Flaming Gorge and the Gates of Ladore

My wonderful father-in-law, Brent Moon, and his wife Val left on a mission August 3, and will be gone for 18 months. In their honor, the family had a last big party on the Wyoming half of Flaming Gorge this past weekend. I have married into a truly great family (photo of the handsome crew, with one exception, above), and it was a joy to be with each of them.

If you have ever been, you know that Wyoming is synonymous with windy -- I think you could put a wind-power turbine on almost every inch of the state, and probably power the entire western US in the process. Nonetheless, we found a wonderfully secluded spot that miraculously provided plenty of glass for water skiing over the course of two plus days. To top it off there were few other boaters except for mid-day on Saturday. Here are a few photos from our campsite.

The kids -- particularly Alden-- enjoyed the boating, skiing and tubing to no end.

Below is my favorite photo from the trip, taken while Uncle Nate allowed Alden to drive at full speed. Note the position of Alden's hands on the steering wheel, his daredevil smile, and the expression on Nate's face. And Nate is a certified adrenaline junky. 'Nuf said.

It is hard to put the charm of Alden's boyish innocence into words, but here is one small example. We were down on the beach after a long boat ride, and he jumped up saying, "I think I need to go poopy!" There seemed to be great urgency, and he kept repeating it as he ran to the pit toilet up the hill (with me chasing madly behind him to "help"). As we tried to get his wet swimsuit off, it kept sticking, and I remarked that it must be too tight. He stopped, despite the urgency of the moment, and carefully explained in slow, clear terms that his dad could understand, "No dad, its friction! There is too much friction! I learned it from Ms. Frizzle." He then proceeded to do the deed, and as he did, exclaimed, " I was right! I did need to go poopy!" as if he really could have been wrong, and was genuinely surprised. This was immediately followed by, "Boy, I am sure glad Heavenly Father made pit toilets!"

He is a fun little guy to be around, even in the depths of a heaven sent (not to be confused in any way with "scent") pit toilet.

Keegan has some unique "charm" of his own. Why is it, for example, that when I look at this photo, I think of an old english man playing with model sailboats on a pond somewhere?

The nights were moonlit and filled with the sound of coyotes howling, and the days were sunny but not too warm. If not for the occasional desert wind gust (strong enough to topple tents, mind you) it would have been pretty ideal.

Saturday afternoon everyone left but us Baileys, and we decided to pack up and make a mad dash for the Gates of Ladore, in Dinosaur National Monument. The dash was rewarding in itself -- we saw many Pronghorn Antelope, innumerable bunny rabbits (a crowd favorite in our car) and even two badgers. Arriving around 11:00 p.m., (and narrowly escaping a too-many-DVDs-dead car battery), I was greeted by this moonset over the Gates. Need to work on my night exposures, but it was pretty cool to see.

John Wesley Powell began his first exploratory float of the Colorado River system and Grand Canyon in Green River, Wyoming, on (surprise) the Green River, just above Flaming Gorge. After spending much time floating down something that was well known and looked like this:

he suddenly came upon the Gates of Ladore, which mark the entry into Canyon Country proper, and look like this:

Imagine heading toward that not having the least knowledge of what lay ahead -- impassable falls, endless, unscalable cliffs, limited or no food, hostile tribes, or what have you-- and knowing that there was no turning back. No one had ever run these rivers before -- they were completely blank on every map of the day. That map would soon be filled in with names like "Upper Disaster Falls" and "Lower Disaster Falls." These were very brave and resourceful men.

Happily for us, it is simply a very beautiful place. It also happens to contain the most perfect echo I have ever heard. Here are Keegan and Kate shouting for all they are worth to test it out.

All in all, another great weekend.

Albion Basin

Six months ago Uncle Salty Pants had the foresight to schedule a group campsite at Albion Basin Campground for this past weekend. I don't have time to write a lot, but will say this:

• More wildflowers than you ever have the right to see in your lifetime: check
• Great alpine hiking: check
• 105 degrees in Salt Lake Valley, 78 degrees at the campground: check
• Ptarmigan anxiously watching her chicks crossing the road: check
• Rufous colored Marmots: check
• More ground squirrels than you can throw a rock at trying to steal your lunch: check
• Giant moose with velvety antlers: check
• Mountain lake to dip your toes in on a hot day: check
• Happy children and very good company: check
• 24 blissful hours without thinking about work: check

World's cutest camper, right there.

White Columbine at the campground.

The cousins and Devils Castle.

The Campers.

The Lunch Thief.

Cecret Lake.

Cousins holding hands. Cracks me up.

I can't tell you how much I needed that this weekend. I am ever thankful for those tender mercies.

Its Happened

Well, the bomb dropped at work this week: Flying J plans to "merge" with Pilot, its chief rival in the truck stop business, whose headquarters are in Knoxville Tennessee. Pilot's management will control the company, and as they say, "legal is a headquarters function." So long job. Don't know how long it will take, but I am deeply sad. It has been a great place to work, and I have had more fun being inside a company managing challenging issues than I have ever had in a workplace. It is hard to think you have finally found a home only to see it move away. Please keep my family in your prayers.

Sequoia National Park For Three Amazing Hours

A recent business trip took me and a work colleague, Fred, to Fresno.  About an hour and a half away was Sequoia National Park, and when business finished early, neither of us could resist. In truth, it is one of the most unique places in the world.  You see, there are all other trees, and then there are Giant Sequoias.  At first sight they make you think perhaps Paul Bunyan really did exist, because that outsized tale in all its glory fits easily into these outsized trees.  

There simply is no way to really portray a Sequoia in a photo.  The seemingly tiny, thin trees surrounding the spiral giant above are in fact 150 feet tall. It would take several men with arms outstretched just to touch at middle finger-tips and surround the bases of those smaller trees, which have pine cones the size of my forearm.  To realize that at one time the Sierras were covered in the far larger Sequoias is to feel the world primeaval.  The fact that these living things were also around at the birth of Christ imbues the trails among them with a reverence I have experienced only in very sacred places.  

In this place you are tempted to look up all the time, but I am thankfully here to tell you that it would be a grave mistake. As we walked among the tall trees in the early evening, the fellow below jumped out about forty feet away, and began shredding a tree of its bark like cotton candy off a paper stick.  Happily, grubs are apparently more interesting than people, and as soon as it was done with them, the bear walked briskly away, leaving us to continue our walk.

A forest like this will breathe life back into you, and both Fred and I were in deep need of that salve. These trees survive searing fire and direct lightning strikes with a shrug, and that tangible resilience and permanence literally emanates from them. It feels like cool water in the blowing desert sands of the world.

The tree above is the General Sherman, known as the largest tree in the world by mass.  Yet for all their size, and the exaggerated wrinkles in their bark, Sequoias are smooth and soft to the touch, with a fine fuzz finish on the outside.

Your neck may creak by the time you are done, but you will never tire of looking up.

Perhaps the best part, though, is that critters notwithstanding, we were virtually alone on our Tuesday evening walk. Apparently, people don't go out of their way to see trees.  If you haven't been, you should go. You will never regret doing it.

A Drive Up the Street

If you drive up our street to the top, about a quarter mile, and take a left, you enter a road which quickly becomes dirt and ascends Ward Canyon. Twenty-six white-nuckled miles later, you descend Farmington Canyon. In between lies a VERY narrow road, a lot of fun, and some of the most sweeping views of the Great Salt Lake you can find anywhere. We decided to drive it last Sunday afternoon, and were not disappointed, except, perhaps, for the one of us who was trying to sleep as his dad drove the washed out road.

During one particularly bouncy stretch, there was a tense exchange:

Keegan: "Whoa, what was that?"
Dad: "Sorry, it is a very bumpy road."
Keegan: "That means you have to slow down, dad. SLOW DOWN!"

Whoever heard of a 2 year old backseat driver? Well, I have one. Lucky me. Here he is in all his glory.

Kate and Alden were much more tolerant, and generally didn't let the bouncing get in the way of watching Scooby Doo episodes on the DVD player, or enjoying the views along the way.


After a bit, even Keegan began to have fun, walking amongst the alpine flowers and clinging to binoculars every step of the way.

Of course, there is nothing like a beaver pond to make any trip, no matter how bouncy, a success.  We found a really great one about 2/3rds of the way through, and the kids had a heyday, wading, throwing rocks, and making friends with some boys who caught a salamander in the pond, and were kind enough to share.  


No sign of the beaver, but his handiwork was evident everywhere.  Farther along, up Francis Peak, there were some wonderful wildflowers.

The photo below is a view from the top.  The near peak is Bountiful Peak, and in the background lies the much higher mountains that tower over Salt Lake City and give us our great skiing.  

 I want to send the photo in to Chrysler with the caption "There is Only One Jeep."  Maybe it would even help them pay back that loan from my tax dollars. Win, win there.

Here is the family hiking up an un-named peak with Bountiful below to the left and the Salt Lake Valley in the background.   It was a hazy day, but the views were spectacular nonetheless.  In any event, I plan to come back a few times, because the sunsets are simply amazing.

All in all, a great afternoon.

Has it Come to This?

We went to our local, small town (Centerville) parade on the Fourth of July, and they were handing out little American Flags for all the kids to wave.  Kate, excited and jumping up and down, ran to get one for each of our family.  On her way back, she looked down, suddenly wrinkled her nose all the way up, and exclaimed: "MADE IN CHINA?!" 

I think Kate was the only one who noticed. I wish I could convey the confused disappointment her tone contained.  Surely, we can and must do better for our children, can't we?  If we don't, I fear it could be a bumpy ride for them. Here's hoping that Made in the USA stages a comeback.