On Wednesday, July 21st, I made my way up Grizzly Gulch above the town of Alta Utah along a trail that I had intended to do many times before. Having seen this gulch after a previous hike to Twin Lakes Pass, and standing at its precipice looking to the southwest, I thought the traverse from the Brighton Ski Resort to the town of Alta would, at least, be worthwhile.
This time however I came with the intent of finding the abandoned Prince of Wales Mine that sat at the 10,000 foot level high on the west face of the divide between Honeycomb and Silver forks in Big Cottonwood canyon. I had seen an image of an old boiler that was still up there next to a shaft that lead deep into the mountain. Thinking this might be a great photographic opportunity, I loaded up my gear and started up the trail from the parking area north of the Alta Ski Resort.
It had been raining on and off that day down in the valley. Commonly, storms will develop on hot days in the desert and create afternoon showers that help to quench the hot soils. That day was no different. I figured, however, that they would pass by the time I had intended to start my hike in the evening. I couldn't have been more wrong!
As I worked my way up the trail through aspens and pines, the heavens unloaded their holdings as clouds pushed up and over the peaks around me. It was as if I was walking along with someone holding a shower head directly above me with the water on high. Just before leaving the house I said to myself 'don't forget your rain gear... just in case'.
Soon the rain had transformed into hail that was pummeling my bald head. Amazingly it had been 98 degrees in the valley that day. The only respite I received was on a small strip crowning my head where my sunglasses were resting. They acted as some type of pitiful shield to protect a small patch of thinning hair. The hail was coming so hard that standing under thick canopies of tree limbs offered no protection.
Momentarily I considered turning back and slogging back down the trail to my car and trying again some other time. But as I looked up toward the pass, the old mine dumps above me on Davenport Hill drew in my curiosity stronger than the storm could divert me. So, on I went, imagining that if anyone were in the cabins on the ridge parallel to where I was hiking, they were probably laughing at the sight of me, drenched to the bone and pushing my way up a pile of rocks.
Eventually, after exploring some of the lower mine workings in the Davenport Hill area, I reached the diversion in the trail that lead north to the pass into Silver Fork. This area was covered in the most
beautiful wild flowers that absolutely blanketed the floor of the canyon.
Along with the rain came the mosquitos! Boy, am I glad for repellent! I sprayed on a thick coating of it to keep the bugs at bay but not before five or six bites on my legs!
I made my way up the trail to the pass and thought I had made a wrong turn somewhere. I had imagined the mine was on an East-facing slope, having never been there before. But I had come this far already. If I didn't find the mine, at least I could explore the area and see what I could see.
Silver Fork opened up at my feet as I continued along the West slope of the ridge dividing it and Honeycomb Fork. Along the South rim of the bowl at the head of Silver Fork, Just over the pass from Davenport Hill, there were a multitude of open mine shafts.
I looked to the North of my position and there, in the distance, on a
West-Facing slope near the top of the ridge, was the old Ames Ironworks boiler I was looking for! I actually felt a bit energized at its sight. Here the trail leveled off and the hiking was a great deal easier than it had been lower down. I continued.
As I reached the boiler I was surprised at its size. Not at how big it was, rather at how small. I was expecting to find a gargantuan steam engine sized boiler. What
was there was a boiler about 15 feet long and shoulder height. It's amazing what I build up in my mind before actually seeing something in real life. After thinking about it for a moment though, I realized just how difficult it would have been to get
this thing up here at the time it was incorporated into the mine operation.
'What a beautiful setting to work in everyday' I thought to myself. Although, then, it probably wasn't all that it is today up there at 10,000 feet. As I sat there taking it all in, images of cabins and tramways, rail carts and cold winters, dark mine shafts and hard laboring miners passed through my mind's eye.
Soon it came time to make my way back down canyon. Before I left this spot I was treated to some spectacular evening light play as the sun broke through the clearing storm.
I reached the pass above Davenport Hill just as the alpenglow was about to begin it's moody dance on the peaks above the Albion Basin. As I walked down the trail I carried my camera on my mono pod so that I could be ready to get any shot that opened up in front of me. I would not be disappointed.
Devil's Castle, Sugarloaf Mountain, the Pfeifferhorn, and the ridge line between Little Cottonwood Canyon and American Fork canyon all became engulfed in the soft evening rays. I set to capturing whatever I could, hoping that I could preserve some of the majesty of the scene on my camera's sensor.
Ultimately this was one of the most rewarding hikes I had been on. Short as it was, it packed a punch photographically. I found out later that night my mother-in-law had visited my home. In the course of conversation between she and my wife, she asked, "why does your crazy husband hike in the rain?" The answer is simple: That's the best time to get great photos!
