I finally understood the purpose of Dad’s conditioning hikes the first time I climbed Hades Pass with him. I was exhausted by the end of that ascent, but the view of Grandaddy Basin from the top was breathtaking. Making the moment even more poignant was the later realization that not only was Dad packing his own gear—he had been carrying most of mine, too.
The following originally appeared in the September 9, 2010 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.
For the analytically minded, there’s nothing more satisfying than being able to break down a complex circumstance into tidy causal chunks. Of course, the impulse to dissect each and every condition can be maddening, especially when it comes to those that aren’t so cut and dry—such as love for the outdoors.
And yet I continue to try. When I describe it here, I tend to illustrate those specific moments of actualization, like reeling in that big fish or watching that incredible sunset. What’s sometimes overlooked—at least when pen hits paper—are the outwardly mundane, laborious processes that make such moments possible.
Nobody understands the principle of work before reward like my dad. An avid backpacker, Dad lived for his summer treks to the High Uintas. He’d begin preparing weeks before each trip—carefully organizing gear, transferring food items from their bulky retail packaging to Ziploc baggies, pitching his tent and taking it back down again.
Most curious to me were the walks he’d take around the neighborhood wearing his boots and fully loaded pack. When I was about 10 years old, he gave me my own external frame pack and invited me along. We’d tread for what seemed like miles, waving to amused neighbors as we passed.
I finally understood the purpose of these conditioning hikes the first time I climbed Hades Pass with him. I was exhausted by the end of that ascent, but the view of Grandaddy Basin from the top was breathtaking. Making the moment even more poignant was the later realization that not only was Dad packing his own gear—he had been carrying most of mine, too. It was one of the more memorable adventures of my childhood.
My sons feel the same way about the climb to South Willow Lake in the Stansbury Mountains, which they’ve spoken of frequently since we made it late last summer. Interestingly, their memories center on the few hours we spend at the lake itself, rather than the encompassing 6.8 mile round trip hike. Yet were it not for those punishing miles, they wouldn’t recall the lake with such enthusiasm.
Since the two older boys and I will be returning to South Willow Lake in two weeks, I thought a short conditioning hike was in order. A moderate climb in the Stansbury’s would reacquaint the boys both with the work and the reward that would ensue. The 2 mile Martin Fork segment of the Stansbury Front Trail would be the perfect practice route.
The Stansbury Front Trail stretches 25 miles along the eastern face of the Stansbury Mountains between Clover Creek Campground and West Canyon, bordering the Deseret Peak Wilderness Area along most of its route. The narrow single track dips into and climbs out of canyons like a roller coaster as it traverses rarely seen areas of range. Though the more remote sections of the trail see mostly mountain bike and motorcycle traffic, day hikers frequent the mid-course trail heads at Big Hollow, South Willow Canyon, and North Willow Canyons.
We caught the trail at Boy Scout Campground in South Willow Canyon on Saturday evening. The path rose sharply under a canopy of pines as we wound our way up to the canyon’s eastern ridge. Boo, 9, and West, 7 scampered ahead while I nudged 4 year old Coulter along behind.
Coulter loves the mountains—he called the Stansbury’s “my mountains” when he was a baby—but he’s usually averse to hiking any further than about 20 yards. The boy was kind to me that night; he walked a whole half mile before begging me to carry him.
“But I’m already carrying Deedle,” I told him, pointing to the 1 year old mini linebacker who was enjoying the ride from the comfort of his baby backpack.
Deedle’s presence served two purposes: conditioning weight and comic relief. He squawked something unintelligible to his brother, which Coulter correctly interpreted to mean “back off, pal!”
From the ridge top, the trail bent southeast, offering a sweeping view that included Tooele Valley, Mining Fork Road, the glacial cirque that looms over South Willow Lake, and Deseret Peak. Still visible below were The Narrows portion of the canyon road and the historic U.S. Forest Service cabin. I had hiked this section of the trail before, but had never noticed that most of the canyon’s gems were viewable there in a single panoramic glance.
When we caught up with Boo and West, they were chasing a snake through the brush.
“I got a good look at the tail,” Boo assured me. “No rattle. We’re good.”
A group of motorcyclists passed just before the trail dropped 400 feet to the bottom of Martin Fork. By that point, the boys had managed to stow their sweaters and water bottles in the cargo pouch of Deedle’s pack. Bring it on, I thought. Conditioning. I’ll end up with most of their gear on the big hike anyway.
The boys had mastered pacing by the time we headed back. The lake hike will be longer and steeper, but they’d be ready to take it on. Coulter, having finally realized that riding in my arms was not an option, made the return trip in good spirits and at decent speed. We finished the evening off with snacks and a campfire at Boy Scout Campground. The cold front that had kindly waited to approach until we were done finally began to blow in.
“Man,” West said as he coaxed the a few last sparks from the dying embers. “Nothing like a good hike, some pepperoni and a nice fire.”
Profound analysis from a young outdoorsman.
Martin Fork segment of the Stansbury Front Trail is accessible via posted trail head at Boy Scout Campground in South Willow Canyon. Distance to the fork and back is approximately 4 miles. The trail is narrow, featuring sharp rises and drops over non-technical terrain. Trail head parking is available at the adjacent Medina Flat trailhead 1.7 miles from the Forest Service gate. No fee is required.