When our friends John and Val asked us to climb Goat Mountain with them, we seized the opportunity.  Fred and I usually do these adventures by ourselves, so it was that much more fun to be with fellow climbing enthusiasts, especially since they had been to Goat before, so we could be able to cover the 7.7 miles to the summit expediently.

Ask anyone who has hiked and climbed in the heart of the Pioneer Mountain Range, and you may see their countenance change to a look of knowing bliss and reverence as they tell you about its sheer beauty and wildness.  Granite crags, spires and domes hang raw and exposed over glaciated basins dotted with car-sized boulders and wildflowers in meadow grasses.  Hike to Pioneer Cabin, built high on a bench at 9,400 feet and get a spectacular view of the main Pioneer crest to the east.  The following photo of Pioneer Cabin was taken a few years ago, and now I can say that I have walked up that wide valley to the top of Goat Mountain, the peak situated on the left horizon in this photo.

The weather forecast said it was to rain in the afternoon.  John, Val, Fred and I started on the trail under blue skies and found ourselves pummeled by frigid winds and ice pellets when we got to the summit of Goat Mountain.  Not a fun time to take photos, however it adds excitement to the trip and knowing that not many people get to experience the sudden advancing of fall and winter in mid-September at nearly 12,000 feet on a precipice.  We got down the main crest pretty quickly.

The first 3 miles of this hike treks along the west side of North Fork Hyndman Creek with its colorful quartzite boulders and crystal clear water to an intersection with the trail that leads to Pioneer Cabin at 8,200 feet.  Continue straight into the valley ahead, walking over branches placed across the trail to steer Pioneer Cabin hikers to the trail that takes off to the left.  The pointy, fang-like Handwerk Peak appears as you walk through a sagebrush and bunchgrass valley to a crossing of the North Fork Hyndman Creek, another 0.6 miles past the intersection.  Then, climb through the white cliffs, through an obvious gulley that separates the cliffs to a shelf above.  Stay to the left (west) of the creek whose water sources from the unnamed basin between Handwerk Peak and Duncan Ridge.  Our party accessed this basin two different ways:  Val, Fred and I hiked the west side of the creek to near the base of Handwerk Peak.  John crossed the creek earlier and ended up waiting for us further up this grass-filled basin south of Handwerk.

We crossed the narrow stream at the bottom of the basin and walked through tall bunch grasses at first, and then short grass as we neared the cirque wall at the end of the basin.  Aim for Florian's Nudl, a fin-shaped dome on the ridge above the cirque.  Goat Mountain is the prominence to the left on the ridgeline.

The walk through this basin is a sensory experience of contrasts.  Native, aromatic grasses are soft and quiet underfoot, like a huge gold carpet while the cold, ragged mess of walls and boulders looms ahead, sweeping down both sides in a U-shaped curve, typical morphology of glaciation.  At the end, you run out of grass, except for a few patches distributed among the boulders.  We went straight up the steep boulder wall in front of us, and came down the more circuitous route that contains more grassy areas to the right side (east) in the cirque.  A huge boulder with a white "X" across its face lies at the entrance to the boulder field.  Next time I do this climb, I will find this boulder and go up to the right; this route descending seemed longer but less steep.  It's  hands-on boulder climbing either way.

The boulder-hopping was stable; rarely did I step onto a "tippy" rock.  John practically ran up the rocks, while the three of us followed, grasping onto the granite and grass to hoist up.  During the long climb, the skies became darker, and when we finally reached the top, we were assaulted by stinging ice crystals and a brisk, frigid wind.  What timing!  Snap a few photos, look at the squalls of rain around us, try to maintain our balance on the top of a narrow Pioneer Range ridge with 1,000-foot drops on both sides.  Celebrate the breathtaking (literally!) 360-degree scene; commit to memory.  And then get down.  Goat Mountain has a double peak - we didn't get to the second (north) prominence which is slightly higher.

John went down the direct steep face.  Fred, Val, and I hiked toward the east side of the cirque.  Descending down a gully near a sheer wall, we heard water rushing under rocks and I suddenly saw something white.  A mountain goat stood calmly watching us at the bottom.  We stopped and stared at each other.  It posed for us a few minutes, then slowly ambled toward the rock wall.  It looked like it was growing its winter coat.  We joked that the goat was taking note of humans' relative incoordination while traversing rocks.  We had seen mountain goat hair in the tundra grasses on the way up the mountain.

We met up with John at the bottom of the boulder field.  A refreshing, cool rain onto the bunch grasses made a clean, earthy scented air, which I breathed in deeply.  Tall grey walls rose on either side.  Occasional large boulders sat solitary and we took a short break on the lee side of a large one.  Probably dropped out of the receding glacier.  We resumed descending the basin and when I turned back to see the cirque and the ridge, curtains of rain covered most of the view.  In our chatting, we didn't pay attention to staying close to the stream drainage and got too far to the west, so we took some extra time route-finding, thrashing through brush, navigating more boulders, and crossing streams to get back to the trail.  

A gentle rain cooled us the last two miles of the hike.  In the cloud-covered dusk, we saw two bow hunters emerge from the woods in camouflage.  The sky on the horizon was clearing.  We raised a toast to our awesome 11-hour day with the excellent beer at the Power House in Hailey.  We celebrated getting to the summit together in a spectacular mountain range where we saw no one else on the trail.  We celebrated the fact that we are lucky to be able to see things that most people don't, and that our bodies are able to take us there.  

References:

Appearance of the Mountain Goat.  Website by the British Columbia Mountain Goat Society, copyright Smithers BC Canada.
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A Brief History - Pioneer Cabin.

Digital Geology of Idaho - Idaho Basement Rocks  -  Idaho State University.

Lopez, Tom.  2000.  Idaho - A Climbing Guide:  Climbs, Scrambles and Hikes.  The Mountaineers Books, Seattle, WA.

Metamorphic Core Complexes - Idaho Museum of Mining and Geology.

View from crest of initial climb, 1.8 miles from trailhead
​Point 6137 is first seen as the left point on the horizon with the single tree on it - trail goes on the left (west) flank of this point and then heads due north to summit
On the way down, stay on the ridge you ascended by walking around this point to the left and staying on ridge that leads southeast
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Trip Stats

• Overview:  Take a solitary and refreshing walk along a lush and undisturbed landscape close to Boise with views of Shafer Butte, Trinity Mountains and Lucky Peak Lake.  Trail begins at Blacks Creek Road summit on a steep single-track motorcycle trail with some steep ascents and descents, then meets with a jeep trail that ends at the summit of Kepros Mountain.
• Distance:  9.7 miles out and back (4.85 miles to Kepros Mountain).
• Elevation:  Trailhead 4,780 feet, Kepros 5,422 feet.  Net gain to summit is 1,540 feet; net loss to summit is 930 feet.
• Map:  USGS topo - Arrowrock Dam, ID 7.5 min.
• Coordinates Kepros Mountain:  43.33.33'36.06"N, -115.56'21.71"W
• Difficulty:  Moderate effort; trail is not marked but path easy to find.  Compass and topo map helpful.  Some short steep climbs on return from summit.
• Directions to trailhead:  Drive I-84 east of Boise and exit Blacks Creek Road (Exit 64). Take a left (north) onto Blacks Creek Road and travel 6.4 miles to intersection with signs for Prairie, Idaho.  Take a left at this intersection driving toward Prairie. Shortly, the road becomes gravel. From this intersection, travel another 4.6 miles to the summit of Blacks Creek Road and park in large lot to the right of road (you will pass a parking lot to the right 0.6 miles before this second large parking lot).  This is a popular ATV trailhead with the ATV road heading to the right (east).  Cross Blacks  Creek Road (west) to get on Kepros Mountain trailhead.

              Total distance from beginning of exit ramp off I-84 to trailhead parking = 11.1 miles

• Geology:  Granite from Atlanta Lobe of Idaho Batholith - Cretaceous age (85 - 67 Ma).

I have a greater appreciation for nature when I hike in adverse weather.   Lots of times it makes for dramatic scenes.  We went up into the clouds facing a steady headwind and came down in sun and breaking clouds with warmer temperatures.  At the truck we give "high-fives" and realize how fortunate we are to share such beauty together.  Get out of the city, take a short drive, see some beautiful Idaho!

 References

Bliss, James D., and Phillip R. Moyle. 2001.  Assessment of the Sand and Gravel Resources of the Lower Boise River Valley Area, Idaho.  U.S. Dept. of the Interior - U.S. Geological Survey,  41 pages.

Idaho Batholith:  Idaho's Natural History Online from Idaho Museum of Natural History/Idaho State University.  Retrieved from:  http://imnh.isu.edu/digitalatlas/geo/bathlith/bathdex.htm.
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Othberg, Kurt L. and Willis L. Burnham. 1990.  Geologic Map of the Lucky Peak Quadrangle,  Ada County, Idaho.  Idaho Geological Survey, University of Idaho, Moscow, ID,  13 pages.

Stevens, Jennifer. 2015.  History of Boise River Reservoir Operations, 1912-1995.  Stevens Historical Research Associates, 67 pages.

Our good friend, Henry Brown passed away in August 2016 after a fearless fight with cancer found to be in his lungs earlier that year.  Henry had faced many challenges in his life.  He graduated from West Point Military Academy and raised two daughters, each of whom are Army officers and attended West Point.  Henry’s long career sent he and his wife, Helen Joyce to many places in the U.S., but nothing would compare to the battle and challenges he endured in 2016.  Henry and Helen Joyce were thrilled to be moving back to Idaho two years ago when he accepted a human resource job in Hailey, Idaho.  Fred was even more excited that Henry was coming back to Idaho, for now they could hunt together again, as they had done 12 years ago when Henry and Helen Joyce lived in Boise. 
 
 Helen Joyce chronicled their struggles through this ordeal on Facebook.  She told us about the good news, the bad news, the ups and downs, the surgeries, the optimism and hopefulness.  And in the photos, Henry was in his usual positive get-up-and-go attitude, smiling while he was in the hospital or recovering, or walking with a therapist to rehab after a stroke he suffered after one of his surgeries.  Once again, Henry worked hard and he didn’t give up.
 
Both hunters and military men, Henry and Fred formed a quick friendship 16 years ago when they met while working at Boise Cascade in Boise.  They naturally “hit it off” because each was an Army veteran and each liked to spend time in Idaho’s wilderness.  Quickly, their conversations turned to deer and elk hunting, and Henry, the experienced rifle and eventually bow hunter, invited Fred along on a deer hunt in Idaho.  Fred told two hunting stories at a reception that Helen Joyce had for Henry the day before our Hike for Henry Brown.  In one story, Fred told a humorous account of Henry’s reaction to a burned-up Coleman camping stove.  After a long hunting day, they were keen to enjoy a hot dinner cooked on the truck tailgate when propane leaked from the valve and the whole stove caught on fire.  After Fred stomped it out, Henry exclaimed, “Fred, that was interesting!”  In another story, they had been hunting for 2 cold and rainy days, and hadn’t seen any elk.  When Fred asked Henry what the chances seeing elk in that kind of weather were, Henry replied, “Well, Fred, if we leave the forest now, we have zero chance of getting an elk!”

We waited a few more minutes on the trail to hear another bugle, but we did not, and the cow elk had moved high up the ridge, finding a place to hide from us.  Once upon the summit, we took photos of each of us holding our sign, “This Hike for Henry Brown”.  Now we were quiet, we felt Henry’s spirit around us, through the air, the sunshine, the trees, and the rocks.  We remembered Henry, each in our own way while absorbing the incredible view that lay before us of the steep and rugged Pioneer Mountains to the northeast.  The dark purple shadows in the deep, loose-rock gullies that run in jagged lines from top to bottom held white patches of snow.  Sadness weighed me down from the usual jubilance and satisfaction I feel from summiting a peak. The sign I held for Henry Brown grounded me, pulled me down onto the rocks, down to reality.  But I also felt happiness from having known Henry and our hikes together.   I am forever grateful for his words of encouragement as I met the challenge of starting a new career, and the overhaul he gave my entire resume’.  And there were those two games of ping-pong at Rickshaw restaurant in Ketchum while we waited for our table (maybe he let me win one).

On top of Johnstone Peak that day, there were no bugs, no wind.  The light mountain air surrounded us and gave Fred and I space and warmth to ponder memories and talk about how brief our lives are here on this beautiful Earth. 
 
We packed up our leftover food and water, our jackets and the sign, and charted a return route down the mountain.  As we descended the summit pile of rocks and walked onto the grassy saddle before the next rise on the ridge, I looked up to see a golden eagle making slow wide circles against the sky.  This was an unusual sight, for we often see hawks and less often eagles.  Henry would have appreciated the markings under its huge wingspan and its graceful flight.  We watched it circle and move on, and we moved on ourselves, the sun closer to the horizon.  Time passes.  I had a fleeting thought that maybe Henry’s spirit was soaring above us, and this would not surprise, for Henry seemed to have spirit that transcended.
 
I’m sure we’ll climb Johnstone Peak again more than once, and each time we are back on its summit, we will always remember our Hike for Henry Brown.  And I will always be looking for the eagle.

Eighteen years ago, on our first snowshoe hike to Sunset Mountain Lookout, we ran into a skier coming down from the mountain.  He said, as he turned and pointed, "turn left at the tall fir tree when you get to the clearing at the top of this rise."  It was a bright sunny day and one of our first snowshoe hikes in Idaho.  Every time I do this hike, I remember those directions and that tree, although we know the route so well after having hiked it once or twice a year for 18 years.

Over the years, the snow-filled parking lot at Mores Creek Summit, which is plowed, has more and more vehicles and trailers of snowmobilers, skiers and snowshoers.  This is where two trailheads are located.  The snow machines mostly run on the trail to Pilot Peak, on the north side of ID 21, as well as some skiers, while most snowshoers go up to Sunset Lookout on the south side.   Getting up over the berm of snow from the parking lot and onto Forest Road #316 is a bit steep, but once you find the tracks and groove of the road, it climbs at a moderate incline.  It heads south and southeastward up and then down a wide creek valley, then up to a clearing at the top of a ridge where the road then heads to the left (northeast) briefly before heading through the forest in a southeastward direction.  The first view of Sunset Mountain Lookout can be seen - the building a small speck on the highest rise to the south.

After this clearing, the trail descends briefly and is level for ~ 0.5 miles before it begins to climb again.  Clearings show the immensity of the Boise National Forest to the northeast, with mountains, deep valleys and tall trees with snow-covered branches.  The only sound on this hike is our snowshoes crunching through the snow; the forest is blissfully quiet.  

The last half of the hike is a steady climb that gets steeper as the road approaches the lookout.  We short-cut the road and switchback straight up the open, steep slope just below the final rise to the lookout.  Once up this steep rise, we meet with the forest road and follow it more or less the last few hundred yards to the top.

This winter’s snowshoe hike to Sunset Lookout proved to be one of the most spectacular trips this season because of record snowfall in Idaho and a recent storm that provided 5 inches of new, fluffy powder over a firm base.  On the last 1/2 mile to the summit, we followed a skier’s track that made small switchbacks up the steep, final face to the top, where an expansive 360-degree view of white and grey mountains surrounded us.  The fir trees were white, too, with only a few inches of green showing beneath branches under thick snow cover.  Grey clouds floated by us, now and then obstructing our view.  It was a surreal scene that not many get to witness.

Fred and I make this trek every winter.  We rarely see others, except the occasional backcountry skier.  Once away from the parking lot, the noise from the snow machines that run to Pilot Peak on the other side of the summit quickly dies away.  Once we saw a snowmobiler, by himself near the top of Sunset Mountain years ago.  We dug him out of a snow hole.

​After an initial climb for 1.5 miles, the hike levels out as it traverses across a broad, flat area through a Ponderosa pine and Douglas fir forest in a southeasterly direction. A break in the forest allows a first glimpse of Sunset Mountain Fire Lookout.  At about 2 miles, you find yourself on a ridge overlooking a stunning valley with the Boise National Forest at your feet. 
Unfortunately, much of this area was burned in the Pioneer Fire in August 2016.  As the trail starts to climb again, you can choose to stay on the path the road takes leading to the right, or stay on the ridge with steeper hiking to the left (east of forest road).  Further up, ridge and road meet at a small flat area where the top of Sunset Mountain finally comes back into view.  This is where the real climbing begins.  We hike straight up the final mountain face, instead of taking the gentler, longer road to the top. 

View of Sawtooth Mountains in the distance from top of Sunset Mountain Lookout
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