As I got ready to settle in for the night, I noticed I had some new neighbors. A herd of elk moved in across the road from me.
I stood in the snow watching them with awe. They grazed. Occasionally glanced over at me, but really didn’t me much attention. The younger ones chased each other around.
I noticed that I had stayed out too long watching them as i started to shiver and get cold.
It was at that moment that it occurred to me that it was I who was the new neighbor. This was their house. I’m the one outside of my element. They were having dinner and playing around.
Sometimes we think a little too highly of ourselves as humans. When actually we’re the outsiders looking in.
Utah, and the western US, has been in a little bit of a drought the past few years… err, decades.
This year, the snow has been piling up. And in these parts drought or not drought depends on the winter snowfall and the subsequent spring run-off.
The mountains have received the most snowfall this year than ever before, beating a 40 year record from 1983. Well over 700″ in fact. It makes the tops and valleys have a rounded, soft look to them as the heavy snowfall fills in the nooks and crannies pretty well.
While driving by Mt. Timpanogos yesterday, we marveled at the “softness” of the mountain, discussed the incoming flooding potential, and yet the overall joy of having a great water year before us.
The mountain seemed proud of what it has accomplished this season. And there’s more snow still coming! More inches and feet to add to the record. More water to quench the thirsty valleys and reservoirs below. More beautiful splendor to peacock on these brief clear sunny afternoons between storms.
Still adding on. A little extra.
While we were basking in the glow of the winter’s accomplishment, I silently kept an eye on the shrouded peak. 11,750 feet above sea level, hiding in the clouds, stands the summit.
And there, I once stood. On a whim I took the 11 hours it took to hike there and back. I too took a little extra moment to remember. A memory I will never forget, an accomplishment to be personally proud of.
In September of last year (2022), I left my job of 30 years and headed into the unknown arena of unemployment.
A few months of playing with my boat, The Swede, and a week+ stint on the houseboat Miss Bountiful, and it was time to find new employment. I ended up at a plumbing supply warehouse. I spent four months there, until yesterday.
So today, the 25th day of March, I find myself again unemployed. At least until next Monday.
Out of the blue, I found an opportunity to go work on the Green River below Flaming Gorge dam. I’ll spare the details for now as I will be writing about these things in the future. But suffice to say, I will be working for a Flyfishing guide service. A dream job as you will.
The waters of the Green, particularly in this section, are Holy Waters in my canon of Life. It is my Mecca, to which I have not been for a few years nor practiced its religion of Flyfishing for even longer. I’m about to embark on what I hope to be a life-fullfilling adventure.
I’m 56, about to turn the odometer another click in a few months. Why not?
It wasn’t anything I saw coming. So why not even to the more??
Sitting in the dark, with the wind to my back, and the kayak bobbing up and down in the waves one has time to think.
The water was too rough to head out so I tied the boat to the string of large tractor tires that form a wind break around the marina and took advantage of the artificial reef it also created.
Between the fish that fell victim to the jigs I threw out, I watched the full moon rise. It reflection and the lights of the marina flickered across the rippled surface of the water.
My thoughts focused on the beauty of it all. The smell of the lake, the warmth of the air, the coolness of the water, and the pull of the fish. There’s a simplicity to it. There’s a complexity to it. There’s a feeling of being part of it.
Nearly 10 inches per day from now until the end of the month. Mother nature do me proud.
I entered a contest and that was my prediction. I stated officially that Lake Powell would be 509 feet deep at the dam on July 1st.
I’ve been watching the water flow daily. I’ve watched, experienced, and can witness to the nearly 30 feet of rise so far this spring. But I may have outpaced the run off in my last and final prediction.
It’s currently filling at just over 7 ½”, as of yesterday, which would leave me shy but I’ll hold my ground. I’ll stick to my earlier math. And if my total is right and I am randomly selected against any that may have tied me, I’ll use the winnings of one day’s boat rental with pride.
In the valley, it was somewhere around 90°- summertime temperatures. Everyone is already enjoying the heat and some even complaining how hot it is and how quickly summer rushed in upon us.
We visited the mountains this afternoon. At 9,000 ft. elevation, summer is still yet to hit its stride. The hilltops still cling to their collected snow, the leaves struggle to stretch from their buds, and the grasses are nothing but green hue on the ground.
A great advantage to living near a range of mountains as great as the Wasatch, if you miss the start or end of a season, just drive either up or down the steep canyons and relive it all over again.
3500 was the number I believe I heard. 3500 cyclists. That’s how many riders were to participate in today’s event.
Every year, riders chosen by qualification and lotto converge onto the small town of Lewiston, Utah. Each is there to ride their choice of multiple courses ranging from 27 miles to 100 miles.
There is no race, no trophy, or even a way to judge their performance against any other. They do it just for the fun of it. Some dress up in fun costumes, others are as professional as an Olympic athlete. Actually the only thing they share is that they are all women.
I also participated, but not as a rider. Obviously. But instead I volunteered as course marshal. I rode along with the many riders who chose to ride the 100 mile course. I followed along, I blocked traffic, checked on riders pulled off to the side, and played cheerleader- minus the pom-poms. There are worse things than spending all day on my motorcycle, being a watchdog over 3500 women, and enjoying the backroads of the Cache County farm country.
And although I volunteered for this duty to show support for my wife and daughter who were part of the 3500 riders and expected nothing in return- I accepted the $20 of gas money offered.
Never ask a local about the Great Salt Lake, because most have never been there. It’s bigger than the state of Delaware, and yet hidden in plain sight.
Unlike the places described by Yogi Berra as “so crowded, nobody goes there any more”, the huge lake occupying a large part of the northwest corner of the state of Utah is an unpopular and unknown destination among Utahans. Most will tell you that it stinks and that there are too many flies. And if you press for directions anyway, even more will have no idea where to access the lake. Surprising to again even more, the lake hosts two of the top 5 visited state parks; the Marina and Antelope Island- visited, just not by locals. We went to the marina today.
The small marina is home to a small community of sailboats who set out onto this Inland Sea and find open waters and little traffic. The occasional motor boat is alone in its class, and kayakers, like we were today, have the lake’s shores and shallows to ourselves.
The slight breeze seemed to sufficiently fill the sails of the three sailboats we watched disappear into the horizon and yet it gave us little to no resistance in our paddling efforts. We stopped only when we found a sandbar emerged from the waters where we could beach our kayaks and get out to let out toes sink into the cool sand and warm water. It was as if we had found our own tidal atoll in the Florida Keys.
Part of me hopes that people learn of and enjoy this little big lake, in view and within 30 minutes from literally millions of people. The other part loves having this little salt water heaven to myself.
And in the lake’s defense, most can’t point out Delaware on a map either.
The weekend has come that we are about to head down to Lake Powell and get our boat training. At one point, this day seemed so far away and despite our numerous trips, I thought it would never come.
And now, the night before we leave, what have I packed? Nearly nothing.
By tomorrow morning, I’ll be rushing around trying to get ready, pushing the clock, and panicking that I’ll forget something.
Mike M Jensen 