SEVEN MILES TO SOLITUDE

Daddy Stump was already on Antelope Island when Fielding Garr was commisioned by Brigham Young to build a house and manage the Church's cattle ranch there in the fall of 1848. Daddy Stump had it right. The old mountain man had a crude cabin made of juniper wood and a dirt roof at the base of one of the steep canyons on the west side of the island. No one knows how long he had been there, but he was living in complete solitude at the time. Daddy Stump's solitude was interupted with the beginning of the ranching and Stump actually helped in driving cattle to the island for the Garrs.

Daddy Stump left the island sometime around 1855 for a remote corner of Cache Valley and then mysteriously disappeared. Not much more is known about him. Whether Daddy Stump was his real name, or exactly where his cabin was built on the island, and where he ended up, or what happened to him in Cache Valley is not known. Daddy Stump Ridge a long, high ridge on Antelope Island bears his name, a reminder of a man and his solitude. It was this solitude that I sought when I drove the seven miles across the causeway and entered the landscape of the island.

The island's bison dotted the landscape in several areas. I was careful to keep my distance as they are very wild even though accustomed to human visitors.The day was dark and gray with low overcast skies sometimes covering Frary Peak, the final destination of my hike. Frary Peak at 6,596 feet above sea level provides great vistas of Great Salt Lake, Wasatch Front, other islands, and mountain ranges west of the island as far as Nevada.From Buffalo Point, I gazed out over White Rock Bay at Fray Peak and mentally prepared for my lone expedition to the summit.I left the trailhead and started up the first incline. I hiked fast. I felt good. I had energy and wanted to burn it from my system. Heartbeats quickened and pounded hard in my chest. Adeneline motivated my legs into a steady motion and my thoughts turned to a summer of running an biking that now made my spirit grateful for the training. As I entered a boulder strewn field, I looked back and noticed Dooly knob backdropped by slate stratus clouds blocking the Wasatch Mountains and Ogden City from view.I continued to hike and gained in elevation. Remnant early snow, and a cool breeze reminded me that fall would soon give way to winter.Part of the trail is tough. There are sections where I run. I had trails like this in mind when I bought the orange trail running shoes. They are light, yet sturdy. I like to run in them. I punished my feet, my legs, my knees, my back, and my brain. October, the month for hauntings, witches, and axe murderers. They don't scare me. That's not why I'm hiking and trail running. Okay, maybe the hauntings give reason to run. I hiked to Frary Peak as fast as I could. By adding the running, I can leave the hauntings at the lower elevation; down by the salt water where nothing can live except brine shrimp and flies. From the peak I can see. I wish the trail didn't close at dusk. I wish I could stay past dark. At night I could see the glow of  sparkling city lights all along the Wasatch Front. I saw a glimpse of this when I stayed on Fremont Island at night. The view of the lights is rewarding. It put me in place. The realization of so much human activity within the narrow band of land between lake and mountains. It made me notice the quiet, stillness and sometimes eeryiness of solitude. Thoughts of disappearing like the banished grave robber, Jean Baptiste--the exile of Fremont Island, and ghost upon the Great Salt Lake brine can start new hauntings. Baptiste's ghost has been seem walking along these salty shores. If you stay overnight in the campgrounds listen for the footsteps and mournful whispers.At the summit someone built a rock altar of sorts, or maybe it was a stone throne for the king of the hill to rest and take in the extended view of his kingdom.I am always amazed on my lone trips. As the sun set into the western mountains, I turned to view the highlighted Wasatch Front and saw someone against the rocks watching me. I could see no features in his face, no definition in his outfit or gear that would give me hint of who he was. He just stood there against the rocks and stared at me as I stared at him. I wanted to say, "Who are you?" I didn't. I wanted to respect the silence of the day. I had not spoken verbally. In my mind I had had numerous conversations. The thought occurred to tell the stranger of the excitement of the day; the things I had seen, the feelings I had felt. But as I stood there looking at him, I had the feeling that he already knew.