Hiking Near Salt Lake City: Antelope Island State Park

November of 2019 was a month of firsts for me. It was a time of transition, vulnerability, and new beginnings. As I write this post in January of 2020, well beyond the hustle of the holiday season, I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to decide which of the two epic hikes I took in Utah in November to write about here. Since my New Year’s Resolution has been to take at least one new hike every month and document my experience, I’ve been so focused on writing about just that: a single hike every month, even in months when I’ve hiked more than one new trail. It took a month like this past November to make me rethink that mindset, not because of the trails I hiked, but because of the significance and stability of my monthly ritual during a time when so much else around me felt chaotic. My new hikes are always meaningful, but in some months, I need a higher dose of that sacred time of exploration. I’ll dive deeper into that later, but right now, I want to jump right into reliving my incredible experience at Antelope Island State Park, located a short drive west of Salt Lake City, Utah.

This is me, hiking on Antelope Island along the coast of the Great Salt Lake, in my New Orleans Saints hat, because my football allegiances are almost as important to me as hiking adventures, and I combine the two whenever I can.

I’d never been to Utah, so when I had the opportunity to travel to Salt Lake City for my cousin’s wedding in November of 2019, I decided to extend the trip and explore a couple of the area’s countless hiking trails. Winter arrives much earlier in Utah than it does in Tennessee, so I wanted to do some research to narrow down my realistic options. More importantly, this was my first opportunity to hike a new trail with my parents, who have been so encouraging and steadfast throughout my hiking journey. I wanted to find a trail that was close to Salt Lake City but removed enough to provide uninterrupted views of the Utah landscape. Also, I wanted to find a trail that all three of us could safely and comfortably enjoy. My sophisticated research strategy (Google) provided many viable options, but as soon as I discovered Antelope Island State Park, I knew I’d found our ideal hiking destination.

My parents are the cutest, and I’m so happy that we were able to experience this amazing place together.

When I saw the word “island” in the name of this state park in the middle of Utah, I had some questions. Eventually, I learned that Antelope Island is only an island sometimes, depending on the tide, and that the Great Salt Lake is plenty big enough to contain a 42-square-mile mountainous land mass that appears as nothing more than a tiny peninsula on state maps. The geography of Salt Lake City and its surroundings is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The lush mountains immediately east of the city receive glorious amounts of pristine snow that attracts flocks of enchanted winter sports enthusiasts from around the globe. To the immediate east, there’s Antelope Island and the Great Salt Lake, a hauntingly beautiful desert landscape of treeless, mountainous terrain and colorful waters as still and reflective as mirrors.

Antelope Island, located barely west of Salt Lake City, offers couldn’t be more different from my familiar hiking destinations at home in Tennessee, and I loved every minute of the newness and uniqueness of this beautiful place.

I haven’t found an online map or trail guide that accurately documents the trail that my parents and I explored. We hiked the Lakeside Trail, which is easy to find if you follow the road signs to White Rocks Bay after entering the park, but the AllTrails and Hiking Project directions will lead you to a trailhead that only allows overnight camper parking, not day parking for non-campers. Follow the signs to White Rocks Bay, and you’ll see signs for Lakeside Trail after the turn off. The Lakeside Trail runs for three breathtakingly beautiful miles along the rocky shoreline above the Great Salt Lake, and there’s a new two-mile segment that connects the outermost points on the trail along the coast to each other via an inland segment. This creates a five-mile loop packed with impressive views of the Great Salt Lake and its surrounding mountains and rock formations.

My parents and I hiked this trail clockwise, but if I were to go back (and I sincerely hope that happens soon), I’d hike it counterclockwise. There isn’t any significant elevation gain or loss on the trail, so the physical effort would remain the same regardless of direction. We hiked the coastal portion of the trail first though, which meant that for the majority of the two inland miles, we had our backs to the lake and mountain views. The prairie landscape was gorgeous, and the small herd of wild buffalo that we encountered at very close range while on the inland trail segment was undoubtedly one of the best things I’ve experienced on any of my hikes. However, If we’d hiked counterclockwise, we’d have hiked past the buffalos during the first mile, and then turned a corner that would have positioned us to view the mountains rising above the lake and prairie in between for a mile or so before reaching the magnificent coastal segment.

The coastal trail segment provided epic views of the lake and many unique rock formations that created a stunning backdrop for our hike.

Hiking clockwise, we still experienced no shortage of incredible views. Hiking on a treeless island creates longer lines of sight than what I’m used to in the intimate woodlands and gulfs of Tennessee. The views of the lake and the mountains from the very beginning of the coastal segment were nothing short of spectacular, and we timed our hike perfectly. We hiked the Lakeview Trail on a Friday in late November, and we encountered about three other hiking parties during our entire time spent on the five-mile trail. I knew that my parents and I would thoroughly love this hike as soon as we got out of the car in the parking lot at the trailhead. When I’ realized we’d see more buffalos than humans on this hike, however, that was when I knew we were experiencing something truly special, and that this place and our timing was more perfect than I ever could have imagined it’d be.

From the trailhead, we hiked along a rugged, yet well blazed, trail that ran parallel to the shoreline of the Great Salt Lake. Frary Peak, the highest mountain on the island, towered above us on the left, high above White Rocks Bay, an inlet off the Great Salt Lake that’s named for a large and (you guessed it) white rock formation rising out of its waters. As we hiked closer toward the coast from the trailhead, we noticed the herd of buffalos less than half a mile into our hike and took a detour to get a closer look, not realizing that what we thought was a spur trail into the prairie was actually the back end of the loop we’d eventually make. Regardless, it was a short and worthwhile detour, and the buffalos were still in the area when we looped around at the end of the hike. The buffalos on the island are docile and accustomed to the presence of humans, so even when the trail passed within a few feet of a buffalo, we never felt threatened or uncomfortable. Hiking in such close proximity to a wild animal that big, and feeling perfectly safe while doing so, felt so surreal and exhilarating. Before our hike here, I’d learned that the island was home to Utah’s largest herd of wild buffalos, but I still didn’t expect to see so many of them at close range.

No zoom on this one, I promise. The island itself was gorgeous enough, but the buffalos were icing on the cake.
Seeing the buffalos at close range was such a memorable and rewarding part of our experience at Antelope Island State Park.

After returning to the coastal segment of the Lakeside Trail, we hiked across rocky but moderate terrain as the trail traversed the slopes above the shore of the lake and below Buffalo Point, an overlook accessible by car from the inland side. We drove up to Buffalo Point after our hike to take in the stunning views of the expansive scenery from a higher vantage point. There’s also a short trail from the parking lot at Buffalo Point that leads up to the summit, with amazing 360 degree views on the way up. It’s a quick and easy way to access some of the island’s best views of the lake, mountains, and local wildlife.

As we moved forward along the trail, we experienced truly magnificent views of the Great Salt Lake, a still and pristine body of water with mountains surrounding it on all sides. It was a cloudy day, but the landscape reflected a rainbow of colors. The brilliant bluish grey lake transformed into greenish gold when the sunlight hit it just right. The yellow fields of prairie grass created a perfect frame for rust colored boulders against that stunning silvery backdrop of the salt lake and the distant mountains rising above it on the opposite shore. If my description sounds overly romantic, that’s because this landscape presented an experience that was so unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I’ve hiked extensively through the wild forests and waterfalls of Tennessee. I’ve climbed mountains in Colorado and hiked through various other gorgeous spaces in this country. This hike stands out among the rest. I’d never hiked through a prairie surrounded by mountains. I’d never seen a body of water as large and as still as the Great Salt Lake. I’d never hiked within several feet of a thousand-pound animal and felt thoroughly comfortable and safe.

I felt like I was standing in front of a painting throughout this hike, and the rich colors of that desert landscape still amaze me.

The day that we hiked at Antelope Island was such an immensely happy day for me and my parents, and at the time, we didn’t know how much we’d need that glorious escape from the chaos of the days to come. We didn’t know that my grandmother would pass away unexpectedly the following day. We didn’t know about the turmoil and tension that would accompany her death, and we didn’t know that for the second time in three months, we’d lose a family member within a few days of celebrating another family member’s wedding.

The unpredictable chaos of life has only increased my appreciation for the time I have set aside to regularly explore new hiking trails. Sometimes it feels selfish, and other times it feels difficult to find the time to devote to this passion of mine. The reassuring constant, however, is the refreshing and healing quality of the time I’ve contributed to my adventures in the wild. With hikes like this one at Antelope Island State Park, a place I’d never have encountered by accident, I’m reminded of the bigger picture. Setting time aside for yourself, to do something you love or something that helps you feel balanced, may not always make sense in that moment, but it can provide so much inner peace and clarity to carry you through the unexpected that lies ahead. There’s beauty in the chaos, and small moments of happiness and routine can offer comfort in times of sadness or transition if we just let them.

Salt has done a number on these rocks over time, and maybe they aren’t what they used to be, but they’re still beautiful, resilient, and important. Maybe the wear and tear has made them stronger. Maybe we could all learn something from the rocks.

Climbing Colorado Fourteeners: Grays and Torreys Peaks

I believe that fear is one of life’s greatest blessings, and this mentality has significantly influenced both my adventures in the wild and my everyday life. I think of fear as an opportunity demonstrate courage, overcome challenges, and succeed at something I may have previously thought impossible. Fear presents a choice: retreat or move forward.

Grays Peak (left) and Torreys Peak (right) are Colorado’s 9th and 11th highest peaks at 14,270 ft and 14,267 ft, respectively.

Until about two and a half years ago, I didn’t think I could climb a mountain, any mountain. I was afraid of heights and exposure, but with help from some friends, I made it to the top of Old Rag Mountain (3,284 ft) in Shenandoah National Park in July of 2017. To this day, that remains one of my favorite hikes ever, and the experience played a critical role in inspiring the first iteration of my New Year’s Resolution to explore a new trail every month in 2018. Throughout the first few months of 2018, I didn’t think my hiking adventure would ever lead me to the summit of a big mountain. I was afraid of the physical impact that altitude can have on the body and didn’t think I’d ever have the strength or stamina to endure hiking at high elevations. On September 14, 2018, my thirtieth birthday, I climbed to the summit of the highest peak in the Rocky Mountains, Mount Elbert (14,439 ft). I wouldn’t have made it to the top without Andy’s help and encouragement. To show my appreciation, I promoted him from boyfriend to husband ten months later.

Until a few months ago, I didn’t think I could climb a big mountain by myself. I was afraid of the possibility that I hadn’t really conquered my fears, but had instead relied on the strength of others to carry me through them. In October, a trip to Colorado with a couple of friends (Lexi and Anne, who have joined me on several hikes over the past two years) presented me with an opportunity to find out. On a wild, and possibly wine induced, impulse a couple of weeks before the trip, I changed my return flight to allow an extra day in Colorado after my friends planned to fly back to Nashville. I didn’t know if I was ready to climb a fourteener by myself, but I knew I was ready to try.

I had one day, an exceptionally tight window in October in the Rockies, due to intense wind gusts and single-digit temperatures above the tree line that signal the imminent arrival of the first big snow of the season. Also, I knew I’d need to choose from a small handful of mountains relatively close to Denver, to allow enough time for a successful summit, descent, and subsequent drive to the airport for a 9:00 PM flight back to Nashville. There weren’t many realistic options, but there was one that presented me with an opportunity to summit the highest peak on the continental divide and traverse an exposed ridge to the summit of an adjacent fourteener, all in less than ten miles out and back.

Grays and Torreys are part of the Wasatch Range and Arapaho National Forest.

Admittedly, Grays and Torreys are two of the easiest fourteeners to summit in Colorado, and very popular options due to their proximity to Denver and the opportunity to climb two non-technical mountains in one hike. However, “easy” is a relative term, not a literal one. There aren’t any easy fourteeners, only some that are less difficult than others. Experts usually evaluate a mountain’s difficulty based on the technical ability required to climb it, not the amount of route distance or elevation gain from the trailhead, although these factors often influence each other. Environmental factors, like weather and time of year, weigh heavily on individual experiences and can make any hike feel more or less challenging than expected. Every day leading up to the day I’d planned to climb Grays and Torreys, I checked online forums for new trail reports from other hikers and prayed for favorable conditions. At best, I knew I could expect single digit temperatures and severe wind gusts that would only intensify on the precarious ridge between the two summits. Multiple trip reports in the weeks leading up to my hike recounted abandoned attempts at crossing the ridge due to the intensity of the wind, a seasonal side effect of the transition from fall to winter at high altitudes.

The days in Colorado prior to my Grays and Torreys summit hike only increased my concerns about the coldness and brutality of the wind gusts. My friends and I experienced them while hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, and the highest altitude we reached there was about 12,000 feet. Considering the severity of the winds in less exposed environments and more than 2,000 vertical feet below the summits of Grays and Torreys, fear dominated my thoughts, and doubt started creeping in.

My hair looks like this is every photo from this hike. What can you do, though?

The day before the hike, I said goodbye to my friends as they headed to the airport, and I checked into a cheap motel in Idaho Springs, a 45-minute drive from the trailhead. Maybe my expectations were low, but as it turns out, Idaho Springs is actually kind of cute. I wouldn’t recommend it as a destination, but if you’re passing through on I-70 or want to take advantage of the incredible hiking in the surrounding area, it’s not a bad place to be. I ate some of the best pizza I’ve had in a long time (Beau Jo’s), and promptly went back to my room around 8:00 PM to prepare for an early start on the trail. In the quiet loneliness of my motel room in that isolated town, sleep did not come easily as my mind raced with the uncertainties of the next day.

I reached the trailhead before sunrise, after a dark and skecthy drive up a rugged mountain road that would have been insurmountable without a 4WD vehicle with some clearance. My rented Dodge Journey made the trek at a slow and steady pace, but she got me there. I hiked west along the trail and watched the sun rise above the mountains as I approached the tree line. Because the trailhead rests at nearly 11,000 feet, the trees fade into the background after less than a mile of steady uphill hiking. As a result, both Grays and Torreys tower majestically in view throughout most of the approach.

Grays and Torreys, as viewed from the trail at dawn

God and Mother Nature blessed me with favorable weather, so despite the cold and the wind gusts, the sky was a brilliant shade of solid blue. I felt the bone-chilling intensity of the wind every time it picked up, which happened more frequently as I climbed upward, but the consistency of that sky and the serenity of the alpine tundra landscape fueled me forward. I realized the magnitude of loneliness quickly and often thought of challenging hikes I’ve taken before this one. I remembered the support and encouragement I had from others, those who accompanied me on previous hikes and those who were cheering from the sidelines. Regardless, it didn’t take long for me to realize that a hike like this one is much harder on your own. I struggled with doubt and fear constantly, and there wasn’t anyone there to reassure me in the many moments when brutal winds, incessant breathlessness, or dizzying exposure made me want to turn around and return to my rental car. I thought about that often, knowing I’d have other opportunities in the future to come back and summit these mighty peaks under more favorable conditions. Nonetheless, I kept going.

views across the valley from the upper slopes of Grays Peak, around 13,500 ft

Somewhere north of 13,500 feet, I convinced myself that reaching the summit of Grays would be enough, considering the reports I’d read about the treacherous and highly exposed trail along the ridge to Torreys Peak. Grays is the taller and less technical of the two mountains, and I could avoid the ridge by descending along the same trail I’d taken up. I’d return home feeling content to have even climbed one fourteener by myself. These were my thoughts as I climbed the final stretch of exposed scree to reach the summit of Grays.

Breathless and shaking, I emerged onto the summit of Grays, only to be greeted by a wind gust so strong it nearly sent me tumbling off the mountain. Luckily, someone had assembled a wind shelter on the summit in the form of a curved rock wall several feet high. I crouched beside it to take in the incredible views. It’s funny how the view always feels different from the summit, even when looking at scenery that’s been visible along the upper sections of the trail that lie immediately below the top. It’s as if your brain changes gears and finally allows you to take it all in with a fresh perspective of achievement. I gazed in awe across the terrain I’d just hiked and looked for the first time into the vast mountainous beauty that lie on the other side of Grays Peak. Hundreds of mountains surrounded me on all sides, and I felt like I was perched majestically above all of them.

The summit of Grays Peak (14,270 ft) is the highest point on the Continental Divide.

From the summit of Grays, Torreys suddenly looked less intimidating. I could now see the entire route across the ridge, and although it still intimidated me, with wind so intense that I could literally see it in the form of wispy dust clouds flying off the mountain like tiny translucent hawks, it appeared to be more manageable than it had looked from below. I decided to try it, knowing I could descend from a trail near the saddle if I changed my mind on the way down the from the summit of Grays. I started moving down the side of mountain and quickly realized that this trail was much steeper than the one I’d ascended on the way up. The winds on this part of the trail were stronger and colder than any I’d encountered yet, but I moved slowly forward until I reached the saddle and the spur trail that reconnected with the one I’d ascended to the summit of Grays.

This is the view from the saddle on the ridge between Grays and Torreys, facing the valley that the trail ascends through on its way to the peaks.

I don’t know if it was divine intervention or if I’d just crossed an endurance threshold that made the winds seem less noticeable, but in that moment of decision, I found a sudden burst of energy and determination. The most exposed section of the ridge was still in front of me, but for the first time on that hike, I felt calm and confident. I figured I’d better start moving again before that faded. The trail leading to the summit of Torreys is steeper and more technical than the one I’d taken to the top of Grays. Despite the more rugged terrain, however, the wind wasn’t as much of a factor as it had been before. It was almost 11:00 AM by now and still well below freezing at this altitude, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the mountain felt warmer and less threatening.

I propelled my aching body over the final pitch and onto the summit just in time to high-five a couple from North Carolina who I’d met on the summit of Grays. These mountains were their first fourteeners, and they’ll never know it, but hiking behind them motivated me to keep going when I felt discouraged along the ridge. I could see them pressing on ahead of me, tiny dots on the side of the mountain, and it reminded me of hiking my first fourteener with Andy a year earlier.

The altitude written on the rock is 8 ft higher than the mountain’s actual height, but I support whoever made the decision to round up.

From the top of Torreys, I stared across the ridge I’d traversed from the summit of Grays, standing in the spot I didn’t think I could reach just two hours earlier. This filled me with an overwhelming sense of triumph and a humbling dose of perspective. The views were different but just as magnificent as the ones from the summit of Grays, and if I hadn’t been running behind an already tight schedule, I could have stayed on top of that mountain all afternoon, despite the wind and the cold. Reluctantly, I started making my way down the trail and back to the saddle, feeling exhausted but invincible.

The fall colors on the alpine tundra sparkled beneath the bluebird sky. I hadn’t noticed their brightness on the hike in, during the dim dawn hours as the sun rose behind the mountains east of Grays and Torreys, casting a shadow across the valley beneath the peaks. I encountered several groups of hikers on the way down, sharing advice from my experience when asked, and providing words of encouragement to those who looked like they needed it. When I returned to the trailhead, I felt physically and mentally drained but entirely fulfilled by the experience. That’s always the goal, right?

Grays Peak, as viewed from the summit of Torreys Peak

Without a doubt, this was one of my best hiking adventures yet. I tested my perceived limitations and emerged from the experience stronger and braver than I’d been before. The confidence I gained on those mountains has manifested itself in my everyday life too, as I pursued an incredible and competitive new job opportunity. I started that new job three weeks ago and couldn’t be happier. This hiking adventure continues to amaze me, not just through the places I’ve seen, but through how much I’ve learned about myself and grown as a result. I still have the same fears, but through my own courage and the support of others, I’m learning how to face them. Fear isn’t a choice, but courage is.

celebrating on top of Torreys Peak, my second fourteener of the day