August 11 - Clayton Peak... sort of

It was nice weather - for a change, but with nice weather comes other challenges with hiking - such as finding a place to park!

Bruce was uncharacteristically early in his arrival at the appointed parking lot and found that it was nearly full: The arrival of Bryan seemed to occupy the last "legitimate" parking spot that was to be found and we were beginning to wonder on the radio what we were going to do about that when Gordon had a suggestion: How about a different parking lot?

I guess I'd noticed, but not paid much attention to it, but there is another "Park 'N Ride" lot at the intersection of 6200 South and Wasatch that, at the time of day of our meeting, is nearly empty. So, I headed over there, Gordon headed there from the now-full lot at the mouth of the canyon and the rest of us (Tim and Gary) headed directly for that lot while Bruce stayed behind in his spot to redirect latecomers of our group. At this "other" lot, we piled into Bryan's Hummer H2, headed back to pick up Bruce (with Gary under separate cover in his car as he had Kevin with him) and we headed up-canyon. (No, no-one else showed up. that we knew about..)

We'd pretty much decided to do Clayton Peak... or Sunset Peak... No, Clayton Peak... Well, we could have decided to go to Catherine pass if we'd wanted and then gone to Sunset Peak, but we decided on Clayton Peak - unless we changed our minds and did something else instead, knowing that we still had a while to change our minds to do Clayton Peak... or not...

Anyway, we parked in the Brighton parking lot and started up the trail for the first time this season. The weather was beautiful with a mostly-clear sky with only a few broken clouds, a reasonable breeze for good cooling while hiking, a nice temperature, and relatively few bugs. Making pretty good time, the lead group (Bruce, Bryan and I) got to the "Lake Dog/Lake Mary" junction at which point we knew that we had to make some sort of decision, so we put it up for a vote on the radio: "Clayton Peak" was Gordon's reply, so we turned left.

Passing the bog that is Lake Dog (as to not confuse it with "Dog Lake" at the top of Mill-D North Fork) the trail enters a fairly dense forest while gradually sloping upwards. Off the trail on either side, the mountain slopes rather steeply, with an eventual descent into the Brighton Bowl on our left with the occasional glimpse of beaver pond below. Occasionally, the forest is broken up when it crosses a ski run that often includes a lift as well, after which we re-enter the forest.

Upon entering the forest for the second time or so, I noticed what looked sort of like large beige stones along the trail - but I knew right away that they weren't stones: As we approached them I realized that I was seeing some extremely large wild mushrooms - about the largest that I'd ever seen in my life. Stopping to investigate I had Bruce sit down next to the biggest of the lot and spread out his hand for a size reference in a photograph. I then laid my "nerd knife" (Gerber Multi-Tool) on the top of the fungus so that its engraved inch measurement would provide a reference for the picture. While I have been told on several occasions that this type of fungus is, in fact safe and quite delicious, I chose not to test this belief without an opinion from someone more-informed in the science of mycology than I.

In September 2005, I'd seen a similar-looking fungus along this very same trail, photographed it and sent the picture to our "resident" amateur mycologist, Brett, N7KG. About that fungus he wrote:

"The [fungus in the picture from 2005] is a Bolete, probably Porcini, as the Italians call it. The [damaged] surface is not a feature of the mushroom, but rather a symptom of the weather. It would be interesting to have known whether or not it stained when bruised on the pores. That is one of the most important aspects to know with that genus.   If indeed that is what it was, and I would stake your life on it!....'"

It is the most highly sought after mushroom that one can find without a pig. They are in season now and I picked several in the Uintas 2 weekends ago."

More recently - on 8/13/10, about the pictures (3960-3962) above - Brett commented:

"The stem would be most instructive. If it has a fish net finely covering the stem (a reticulum) the it would be a Boletus edulis - I would bet that is it. There are very few around here that have that loaf of bread look [and it] seems as if the deer and elk have been nibbling on it. If they are edulis then they are a sought-after edible [and] it is the one the Italians call a porcini, the French a 'cepe'. They dry and store particularly good. I have never found one that size - it is quite a find."

After being amazed, we carried on and while we didn't see any other fungi of that size, we saw plenty of the same type that were a quarter to a third the size - still quite large!

Eventually, the hiking trail reaches a point where it closely parallels the service road and it was along this portion that we couldn't help but notice a number of trees that had fallen across the trail, requiring us - in some cases - to detour completely around them and somewhat off-trail. Before too long the trail doubled back on itself indicating to us that Snake Creek Pass was very near and sure enough, we soon broke out of the trees and made the final approach. Once on top we made our way over to some broken granite blocks that mark the ridge line and noticed immediately a very stiff breeze blowing over the top, coming from the south: Even though we were still warm from having made the climb, that wind was a bit too cold for comfort!

After we'd loitering around for a few minutes re-hydrating and eating snacks, Gary appeared on the radio and announced that he'd just gotten to the switchback and would probably be turning back so that he could get home with Kevin at a reasonable hour: After mentioning that he was just a few hundred yards (or, converting it to metric measurements, just a few hundred "metres") from the pass, he changed his mind and sure enough, appeared just a couple of minutes later carrying Kevin - followed shortly by Gordon, and then Tim. There, we took the obligatory group picture (among others) thus releasing Gary and Kevin to return home, having completed what they'd set out to do.

Upon noticing the stiffness of the wind and its cool temperature - not to mention the now-low angle of the sunlight, we decided not to attempt to make it Clayton Peak after all as it would be well after sunset by the time we got there. Instead, we wandered to the south and west along the same ridge in the direction of the ski lift - something that we'd not done in the past. On the way there we got several impressive vistas lit by the light during the "golden hour" with the light further-reddened by the unusual amount of wind-borne dust in the air and the stray clouds all about us in the sky. After looking at the lift and its various mechanical bits we decided that it was time to head back.

As usual, the trip down isn't as interesting as the trip up - and this is particularly the case for these later-season hikes where our return trip is mostly done in darkness. Our having re-grouped did allow us to do something that the trip up doesn't generally lend itself toward, and that is talk - about this, that, and the other thing, or about nothing in particular. It was in this manner that we proceeded back down the trail - retracing our steps - quickly and without incident. Just before getting to the Lake Dog clearing we heard from Gary again who'd just arrived back at his car, but sounding perhaps a bit disappointed when he learned that we'd not gone to the peak after all...

We eventually made it down to the Brighton Parking lot where Bryan - having arrived just a few minutes before the rest of us - was staring skyward, hoping to catch a few of the Perseid meteors away from the glare of the city lights. After putting our gear in the car again, we all found ourselves staring skywards as well, seeing the occasional satellite, airplane and faint meteor trail - but no big fireballs during the brief, collective upward gaze.

With all of us having seen at least something in the sky we piled back into the car and headed back down-canyon, reuniting ourselves with our vehicles and then going our separate ways.