A brutally hot hike to Frary Peak, the 2,010 m high point of Antelope Island, with broad Great Salt Lake views, an accidental rocky-ridge scramble, a narrow eroded descent trail and post-hike encounters with bison and bighorn sheep.
By the time I reached the Frary Peak trailhead, the temperature was 40°C (104°F), and I had already spent about half an hour sitting in the car hoping for clouds. None arrived. Miracles are miracles because they do not happen very often, so eventually I stopped waiting and started walking.
After two days in Yellowstone National Park I had been looking for a simpler target: something that would give me a worthwhile summit without another enormous day. I had spent the previous night in a parking area somewhere near Ogden, and Frary Peak looked ideal for the next morning. At 2,010 m (6,596 ft), it is the highest point on Antelope Island and a pleasantly self-contained objective in the middle of the Great Salt Lake.
I paid $15 to drive onto the island and parked at the dedicated Frary Peak trailhead. The parking itself was easy. The weather was less cooperative. There was no shade, hardly any wind and, despite my optimistic half-hour delay, no cloud arriving to make the start feel sensible.
The beginning of the trail was probably the steepest sustained section of the whole hike. Higher up there were a few more short steeper pieces, but most of the route was a good, well-maintained trail that climbed by traversing the dry slopes rather than attacking them directly.
The lower trail was completely exposed to the sun, but the lake appeared almost immediately between the dry slopes.
A few groups were already coming down while I was heading up. That was not difficult to understand. Starting earlier would have been the more conventional July strategy; I had instead conducted a small meteorological experiment in the car and proved that waiting does not create clouds.
As the trail gained height, the shoreline and open water became a constant part of the view.
The upper slopes also revealed the enormous contrast between blue water, pale salt margins and the dry orange ground of the basin.
The walk remained straightforward until I reached the antenna area. There I missed a small trail turning to the right. It was not exactly a mistake, because the line I followed continued along the ridge, but it changed the character of the hike for roughly 200 metres.
Instead of an ordinary trail traverse, I found myself moving over rocky crest terrain on an unofficial path. Other people had clearly used it, but there were exposed steps, short descents and places where I had to use my hands. I would put the hardest moves at roughly Class 3. It was not serious climbing, but it had definitely stopped being normal trail hiking.
I enjoyed this detour far more than I expected. Whether it saved any time compared with the official, more gradual trail around the slope is doubtful. Efficiency was not really its strongest feature.
The ridge variation added a little scrambling before the route returned to the broader summit terrain.
The summit, like much of the upper trail, opened wide views over the lake. What struck me most was the water itself. On an earlier visit to this area a few years before, I remembered seeing salt, salt and more salt. This time there was a broad blue surface surrounding the island.
That difference is part of the nature of the Great Salt Lake. It is a terminal lake with no outlet to the sea, and because the basin is shallow its visible area can change dramatically as the water level rises and falls.
The summit area was bare rock, a small metal box and a survey reference mark, with no useful refuge from the sun.
I spent perhaps a minute or two looking for some good shade at the summit before accepting that there was none. The mountain had supplied a top; it was not obliged to supply a roof. I started down fairly quickly.
Calm water and cloud reflections made the summit views feel almost cool, which was visually convincing and physically false.
Close to the summit, where the descent trail begins traversing the slope, I found one section in noticeably poorer condition. Several small slides had narrowed the path considerably. It was passable with care during my visit, but it required more attention than the otherwise tidy trail.
On the return, the largest problem was waiting in the car. The trailhead parking was perfectly adequate in almost every respect, but there was still no shade, no wind and no cloud. The interior had spent the entire hike preparing its own interpretation of 40°C.
Rather than leave immediately, I drove farther south to see more of Antelope Island. That turned into the best wildlife part of the day. A large herd of bison was grazing in the fields near the water. The island's bison have a long human-managed history: Utah State Parks traces the herd back to 12 animals brought here in 1893.
I also saw bighorn sheep among the rocky ground. The species is part of the island's managed wildlife population; a new herd was reintroduced in 2020 after disease had eliminated the previous one.
Bighorn sheep among the rocks and bison on the open grasslands made the post-hike drive almost as useful for wildlife as the hike itself.
Antelope Island left me thinking that another visit with time for a few more hikes would be worthwhile. This one had already delivered what I wanted: an island high point, a good trail, a short accidental scramble, wide lake views and enough heat to make shade feel like an advanced technology.
The bison, meanwhile, were grazing sensibly rather than climbing mountains. Smart animals. I turned south towards Mount Nebo and the next objective.