Silhouettes in the distance

Ridges and canyons formed lines of color, one after the other extending into the distant haze. The scene held me transfixed, filled with wonder, no matter that it was a picture John Spence showed illustrating the ‘Birding southern Utah National Parks' presentation he was giving for the September 7, 2001 UOS Birding Convention. Throughout the remainder of his presentation and all the rest that followed, that scene kept flowing back into my mind. I wanted to get to that place and see the desert mesas and canyons myself. Taken from a mountain pass, high in the Henry Mountains in south central Utah, the picture showed mesas and canyons like waves, one beyond the other stretching to the horizon.

I found that I was not alone in my desire to visit this remote place, although not many others can take the time to visit the Henry Mountains. Reed Stone expressed an interest in going so we planned a trip to correspond with the UEA Teachers Convention, when I could take my young son, Jorgen. Jorgen wanted to go because we promised to stop for a while at Goblin Valley, a place he dearly loves. I wanted to visit the Henry Mountains to see the views and, more importantly, see what birds were there.

Our departure was set for Friday morning, September 28, 2001. When we arrived at our meeting place, we found that Reed Stone was alone in his vehicle and had taken his trailer. Since there was room for all of us in both his trailer and vehicle, we parked my Geo and transferred to his Pathfinder, and went together. On the way, Reed told us he had never been to Goblin Valley, so that became a ‘must see' even though Jorgen would have mutinied had we not stopped. The day was clear and hot, and got hotter as we drove south. When we arrived at Goblin Valley State Park, it was hot and dry, and got drier as we hiked down among the goblins. Goblin Valley is the stuff poets write about, using flowery words that conjure up almost accurate images. "Parade of elephants and dance of dolls" as suggested by the official brochure don't quite work for me but they are poetic.

The goblins are amazing but their impact on the visitor depends on the visitor's own interaction in them. Viewing them, they are like mushrooms, meandering among them turns them into a grotesque maze, playing in them makes them into a superb ‘hide and surprise' game field. I am told they become a shadowy haunted place well suited for skulduggery after dark when scouts are wont to play their night games. We stayed about an hour, much less than we wanted but we needed to move on to our real destination.

We fueled up at Hanksville and obtained directions from the station attendant and headed out on Highway 95 to milepost 20, where we turned toward ‘Little Egypt' and continued up Crescent Creek.

The Henry Mountains are Laccolithic and Igneous, meaning they are the result of volcanic activity where a large molten mass of rock thrust up, pushing with it the sedimentary rock of the desert, but not breaking through to erupt the way a classic volcano does. This rock hardened into the high mountains, then the overburden eroded away leaving the granite. Interestingly, it looked to us that the roads had all been made by a caterpillar tractor with no need of using explosives to break up the rock. The dirt seemed to be rotted granite, not at all like the granite used to build the Salt Lake Temple.

As a result of the way the Henry's were created, the roads into them and around them as well are very steep. I tried to measure the slope and found it to be around 10° although it was difficult to get any accuracy using my compass which has an ‘incline-o-meter' built into it. Reed drove slowly up the Crescent ridge trying not to shake the trailer too much, only to have his car boil over. Fortunately, this happened right where Crescent Creek actually had some water in it, which we used to cool the radiator. We found a wonderful place to park the trailer right in a patch of yellow Aspen and Ponderosa Pine at 8200 feet elevation.

Aspen in a draw near Wickiup Pass

The ride up the ridge was interesting because the Junipers started in the low foothills as small, stunted trees, gradually growing taller as we increased in altitude. The creek bed had outbreaks of Cottonwood wherever the water was near the surface. Higher on the mountain, Pinion Pine took over from the Juniper and we found Pinion Jays. At about 8000 feet, the riparian areas were taken over by thick stands of Aspen mingled with Ponderosa. Our timing was almost perfect because the Aspen were in the midst of their color change and were a beautiful, vibrant yellow.

I found the maps of the Henry Mountains somewhat confusing because the names on the maps didn't aligh perfectly with the signage on the mountain. Studying the map showed the highest peak where we were was named South Summit Ridge, which appeared to be the name of a ridge, not the mountain. Actually it is named the South Summit Ridge of Mount Ellen and is not named independently although the proper Mount Ellen is a mile or so the to northwest. The creek we camped beside has a sign that says Crescent Creek, but the map calls it Bromide Canyon. Apparently, Crescent Creek splits into two forks because the sign is not where the map says Crescent Creek is supposed to be.

After unhooking the trailer, we continued driving up the mountain, headed north along the flank of Kimball and Turner Peak winding in and out of the ridges and gullies. Each gully had stands of Aspen each more vivid and bold than the previous as we gained altitude and rounded the northern side of the mountain. Rounding a corner we stopped gasping at the beauty, then jumped out to get a picture of the next canyon. Finally coming to a high point in the road, we pulled over and took pictures of the desert extending eastward into the distance. It was the same view that John Spence had shown, and there it was in real life. Row after row of canyon and mesa, extending for miles, off into the haze, and there I was, viewing it.

We had been watching my GPS as we climbed the mountain and we were at 9800 feet, looking at the desert below, which was about 5000 feet. The difference in altitude was amazing. We continued around the mountain past Blue Basin and headed for Bull Creek Pass. Again the road rose sharply passing through a steep sub-alpine area, where we saw up and ahead seven deer feeding. This was bow and black powder hunting season, but the deer seemed unconcerned about us. There was a doe, two two-point bucks, and four four-point bucks. Our hearts were racing some because it is not often you see six big bucks at the same time. We passed a hunter sitting on his ORV bemoaning the poor range of his black-powder rifle. He spoke about how difficult it was to sneak up to get within range of them. We didn't feel at all bad for him, but it did get Reed to talking about his prior hunting exploits.

When we got to Bull Creek Pass, the GPS said our altitude was 10510 feet, way up there, and it really looked it as we scanned the desert west of the Henry's. Here we began to see Clark's Nutcrackers, birds appropriate for the altitude. Turning around, we headed back to Blue Basin and met an Enforcement Officer in his state truck. The sides of the roads were extremely steep, about 45° and he kindly backed up about a quarter mile to a wide spot in the road for up to pass. This was the only truck we passed on our trip. We passed two four-wheelers and several trucks went past while we were parked, but essentially, we had the mountain to ourselves.

Going down-hill from Blue Basin, we drove down to Lonesome Beaver Campground and found it to be a nice little campground with 5 sites, a toilet facility and running water (marked untested for human consumption). Here we had our second and final conversation with anyone else on the mountain, then headed back to camp for dinner.

Darkness fell fast during our walk up the road to the south. In the waning dusk, a bat fluttered by and the stars began to light the sky. Down in the desert, we could see several car lights headed for Lake Powell, and the temperature began to cool, however, not getting at all cold all night.

We had seen Common Raven, Mourning Dove, Horned Lark, Dark-eyed Junco, Pinion Jay, Golden Eagle, Clark's Nutcracker, Townsend Solitaire, Northern Flicker, American Kestrel, Sharp-shined Hawk and Lark Sparrow, and it was almost time for sleep. Darkness came at 7:30 and we were ready for bed at 8:30, but it would not do to go to sleep too early and awake too early the next day, so Reed and I swapped stories while Jorgen read himself to sleep.

Different beds and different places always seem to produce less sleep. I arose at 6 am and took a walk on the road to the south. This time of the year, 6 in the morning is dark, real dark, and the stars shone brightly, with Orion dominating the southern sky. Dawn quietly crept in and the stars became obscured and I waited for the rising of the sun. In the ‘almost-light' the birds began calling near and far and I caught a glimpse of a flock of Pinion Jays heading up the draw. I couldn't see them well until they banked and swerved in the half light, then when I tried to number them the flock was too great. "Must be a hundred birds" I said to myself, then catching sight of another flock behind them, I thought "Two hundred". Before dawn had completely broke, another three hundred or so birds had flocked and flown up into the upper Copper Creek drainage. From all sides small groups of Pinion Jays were joining the assembly and I could see in the trees against the skyline hoards of birds flying between them. Then I noticed the different call of the Clark's Nutcracker and saw them sitting as sentinels in the highest trees as if guiding the Jays like traffic patrolmen. Since everyone likes a crowd, even a bunch of Northern Flickers and a flock of Common Ravens showed up for the excitement.

Later Reed and I drove up into the Copper Creek drainage to see what the attraction was. We found the cones on all the Pinyon Pines had burst open and the birds had gathered for a feast.

Taking an early drive around the south side of the South Summit Ridge area of Mount Ellen, we came upon a loose flock of sparrows feeding in the low scrub along a high ridge. They would fly in front of us, then drop down out of sight, not giving us a good look. Persistence paid off and we determined they were Brewers Sparrows. When the road to the south turned west, we re-examined the map and found that the dirt road we were on actually circumnavigated the mountain top, but we turned back anyway to wake Jorgen and have breakfast. We drove around a little more, then packed up and headed for home. Only when we were back on pavement did Reed tell me that it was his wife's birthday, so it became important to get him home to spend some time with her.

The trip was wonderful and the Henry Mountains beautiful. Our timing was great and the weather beautiful. I can hardly wait to get back.

On the second day, we saw Juniper Titmouse, about a thousand Pinion Jays, twenty Clarks Nutcrackers, 10 Common Ravens, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Mountain Chickadee, Brewers Sparrow, Spotted Towhee, Vesper Sparrow, Scrub Jay, Lark Sparrow, Bleak-eyed Junco, White-crowned Sparrow, American Kestral and Northern Flicker.