KINGS PEAK
13,528 ft.
August 23, 2004
By Tim Briese
Kings Peak, the highest mountain in Utah, stands in reclusive splendor in the heart of the Uintah Mountains in the far northeastern corner of the state. It lies over ten miles from the nearest trailhead, which makes it difficult to climb on a one day outing. Most climbers find it desirable to do a backpack to accomplish the climb. Brian and I were prepared to backpack if necessary, but preferred to do the climb as a dayhike if we could.
After climbing Borah Peak in Idaho on Sunday morning we drove to the trailhead for Kings Peak that evening. We weren=t sure if it were feasible to climb the two peaks on successive days, for they are nearly 400 miles apart, but we thought we=d give it a try. After eating dinner near Ogden, Utah and driving through a ferocious thunderstorm outside of Mountain View, Wyoming, we arrived at the Henry=s Fork Trailhead at dusk that evening.
As we drove past the campground adjacent to the trailhead a backpacker stopped us and asked if we had seen a forest ranger in the area, because a German lady waiting at the trailhead needed assistance. She was concerned about her ill-prepared son who had left on an attempt to dayhike Kings that morning at 7 a.m. and had not yet returned. We were unable to offer much assistance, but the backpacker said he would call the Forest Service and report the incident when he got back to town.
We took a quick look at the trailhead where we would be embarking in a few hours and then parked in the expansive parking lot nearby as darkness ensued. I wondered if a sign at the trailhead warning about bears in the area needed to be taken seriously. Two friendly backpackers walking past on their return from the wilderness told us that they were unsuccessful in their attempt to climb Kings from their backpack camp that day. They also cautioned us to watch out for moose along the trail. They had encountered one standing only ten feet away, and the huge animal confronted them with an ominous warning snort. Suddenly this seemed like quite a wild place, and Kings seemed like a challenging goal to reach!
We fell asleep around 9:30 in the topper in the back of my truck, but only two hours later we were awakened by a startling knock on the window. A ranger wanted to ask us if we knew the whereabouts of the German lady, and informed us that her son had returned and managed to drive himself to town, only to collapse and be taken to a hospital. After hearing this unsettling news, Brian and I both slept very little the rest of the night!
We had decided to attempt the climb as a dayhike, so we awoke at 2:15 in the morning and hit the trail in the dark at 2:45 with our headlamps, knowing that a very early start was essential if we were to successfully climb the distant peak. The climb involves well over twenty miles of roundtrip hiking and over 4000 feet of elevation gain. The weather forecast was less than favorable, too, so we knew that we had better get to the summit as soon as possible. We followed Forest Trail 117, a fine trail that goes up a gentle valley beside Henry=s Fork Creek. It gains only about 200 feet of elevation per mile over the first several miles. We rapidly clipped along on its easy grades, at a pace of nearly two and a half miles per hour. In the blackness of the night we pressed along, in silent determination, talking but little. I was in the lead, and several times I glimpsed the shiny reflection of animals= eyes off in the dark woods, only to find them gone when I glanced back again. At one point I saw the eyes of an apparently large animal about a hundred feet ahead, which rapidly moved away from the trail up a hill into the woods to the right. My heart was pounding as I turned to Brian and told him what I had seen. Needless to say, I was eager for daylight to arrive!
A cold wind roared through the woods around us, which did not bode well for the weather that day. After hiking about five miles we stopped for a short break at a stream crossing, still engulfed in the blackness of night. After six or seven miles we hiked out of the woods and soon reached a boggy area in a bushy meadow where we were forced to slop through sticky, ankle-deep mud. That was not much fun in the dark! Finally, about 6:15, we had just enough daylight to look around at the landscape in the murky twilight and put our headlamps away. At that point we had already hiked for about three and a half hours in the dark and covered some eight miles. Dark, menacing clouds scooted across the dull sky, driven on the teeth of a vicious southwest wind. A successful climb seemed somewhat doubtful at this point.
We paused for a few minutes out of the wind behind a clump of trees to discuss our strategy. We stood on the eastern side of Henry=s Fork Basin, a vast basin ringed on three sides by a mountainous wall. The summit of Kings could be seen protruding above a notch in the wall a few miles to the southwest. If we took the standard route to Kings, we would stay on Forest Trail 117 as it climbed to the southeast to Gunsight Pass, and then traverse to the west to reach the mountain=s north ridge at Anderson Pass. I told Brian about a shortcut route that I had read about on the Internet, which involves a direct bushwhack across the basin toward Kings, and then a stiff climb up out of the basin on a steep talus and scree slope. This route would likely save us at least an hour and a couple miles of hiking. At first Brian prudently expressed some reservations about this route, but then agreed to go for the shortcut. We struck off on a bushwhack toward the steep slope which we could see about two miles away. After a while we found a sketchy use trail leading toward the slope, which we found reassuring.
At 7:40 we began the steep grind up the slope on dirt, talus, and scree. Interesting red layered cliffs towered above on each side, and I noted an incredible array of color in the rocks on the surrounding slope, including red, green, white, and gray. A light shower of sleet and snow began to swirl around us. We made steady progress, and an hour later reached the saddle at the top of the slope, after climbing some 1100 feet out of the basin. The ridge to Kings= summit was now readily visible to the south. We hiked up across talus a third of a mile to the west and reached Anderson Pass on King=s north ridge. At this point the summit was still nearly a mile away and 800 feet higher. We turned to the south and began climbing along the ridge to the summit, staying on talus on the left side of the ridge. Snow and fog soon engulfed us, and a howling wind created blizzard-like conditions. As snow accumulated on the rugged talus the rocks became slick and hazardous. We were forced to reduce our speed to a snail=s pace in order to avoid a dangerous slip and fall. Although my guidebook described only a single false summit on the ridge, we passed several points that might well be described as false summits. It became rather discouraging to see yet another of these points looming higher in the fog as we carefully proceeded up the ridge. Eventually we reached what appeared to be the highest one after scrambling up through some rough talus blocks.
We stepped on the summit at 10:10 a.m., for an ascent time of about seven and a half hours from the trailhead. At first we were not sure if we were on the true summit, for we did not find a register after a five minute search. We became convinced, though, because of a manmade rock wall shelter, food scraps, and GPS elevation readings. Conditions were brutal on top, with howling wind, driving snow, and a temperature of 30 degrees. The west side of the summit appeared to be very exposed, so I was careful not to get too close to the edge, in order to avoid being flung off into the white abyss by a gust of wind. This was certainly not a place to tarry long, so we began our descent after only about 15 minutes.
The descent down the ridge was excruciatingly slow and tedious because the talus was now covered by about an inch of slippery snow. We probably lost at least an hour because of the poor conditions. A strong gust of wind blew my pack cover off, but fortunately I was able to retrieve it when it snagged on a rock about 50 feet away. Upon returning to Anderson Pass we lost our bearings somewhat in the fog but presently managed to find our way back to the top of the steep exit gully. At first it was quite tedious descending on the slippery, snow-covered talus on the upper part of the slope but later it became easier when we reached dirt slopes that we could slide down. It was fortunate that we had ascended this difficult slope while it was still dry, for it would have been quite a challenge to ascend with the cover of snow. In fact, we might not have made the summit if conditions had deteriorated an hour or two earlier, or if we had not started as early as we had. We saw no one else attempting the climb all day.
It was quite a relief to finally reach the bottom of the slope at about 12:30. We knew that the worst was behind us now. All that remained was the ten mile hike back to the trailhead! Light snow still swirled around us but it was not nearly as bad as it had been on the heights above. We bushwhacked back across the basin to rejoin the main trail, using a GPS waypoint that Brian had set in the morning to help find the way.
The hike back down the trail was much more pleasant than it had been in the early morning darkness. It was nice to be able to see now where we had been! Henry=s Fork Basin is quite a beautiful place, with numerous lakes scattered about in the enormous basin, and beautiful rugged mountains with red layered cliffs towering above that reminded us of the Maroon Bells in Colorado. The muddy bog was much easier to negotiate than it had been in the dark, because now we could pick out a route that avoided the worst of it. We hiked past vast herds of sheep grazing contentedly in the grassy basin. Several times we turned back to look in the direction of Kings, and observed that the mountains were still obscured by falling snow. I thought it was incredibly chilly for an August day. The temperature was hardly more than 40 degrees, even here in the relative comfort of the basin at mid-afternoon. I did not take off my coat all day.
Eventually we returned to the stream crossing where we had taken a break many long hours before, and noted with dismay that we still had five miles to go! Brian and I were both getting very tired by now. Our Borah Peak climb the day before and a very short night of sleep were beginning to inflict their toll. As we walked down the trail Brian spotted a cow moose and her calf eating in a lush meadow on the other side of the stream about 100 yards away. I whistled to catch their attention and drew them into a photogenic pose. A couple of miles later we came around a bend in the trail and were startled to see two bull moose with huge racks standing above the trail a mere 75 feet away. Upon seeing us the camera-shy beasts immediately strolled behind some trees and ambled off into the woods before we could get any photos.
The last miles of the trail seemed extremely long. At 6 p.m. we finally dragged ourselves back to the trailhead, completing the rugged hike in a little over 15 hours. I estimated that we hiked about 23 miles and climbed 4200 feet of elevation gain on this grueling day. It certainly felt good to get back! Given the poor weather conditions that we faced, I was very grateful that we were able to safely make it to the summit, and not come back empty-handed after all the effort we had put forth.
