At around 10 p.m. I received an invite from my friend Adam Fabrikant for a run the next morning on Mount Timpanogos. Adam is a fierce mountain goat, and while he may hesitate to use those words exactly, he shows no limit to his energy stores. Therefore, I dabbled with some second guessing after I agreed to the 20 mile (or, 18.9, to be sure) run on Mount Timpanogos. However, he had sliced open his foot open in Colorado a few days ago, and I thought this might take him down a notch. On advice from a friend, we went for a loop route. We parked at Timpooneke Trailhead, and began in the roughly west direction to Aspen Grove Trailhead, then to the summit, then back down to the car, on the main route.
After the flat trails to Aspen Grove it was a relentless ascent for almost 5,000 vertical feet. Surprisingly, the first few miles of uphill had a paved path, strange to be stepping on a manmade convenience among the foliage, trees, open canyons and multifaceted ridges that make up Timp’s complex structure.
The trail, though steep, allowed for a jogging cadence, though with frequent rocky patches. We gained a few thousand feet of vertical and passed Primrose Cirque with scattered cliff bands and steep terrain and several waterfall lines trickling through. Winter daydreaming commenced, as Adam rattled off the skiable lines in the area.
Farther up, the terrain levels out and there is a small shelter, a glacier and the serene Emerald Lake. The glacier was still clutching at straws to a few patches of dirty, mineral-colored snow. For those not needing to summit, the area provides a huge flat terrain to rest on and enjoy the views.
Ascending towards the saddle the trail deteriorates into a boulder scramble that traverses under the summit ridgeline then wraps back around and up it, for the summit push. I felt a tinge of dehydration as I realized I had had virtually only coffee, a few beers and soda since finishing work the night before, foolish planning at best.
Recreating with Adam is fun times as he’ll chat, stay upbeat, won’t complain, and won’t fatigue. The problem then is when I feel like crumpling to the ground and calling S & R, he will look at me like “what? We gotta hurry so I can get down, eat, and climb before dark.” However, he’s understanding that most aren’t at his speed and he doesn’t seem to mind slowing down. It happens quite often on winter tours as well.
We reached the summit after about four hours. There is another small shelter perched on the ridge with views of horned peaks in all directions, long boulder screes, green meadows, lakes, cities, and everything in between.
Heading down, I entered a sturdy zombie march as my tingly hands and light head told me not to try and sprint.
On the other end, Adam was frothing at mind-skiing the multitude of runs we were standing right on top of. “This! This is on the dream list,” he yells mid-stride in his lisp-riddled enthused cadence. He is pointing down the west face from just below the summit, waxing epic about skiing the (entirely doable on good snow years) 7,000 foot run that overlooks Lake Utah and American Fork. It did look dreamy, and my thirst for winter piqued some energy stores, if just.
The descending trail offered some very runnable, smooth, wide paths. I vowed to return and do just that, but I felt like puking and lamely announced I couldn’t really run, relegating us to a slow descent as thunderclouds closed in. I felt bad, but it was better than passing out five miles from the car.
As Adam powered ahead of me and ran the final few miles I heard a blood-curdling scream from the bushes. Never had I heard such a wail. I feared a tibia snap or something gruesome, but laughed when realizing he nearly plowed into a moose standing mid-trail on a blind corner. After a few minutes trying to drum up proper moose safety protocol, we stepped by. If the moose noticed us at all, he couldn’t have cared less.
Finally at the car, Adam was trying to get service to call his girlfriend to go climbing. I was fuzzy, but a refueling with a sugary soda and juicy cheeseburgers put me back on an even keel. I thanked the guy for his patience, and we split.