#7. Kings Peak, Utah, Redux; Aug 24-26, 2019

The weekend on Kings Peak got off to a rocky start. The group of 15 hikers met at Henry's Fork trailhead, where we delivered mounds of duffels, tents, and cardboard boxes onto large canvas groundcloths spread in front of the horse trailer. Dave Covill, President of the Highpointers Foundation, had arranged for Neil Crump, the "cowboy" from my 2017 trip up Kings Peak, to transport our gear by horseback from the trailhead to the Dollar Lake campsite.

Rogue, Red, Grandpa, and Sherpa munched the clumps of hay at their feet as Dave and Neil aired their differences over the cargo. Dave argued it was under the specified weight limitation. Neil – seconded by his son J.C. – countered that the size and shape of our cargo wouldn't pack well on the horses. I retreated from the scene, not wanting to witness this tense exchange between Dave, to whom I felt great loyalty, and Neil, for whom I had developed genuine affection from the previous trip.

It was my second time at Kings Peak, the highest point in Utah and one of the most challenging highpoints in the US (level 7 out of 10 in terms of difficulty). Although I didn't "need" this highpoint, I couldn't turn down the opportunity to join a group of like-minded folks, when invited to join Dave's annual trip - organized to help friends reach a missing highpoint.

The three-day hike would cover 28 miles round-trip: 7.5 miles on Day 1 over gradually sloping terrain ("a walk in the woods") to our campsite; 13 miles to the summit and back on Day 2; and the 7.5-mile return through the woods on Day 3. Although I would've jumped at the chance to take this trip anyway, the fact that my friend and (almost) age mate Cindy from Seattle would be going along was an extra incentive.

Dave and his wife Beckie knew how to host a hiking party. They had lined up Joe, a weekend chef, and his friend Mary to oversee the job of feeding the party of 15. Mick and Ruth Anne – familiar to me because they had hosted my first Highpointers Konvention in Massachusetts in 2017 – opted to forego the Day 2 hike and volunteered to help around the campsite. Beckie – with 49.5 highpoints to her name – was nursing a sore foot and made herself indispensable on kitchen duty.

Although several of the stronger hikers could have easily carried their own gear to Dollar Lake, Dave had agreed to hiring Neil and bringing much of the gear in on horseback. The result was a plentiful supply of ice-cold beer both nights.

Most of the group were highpointers, though of varying ages and abilities. If he weren't shepherding others up the mountain, Dave would have been among the strongest (having completed all 50 highpoints, including Denali). Two brothers in their 40s, James and Jeff, along with their friend Denis, comprised the A Team. They opted to add a county highpoint at the start of the climb, as if Kings Peak wasn't going to be enough of a challenge.

The senior contingent consisted of Mike, a board member of the Conservation Fund; Paul, a retired member of the Foreign Service who had served over three decades in different African posts; Cindy, my new best friend after we climbed Mt Wheeler the previous year; and me. Gwynn and Robyn were the youngsters, in their mid-20s and 30s respectively. I'd met them at previous highpointing conventions, and they'd visited me in New Orleans. Given the composition of the Highpointers Club - largely older white males – they brought much-needed new blood to the Club.

What could this group have in common, besides highpointing? A lot more than first met the eye. James had done Peace Corps in Honduras; Jeff was about to ship off for a three-month stint with the FBI to South Africa (where my daughter Katy had lived for two years). And Dennis lived in Fayetteville, Arkansas (as did my son and daughter-in-law). Paul and I had plenty to share from our respective time in Africa

We set up our individual tents (10 for 15 people) in a campsite near Dollar Lake. In need of clean water, everyone took turns walking the 200 yards to Dollar Lake, scooping up a "bucket" of water in a heavy plastic sack made for this purpose, and once back at the campsite, pumping a constant flow of lake water through the filter device.

The evening meal could not have been better: three types of pasta, garlic bread, fresh salad, and red wine. We invited the young woman from the neighboring campsite to join us. When she recounted that she'd summited Kings Peak that day in 11.5 hours, Dave discreetly rolled his eyes, as if to say, we would of course be much faster.r.

The next morning, we awoke to Costco's best breakfast burritos, heated over the propane stove. David asked if I wanted some fresh-squeezed orange juice. After the cold beer, I figured anything was possible. When I enthusiastically accepted, he sprinkled some orange powder (Tang) into the bottom of my cup. Gotcha.

The challenge of the climb started on Day 2, which consisted of a 6-mile ascent to the summit, mercifully with no technical climbing required. The 10 hikers who hoped to summit started off in separate groups.

Robyn, Gwynn, Cindy, Mike, leader Dave, and I left the campsite together. Paul had headed out a few minutes before us, with the intention of connecting along the trail. Within an hour, the A Team passed us on the trail, obviously going much faster than our group. Robyn managed to pick up her own pace and join them, while the remaining five - Gwynn, Cindy, Mike, Jane, and leader Dave- brought up the rear. Had anyone seen Paul? No

Words can't do justice to the beauty of this wilderness setting. We started the day hiking through a long valley, with mountains surrounding us on all sides, before beginning the long ascent up the slopes leading toward the summit. The sun was relentless, but a stiff breeze kept us comfortable.

By hour 5 we had reached the saddle, a welcome patch of flat terrain that afforded stunning views on both sides of the mountain ridge. We enjoyed a few minutes of rest to prepare for the final assault of the mountain: 0.6 miles of rugged boulders leading to the summit, reminiscent of the Knife Edge on Katahdin in Maine.

Dave and Team B started up. After a few hundred yards up this mammoth pile of boulders, Mike experienced some problems with his balance and had the good sense to return to the saddle. Gwynn and Cindy were suffering from queasy stomachs, a condition that didn't improve as we gained in altitude. Still, Gwynn got a second wind and went ahead.

I didn't feel sick, just drained. On my climb up Kings Peak two years earlier, I had scrambled up over these boulders without even stopping to rest. This time, it was slow going. I wondered whether I would repeat my disappointing performance on Mt Hood in 2018, which I triumphantly summited but could barely drag myself into basecamp hours later.

As Dave, Cindy and I approached the summit, Robyn and Gwynn had already started down. Cindy had plastered thick white sunscreen over her face, already drained of color from fatigue, thus creating a ghost-like appearance as we reached the top (elevation: 13,528'). After some rehydration, Cindy mustered a smile for the summit picture. Dave measured our pulse and the oxygen content of our blood with his pocket device, then called back to the campground on a special phone to see if Paul had surfaced. Alarmingly, he had not.

 We reversed the process for the 6 miles home. At mile 4, we faced a cruel geological formation that requires the exhausted hiker to ascend a quarter-mile of mountainside before reaching Gunsight Pass. Dave – who could have been back at the campsite hours earlier – remained patient as the four of us straggled along behind him. He took advantage of phone reception afforded by Gunsight Pass to call back once again to the campsite. A wave of relief passed over his face; Paul was back.

We plodded along on the final 2 miles back to the campsite, dragging in exactly 12 hours after we started. We had a new respect for the hiker next door who had done it in 11.5 hours the previous day..

Dave and Beckie had planned a big celebratory dinner, adding Royal Crown scotch to the assortment of available beverages. As we sat around the campsite, Joe produced piping-hot white washcloths steeped in lemon-scented boiling water, similar to first class on the airlines. I disappeared with mine into my tent and enjoyed the luxury of a sponge bath and a change of clothes before heading back for beer and Mexican food. In doing so, I missed the moment when Cindy distributed brass pins commemorating Kings Peak to everyone in the group.

Paul gave a heartfelt account of his frustrating day on the mountain. Because of the poorly marked trails, he had taken a wrong turn and tried to summit a neighboring peak. At one point, he could see our group in the distance but was too far away to get our attention or catch up. Through some stroke of luck, Jeff (FBI/South Africa) had crossed paths with Paul and directed him back to the campsite. Paul's disappointment with failing to summit with the group was equaled only by our relief that he was there to tell the tale.

If there were festivities afterwards (and there were), Cindy and I were oblivious to them. By 8 PM we had found our sleeping bags, and our day was over.

Paul later expressed his surprise that Dave and others had been so worried about him. Here was someone who had highpointed 30 states solo, traveled to dangerous foreign capitals as part of his job, and crossed the Sahara Desert alone after his Peace Corps experience decades earlier. And Dave worried about him???

 On Day 3, Neil and J.C. packed our gear back on the four horses. Given the large amount of food and drink that had been consumed, the cargo weighed considerably less. We began the six-mile trek to the trailhead through the now-familiar meadow, flanked by mountains on each side. The sky was postcard blue. After a few miles, we found ourselves under the canopy of green foliage, with the brook intermittently babbling in the distance. Along the way, the caravan of horses passed us.

 By the time we made it back to the trailhead, Neil and J.C. had our gear laid out on the ground cloths for collection. Whatever tensions existed on Day 1 over the quantity and size of the cargo had long since vanished. To our amazement, there was still cold beer, which further enhanced the festive mood as we said our goodbyes.

This diverse group of 15 individuals was unanimous in labeling this one of the best trips ever. We collected our gear, thanked the cowboys, and made our way to our separate rental cars for the trip home.

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