Continuing the journey:  Utah   Robert Leverett   Apr 12, 2007 08:54 PDT  ENTS,    This is a continuation of the account of Monica's and my trip from Massachusetts last summer to the Rocky Mountain west and return. A number of you have said that you enjoy the trip descriptions and that you would like to see them continued (I stopped at my daughter’s home in Utah). I bow to your wishes and thank you for your interest. I thank the rest of you for your indulgence.    START OF THE RETURN: Monica and I left South Weber, Utah on a rainy morning, heading southeast toward Moab. The day promised to be overcast and showery. South Weber is an extension of Ogden, Utah and is located on the upslope of the Wasatch Front. My daughter’s house sets at about 4,600 feet above sea level. From my daughter’s front picture window, one can look directly up to summits that exceed 9,000 feet in altitude, nearly a vertical mile above her home an so close as to almost reach out an touch. It was and still would be an inspiring place to live were it not for the suffocating development that threatens to strangle the entire western front of the Wasatch. It is no different than any other urban-suburban population is doing, just that magnificent views are being wiped out, one by one – presumably why people chose building lots to start with. Of course, I am always sad to have to say goodbye to my daughter Celeste and her husband Dale, but the time had come for Monica and me to begin our return trip to Massachusetts. The first day's destination was Durango, CO. about 8 or 9 hours via the route we planned. Getting on to I15 south, Monica and I were wary of hitting morning rush-hour traffic, and although the worst part of the rush had subsided, a surprise awaited us. Shortly after getting onto I15, we were caught in a torrential downpour that brought traffic on a still congested interstate first to a crawl, then to a stop, then back to a crawl, and so on. We crept along paralyzingly slow as I constantly muttered under my breath about the abominable messes we humans create in search of security, convenience, and comfort. The rain came down in sheets. Hey, wasn’t this supposed to be desert? We later learned that the weather system we drove through had spawned several small tornados and we had been perilously close to one. Passing much to near to a tornado has happened a half dozen times to me on my westward journeys. I have actually been in two tornados in my life and don't care to be in a third. I fortunately escaped injury both times, but that is another story. Both events were over before I knew what had happened so they don’t qualify me for weathering the kinds of experiences that Lee Frelich relishes and actually seeks. Passing through Salt Lake City, we continued southward toward drier weather and reached interstate speed. The long line of the Wasatch range of the Rockies loomed to the east. Following the Wasatch along its north-south axis is something I always look forward to on trips to Utah. But I mostly see the northern end of the range, so this experience was to provide an extra treat. When we started, visibility at South Weber had been okay, but just south of there, things went swiftly to hell in a hand basket. The rain struck while we were well north of Salt Lake City and the view toward the mountains became non-existent. However, I was able to study the contours of my windshield and learned to appreciate the artistic patterns of very large raindrops splashing on my windshield. Large trucks create their own art. It is a little like trying to enjoy art while under extreme duress. But, south of Salt Lake City, we could, once again, glimpse what is called the Wasatch Front. Perhaps, a few words about the Wasatch Range are appropriate at this point. The Wasatch is one of the many ranges of the Rocky Mountain system that stretches from well up into Canada to Mexico. The main uplifts of the Rockies supposedly occurred around 65 million years ago, but geological activity has occurred up until as recently as 5 million years ago and a few of the ranges are still growing according to the latest research. The Wasatch Range is one of the younger ranges of the Rockies. Most visitors neither know this fact nor care, I dare say. Their interest in the Wasatch lies along recreational lines, skiing in particular. Skiing is what the Wasatch Range is famous for. However, the Wasatch Range is not some remote destination for the rich. The Wasatch form the scenic backdrop for Salt Lake City and tall buildings in the Mormon Mecca have unparalleled views of the peaks near Alta, Utah. The same can be said all along the Wasatch Front. The Wasatch Range starts near the Idaho border and continues for 160 miles southward. The origin of the name of the range is contested. Here is one of the more colorful origins taken from Wikipedia that I convey without comment. “"The Utes told me what the word 'Wasatch' means. They said that one time many Indians lived there between Heber and Provo. One day the men were out hunting when a big blizzard came up and they lost one of the hunters. When they found him he was dead and his penis was frozen stiff. They therefore called the place Wuhu' Seai Frozen Penis. Francis McKinley, a Ute Indian Chief, tells the same story." [2] The range reaches its highest elevation in its southern part, in the peak of Mount Nebo, a 11,928-foot high complex of three peaks. The northern end of the Wasatch is the province of 9,000-foot summits, but nothing is lost in their scenic appeal because the entire western front of the Wasatch is a giant fault block, an upward thrust that juts abruptly above the surrounding desert. Going north, at some point the name changes from Wasatch to Bear River Mountains, which reach elevations to 9,980 feet. Elevations at the western base of the Wasatch, which is bone-dry desert, are between 4,200 and 4,600 feet. From there it is a quick trip through 4,000 to 7,000 vertical feet of terrain to the rocky summits. There are few foothills in the Wasatch Front and that gives them the appearance of great height, yet also a closeness that confuses the senses about their altitudes. It is like being close to a smaller hill and looking up at a steep angle to the top or farther away from a larger hill and still looking up at the same angle. That is the norm for us, but in the case of the Wasatch, you look up steeply from a close distance to reap the dramatic effect of height and closeness. The Wasatch remind us of quick uplifts associated with other western mountain ranges, notably the eastern thrust of Wyoming's world-famous Grand Tetons. But with the competition from the Tetons duly noted, the Wasatch front is an imposing site and is what residents of Salt Lake City, Ogden, Provo, Brigham City, and a few other towns wake up to each morning. The sudden change from the flat land to the west to the precipitous Wasatch Front is more dramatic than what eastern Colorado residents see as they approach the higher Front Range of the Colorado Rockies from the eastern prairies. There are many other fine mountain ranges in Utah exhibiting sudden vertical uplifts. In fact, it is hard to find places in Utah that isn't extreme terrain either from a topographical or climatic standpoint. But the Wasatch are extra special mountains and they do harbor a treasure for the athletic-minded. Some of the Wasatch slopes receive as much as 500 inches of snow annually and the powder skiing is often considered to be the best anywhere. But we were visiting the mountains in the middle of summer and residual snowfields were skimpy. However, snow is actually a subordinate feature. It is the dizzying rock faces of the Wasatch that capture the attention, especially in summer, and often the stark contrasts in rock color can create unforgettable mountain-scapes. Of course, Utah is famous for the dazzling colors of its rock formations and vies with Arizona for the distinction of being our most colorful state. After leaving the rain zone, and continuing southward, I found my gaze constantly shifting from road to mountain and back. I never tire of gazing at the contours of mountains. To me they are not just large lumps on the horizon. Each peak is an individual with a story, at least geologic, and deserves to be known and experienced. The overall contours and vegetative cover give each mountain range a uniqueness that endears it to mountain lovers. Approached from the west, the desert suddenly meets unforgiving rock and what was the complete domain of sand becomes ruled by impervious rock, unforgiving surfaces that challenge the elements millennia after millennia. To the delight of visitors yearning for an up close experience, the Wasatch Front is cut by many precipitous canyons that have the look and feel of unsurpassed ruggedness, but strangely accessible. One gets ruggedness in an up close and personal way, often leading to accidents and death. Narrow roads penetrate many of the canyons and trips up the canyons allows one to constantly stare up at the faces of 500 to 1,000-foot rock walls. The views are simply unforgettable. If all this mountain babble from the creator of the ENTS List comes as a surprise, I should point out that I am first a mountain and canyon person, followed closely by forest, ocean and lakes. I am then a prairie and desert person. Lakes and/or rivers serve as enhancers within mountain, canyon, forest, prairie, and desert landscapes. But there isn't much to emotionally separate the best of these types of landscapes for me, excepting for my mood at the moment. Perhaps the desert trails the others a bit, especially the featureless deserts. Deserts such as the Bighorn Basin in Wyoming are generally uninteresting to me except as they form the foreground for magnificent mountain ranges on their eastern and western borders, the Big Horns and Absorakas. But not to defame the desert-scape, the Sonoran Desert is another matter. Ginat saquaros rule and the spring blooms are breathtaking. For the most part, the above landscape categories overlap in their appeal to me and when I can combine two or more of the categories, which is usually the case, it is pure ecstasy. In Utah, I get lots of mountains, a little forest, and lots of desert. Rivers become the enhancers. The lakes are generally human-engineered reservoirs. They don’t count. The exception is the Great Salt Lake, a natural body of water, which is so individualistic that it is its own thing. Its 1,700-square mile surface makes it the largest lake in the West, but it is only 35 feet deep at its deepest. It is 3 to 5 times saltier than the ocean. It is a strange place with strange fauna and flora – well worth seeing. As Monica and I passed through a notch in the Wasatch Range, we began to see more juniper as that plant became the dominant desert vegetative cover. The landscape assumed a more typical southwestern look and feel. I should point out that in contrast to the Salt Lake City corridor, the country south of Provo is truly wild. Population is virtually non-existent once out of the Salt Lake City zone. One can travel for miles on back roads and never see another human. It is blisteringly hot in the summer and can turn surprisingly cold in the winter. Some of Utah’s mountains have recorded temperatures far below zero, with a –69 degrees below zero F. at Peters Sink in the Bear River Range near the Idaho border. As one crosses Utah from any direction, one becomes conscious of a rugged land crisscrossed by many small ranges of mountains jutting boldly up, with features known only to local residents. Once out of an interstate corridor, one can feel very small in the vastness of Utah. Geologically, most of Utah lies in what is called the Great Basin or the Basin and Range Province. The Wasatch Range of the Rockies on the east is the dividing line in northern and central Utah between the province of the Rockies to the east and the Great Basin to the west. More specifically, the Basin is a geological phenomena lying between the Rockies and Sierra Nevada that has no outlets for the precipitation that falls within the confines of the Basin. The altitudes are high throughout most of the state. Utah averages 6,100 feet above sea level, ranking behind Colorado and Wyoming as our highest state in terms of average altitude. Although most of Utah has colorful rock formations, it is the southern third of Utah that is the high color zone. The five national parks, wholly in Utah and in the southern half the Beehive state can even claim a little bit of the Grand Canyon NP. Sandstone cliffs of every hue from deep red to blinding white greet the visitor. This is the country of red rock canyons and rock arches that are routinely captured by photographers. Central and southern Utah is also the province of isolated mountain ranges, some of historical prominence. One southern range stands out, the La Sal Mountains. These mountains were a prominent landmark on the Old Spanish Trail from Santa Fe to Los Angeles. The La Sals rise boldly east of Moab, Utah. The range boasts at least 12 peaks over 12, 000 feet altitude, culminating in Mount Peale at 12,721. The La Sals are considered to be part of the southern Rocky Mountain province. They appear at great distance as a dark blue line with a crest of white. As one approaches the La Sals, the dark green conifer cover of the slopes up to the timberline is striking. The timberline is probably around 11,500 feet or more at the latitude. The conifers give the mountains a somewhat gentle, friendly appearance. Yet, the range also stands in bold relief. It rises a full 7,500 to 8,500 feet above the land around Moab. This elevation change gives the La Sal Mountains greater relief than even the sharper slopes of the western Wasatch. The origin of the La Sals is tied to volcanic activity between 25 and 28 million years ago, similar to what one encounters in parts of Colorado’s better-known San Juan Mountains to the east.          The town of Moab had exploded with growth since Monica last saw it, sprawling and generating the usual zone of human ugliness so common when people exploit the natural beautify of the landscape with little thought toward what they are creating. I always have mixed feelings when visiting a place like Moab. Most of the people around Moab are dirt poor and they have as much right to a better life as anyone, but creating ugliness from sublime beauty of a timeless landscape is not a virtue. Would I like Moab more if all the architecture were pleasing and fit better into the landscape? Yes, of course. People who create architectural beauty that blends with the land are to be commended. It doesn’t have to be expensive – better that it isn’t, but whatever the financial investment, it doesn’t have to be an eyesore and that is what much of Moab has become. Urmph1 I’ll climb down from my preaching rock and move on. Leaving Moab and the red rock formations, we angled southeast toward the Colorado border through lonely, but deliciously scenic country. I felt strangely at home as we passed by smaller rock formations, crossed long sloping ridges, viewed distant horizons, and bypassed unnamed mountains. I can’t explain the feeling I got. The smaller rock formations were captivating, - not overpowering as the great red cliffs had been. Their smaller cousins seemed accessible to visitation without fear of exposure. There were easy paths to lookouts. The appeal of the rocks was heightened by the blend of big sky, distant mountains, and a desert-scape, dotted with juniper, some appearing to be of great age. Crossing into Colorado, Monica and I gradually observed a change in the landscape. Volcanic hills and spires appeared on the horizon with shapes that made them ideal landmarks, but also of great spiritual value. This area of Colorado is rich in Spanish-Mexican history and was, at one time, part of Mexico. We bypassed Mesa Verde NP and the Escalante Ruins NM. This is Anasasi country. Much of the land we passed through in the Colorado portion is part of the reservation system owned by the Ute Indians, who were the first western tribe to acquire and master horses. The country has a lonely, out of the way feel, but one that resonates with me quite well. It is a land of long mesas and isolated volcanic extrusions of transfixing shapes. Farther eastward the land gives way to the commanding presence of Colorado’s mighty San Juan range. We did not stop at Mese Verde. Time was not our ally and we were anxious to get to Durango to visit dear friends of Monica’s, a husband-wife combination of retired professors from Smith College. That is an interesting story, but I’ll save Durango and the San Juan Mountains for the next episode. Bob Robert T. Leverett Cofounder, Eastern Native Tree Society   Home