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Numerous streams have to be crossed along the way. Fishlake National Forest:One fantastic trail ride By Gary Laudig Fishlake National Forest is split into three separate segments. The town of.Monroe, Utah lies at the base of the middle segment in what is known as the Sevier Valley Basin. To the east, the vast mountains are green and lush while the western side bl f th M' resem es parts .0 e oJave desert. The Sevier Canal runs 22 down the barren side supplying the farms with water. The mountains are so plentiful with streams, a system of canals are used to flood irrigate the farms. Leonard Sims - a former Southern California desert racer, Chaffey High School computer programmer and now a carpenter-and his wife Brenda invited us up.for a wed. of relaxation and the u1tun~te conquest of the Monroe mountams. Armed with camera, spark plugs and determination, we headed up the high-walled canyon entrance with the Monroe Creek flowing to the right of the road. Passing the fint left hand fork , we left the din road and began picking our way through scrub brush and spruce trees on a trail designed after a roller coaster. Finally, we came to Monroe Creek, the first of 10 cI"OIIings before we would begin the climb to the top. The creek is as clear as crystal but the rocks are the mossiest, slipperiest obstacles in creation. The purpose of a stream crossing in trials is to "zero" it, and if wet boots constitute a "dab," I failed miserably. Len is the current Number One in Utah trials and had no problems. Between stream crossings, the trail resembled an authentic trials course: large rod srairsteps, loose surfaces, _ fallen trees and roots , and a lot of hairpin turns. We worked our way to the base of the mountain, all the time enveloped under trees, which gave us an illuminated umbrella of green and some much appreciated shade. Breaking out of the thick trees at the end of the canyon, we passed a vast slope of dish -sized slate platters, From here on, we would be using mostly game trails to the top. The lower ponion was primarily scrub pine. saw grass and thistles exactly knee high for added enjoyment. Our path made several switchbacks, heading ever upward toward the tall pines. Suddenly the trail made an 1700 tum on a rocky ledge. Setting u~ to take a picture of the magnificent View, Len said "Look over there," Two red buck deer -one a four point, the other a three-daned along the steep slope several hundred feet below. Our trail narrowed and became a real problem as hidden rocks under the tall grass kicked the front end of the bike toward the downhill side of the mountain. Parts of the trail were washed out, leaving a strip the width of a bike tire to pass over. Soon we entered segmenu of tall fir trees. The ground became gray silt. and the perspiration was running off our bodies and water was the foremost thought on our minds. Winding to the left . we stopped at a place known as Rattlesnake Point. Shutting down the bikes, the stillness was almost frightening. To our left we could see the vast canyon -the trees hiding the stream we crossed so many times . Way in the distance we could see the far side of the Sevier Valley . To the right was Signal Peak, a vast mountain with dark green pine and fir most of the way up but the center top ponion looked like light green velvet. These were the tops of the Q.uaking Aspens, better known as "Q.uakies" by the locals. The view was a breathtaking experience, but so was the heat 10 we fired up the bikes and continued our assault. By now we were surrounded by big trees with deep reddish bark and by the pungent scent. Trudging on through the thick trees, a couple more miles brought us to a flat vista of yellow marsh grass and soft ground. This clearing was known as the "sinks." Looking to the right and the left of the trail we saw only a trickle of water. " Len, where in the hell's the water that was here the last time r ' "Must've dried up as far as I can see," he replied. 1 Careening to the right aft~rJ dumping the clutch in disguSt,"I almost ran into the clearest, coldest stream imaginable, Jackass Creek.s Assuming the prone position, - we lowered the water level a good inch . Moving rocks are acceptable Ou!y around a campfire and a couple of brews. Well. the rock I was d.rinkiN by moved a couple of times before ,I realized I was sharing the same water with a huge toad. When you're thirs.9', who cares. lP Underway once again we cleared the big trees, ridge-ran a couple of miles past a meadow then into some squb pines. This area was really dry 'and hot. :5:> Heading downhill a ways we entered the Q.uaking Aspens. These trees are really beautiful. They have a grey/white bark, are straight' and tall - ranging between 20 and 40 feet high - and have a beautiful light ~ leaf. It was here that I was taking' a picture when a big bird landed on the limb in front of me. Len had stirred up a covey of pine hens . They look just about like wild turkeys and I hear t&eY. are good eating. Not being v~ accurate with an NSG at 50 paces. we passed up the meal and headed on. It wasn't long before we came to aa aspen lying acroa the trail. Len puIIe4 the front end up, high centered the bike and passed on. I pulled the froOl end up, but high centered at too much of a right-hand angle. The green bark acted like wax paper on a slide and shot me into the nearest standing tree. wiping out my telephoto lens, an~ Causing my otherwise mild mannerism to explode but Len was the only penon around to hear. Surrounded by so much beauty affects a person like a tranquilizer. I got angry several times , but by the time I took a look at my' surroundings, all was forgotten instantly. We headed downhill and could see a wide, flat pasture-like place. The gr~ was tall, yellow and concealed a basketball sized rocks. This place was like two segmenu divided by a lIDal row of aspens. CI'OIIing the second segment 1ft