Final Observation

This past Friday I came to the conclusion that a bit of exploration was in order. I decided to try and hike up a drainage called Hogum Fork. This canyon cuts a deep gash in the south facing aspect of Little Cottonwood Canyon. Its most impressive feature is the canyon's west slope, a massive buttress of white granite shooting, what seems almost vertically, from the “u” shaped canyon bottom. I was aware of the canyon's location but had no idea where the actual trail began. I parked at a pull off a bit down canyon from the mouth of Hogum Fork. I knew that there were quite a few trails running up and down Little Cottonwood Creek. My plan, if you can call it that, was to simply make my way up the initial steep slope at the canyons entrance. Once I reached the upper valley, the actual trail would become apparent, and I would have an easier time getting back down, a fairly sound plan by my measure.

I got out of the car, threw my pack on my shoulders, and began walking down a wide trail that lead from the road toward Little Cottonwood Creek. After about a hundred yards this trail joins another trail, this one is also nice and wide and almost runs the entire length of the canyon. This trail is popular with mountain bikes so it is important to keep an ear out for riders charging down the trail, at ridiculous speeds I might add. I didn’t really feel like becoming road kill to a mountain biker so I quickly took the first exit. The small trail I chose meandered its way through a forest of towering Douglas Fir and White pine interspersed with smaller Quaking Aspen. The trail was headed in the direction I wanted to go… sort of, so I continued on for 15 or 20 minutes until it reached the creek’s edge. I sat there a bit and looked at the water. It seemed an unreal blue, almost turquoise. This time of year the majority of the water in the creek is spring fed as opposed to run off from melting snow. In the spring the creek is difficult and dangerous to cross, but being late summer I was easily able to find a spot where I could leap from boulder to boulder, crossing in just a few bounds. The smooth granite is slippery and crossing wasn’t completely uneventful, but for the sake of my pride I won’t elaborate. Once reaching the other side the trail greatly diminished. Fortunately, I was able to hear the stream that ran out of Hogum Fork. I followed the sound now on what could only be game trails. As I followed these slight trails cutting through the under brush, I began to see more wild life and signs they had left behind. I startled a small fawn or rather it startled me or I guess you could say we scared the shit out of each other if we’re going to be honest.

Upon reaching Hogum Creek, I followed it for a time as it rose ever steeper to the mouth of its origins. I saw a garter snake along its banks. I stopped for a quick break to graze on some wild raspberries. Soon the creek became too steep to follow almost becoming a low angle waterfall. From the crest of the canyon's steep entrance to the confluence of Little Cottonwood creek, Hogum creek must drop, I’m estimating of course, a solid 1000 vertical feet or more. At this point the going got a lot tougher. The under growth was extremely thick and it all seemed to be consciously conspiring against my forward progress, its branches grabbing at my clothing and Prime Rose thorns clawing at my face. The only viable route through this jumble were the faint paths blazed before me by what seemed to be deer, elk and possibly mountain goats, although mountain goats usually leave a little bit of white fur here and there, of which I saw none. These paths at times were nothing more than tunnels through the dense brush. I heard thunder overhead. I could also feel the humidity rise. I began to sweat profusely as I struggled onward and upward. Any time now I felt certain that the angle would relent and I would come to the crest of this steep treacherous incline, No…not even a bit. In fact the terrain became even steeper and the thick brush started to give way to bands of coarse granite cliff and long talus fields. My progress slowed even further as I picked my way through large boulders and loose rock, stopping frequently to scout the best route. I flushed a snowshoe rabbit from its hiding place. This time of year their fur is a modeled brown and gray but with the arrival of winter it will soon turn white. After a few hundred yards, I could tell by looking at the tops of the pine trees that finally the angle of the slope was relaxing, still no sign of the trail.

I struggled over the long sought after crest there were large talus fields of granite boulders red with oxidation. These fields of stone were surrounded by thick old pine and Quaking Aspen. I sat down on one of the larger boulders, thoroughly soaked with sweat. There was a cool breeze and it felt good to take off my pack. My heart was still pounding in my chest. I could clearly feel my carotid arteries in my neck pulsating to the extent that it felt as though they may burst at any moment. After catching my breath, I took out my binoculars to see if I could spot the trail from where I was sitting. The canyon was narrow at this point and if there was a trail I should be able to see it. I could not even see a hint. It was getting late and I wouldn’t have time to get down before dark if I went much higher. I could see just a hint of the beautiful valley that lay just a short distance ahead but the majority of my view was obstructed by trees. It was looking like I would have to go back down what I just came up. The area was, needless to say, very rugged and riddled with jagged towering cliff. If I tried to find an alternative descent, the danger was that the slope in some areas may have continued to steepen until it rolled off a large cliff, in that case one would have to back track up the steep slope of loose debris above a cliff, not a fun place to be. I decided I would try and descend areas with less vegetation trying to stick close to the assent route, using the trees as a gauge for the slope in front of me. I again found numerous game trails that I followed although at times they ended at the edges of small cliffs or zigzagged in strenuously tight switch backs.

At certain points the vegetation was so thick it was hard to even see the ground, there were several occasions where I started to walk off the edge of car sized boulders before realizing the ground had dropped away beneath my feet. I had made good time on the descent half walking and half sliding down game trails. I was hopping from one boulder to another when I felt my leading leg give way and a warm searing pain shot through my lower right leg. I fell to my side and just lay there for a few seconds assessing the seriousness of my injury. My ankle had rolled to the outside and I could feel blood rushing to it as it began to swell. Although initially painful and requiring a minute or two to recover I began to limp slowly down this treacherous terrain I had gotten myself into. Luckily, I was more than half way down. Even given my somewhat injured state my descent was still much faster than the assent and I soon reached the wild raspberry patch and relatively flat ground. This time I found a stout dead branch to aid my crossing of Little Cottonwood Creek, no wet feet on this crossing. I took a seat on a boulder near the bank, once again taking time to reflect on the surreal hue of the water and the adventure that had just taken place.

I stood once again and made my way back to the car. I reached the car at about 5:30, took of my sweat soaked pack and drove home. Before I went in the house I emptied my shoes of debris that I had picked up on my little adventure, a surprising amount of dirt, rocks, pine needles and small sticks came tumbling out. I sat down in the most comfortable chair in the house, yet I did not feel complete, something was missing, a frosty cold adult beverage. After retrieving such a beverage from the fridge, I thought now my adventure is complete.