mountain” you are climbing is really just an overlook.  The 2000′ climb was not technical by any stretch, but the elevation gain, faint trail and steepness made for a worthy summitbrew post.  The approximately 2.5 mile trail can be a challenge in certain spots, especially if you lose the trail, which I did numerous times.  It seems like heavy use trails near large metro areas have an excess of side trails that can confuse you.  Most hikers would be able to find a route regardless, but I was able to refind the trail when coming across down hikers.

After meandering and getting stabbed by a few sharp plants, the trail eventually reaches a spot where you can access the ridge leading to the summit.  Most of the southern face of the peak is a sheer cliff probably between 100 and 250 feet, but northwest of the cliffs is a passage at the end of the draw.  From there, the trail heads back south as you gradually ascend to the high point.

Glad to see some people aren't glued to a slot machine on this beautiful day.

Glad to see some people aren’t glued to a slot machine on this beautiful day.

Crowds are everywhere in Vegas, and a beautiful day in nature brought just as many people as a hot hand at the craps table.  In a way, it made me happy that so many were enjoying something besides gambling in Vegas.  No less than 15 people by my count were at the summit, but of course none of them were carrying the freight I had in my pack, a Tenaya Creek Hop Ride.  I found a spot to sit and popped the top.  The smooth, floral IPA was really refreshing after a strenuous hour and 20 minute climb.  Of course a few people noticed my choice of libation and made a few joking comments.  I’m never sure what to say when people see me enjoying a beer in nature.  In most cases, I’m alone, but I’m not going to let an audience affect my imbibing.  If anything, you would think in a city like Vegas, enjoying a beer in public wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Reward for choosing to hike rather than blow money at the blackjack table.

Reward for choosing to hike rather than blow money at the blackjack table.

Tenaya Creek’s Hop Ride uses Magnum and Summit hops for the bitterness with Cascade hops to provide the floral notes.  Before I knew it, I had half of this 22 ounce bottle of American IPA gone and realized that even though I was well south of ski territory, maybe I ought to make an offering to Ullr, especially with the ski season approaching.

'Bout time I got a good summit hike in.

‘Bout time I got a good summit hike in.

From this point at 6,324′, one gets an eyeful of Las Vegas’ monuments of excess in the east.  However, from this vantage point, they seem pathetic in comparison to natures monuments that populate this canyon.  To the north of the peak runs the even higher walls that create this canyon, and beyond them, the imagination can only speculate to the wilderness beyond.  To the west lies more multi-colored spires and deep narrow canyons and in the south are the splashes of red sandstone that reminds me how colorful nature can be when all the pieces come into place.  I can only speculate as to what other people feel when the reach the top of Turtlehead Peak, but I hope they look around and think there are some things that need to be left “as is”.

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Bountiful Peak paired with Sierra Nevada Pale Ale

IMG_3477 (427x640)When winter-closed roads melt out and open, and the snow starts to disappear under the warm May sun, there is a short window to farm corn on those mountains that can only be skied in the spring. So it was that I made the trip to Bountiful Peak with my backcountry skiing buddies and a cold can of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in my pack.

Bountiful Peak is a 9,259-foot mountain located in the Northern Wasatch above the cities of Farmington and Bountiful. Around the peak is a skiing zone that I’ve had my eye on all year, so when Skyline Drive in Farmington Canyon finally opened up, we headed north to farm corn high above Davis County.

Farmington Canyon used to be a year-round backcountry ski destination as the road was plowed for FAA workers who needed to get to the radar tower atop Francis Peak. But a huge landslide a few years ago took out the road, shutting off the entire area to public access. Well, repairs were finished last summer, but the city decided to keep the road closed in the winter, figuring it would be less expensive to helicopter workers to the radar than it would be to plow the road. As a result, what was once a fun backcountry ski area became the exclusive domain of snowmobiles since you’d need one to travel the miles of winding road to the Wasatch Divide.

Bountiful SkinHowever, all is not lost for skiers in Farmington. In April, the gate was opened and the road was clear, paving the way to spring skiing on peaks now seldom skied.

First, Mike D and I headed right for Bountiful Peak. It was the most obvious choice when scanning the horizon for skiable zones, especially since small chutes cut between the mountain’s protected cliff top. Eager to ski, we left Skyline Drive and cut through the Bountiful Peak Campground. The snow-buried camp sites soon gave way to summer cabins as we gained elevation and the mountain’s cliffs grew larger in our vision. In a few hours we were standing at the top after traversing across the main apron to gain the ridge. A short bootpack up an icy section got us above the first chute.

Our first line was a corn-filled, dog leg chute on skier’s left. Mike dropped in first, sweeping turns on the edge before sliding into the chute’s gut. Wet sluff came spilling down like a river behind him, so he stopped and watched as it hit a rock outcropping like a wave against the shore. When the river of snow passed, Mike continued, gaining speed in the perfectly, corned-up apron.

Bountiful SkiAfter Mike flushed the chute of any wet snow, I was able to make easy turns from top to bottom. It was so fun to whip the tails of my Voile Chargers from side to side, spreading corn snow like a butter knife spreading peanut butter on soft bread. The apron was even better as I sped up and carved, making wide turns around small trees like GS gates.

Excited about this mini gnar zone, we headed back up for more. The main, central chute was obviously our next objective, despite the fact that it hadn’t seen any sun all morning. So we hiked back up, this time bagging the true summit, then down-climbed to our skis above the shaded couloir. This time I went first. A ski cut across the top didn’t move anything, so I jumped in, making short turns into the middle choke. There the shadows lay in wait. As soon as I hit the shade, my skis chattered on ice in the more narrow and steep section of the run. Carefully sidestepping, I made it through until I could make turns again, then whooped it up on the apron where soft snow awaited.

Next on the agenda was the Mud and Rice Bowls that spill from a point just north of Bountiful Peak. With Dave Thieme and Eric Ghanem, we skinned up Skyline Drive, then cut right to Farmington Lakes. A short switchback up the face to the ridge gave us easy access to Point 8735 – the top of both Mud and Rice Bowls.

Mud Bowl

The skiing was fantastic. We skied Rice Bowl first as it had more of a west-facing aspect and didn’t get as much sun. It was a wise choice as it was the best corn skiing of the year. Unfortunately it didn’t last long as the snow turned to sticky mush as soon as we entered the Rice Creek drainage. Rather than wallow in muck, we traversed south the the ridge between Rice and Mud Creeks, and skinned back up to the top.

With both summits of Bountiful Peak tagged and skied, it was time to mark the occasion. Out came my can of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on the windy, Wasatch Divide.

Sierra Nevada Pale Ale

IMG_3478 (640x427)

It is the original. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is one of the first micro-brewed beers in this whole wave of craft beer that is sweeping the world. As a result, since I came to enjoy craft beer as soon as I was old enough to imbibe, Sierra Nevada was one of my go-to beers along with New Belgium’s Fat Tire and Sam Adams Boston Lager.

IMG_3482 (427x640)With so many new beers being introduced all the time, Sierra Nevada dropped off my radar for years. But ever since they started canning, a resurgence of this classic is afoot as cans are better for taking outdoors. This development has also reintroduced me to the splendors of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, and has proven to me that it still remains among the best.

The key aspect of what makes Sierra Nevada Pale Ale so damn good is its balance. The level of malty backbone to hops ratio is perfect. Not too sweet, not too bitter, this is among the most approachable pale ales out there and is an ideal into to hoppy beers.

The taste has the typical citrus aromas and flavors you’d expect from an American-style pale, which comes from the Cascade hops used. That said, it’s not too hoppy and leaves a slight bitterness that lingers. On the malt side, there’s a slight grain and caramel flavor underneath, but it’s not too heavy. Overall, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is a good session beer for hop-heads and even tastes great right out of the can.

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