Lone Peak

I am starting to fall behind in my blogging. Sometimes I just like to update my digital scrapbook before it's too late. On Wednesday I joined my dad and his friend Tom for a trek up Lone Peak. The Lone Peak massif is an icon of my childhood. It was the mountain I looked up toward every day on my way to school. I'm not sure when I began to fantasize about climbing Lone Peak. Probably as soon as I was old enough to dream about climbing mountains. I finally did for the first time when I was 17 years old. What looks like a moderately tough hike on paper - 12 miles, 6,000 feet of climbing to an elevation of 11,250 feet - is in reality a relentless taskmaster of a mountain that starts out mean, adds an obstacle course into the mix, and wraps it all up with some butt-cheek-clenching exposure. After 14 years and a not-too-shabby endurance resume, this route has seriously not gotten any easier. And yet, it's still just as beautiful and fulfilling ...

The stairway to heaven, Jacob's Ladder.

Hanging with my dad. I'm sporting my best ultrarunner geek chic, - arm warmers (I believe runners call them "sleeves"), Dirty Girl gaiters and a neon green hat. The knee brace is just a precautionary thing. My "bad" right knee has been feeling particularly weak since the TRT100. The brace seems to help stabalize it.

When I was 17 years old, this meadow is where I wanted to build my house. Lone Peak is the far mountain in the center.

Marching up the mid-summer snowfields.

The final traverse on the knife ridge above a 1,200-foot sheer vertical wall. A few moves involve swinging wide over the void while clinging to precariously perched boulders.

On the peak overlooking Bell's Canyon.

Heading back toward Corner Canyon, with Utah Lake in the background.