Mississippian Period (ambrotype by Alison Carey)

"The prospect of fossil discovery put an extra spring in his step that day. For some reason, this area is a hot spot for invertebrate fossils -- crinoids, bi-valve seashells, and horn coral in particular. We stopped to rest on a large limestone slab and I scanned the vast desert below, wondering what made this desolate mountainside such a popular final resting place for ancient sea creatures.

"'It's a combination of a few things,' Mark Milligan told me. He explained that to understand why parts of Utah are so fossil-rich, we must look at ancient geology. Rewind past the great Lake Bonneville, past the formation of the mountain ranges and even the age of the dinosaurs to the Mississippian Period -- roughly 350 million years ago -- when "here" technically wasn't here ... yet."

Thanks to Mark Milligan of the Utah Geological Survey. Click here to read the full article.

Labels: American West, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"No matter your cable or satellite package, there's at least one channel almost exclusively devoted to his screwball undersea exploits. While television probably plays a less-than-average role in our household, I must admit that the SpongeBob Revolution has officially taken the Thomsen family by storm. And as obnoxious as the show is, I must admit that I find it hysterically addicting.

"The simply-drawn 2D characters and their perky ocean world have a way of sucking you in, instantly hypnotizing you. For the adult, it starts with the casual walk past the TV, then a quick sit-down to catch a punch line. Four hours and 37 episodes later, you're peeling yourself off the couch, wondering where the time went.

"Luckily, we had recently purchased a portable fire ring and we decided to fill our evening with an equally mesmerizing, but exponentially more satisfying activity."

Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

*SpongeBob SquarePants and Patrick are trademarks of Viacom International Inc.

Labels: Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

Wild horses in Skull Valley (photo from wikipedia)

"There must have been 40 of them. At least that's what we figured when we averaged our counts. A pack of 40 wild horses flowing together in a calico streak across the plateau, with a single gray mustang at the lead. We knew we were in wild horse territory, yet still the dusk encounter took us aback.

"John parked the Jeep at a weathered trough and Tyler, Matt, and I got out to stretch and get our bearings. The chilly twilight air punctuated a deep sense of isolation. We leaned on the wooden posts, scanning the quiet hills around us. This neck of the Cedar Mountains was foreign to us, and we wandered the hoof-trodden no-man's-land- free and happy- just like the good old days."

Thanks to Jaromy Jessop [www.greatamericandesert.us] - my go-to guy for Tooele County history and geography- for helping me piece together our route through the Cedar Mountains.

Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Labels: American West, BUDS, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"As the popularity of automobile travel increased, so did the already growing demand for more car-friendly routes. Entrepreneur Carl Fisher dreamed of building a continuous transcontinental highway, and began promoting the idea in 1912. In 1913, the Lincoln Highway Association was formed and the first section of the highway was completed. By 1919, the "improved" dirt highway connecting Times Square in New York City and Lincoln Park in San Francisco had cut a highly anticipated auto route through nearly 3,400 miles of rugged America.

"Much of the eastern half of the Utah stretch is now a combination of major freeways and highly-traveled roads. But Utah favored the more practical Victory Highway (present I-80) for travel through the western half of the state, and civilization gravitated northward. Thus, like the Pony Express Route, much of the Tooele County stretch of the Lincoln Highway has preserved its historic, middle-of-nowhere uniqueness."

Enjoy the pictures below, and click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Labels: American West, History, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"Boys come prepackaged with three innate characteristics which seem to inevitably express themselves independent of nature or nurture: a love for fire, the urge to climb stuff, and the impulse to throw rocks into bodies of water. In the case of rock-throwing, the larger the better.

"Since I began writing these columns, I've become accustomed to pausing to gather my thoughts on a place and jot them down later. Coulter vocalized my thoughts in toddlerspeak when I set him down to strap on the snow shoes.

"Woo-woo. I love it, my mountains," he said."

Enjoy the pics below and click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Labels: American West, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

The following originally appeared in yesterday's Tooele Transcript Bulletin. Due to some (I'm sure temporary) formatting glitches on their website that prevent the reader from viewing the whole article, I'm reprinting it in its entirety here this week.


There's nothing quite like the sound of a mountain stream. Whether it's a spring brook in the high Uintas or a frigid creek in the snowy Oquirrhs, the vibrant white-noise gush of pure water is like nature's ipod. The only thing better than listening to a stream with your friends or your kids is listening to a stream with your sweetheart.

Last week's white-out capped off a grueling winter ruled by freak snow storms that seemed to always blow in right in time for my commute. I hoped to take my wife on a Valentine's hike, but finding a passable back road in the county has been difficult. Luckily, Settlement Canyon Road was plowed for a mile, and we drove up to watch the sunset.

We drove up to the closed gate where the snow plows turn around and a snow-packed road continues deep into the quiet Oquirrhs. The sun was setting over the distant Stansbury Mountains, framed by One O'Clock Peak to the south and Little Mountain to the north. The thermometer in our dash read 29 degrees. We turned the heater on and rolled the windows down to listen to Settlement Creek course into the mostly frozen reservoir below.

We talked about the kids and how we hoped they hadn't burned my mother's house down yet. We talked about the things we needed to buy at Wal-Mart the next morning. We reminisced about the night we first met at a gathering of friends in Skull Valley- how she broke the ice
by offering me a fruit punch Capri Sun- how we sat by the campfire talking until the sun came up, and how that almost a decade later we still can't get enough of the wilderness.

The conversation eventually turned to the disaster that was our first date. We laugh about it now, but at the time it couldn't have been more embarrassing. I'm amazed I ever saw her again after that night. Maybe some things are just meant to be- no matter how hard you try to screw them up. Till the day I die, being in the mountains at night with her will always remind me of that ill-fated night.

Having moved here from the utterly flat state of Texas the day before we met, she had never hiked a mountain trail or watched the Milky Way from an alpine meadow.

"I'll take her hiking," I thought. "One breath of crisp mountain air, one look at the city from a canyon overlook and she'll be mine."

Initially things went well—a nice drive up Big Cottonwood Canyon and a romantic couple-mile hike along the Broad's Fork Twin Peaks trail.

Of course that was before we walked back to the car and I couldn't find my keys. Before we hiked all the way back up and spent an hour looking for them.

Before we got back down again and I realized I must have locked my keys in my trunk.

"We're not too far away from the city, are we?" She asked. "Nah," I reassured her with a faux confidence that could not have hidden my acute awareness that it was now midnight and we were exactly 4.5 miles from the mouth of the canyon.

Plan A: Somehow break into my Dodge Spirit without shattering the windows and before she starts getting cold.

No dice.

Plan B: Start Walking. Stay upbeat. Avoid mountain lions and "helpful" serial-killer-looking guys offering us rides. Pick up the pieces of my shattered pride at the bottom. "Hey, at least it's
downhill."

We joked about our misfortune, but our guarded laughter dwindled as we rounded curve after curve of quiet road. We walked at least a mile before a normal-looking couple in a pickup offered to drive us to a pay phone (my cell phone was with my keys in the trunk). The awkward chitchat made the ride seem much longer than it was, but I was glad to be out of the mountains.

"So what are you going to do now?" The guy driving asked with all the compassion he could muster and still keep a straight face.

"Probably call a friend," I said as we climbed out of his cab at a grocery store, knowing that calling a friend would be even more tragic than locking my keys in my car 4.5 miles up a canyon on a first date. The only thing worse than scaring a girl off is seeing her the next week at Leatherby's, sharing a Rob's Banana Split with your friend that so nobly rescued her from her nightmare first date with you.

No, friends were definitely not an option. I picked up the pay phone and dialed the only person who could look past my idiocy and get me out of this mess. My mother arrived in short order, and we were soon driving back up the canyon with my backup key.

When we retrieved my keys and pulled out of the trailhead parking lot, I looked at the girl I was certain I'd never see again. "I'm at a loss," I blabbered, feeling about an inch tall. "I just don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she assured me, obviously glad the ordeal was finally over. The uneasiness had worn off and her playful sense of humor had resurfaced. "It was a great hike…and this will definitely go down as the most hilarious first date story ever!"

9 years and 4 kids later, we sat at the mouth of Settlement Canyon, laughing about that night and searching the sky for constellations. We got out and hiked past the gate and down to the Dark Trail trailhead. When it was time to walk back, I took my glove off and felt my right front pocket. Oh, good—the keys were there.

Clint Thomsen is a Stansbury Park resident who grew up climbing mountains, wandering desert paths and exploring Utah's wilds. He may be contacted via his Web site at www.bonnevillemariner.com

Labels: Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"Friends and relatives affectionately poke fun at my near pious affinity for Skull Valley. Whether its name derives from scattered buffalo skulls or the discovery of numerous Indian skulls in the valley -- the historical debate remains unsettled -- Skull Valley has always been my happy place.

"Perhaps it's the mysterious mountains and the miles of empty space between them, or the colorful histories of the pioneers, outlaws, and Indians who wandered its paths so long ago. Even before I met my wife in Skull Valley, I spent my teenage years tracing forgotten roads and playing tackle football on the mud flats."

Whatever the adventure, it's hard to drive south on Skull Valley Road and not stop to admire the valley's defining landmark, an aptly named mountain pillar that rises to an elevation of 4,285 feet 3 miles south of I-80. The rock is easily climbed, but watch your step when you reach the top.

Click here to read the full article.

Labels: American West, History, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

When one thinks of Disney, “wild nature” isn’t necessarily the first thing that comes to mind. The man-made waterfalls and animatronic animals of Disney’s Jungle Cruise rides certainly evoke thoughts of far-off tropical locales, but the typical Disney adventure doesn’t stray far from carefully manicured walkways and piped-in theme music.

It’s not that Walt Disney sought to “sanitize” reality. He was dissuaded from using real animals in his nature-themed attractions because they would be unsafe, unmanageable, and impractical. Walt’s goal was to give his guests a sampling of places they would likely never experience in real life. He may have painted the human world in a fantastical light, but his goal with nature and wildlife attractions was reality. The very same team that designs the illusions at Walt Disney World have also created the very real The Disney Wilderness Preserve.

While I've climbed real mountains all my life, I can credit Mr. Disney for sparking my fascination with exotic climes. The Sunshine State’s climate ranges from humid subtropical in the north to tropical in the south. Florida’s lifeblood is a 200-mile-long system of lakes, streams, and wetlands that spans the southern length of the peninsula. The network of lakes and streams in the Orlando area are the headwaters of this system, which ebbs south through the Kissimmee Chain of Lakes into the Kissimmee River, which feeds Lake Okeechobee and the Everglades system.

The Disney Wilderness Preserve lies at the heart of this aquatic network and was once a cattle ranch. Disney purchased the bulk of property and donated it to The Nature Conservancy in 1991 as part of a wetlands mitigation plan. The result was a 12,000-acre subtropical wonderland- a timeless snapshot of old-school Florida, and one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen.

It was mid-morning and cloudy when I started along the 2.5 mile trail that loops through the preserve. The trail winds through a field of saw palmetto before merging onto an old sandy road. After about a mile, a smaller trail branches off into a swampy cypress forest on the shores of Lake Russell, one of the last remaining undeveloped lakes in central Florida.A school of tiny fish in the rusty shallows scattered as I approached, and small waves lapped at the sandy bank. Beyond the shoreline, strands of Spanish moss clung to bare cypress branches, whisking in gently with the breeze. I hate bugs, and bugs hate me (they bite me any chance they get and I smash them any chance I get). Yet despite our eternal feud, I’m glad they’re there, shrouded in grass, anonymously combing their wings. Their tranquil song awakens primal senses while it calms the soul. Dark clouds inched over the lake, almost mimicking twilight. I realized that like the High Uintas in Utah and the Laura Plantation in Louisiana, this was one of the most peaceful places I had ever been.

The clouds broke again as I walked back to the main trail and continued another mile through a young forest and back to the trailhead. I didn't see much wildlife, but there was enough slithering and rustling in the brush to convince me to stay on the trail. The ground in the area is a sandy white clay that turns black when it's saturated. It had rained the night before, and there were plenty of black mud puddles to dodge.

I never knew about the preserve prior to this trip, but I'm glad I chanced upon a mention of it somewhere in my research. I'll definitely be returning to this place.--

Check out The Nature Conservancy's TDWP website for more information.

Thanks to TNC's Jill Austin for answering all my questions.

Labels: American South, Trip Reports

"I turned onto what I thought was my planned return route, but was baffled when it veered in the wrong direction and petered off into a faint trail, eventually disappearing altogether in the brush. I got out of the Trooper and looked at the trail in disbelief. It was at that moment that I realized just how dark the night was. The crisp, juniper-scented air I normally relished now only heightened an already acute sense of aloneness.

"Solitude is bliss, but only when you know where you are and how to get back.

"I was lost -- a phenomenon I pride myself on having rarely experienced. But at that moment, my sense of direction was more wrecked than my pride. Roads looked like ATV trails, and ATV trails like roads. Nothing behind me looked like where I thought I had come from, and nothing ahead of me looked like where I thought I should go. Yearning for some sense of civilization, I turned on the radio. I spent the next two hours following trail after trail, listening to KSL host Clark Howard talk about how dollar store batteries are just as good as the name brands."

The boys and I drove out to Skull Valley last Saturday hoping to climb White Rock, a domed igneous anomoly reminiscent of Moab. Unfortunately, the road was covered with at least 2 feet of snow in some places. No matter, though. I realized a story from years past would probably make for a better article anyway.

Click here for to read the full article. If- for whatever reason- you like what you read, feel free to drop my editor a note. If you think it's just the nonsensical babblings of an inexperienced writer, feel free to refrain from dropping him a note!

Labels: American West, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

Ice over Grantsville Reservoir (photos by Clint Thomsen)

"'That's a male.' Ben pulled his hook and laid the pink-banded fish on the ice. 'You can tell because he's a little bit darker and his lower jaw has that hook shape.'

Ben has plucked fish from frozen lakes for 10 years now, but has been a die-hard fisherman since he picked up a spinning rod at age 3. When he's not wading rivers with a fly rod or casting at Hyrum Dam, he's home tying his own flies. 'I think it is programmed into my DNA,' he says about his favorite hobby. Listening to him discuss lures, flies, and fish species the excited way my boys talk about Disney World, I think he's probably right."

Ironically, I wrote the bulk of this article last week while sitting under a palm tree in Orlando, Florida.

Special thanks to fishing guru extraordinaire Dr. Todd Larsen for his insight into the "jigging stick" method. Dr. Larsen writes about fishing history at fishinghistory.blogspot.com. It's a really interesting read.

Thanks also to my pal Ben for showing me the ropes of ice fishing. Ben cringed a bit at my mention of his Subaru Outback. Let's just say that Ben's more a Cabelas fella than an REI guy. He pretends it's an F-150.

Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Labels: Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

I'm just back from a week in central Florida. I was there for work, so most of the daylight hours were spent indoors at a convention, but I used the time before and after meetings the best I could. I'd have to check the weather almanac, but it seems like this winter in Utah has been one of the coldest we've had in a while. And after months of scraping ice off my car windows and walking the streets of downtown Salt Lake City in sub-zero temps, this trip to the Sunshine State was a godsend.

I flew into Orlando in the evening, and my first order of business was to find some good barbecue- something unfortunately Utah lacks completely. After checking in, I drove over to the Orange Blossom Trail and had dinner at Sonny's Barbecue on the recommendation of my brother, who served an LDS mission there for two years. I had the pork trio- ribs, pulled pork, and sliced pork, with coleslaw and beans on the side. It doesn't beat any of my favorite BBQ joints in Texas, but it was still extremely delicious. Once nice touch that brought joy to my soul- when they brought me my check, they gave me a 32 oz. Diet Coke to go.

It was too late to make the 46 mile drive to Cocoa Beach, so I went to Walt Disney World and walked around Downtown Disney for a few hours.

The next morning I left my hotel at 4 AM and drove to Cocoa Beach. Heavy rain had drenched the little surf town and was still falling strong when I pulled into the parking lot of the famed Ron Jon Surf Shop, which is open 24/7. The Cocoa Beach store wasn't the first Ron Jon's, but it is arguably the chain's most popular location.



I have a lot of Ron Jon t-shirts- all of which I bought for $3 or less at the Valley Fair Mall in West Valley City, Utah. The manufacturer that Ron Jon contracts with for their clothing also has a contract with this little store to sell their "damaged" goods. So whenever a Ron Jon t-shirt or hoodie comes out of the factory with an ink stain or a logo that's misplaced by a few millimeters, it ends up in this little Utah store for next to nothing.

Shirts in the actual store go for about $25.

I'm not sure where surf bums get their money, but they must be buying this outrageously priced clothing or companies like Quicksilver and Hurley would be going out of business. I was a little disappointed that all I could justify there was a bumper sticker (sorry, Hurley, as much as I dig your style and the "freedom company" tagline, what fool pays $45 for a mediocre quality shirt?).

When the rain stopped and the sun rose I walked to the Cocoa Beach Pier, a rustic combination of gift shops and restaurants- all of which were still closed. The pier itself was open, so I walked out and watched the waves, which seemed higher than usual- maybe because of the storm. A group of surfers were paddling the waves just off the pier, and the morning was so quiet that I could clearly hear all of their conversations.

Further in the distance a school of dolphins was surfing and hopping waves less than 50 yards from the shore. Aside from the dolphins, the surfers, some pelicans and myself, the beach was completely empty.


After strolling the pier, I returned to the sand and walked south for about a mile and back, picking up a few of the morning's best seashells to take home for the boys. After a few hours on the beach I drove to the Kennedy Space Center, stopping along the way at a private orange orchard to buy and chug a pint of freshly squeezed OJ. I don't know how I'll ever drink Minute Maid again.

Labels: American South, Trip Reports

Simpson Springs Pony Express Station
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

"It was 10-something in the evening and 20-something Fahrenheit in the high desert. Several hours of side road exploration had taken its toll, and the cold was sapping the day's remaining energy. Tired and happy, we stared into the flames in content silence the way campers have for millennia. It's difficult to translate into words the deep, intrinsic bond between man and fire. The pop and flicker of dancing flames zero in on any rightly constructed boy like a hypnotist's watch, warming the soul and sparking the mind as it mesmerizes.

Tyler opened cans of chili and Spaghettios with a hammer and screwdriver, as I had forgotten my Leatherman.

'I can't wait to see what this place looks like in the day,' he said."

Cold, cold night, awesome morning.

Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Labels: American West, Ghost Towns, History, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"Even if you're not familiar with the word "geode," you probably know exactly what they look like after they've been cut and polished. They're the rough rounded rocks with hollow, crystal-lined cavities that you see in abundance at museum gift shops and on bosses' desks at work. These spherical wonders began as gas-filled lava bubbles produced by ancient volcanoes and formed over millions of years. Large deposits of geodes are located along the old Pony Express route that winds through Tooele and Juab counties.

My friend Dave had invited Tyler and I down to the Dugway geode beds, and we decided to bring our kids along for the adventure. I jump at any chance to drive the Pony Express route because it's a history-paved road through some of the most desolately beautiful terrain in the state. The 133-mile-long byway passes strange geological phenomena, station house ruins, and the only real pet cemetery I've ever heard of or seen. Whether you're a trail-weary express rider in 1860 or a Mountain Dew-sipping road-tripper in 2008, the landscape along most of the route looks exactly the same."

A drink of Lake Bonneville, anyone?

Head over to the Transcript Bulletin's website to read the full article.

Labels: American West, History, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"At about mile marker 20, the Silver Island Mountains appear to part like Moses' Red Sea, with one mountain drifting eastward until it seems to float a good distance from the rest of the solid range.

Floating Island is the king of optical illusions. The "floating" effect is created by a combination of empty distance and flat land nearly perfectly aligned with the curvature of the planet. From the vantage point of highway, Floating Island's base is behind the curve and thus is not visible. Once I learned the secret behind this geographic magic trick, I vowed to someday chase the mirage."

Mountains? Check. History-drenched trails? Check. Big caves? Check. This was a great trip.

Perfectionists and deadlines don't mix very well, so I'm rarely completely satisfied with how these Transcript Bulletin articles turn out. But if there's one I'm most satisfied with so far, it's this one.

Surprisingly, this is also the one article so far that I've had to write by hand on paper. Which is a big thing for me because I'm not a paper and pen guy. I don't buy paper. I don't print stuff. For a guy who's always longing for the good old days, I am completely immersed in the digital age (my way of living a balanced life I guess). When my wife compiles a "honey-do" list, she knows the only way I'll pay attention to it is if she emails it to me. Other than some Christmas cards last month, I can't remember the last time I actually mailed a physical letter, and I haven't actually handwritten anything since college.

So without a PC or an Internet connection that day I was forced to break out the pen and paper, scribble it out, then try to read my own handwriting when I typed it up later.

Head over to the Transcript Bulletin's website to read the full article.

Oh, in case you might wonder after reading the article, we did eventually find some Mormon tea, and it tastes horrible- no matter how much sugar and honey you stir in. It definitely falls under that don't-try-it-at-home category I wrote about in November.

Labels: American West, History, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full article.

Incidentally, the pirate sword Coulter is holding (below) is one of those nifty sound/light effects swords. The thing worked great when it was still in Santa's sleigh, but for some reason quit working once he opened it up. We were going to see if we could send it back or trade it somewhere, but decided to let him take the broken sword on this trip.

When we parked the car in Davy Jones' locker, I went to open the trunk and heard the sword inside just clanking and swiping away. It's worked fine ever since.

Labels: American West, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"I've never felt closer to death than I felt that night. My extremities were numb and the rest of my body stung like a second-degree burn. We talked as much as we could, trying to laugh about our predicament. After a while, Chan and Tyler were silent. The psychological trauma was almost worse than the cold itself. I didn't want to fall asleep for fear my life would slip away, but the thought of laying awake and counting the seconds until morning was almost a more horrifying prospect. I slipped in and out, checking my watch sometimes several times per minute."

This week's article is a refined version of the story I submitted to Rock and Ice Magazine's writing contest, adapted for newspaper format. If you've already read that one, don't worry. This version is different enough to be interesting.

Go to the Tooele Transcript Bulletin's website to read the full story.

Labels: Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"'Are ghosts shadows?' asked 4-year-old Weston, as we turned southeast onto SR-73 just south of Stockton. 'Actually, West,' 6-year-old Bridger said, beating me to the punch with his own explanation, 'Ghost are the spirits inside people and that's who live in ghost towns.'

With its weathered buildings surrounded by snow-frocked evergreens, Ophir in winter reminds me of the Christmas town on top of my grandma's piano. The modern houses are quaint and blend near seamlessly with the many charming original structures. A string of old ore cars lines a rickety part of rusted track near the old mine entrance and venerable edifices like the old town hall stand against an almost overwhelming backdrop of giant staircase-like mountains."

Something about this "living" ghost town draws me there more often than time allows. I've been visiting Ophir ever since the government trusted me to operate a motor vehicle. Comparatively, its original structures and mines are in much better condition than other semi-populated ghost towns, thanks to preservation-minded landowners and an attitude conveyed best by Ophir's mayor:

"We welcome people up here but tell them not to think of staying."

Enjoy the pictures below, and head to the Transcript Bulletin's website to read the full article.

Labels: American West, Ghost Towns, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

A 9-foot nurse shark surfaces near the bank of
White Rocks Bay for a breakfast of whiting fish.
(Photo by Clint Thomsen)

"I've always loved the ocean and everything associated with it. My sea gene became manifest one day as a young boy at SeaWorld, when I was selected from the audience to meet Shamu the killer whale. The moment I ran my hand over that slick orca skin I fell in love. I hugged the whale and fed him some squid and the sea has coursed through my veins ever since.

But ocean addiction is rough for a landlocked desert rat -- especially when the nearest coast is two states and hundreds of gas dollars away. And Discovery Channel specials and repeated viewings of "Finding Nemo" just don't cut it. So I was stoked to jump into the salty waters at Seabase. Linda handed me a head of romaine lettuce to coax fish within visual range and I descended the ladder into the spring. The water was chilly at first, but the neoprene wetsuit warmed me back up quickly. With lettuce in hand, I swam toward the center of the pool to make some tropical friends."

Click here to read the rest of the article. Much thanks to Linda Nelson for a great day out at Seabase!

RELATED LINKS
Bonneville Seabase

Labels: Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

Looking north toward Antelope Island
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

"The huge spiders that spin their menacing webs in these rocks had abandoned them for the winter, and the top of Black Rock in the distance was still lightly dusted with last Saturday's first snow. This I wouldn't have traded for 10 more minutes of sleep.

It seems strange -- an enormous saltwater lake in the middle of the desert. Famed Western writer Wallace Stegner called it "a desert of water in a desert of salt and mud and rock." But the apparent anomaly of the lake is more psychological than physical. The existence and disappearance of ancient Lake Bonneville literally shaped the topography of western Utah. Its signature is prolifically etched throughout the eastern Great Basin. Where else can one look up at a landlocked mountain and see rock formations carved by great waves?"

Ancient Lake Bonneville was the chief shaper of western Utah's topography and is the inspiration for my nickname (Bonneville Mariner) and this website.

Check out the full article over at the Transcript Bulletin. If it makes for good reading, drop by and tell my editor what you think!

Labels: American West, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

"I'm not much of a fisherman. It's not that I don't like it- it's just that I'm no good at it. I'm the only guy I know that could get skunked in a stock pond. It must have started with my very first cast as a young boy on Electric Lake. I pinched the line to the rod, flipped the bail, and let 'er rip... only to turn around and see my line whipping round and round my grandpa's neck behind me. He and my dad tried hard to keep straight faces, but I think I've been cursed ever since."

Check the full article out at the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

Oh, and if you like the column, feel free to drop a line to our editor.

Labels: American West, BUDS, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

SALT MOUNTAIN HIKE PROVES THE JOURNEY IS WORTH
MORE THAN THE DESTINATION

"I scrambled through a rubble slope and scaled a rock face to take in the view. Skull Valley looks much like I imagine Tooele Valley would look without the marks of civilization. In the spring, the valley is blanketed in a lush green. By late summer, it is khaki interspersed with juniper and the occasional groomed field. This wilderness is harsh, and the journals of many an explorer attest to that fact. Yet something about it lures me in and drives me with an uncontrollable urge to keep hiking further and climbing higher."

I'm pleased to announce my first ever published (in print, anyway) work. A few weeks ago I was asked by the Tooele Transcript Bulletin to write a weekly outdoor adventure column. My first offering appeared in today's edition.

I wasn't born in Tooele County, but I got here as soon as I could. It's the second largest county in Utah but still has a very small population, comparatively. With an area of over 7,000 square miles, the county spans at least a dozen mountain ranges, hundreds of canyons, and over 44,000 acres of salt flats. It’s an explorer’s paradise. The Transcript Bulletin is the county's major newspaper, and I hope I can continue to come up with interesting articles for its readers. I'll post teasers here each week after the column is published.

Click here to read today's full article at the Transcript Bulletin's' website.

Labels: American West, Ghost Towns, Transcript Bulletin, Trip Reports

Following the lead of Jason Hendricks at The Adventurist, I have submitted an article to the first annual Rock and Ice Magazine Blogger's Brawl writing contest. The winner is determined solely by number of votes, and the top 3 authors win some sweet gear and get their stories printed in the magazine.

The article teaser is below, but contest rules don't allow me to publish the complete article to my website. If you like what you read, please click the link below the teaser to read the full article and vote for it.

THE LAST STAND: LEARNING THE HARD WAY IN THE WASATCH

Photo by Chandler Blake

Tyler stood up and removed his coat. In an act of either profound
benevolence or chill-induced madness, he laid it over the flame,
hoping to buy us another ten minutes of warmth.

"WE CALLED IT OUR LAST STAND. Three eager teenagers lugging surplus rucksacks filled with random gear- deep in the Wasatch Mountains in the dead of winter. I've never been colder in my life.

I suppose our biggest mistake was not bringing a vehicle. Maybe Chan's station wagon was broken down again or maybe my sister needed to use our shared Chevy Celebrity- I don't remember. Either way, we found ourselves standing at the back of a ski bus, enjoying the last moments of relative warmth as the flurries began to float outside. Had we known then what we knew later that night, we may not have pulled the 'stop' cable so enthusiastically as we approached the Spruces picnic area."

Labels: BUDS, Trip Reports

FORGET WHAT YOU'VE READ ABOUT THE HISTORY OF HALLOWEEN. The holiday was invented specifically for those of us depressed that summer has ended. It's funny how September makes me forget August's searing heat and lament summer's end. The leaves are turning brown and I've already had to scrape the ice off of my car windows one morning this week.

They say that fall signifies summer's day fading into winter's wilted dusk. What makes sense is mankind's association of fall with the melancholy. What baffles me is mankind's warped fascination with it. Humans are the only species on earth that seeks out fear for fun. Jumping into autumn for me is like gritting your teeth and diving into a mountain lake. Sure, there's the momentary loss consciousness, but once you're in it's not so bad. Once fall begins something wonderful happens. For one month- one beautiful month- nostalgia for summer softly subsides and gives way to eager thoughts of eerie woods and jack-o-lanterns.

And let's not forget- ghost towns.

SPRING CANYON

On a gray October evening I find myself driving along Spring Canyon Road, the crumbling narrow byway that begins at the outskirts of Helper, Utah, and winds its way up the mountains and back in time.

The sleepy town of Helper is nestled at the mouth of Price Canyon and the gateway to Castle Country. A former mining hub, Helper was so named for the "helper" engines needed to assist westbound trains up the long, steep grade to Soldier Summit. It's a classic Old Western town with it's Main Street lined with century old buildings.

No sooner do I enter the canyon than I spot the ruins of old Peerless with its stone staircases leading to a collage of rocky foundations. The sun begins to set and shadows dance on the canyon walls. I've been listening to a local radio station but reception is cutting out so I turn it off. I roll down my window despite the chilly air. As I drive I listen to my tires roll over small rocks as I weave between potholes along this forgotten road.

Spring Canyon is home to several small ghost towns and abandoned mining camps. The remains of these towns are readily visible on both sides of the canyon from the road. Wooden shanties still stand on eroding ledges and strange buildings built right into rock faces blend into the cliffs like optical illusions. Time has taken its toll on Ghost Town Row, but many buildings remain impressively intact. The overgrowth makes it difficult to trace the old street routes, but it's still possible to map out the towns using stone foundations and heaps of wooden planks as landmarks. One could spend weeks on end exploring these towns and the history that lurks behind half-standing walls and beneath weathered grave markers.

It's getting dark now, and that's important. That's when my naturally skeptical mind starts to wander, and I find my eyes cautiously avoiding the old roadside wash.


Tyler and I discovered this place several years ago, about the same time of year. After failing to locate the ghost town of National, we had driven up into this ghost towner's paradise. Just above the ghost town of Latuda, the road was gated and a brand new homestead- the only modern building in the canyon- sat on the hill beside it. Knowing there were several more townsites past the gate and taking seriously our commitment to enter sites legally, we parked the car and approached a woman walking a horse. She met us with immediate suspicion, which seemed to abate once we told her we were just there to explore ghost towns. The land above the gate was her property, but she'd be willing to let us explore it for $20 each. We didn't have $20 each, but the two of us emptied our pockets and pulled together about $15 total plus a Starburst wrapper and some pocket lint. That was good enough.

She invited us in and showed us maps and old pictures of the area. She told us her place was a bed and breakfast and insisted on giving us a tour. We had no interest in anything but driving through that gate, but we politely followed our hostess as she led us down a stairwell and through a corridor lined with themed rooms. These weren't your regular mom and pop bed and breakfast rooms. Each had its own "horror" theme- mummies, skeletons, ghouls, black lights, life-sized horror movie figures- the works. It was a spook house on steroids. I'm a Halloween nut but this lady took the cake. She was downright giddy as she showed us a ghoul that screeched and a shower head that sprayed fake blood. There's fun Halloween and then there's psycho Halloween. This place oozed the latter.

When she finally let us back out of her haunted mansion, she gave us some quick instructions- "Don't drive off the road and don't take anything. Oh, and see that mountain right there? Stay away from it. It's burning."

THE WHITE LADY

Like most ghost towns, the Spring Canyon towns have their spooky lore. An old miner's ghost here, a graveyard apparition there- people want a good story, and ghost towns are the perfect places to spark the imagination. The creepy cowgirl mentioned something about the "White Lady of Latuda," a story well known in these parts. After that trip I read that the story has several variations, but all conclude that the ghost of a woman wearing a white dress haunts the canyon- specifically the canyon wash.

One version of the story- the best sourced version- was told by Claude Lambert, an old miner who lived in a rock house in the canyon. Mr. Lambert knew the woman in question and worked with her husband. In the early 50's he laid out the facts as he knew them.

The couple lived next to a store in Peerless with their infant child. Like many wives of the day, the woman lost her husband in the mine. But her husband met his end from blood poisoning caused by an infected tooth, not a mining accident. Thus, the company had no obligation to pay her any compensation or benefits, and she was turned away at the mine office in Latuda. Desperate and without recourse, the woman took her baby down to the wash and drowned it, so as to spare it from starvation.


She spent some time at a Provo Mental facility before escaping and returning to Peerless to look for her baby. Her restless search did not end when she died. Some miners claimed the White Lady would appear in front of the mine, luring miners inside. To follow her, they said, was suicide. Other sightings have her walking in the direction of the mining office. Most people see her near the wash.


Time passed and the boom towns died out, leaving only tailings piles, vacant buildings, and the White Lady. To this day, the stories go, the woman wanders the canyon, dejected and vengeful. She wears a beautiful white dress. Her face is pale and empty and she floats several feet off the ground. The sightings increased as the legend grew, and the old ghost town of Latuda became a popular destination for teenagers looking for a few thrills. In 1969, one disturbed young man, Delmont Gentry of Price, acquired a blasting cap and blew up the old mining office in Latuda in an attempt to "kill the ghost of the White Lady."

Though I believe they exist, I've never seen a ghost. I think most ghost stories are nonsense. That said, I've been in eerie places. Places where I've felt watched. Places I won't go at night. This is my first time in Spring Canyon after sunset.

DRIFTING SPIRIT

The sun has set and dark begins to fall in Spring Canyon. It's much cooler now and my first reaction is to roll up the window, but I don't. I want to experience this place in the raw. As I drive toward Latuda something catches my eye in the distance. I think I should stop here, but my foot remains steady on the gas pedal, almost uncontrollably. It's a figure- light in color but not illuminated. It doesn't react to my approach, but it does seem to drift from side to side. As the road curves I lose sight of it in the trees. I'm a little spooked but I'm not scared. The figure seems to beckon me, and I comply. I slow down and turn the car so that the headlights shine into the woods just above the wash. Then I get out and walk toward where I saw it last.

As I walk, a slight breeze blows something into my view from behind a tree. It appears again and I notice that it is the skirt of a faded white dress hovering about 3 feet from the ground. I walk around the tree, and there she is...

Well, maybe not her. Maybe "it."

A long, old fashioned white dress hangs by a rope from the tree, waving softly in the breeze. My caution turns to laughter and my laughter turns to amazement. Whoever hung this dress here placed it so expertly so that you see it from afar, but lose it in the trees as you get closer. The trees blocked the dress from the roadside, and I never would have found it had I not set into the woods on foot. Who knows how many wary travelers this ghostly frock has frightened?

I look up at the rope from which the White Lady hangs and notice that the knot is coming loose. One more stiff gust will tear her free; the effect will be ruined and the dress will blow away. I stand on the branch of a nearby tree and secure the knot.

"Sorry," I tell her. "You're staying put tonight."

I decide to follow the road further up the canyon toward the ghost towns of Rains and Mutual. The bed and breakfast from hell looks abandoned. Has for about 2 years now. I'm amazed how fast the structure has deteriorated. The gate is open and I continue to Mutual. I turn around at the impressive remains of the old Mutual Store and drive back toward Helper. As I pass Standardville, a Jeep passes me heading up the canyon and I wave. I can't help but smile as I think about how it's passengers will react to the floating specter just around the bend. I'm glad I tightened that knot. --


ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS: Most of the land on both sides of Spring Canyon Road is privately owned. If you plan a trip to these ghost towns, please seek out the land owners and get permission first. Trespassers will be picked up and charged. Ownership of the bed and breakfast from hell has changed at least once since Tyler and I took our tour of it and I trust the new owners did some house cleaning. My information about the ghost story comes from histories compiled by Frankie Hathaway and Richard Davies. Additional thanks to Kathy Hamaker and Michael Francis.

Oh, and the burning mountain... The good people at the Western Mining & Railroad Museum in Helper tell me the mountain is indeed on fire. The McClean Mine caught fire in the 1950's and the mountain has been burning internally ever since. Stay tuned for several more articles about the Spring Canyon ghost towns.

RELATED LINKS

Western Mining & Railroad Museum
Carbon County UTGenWeb

Labels: Ghost Towns, History, Trip Reports

THE LAST THING WE HAD TO EAT WAS POPEYE'S FRIED CHICKEN in Slidell. We had vowed to limit our meals to food we couldn't find back home. Yes, Popeye's is fast food, but it's gourmet fast food in my book. In Utah we have Kentucky Fried Chicken, but KFC doesn't hold a candle to Popeye's juicy goodness. We bought some extra biscuits for the road, but they were rock-hard by the time Neil Benson dropped us off at our car after our swamp adventure. The next closest towns were Waveland and Bay St. Louis, and we headed eastward on the quest to fill our bellies with authentic southern cuisine. We stopped at a little place called Catfish One at the edge of Waveland. I'm not a catfish nut, but the very thought of the platter I ordered makes my mouth water to this day.

This small fish stand is run out of a trailer several yards from a crumbling foundation, presumably the former home of its owners. The owners now live in a smaller t