Looking east beyond Robert's Horn: first view of the fire
What I see frightens and appalls me. I need no longer wonder where the forest fire is burning -- it is eating the mountain at my heels! I am now above the summit of Robert's Horn. With its bulk no longer in my line of sight, I see ridge after ridge smoking and blackened. From my high perch I can clearly see tongues of flame eating up the nearest smoking ridge. The fire is much closer than I ever dreamed. It seems to be heading north and west.
Grimly I sit and think through my position. I had thought the fire was miles and miles away. But it is on the east slope of Timpanogos itself, and it seems to be burning westward. Aspen Grove seems to be west of its current position, but for how long? The line of smoking ridges fading to the east tells me that this fire is traveling fast.
My current position is safe enough. You couldn't light the summit of Timpanogos on fire with a blowtorch. But I'm really not equipped to stay so high overnight; I dropped my extra layer of heavy clothing in favor of a smaller pack. I probably could stay overnight if I had to, but I would be very uncomfortable.
If I cannot return to Aspen Grove, there are two other obvious options. The first is the Timpooneke trail through Pica Cirque and down to the campground on Timp's northeast flank. From what I can see that trail seems well clear of the current fire area. Even if the fire continues to burn northwest it would probably not reach that area before I was off the mountain.
But I don't have any transportation at Timpooneke. And if the mountain is threatened will the road be closed before someone can come and get me? Walking down from the campground would be a long, difficult proposition. And at that level I would be back in the forest with no way to know what the fire is doing and no way to call for information or help. Cell phones don't work well in the canyons on the back of Timpanogos.
My last option would be to descend the west face of Timpanogos to Indian Flats, and then walk down Grove Creek Canyon into Pleasant Grove. I know Indian Flats and the surrounding area well from the years I lived in Pleasant Grove and climbed the canyons above our house. I have no fear that the fire will jump the high ridges of Timp and burn into the west slopes any time soon. It might be possible to burn around the north shoulder, but that seems unlikely. And in any event it would take many hours, probably days, to burn so far. There would be no problem if I could reach Indian Flats.
But I am not at all confident of my ability to climb down from my high perch on the west face of the mountain. The west side of Timpanogos is banded by limestone cliffs. There is no established trail to follow. And from above it can be nearly impossible to tell how steep or long a cliff face is until you have descended far enough that retracing your steps up the mountain can be difficult or impossible. No, I would rather not tackle a descent of the west face of the mountain without a map and some photos and some preparation.
I am out of my depth. Time to call for some information, and ask for backup if necessary. Time to get off of this mountain as quickly as possible. I scoot back around to the west face and dig my cell phone out of my pack. I dial home. Terry picks up after a few rings.
To my consternation, I can't make out what Terry is saying. The signal is full of static, and for long periods I can't hear her voice at all. But when snatches do come through I gather she can hear me. So I describe my position and my concerns, and then tell her I'll call back from the summit in a few minutes.
I look at my phone, then look at the summit. I've been breezily assuming I could call from the front of the mountain with no problems. After all, I've done it before. I had great reception and a clear signal. Belatedly it occurs to me that the last time I placed a call home from the mountain top I used an old analog phone. They had stronger radio signals than the tiny digital phone I'm packing now. Before my aborted phone call I had decided to scrap the final quarter-mile to the summit and just get off the mountain. But now I need to talk to Terry. At the summit I should have a straight line-of-sight connection to the cell towers in Provo. Right now they are still hidden by the flank of the mountain, though there should be towers in Pleasant Grove and American Fork that I could reach.
The summit is only about fifteen minutes away. I decide that the chance to communicate clearly is worth the extra delay. I stow my phone, shoulder my pack and start climbing. I am no longer ambling along lost in thought and memories.
Things are looking serious.