Mineral Fork

A few days later, Bruce Galloway, Ralph the Weimaraner and I took the Willys up Big Cottonwood Canyon with the ultimate target of Mineral Fork, a fantastic mining road that cut into the high Wasatch Mountains between Alta and Brighton ski resorts. Dad and I had been up there numerous times on motorcycles when I was a kid. The terminous was well above the tree line, and depending on your vehicle and snow conditions you could climb above 10,000 feet.

The trail starts out by cutting into a shale cliff with four very sharp and steep switch-backs climbing 500 feet nearly straight up off the highway. Each switch-back entailed multiple maneuvers to get around. Once I had negotiated those turns the trail followed the creek straight and steep back into the small canyon headed south for about a half mile through some beautiful aspen groves.


At the end of this first straight stretch is a series of small waterfalls as the little creek shoots down a steep granite slope. The trail takes a near 180 degree turn to the left at that point as it begins another switch back over and around the slope. This switchback is not nearly as tight as the initial turns and, in fact, the tracks made it appear I could make it in a single maneuver. Once into the turn however, I realized that the tracks were made by short-wheel-base CJs and my old truck didn’t have the turning radius to make it. No problem, I just straightened out the wheel, and drove straight into the embankment with the intention of reversing back around in a quick two point turn. At the apex of the turn we were nearly vertical, ready to shove it in reverse when things went seriously bad. In my attempt to make the turn in one motion, I had cranked the wheels as far as they would go. In doing so, I snapped a rotten old brake line. And that was all she wrote—no brakes! Instead of a nice controlled reverse turn, we shot straight back across the trail and flew over a nearly vertical 15 foot rock face onto the Willys' big old iron rear bumper in the middle the creek.


Time stopped as we balanced there for what seemed like an eternity. One alternative was to continue over backward. Another was to tip left over another 15-foot waterfall (you can actually see it as a little white streak on the satellite map). The third alternative was to settle gently back into the embankment we had just flown over. As the gods opted for the latter, time sped up again with no more than a couple of seconds passing. Bruce was laughing hysterically. Ralph was still in the bed but now he was standing on the inside of the tailgate. Gas was beginning to pour through the fire wall as the engine choked to a halt and we sat there like a couple of astronauts ready for take off.