We hiked Mt. Nebo today. Jeff, Chance, Justin, Quinn and myself. Oh, and JK. The last time we were up Nebo was about ten years ago when Jeff and I decided to drive up to the summit in the early part of May. It was snowy, icy, slippery and with the narrow roads and steep dropoffs I was sure we were going to die.
Thankfully, today’s trip was much more enjoyable.
Mt. Nebo is the highest peak in the Wasatch Mountain Range. Residents and visitors alike often erroneously assume that Mt. Timpanogos is the highest. Mt. Nebo is proud to surpass Timp by 179 ft. Mt. Nebo was likely named after the biblical Mount Nebo in the Old Testament. Three major peaks comprise the summit of Nebo, the highest of which is the north summit. It is visible for miles in all directions.
This is the first time I’ve been on the actual trail. The trail itself is fine dirt particulates and very little stone or stump. We were all covered in dry dust after the hike. We also encountered these random wind gusts that would blow in every direction for about 30-45 seconds and then die down. It was very odd.
This is also the first time I have ever had to compete with [you’d never guess it] COWS for a good 1/2 mile on the trail. JK was in happy heaven. We wound through what felt like a cow meadow for the first part. It included a water trough and about 20 cows. JK thinks every animal is worthy of loving. Sometimes they return his love, sometimes they don’t. He found a black cow friend, though. It’s just a little something to see a cow and a dog licking each other’s face down.
JK got a little too close after about three minutes and the cow started butting him with its head. The friendship was short-lived as I made JK return so he didn’t get stomped on.
JK, by the way, must be the healthiest pug in all of Utah. He averages about 25 miles a week hiking/walking/running with us.
It is a very good thing Jeff has such a cute backside because I have spent the better part of two decades with this very view.
Justin found a good batting stick on the trail and commenced to lop off the tops of the round thistles, flinging them everywhere including the general direction of our heads.