The art of avoiding people. In the Wasatch.
There actually isn’t much art involved – if you don’t mind bit of bushwacking. My ongoing goal is to explore the lesser Wasatch – or at least the lesser known Wasatch.
My Father’s Day escape was aimed directly at the top of Perla’s Ridge. I’d been up the lower pitches years ago of this classic ridge – but never completed the route. I thought a quick jaunt up Coalpit #4 to its summit would be a worth couple of hours.
I stashed my car in lower Little Cottonwood and set about bushwacking into the gash that is Coalpit #4. I’d been up it a couple of time in summer and a handful of times in winter – and found the entrance a little more overgrown than my memory served. And the lower reaches a loose mess of granite erosion waiting to crush an appendage. Once past the fork to Coalpit #3 the terrain was less angry and progress came more quickly. The views across to the Black Peeler Buttress, The Pawn, and Twin Peaks were unreal and perpetually distracting.
Once I hit the Little Cottonwood/Bells ridgeline I turned west to climb the short step to the summit of Perla’s. But alas it was just a little too technical – or maybe I didn’t catch the vision and just missed the route.
Consolation prize – Peak 10491.
To the south and east lay a fine ridgeline that leads to North Thunder. Years ago I used this ridge to reach the peak – and stumbled across pk 10491. Not really a peak, but still a prominent point, I set off up the final 1500′ vertical to reach the rarely visited summit. Access was perfect – with fresh flowers, occasional snow and shade thrown by aging aspens. I reached the summit and thought I’d see signs of previous passage – perhaps my own – but nothing. Being on the high flanks of Coalpit Gulch, nearly in the middle of the Little Cottonwood Canyon, the views were stunning in all directions. But my time had elapsed and I soon found myself crooning down the sideways slopes of lower Thunder creek, avoiding dropoffs, rockfalls, and the deepest of bushwacks. But truly the greatest avoidance came in the area of the lower Bells Canyon Waterfall where the crowds nearly became unbearable. A human stew cooked by dreams of social media likes. A stark difference from the better part of my Fathers Day morning.
