Kings Peak (UT)

Kings Peak is the distant pyramid left-center.

My brother, Dean, and I have been talking about a trek to Kings Peak, the highest point in Utah, for a decade it seems.  Last year it was for sure, then something came up.  This year was really truly for sure, the two of us plus his wife and mine.  But Kris couldn’t come due to other obligations, and at the last moment Dean’s wife had to beg out, which left the two of us—and eight llamas—to make the trek on our own.  I’d never done a llama trek, nor even spent more than two minutes anywhere near a llama.  And my job was to catch them, load them in the trailer and drive them the 14 miles over to Roosevelt to pick up my brother.  While we could have sufficed with three or four llamas, Dean had some new ones that needed training and a workout, so the whole herd was coming along.

What a hoot.  I’d have done as well herding feral cats.  I did manage to catch the first three without too much trouble in the open catch pen.  These were the docile ones who were easily lured by a bucket of grain.  The others wanted no part of me or my bucket.  Fortunately, my brother’s daughter’s daughter, Mallory, a young cowgirl with exceptional skill around animals, was there to assist.  Even though she is half as tall as me, she had the next two llamas snared in no time and helped me round up two more that I could lasso at close range.  And note that me swinging a lasso in the air is about as much fun to watch as a chicken cackle.  Soon we had all but one, Dilly, and she insisted on staying at the other end of the field or running wide circles around us.  Her buds, Dally and Dolly, were much more cooperative.  Dilly, apparently, had missed the memo.  After much chasing, Mallory’s dad, Mike, showed up and we went at it some more.  After an hour of running ourselves numb in the Utah summer heat, Dilly made her mistake.  She ran right into the catch pen with all the other llamas.  As Mike raced to get the lasso over her head, I lunged for the wire gate and stretched it across the opening just as Dilly surged and plowed right into it, knocking me hard to the ground.  But the obstacle of me sacrificing my body was just enough of an impediment for Mike to snag her.  The roundup phase was over and I was now a bona fide llama wrangler.  We loaded the team without further incident, bandaged my wounds, and we were on our way to Roosevelt.

Llama wrangler extraordinaire and her buff assistant.

You wanna go where?

However, this is supposed to be a story about climbing Kings Peak.

10. Kings Peak:  After picking up my brother at his chiropractic clinic, we drove nearly four hours by way of Flaming Gorge to the trailhead up Henry’s Fork of the Green River, arriving after dark.  We staked out the llamas to feed on grass overnight, pitched our tents and hit the hay ourselves.  Despite a mixed forecast of sun and thunderstorms, the morning looked promising and we saddled up the critters and slung the bags over their wooly backs.  I found the llamas to be a joy to work with overall, although half way to camp my lead llama decided to stop and lie down on the trail.  We rousted her and she plodded another 100 yards before balking and lying down again.  In fits and starts we eventually reached the camp zone about seven miles in, just as a thunderstorm broke loose.  It was the 4^th of July and quite a show as big sparks and loud bangs surrounded us, but we were able to quickly establish camp, stake the critters and pitch the tents without getting too wet.  The storm passed and we broke out the Coleman stove to boil up some dogs for dinner.

The morning sky was still jammed with dark and threatening clouds, but miraculously, they thinned as the hours passed.  The sun shone and we were soon atop Gunsight Pass.  We took the short cut trail up through the rubble and low cliffs to a shoulder where the full glory of 13,536-foot Kings Peak rose ahead.  Dozens of climbers were on the peak that day—as a state highpoint, it’s a popular climb.  Dean also wanted to climb the south peak nearby, Utah’s second highest summit.  We trudged on to Anderson Pass and wide views into sprawling valleys of meadow, forest and lakes of the Uinta Range.  An easy rock scramble led up the final ridge.

Hey, you got lead in your pants? Let's go!

Can we just talk this through a little?

Gunsight Pass.

Summit of Kings Peak.

Looking over to the south peak.

After many stops in search of some air to breathe, we finally stepped onto the summit for the big view and the ceremonial photos.  It occurred to me that Dean and I had not stood on a summit together since the late 1980s when I took him up Mount Shuksan near Bellingham, Washington.  Now with the south peak so close (less than a mile away), Dean was determined to go there too.  So after a sandwich, off we went.

11. South Kings Peak:  About 40 minutes after leaving the main summit we were congratulating ourselves for reaching the state’s second highest summit as well, at 13,524 feet.  For many years, it was assumed to be the highest point, but a more accurate survey corrected the error.  Looking back across Gunsight Pass, the third highest summit, Gilbert Peak, beckoned.  But we thought the best of it, headed back to camp and our lonely llamas and called it a day.

Miles (RT):  24.0 miles; elevation gain: 4,500 feet (both peaks)

Cumulative mileage and gain:  52.1 miles / 17,490 feet

Kings of the mountain.