Red Rock Adventure

Hiking Zion Park's Subway

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 04:55:00 +0000

I was scheduled to lead a group on the Subway canyoneering hike in Zion Park early this week, but we postponed when they posted a flash flood watch. The Subway is a great hike but no place to be in a thunderstorm. We hope to make the trip next week.

I've cleared my schedule so I can go fishing Saturday morning. I'm still debating where to go - if I can actually get away for the whole day I will head up to Moon Lake, in the Uintas. I've wanted to put a small boat with a fish finder on that water, to hunt down the splake. I've got just the boat and so I'm anxious to try it.

Family matters may cut into my day. If that happens I'll probably go to Strawberry.

We're making good progress editing video clips for utah.com. Here are some we've recently created:
- Dead Horse Point State Park
- Slickrock Bike Trial
- Delicate Arch
- Devils Garden
- Arches Windows Section

Check out the amazing video clip on this page showing high water in Cataract Canyon.

The recent court ruling opening streambeds to the public is a major victory for fishermen and other recreationists. It brings the opportunity to fish more waters, but will only stand if sportsmen are responsible and show a spirit of cooperation.

Wes Johnson has written this thoughtful essay about the ruling, and its consequences.

National Parks Multi-Media Content

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 05:05:00 +0000

People pay me to develop content for their websites. I work hard for them and so I never have time to work on this site. My team has just completed a massive project where we upgraded and expanded the national parks section on utah.com - adding new text, photos and video clips. You can see the new pages here:
- Zion
- Bryce Canyon
- Arches
- Canyonlands
- Capitol Reef

Utah.com ranks very well in the search engines and this content should help keep them right near the top for virtually any search term related to the parks.

Websites are never done - we'll continue to improve the information and add new content, particularly new multi-media.

We'll be adding a large number of new video clips during the next few weeks. We're using video shot for the Utah Office of Tourism. They had a company shoot high quality video for TV spots and other promotions. We're using their "B" roll, which includes some excellent shots of the national parks. We edit it and format it for the web.

We're getting very good at editing video. We're also pretty good at shooting it. Professional, economical and efficient.

Some day we'll have time to develop new clips for this site.
- Dave

Scofield's Sassy Trout

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 03:58:00 +0000

I fished Scofield Reservoir over the weekend and found action to be surprisingly slow. We caught three - two rainbows and a tiger trout, and had an enjoyable time. The weather was perfect - warm but not hot. The scenery is beautiful up there. The snow is almost gone now - just a little bit in shaded areas.

But, it would have been more enjoyable had we caught a dozen or more trout. We worked hard for our fish, which were fat and fish. Maybe too fat. Definitely well fed, apparently dining on Mayflies. Perhaps the fishing would have been better had the fish been a little more hungry...

Others we talked to reported similar success. Lots of fish in the reservoir, we could see them on the finder. But lazy fish not willing to exert much effort to bit my hook.

But we talked to one buy who was really catching them. He was fishing dead minnows on a long leader under a bobber. Scofield supports a large population of minnows (I think they're red shiners). This guy starts his day by using a minnow trap to catch a bunch, which he keeps on ice and uses as bait throughout the day. (In Utah you can fish with dead minnows, but it is illegal to use them if they are live. Also, the minnows can't be small game fish and cannot be from an endangered/protected species.)

Scofield has a lot of cutthroat and tiger trout that love to eat minnows. Since this guy was using their favorite food, a minnow the fish recognize and love, he was catching big fish all over the place.

Now, I report this with some degree of hesitancy. When I fish I normally practice catch and release, and I fish with flies or lures. When I hook a fish on a fly the hook usually penetrates its lip and is easy to remove. Fish often swallow bait and so the hook goes deep. It is very difficult to release fish unharmed if they have swallowed a baited hook.

I don't have any problem with people keeping a few fish, within the legal limit, if they really will eat them. Scofield has a good trout population and it won't hurt anything if a few fish are harvested. Indeed, the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources has increased the trout limit at Scofield to 8 fish, to encourage anglers to fish there. (Statewide, the normal limit is 4 trout).

That said, use minnows or other bait if you want a great fishing experience, and you will really eat the fish you harvest.

Me, I'll stick with my flies and lures. It is still early in the season. As the water warms a bit the fish will become more aggressive and I'll do better there.

Scofield is a beautiful reservoir with a very nice campground. It's worth a visit.

- Dave

Strawberry After Ice-Off

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sun, 18 May 2008 14:40:00 +0000

Fishing was tough at Strawberry on Saturday (May 17, 08). We managed to catch 4, all cutts, 17-20 inches, but we had to work for them. Others we talked to had similar reports.

We launched from Renegade and worked the shorelines out from Indian Creek without getting a bite. I thought fish might be moving up toward the mouths of tributaries and so we worked shallow until stopped by weeds, but didn't find the fish.

We marked a few fish as we cruised past the mouth of The Narrows and so we went in. We used the electric motor to crawl up the channel, casting in toward shore, and we had a couple hits but no hookups.

Finally we entered a couple small bays inside The Narrows and that's where we caught our four. All were caught within 2 feet of shore. We had a couple hits out in deeper water but they didn't stick. Two of the fish were caught on a yellow Panther Martin and two were caught on a black Rooster Tail.

We tried many other lures without any luck.

The guys we talked to who had troll caught very few fish.

The fly guys out in tubes caught a few - also working close to shore.

Water was cold and there was still snow down along the shoreline in many areas. The road to Renegade was clear except in one spot where we had to drive through snow. It was no problem pulling the boat through. The launch ramp was fine but there were no docks in the water.

My guess is that fishing will improve within 2 weeks, as the water warms a bit.

Strawberry Tomorrow

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 16 May 2008 20:08:00 +0000

I had planned to be a Lake Powell right now, soaking up the sunshine, catching striped bass and enjoying the big lake. But the two guys going with me both had to cancel and so I decided to postpone the trip. I decided it is worth waiting, to share the fun with them.

My plan is to explore the San Juan arm of the lake. That's a long boat ride and I'd definitely like to have an experienced hand or two with me when I make the journey. Reports suggest the fishing is great up there right now. It should hold for a few weeks, and so I'll still get to enjoy it.

Our plan now is to head down on May 29.

Meanwhile, I'll go fish Strawberry Reservoir tomorrow. The ice is off and I think I know where I can find some big cutts.

I've put a nice electric trolling motor on my little boat. Now I want to add a better fish finder. When I get that on I will have a sweet little craft that is good for fishing and very good for cruising and exploring. It will be fun to see how it works.

Great Hike in Zion Park

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 13 May 2008 04:33:00 +0000

I enjoyed hiking in Zion National Park over the weekend, soaking in the sunshine while we hunted down ancient Native American rock art. We did find great petroglyphs. Along the way we enjoyed seeing wildflowers in full bloom, and we had fun playing in a waterfall on Pine Creek.

We managed to take some great photos, which you can see by clicking on the links below.

Deertrap rock art, located near the top of the pass between Deertrap Mountain and East Temple, approached via Pine Creek. About 1 mile from the road, up steep slickrock.

Petroglyph Canyon rock art, located just north of Hwy 9 on the east side of the park.

Zion wildflowers. Blooms were approaching their peak when we visited on 5-10. Should be impressive for a few more weeks.

Pine Creek waterfall photos. Located about .5 miles above the bridge where Hwy 9 crosses Pine Creek, just below the switchbacks that lead to the tunnel.

My Boat's Ready For Powell

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sat, 03 May 2008 14:38:00 +0000

I had to postpone my Lake Powell fishing trip - the guys I am taking couldn't get away. So now we're scheduled for mid-May. Maybe that will turn out to be a good thing. The fishing should still be excellent, hopefully the weather will be nicer and the water will be warmer.

It will be a serious fishing trip, but it would be nice it the water is warm enough that we can jump in and play a bit.

I've done basic maintenance on my boat and I think it is ready to go. This delay will give me a chance to test it on a local lake just to be sure. It is a small jet boat that I've rigged for fishing. Not a bad little boat. I do want to put an electric trolling motor on its bow - then it will be a nice setup. Goes fast, economical to run, open so 2-3 people can fish easily. And it goes in shallow water.

I bought the boat so I could go on the Colorado at Lees Ferry and other such spots. Just need to make time to take it out.

Mid-May is coming fast.

Serious Spring Fishing

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 14:28:00 +0000

The next few weeks will bring some of the best fishing of the year and I've decided to make time to enjoy it. I'll start by fishing Lake Powell next weekend.

I don't have the time - business is good and that means I'm busy. But I need and want the diversion and recreation. And the social interaction. I'll fish with family and friends, and hopefully make new friends in the process.

I'm also going to make time to improve this website. It is becoming a valuable resource and it won’t be hard to make it much better. So, I'll be blogging on a fairly consistent basis.

My approach to blogging is changing slightly. I had viewed it as a means to post major, well-thought-out articles. Well, I haven't had time to do that. So, I'll post articles the old fashioned way and use the blog to talk about the website, my plans, what's in my mind - that kind of stuff.

I do look forward to going to Powell - it is one of my favorite places on earth. I hope to get up into the San Juan Arm. I've poked into virtually every canyon on the lake, except those in the distant San Juan, so this trip should help me complete a quest. And the fishing is supposed to be excellent up there.

I'll probably go out of Bullfrog, carrying enough fuel to get up the arm and then back to Dangling Rope.

If any of you have made that trek, I'm interested in hearing from you.

And I welcome comments about all aspects of this site.

- Dave

Sand Hollow and Snow Canyon

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 06:29:00 +0000

By Aaron Webb

I lived in Leeds, Utah when I a very little child—too young to be cognizant of much. I can’t picture the house; I don’t remember any of our neighbors. But I do have vague memories of the desert, specifically the red rock. I am sure that many of the images that come to my head when I think of my earlier years come from the now-legendary tales of my infant adventures, and not from direct memory, but there are specific images that have always been associated with my years down by St George.

Even after we moved up to Salt Lake City, we continued visiting the deserts of Southern Utah. Much of my dad’s family still lived down there, and we would head to Leeds, Pine Lake, or Black Canyon for family reunions, or just get together with a few uncles, aunts, and cousins and go explore the red rock.

It has been a few years since I have been able to spend consistent time in the Southwest desert as I have repeatedly moved around the country, and out of the country. Iraq is a desert, but without the awesome sandstone that makes up the slot canyons of the Escalante area, or the fins of Arches National Park. Argentina has a wonderful desert up on the northern border with Bolivia, a part of one of the most arid deserts in the world. But it lacks the red rock for which St George and Moab are famous, and the fluted canyons that have drawn tourists from every corner of the globe to Zion National Park.

Only recently, as I have returned to Utah, have I been able to continue my love affair with the desert, taking trips down to the San Rafael Swell, and Moab among other places. I have felt like a wayward son, returning at last to the family that had waited patiently and lovingly for him.

Two weeks ago I had the chance to return to Leeds and St George, my first time back in years. My dad was going down to take pictures of some of the tourist destinations, and my wife, my daughter, and I tagged along with him. Memories of our honeymoon—that is right, you can laugh all you want, but we enjoyed every minute of our honeymoon in the deserts of Southern Utah—came flooding back to us as we dropped down into the valleys below Cedar City. My wife and I marveled again at the awesome glimpses of the Kolob Canyons as we drove down I-15, tucked so cleverly behind the roadside mountains of ‘ordinary’ sandstone and shale.

Zion was not our destination this time, however. We were there to tour Sand Hollow Reservoir and Snow Canyon.

We arrived at Sand Hollow late in the afternoon, just as the winter sun was beginning to sink to the horizon. The red sandstone of the reservoir blazed in the setting sun, contrasting sharply against the dark water and the darkening sky. It was cool, but not cold out, even as the rest of the state readied for another night’s freeze. We only had a half-hour or so to enjoy the scenery before the sun set, so we started scrambling across the red rock on the reservoir shore. We showed Katie (our 15-month old daughter) the bass lurking around the deeper rock-enclosed pools of water, and the hundreds of birds that flocked to the rock-islands out in the middle of the reservoir. She took to climbing the sandstone immediately, and though she needed our help in the endeavor, she enjoyed it immensely and determinedly, refusing to give up. She only fussed when the sun set and we had to take her back to the vehicle.

Our goal for the following morning was to drive into Snow Canyon and find a trail that appealed to us. Though we were not going to take the little girl on a grueling hike, the trail we sought could not be too short, because all of us, even Katie, wanted time to soak up the desert air, and enough mileage to satisfy our itch to explore.

Snow Canyon State Park is gorgeous, 7,400 acres of wilderness consisting of lava-capped plateaus, drifting sand dunes, riparian river bottoms, and the iconic Utah red rock in all of its variety of hoodoos, slots, and spires. There are over 18 miles of hiking trails within the park, along with a well-maintained, full-amenities campground and numerous picnic areas.

We decided on the Hidden Pinyon Overlook, about half-way up the main canyon. It would be short enough to allow us time for other excursions, and to keep the kid happy, but provide a good sampling of the canyon, lava flows and all.

One of the interesting—and potentially—beneficial things about Snow Canyon is how interwoven the trails are. I could hike from the Whiterocks Trail up at the north end, all the way down to Johnson Canyon without touching the main road for more than the one-time, thirty-second period that it would take me to cross it on the way from the Whiptail Trail, towards the canyon.

From the Hidden Pinyon Trailhead, we had the option to follow the Hidden Pinyon loop, or to visit the overlook, or to continue on the Three Ponds Trail, crossing West Canyon Road. Alternatively, we could have headed south or north once we reached the junction with the Whiptail Trail, or entered the Petrified Dunes once we reached its junction.

I would imagine that so many options could seem confusing and disorienting to some visitors, but all of these trails coincide within the same small section of canyon, only 5 miles long, and 2 miles wide, and most of them are within sight and sound of Snow Canyon Drive, the main road that sits at the bottom of the canyon. There are signs placed at nearly every trail intersection, making it easy to judge direction and distance to your destination.

We decided to keep it simple for time’s sake, following along the Hidden Pinyon Trail until it reached the Overlook. There were other hikers on the trail, but not enough to make it crowded, mostly small families. The path was easy to follow and in good repair, but still primitive. I personally do not like hiking trails that are grated and improved so much that they might as well be paved—if that was what I wanted I would be walking on the road. There were some tricky places, where hikers have to duck under an overhang, or scramble between two narrow walls. That kind of hiking adds to the experience in my opinion, and I would have welcomed more. For those who do not enjoy such obstacles, either for problems related to health, age, etc, there are generally secondary routes that go around the obstacle, though I intend on taking the hard way for as long as my aging knees and back permit.

The officials at Snow Canyon, as in so many other areas of Utah, have determined to keep hikers on the pathways and away from the soft sand and vegetation. There are some good reasons for this; desert flora can be very fragile. I know we all imagine the amazingly tough and hardy cacti and junipers when we think of desert flora, even as we tromp through the tiny wildflowers, or the biological soil crust that includes algae, lichens, mosses, and fungi, all vital parts of the arid ecosystem of the desert. There are large sections of bare sandstone for those who are itching to get off of the trails, and the trails themselves are plentiful and interesting enough to sate our wanderlust without having to disturb the environment any more than we have to.

My daughter thoroughly enjoyed the trail, putting more miles on those little legs of hers. She would run away from me when I tried to rescue her from a seemingly difficult section of red rock, preferring to do it herself. I still grabbed her every now and then so that we could maintain a decent pace, more from the fact that she liked to stop and study the bugs, rocks, sand, leaves, and whatever else might have found its way onto the path, than from her not being able to keep up.

Hidden Pinyon Overlook is a bluff that sticks out over the sandstone and lava rock of the West Canyon Road and the Three Ponds Trail. The Overlook itself is capped by black lava rock and scrubby desert brush. The whole Snow Canyon area is one of the gems of greenery that Utah is famous for, tucked into the red and brown folds of the southwest desert.

From where we stood atop the Overlook, the view of the canyon below us opened up impressively. It was very peaceful up there, the only sounds coming from the light winter breeze—remarkably warm despite the horizon-grazing inclination of the sun—and the movement and conversation that we initiated.

Our no-fear daughter was adamant about exploring the very edge of the cliff. It was not a far drop, only 30 or 40 feet before the next tier, but that was enough to make us nervous. Much to her irritation, we kept her away from the bluff, only allowing her to play on the rocks on the trail.

All too soon it was time to head back. We still had a few other places to visit before the short winter day was through, and it was now early afternoon. The hike back down the trail was quicker—we had already explored all of the eye-catching scenery that we could find along the way up, and Katie was tired, so we carried her instead of letting her set the pace.

With Katie and my dad resting in the car, Rebecca and I took a stroll to the Sand Dunes to enjoy some leisure time before leaving the canyon. The Sand Dunes sit at the base of the canyon, below West Canyon Road, and beside Jenny’s Canyon. The area of the dunes is rather small, only a few hundred feet wide, and 1,000 feet long, but still sufficiently large enough to roll down the sides of the dunes, or to play football on the flat stretches. The picnic area is directly above the dunes, as are the restrooms.

There are a number of other amazing hikes within the small confines of Snow Canyon. West Canyon Road is the longest hike among the many within the canyon, open to hikers, joggers, and bikers. It extends from the Sand Dunes to the upper end of the park. The Cinder Cone Trail at the north end of the park takes visitors to the top of a 500-foot cinder cone crater, one of a few that are part of the Santa Clara Volcano, a field of volcanic activity that covers all of St George. Jenny’s Canyon is a small slot canyon just across the road from the Sand Dunes. It is short, easy to get to, easy to navigate, and makes a great candidate for an afternoon of exploration.

Florida Girl Learns to Ski

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 05:22:00 +0000

By Rebecca Webb

(See more photos from this trip)

What did I do well? I went fast, very fast. Stopping, on the other hand, proved a tad more difficult for this first time skier.

My never-been-skiing-either sister, Rachel, met us before we headed out at 10 Saturday morning to rent equipment in Orem before making it to Sundance. David explained that the equipment and prices are always better when rented someplace other than the ski resort (and after the $5 hotdogs I was a believer!).

The entrance to the rental room was in the back of a posh sporting goods store but the restroom was in the front so I spent some of my time running around the building. The helpful employees explained the package options and proceeded to help us locate the necessary equipment. “The ski boot is suppose to fit tight,” they explained, so when the heel of my fat, uh, wide foot had lots of wiggle room the knowledgeable employee handed me an entirely different model shoe. Cool. But since this one seemed to fit even worse and the rest of my party were just about finished with their renting I went with the first pair. The whole process took longer than I had expected, 45 minutes or so for the 3 people needing supplies. I was glad we arrived when we had because I would have hated to be part of the line that formed behind us. Some advice, do not over-tighten the boot knob in an effort to compensate for heel freedom; it only serves to cut off vital blood flow to the leg.

So with boots, poles and slender pieces of composite material, we headed off. In an effort to ward off the cold I did what any supply-lacking, warm-blooded (and intelligent) person would do: I dressed in layers. Unmentionables, long johns, jeans and sweatpants covered my bottom half while the turtleneck, shirt, sweater and coat engulfed my top. Now, you can laugh, but of all the things I was that day, I was not cold.

Parking provided a practice-run in skiing. We were directed to park in an obscure location and given the option of skiing down a steep hill to the lift or “hike” down to the road to catch a bus of sorts. I thought the steep hill suggestion was a joke offered by the glove-less traffic director but marks in the snow proved otherwise. I’m sure the fact that we decided to go skiing on a holiday weekend at Sundance during the Sundance Film Festival had nothing at all to do with the crowds. Still, compared to Disney World, it was nothing.

Hiking downhill in skis and/or ski boots is probably doable if you are familiar with how to ski. Much to the amusement of others, my sister and I spent most of our time learning how to get up. Once we made it to the road it did not take long to board and be dropped off near the park’s entrance. We waited in line to exchange our vouchers for lift tickets. Most people were purchasing lift tickets, which come in either half or full day allowances. I concluded that I would probably only make use of a half-day ticket. Why? Because it’s extra cold in the morning so I wouldn’t make it out as soon as the park opened and then after all the physical excursion and injuries to be had, a full day would be cut short. Nope, half a day would be long enough for this beginner. A word of advice, we were given a thin metal triangle and a sticker that made up the ski lift pass. Attach the metal device onto the zipper of your outer coat and then cover the device’s opening with the adhesive ski lift pass. This way it doesn’t fall off while you’re cursing/tumbling down the mountain.

Now, not everyone in the party was to be skiing this day. David would be taking photos and Jenny and Xanthe were going to be snow boarding. Jenny has had a bit of practice and enjoys this high-speed balancing sport but Xanthe was as inexperienced at snow boarding as a baby is to crawling. After her first frustrating, long and painful trip down the slope she traded Aaron for his skis. It worked out perfectly really, my husband had a great time bruising his caboose (literally) and Xanthe enjoyed staying upright.

Watch out for the ski lift. It consists of benches that fit 3-4 people. (Neat side note: Sundance’s lift is operated on wind energy!) That seat will come up on your fast and knock you right over if not careful. I found the key was to be positioned in front of the bench, in a row with your companions and ready to sit before it comes around. The first time for me was rough because the workers won’t stop the machine for anything!

Going up the mountain was as inspiring as skiing down it is exhilarating! If you hold your breath and ask your companions to shush, there is just crisp cold, white snow, sturdy evergreens peaking out from beneath and an amazing presence of silence. It’s gorgeous.

The lift exit comes up quick and I had to watch the people in front of me sliding off to know that I wasn’t intended to continue all the way up the mountain. Getting off the lift proved pretty easy because you just have to give a little hop down and you’re there! Seeing that the benches then quickly rise up left me with no worry about being hit in the back of the head.

Most of the first trip down was spent getting back up after a fall. The concern about breaking an ankle was lessened after I found that the boot would disconnect from the ski when I fell at a threatening angle. There are only two down sides to this. 1) The ski can slide away from you while it is detached and 2) getting the boot clicked back in is a challenge when just standing is difficult. Still, I got the hang of it. I found that leaning some of my weight onto my poles made it easier.

Back on my feet, I’m cruising down this mountain, trying to keep the snow off my glasses when the next thing I know is that I have to find the beanie because it belongs to someone else. It took several seconds to gather enough of my wits to realize my glasses were missing. By this time pain was spreading from the side of my face, which had apparently made contact with the ground, throughout the rest of my head. This was bad. What a hard fall! Was there blood? No. Glasses were still intact and I spotted the beanie several feet away. This was it; I was not going to go down again. Or would I?

I made it down the rest of the mountain by falling whenever the trees zipped by too quickly. Speed wasn’t so much the problem as not knowing how to slow down! I was trying everything people suggested but it just didn’t seem to work for me! Unfortunately, the last slope is the steepest but dropping my rear and going down on three “skis” made it possible.

Everyone in our party met up at the foot of the hill and shared stories. Xanthe had a rough time on the snowboard but Jenny had stayed with her. Aaron wanted to try the snowboard and Rachel had also fallen a lot. Everyone prepared to head down a second time and I just had to go again, I couldn’t waste a ski lift pass! But oh how my head hurt!

No lift mishap the second time around had me feeling like we were off to a good start. Aaron spent most of his time falling down the first slope but it was good practice for him. Apparently, snowboarding presents quite a challenge. Xanthe was managing well on her skis and Rachel seemed to be falling less.

As for myself, I rationalized that I would dedicate the first few, more level slopes to improving the slowing techniques. Things did not go as planned. I couldn’t slow down! Now, at first the speed is exhilarating. How could it not be? I could feel the cool air whipping around but it just felt crisp and wonderful. The skis made the same sound like they do on TV and I suddenly understood adrenaline junkies. However, “You’ll have to stop sometime,” became conscious and I wanted to cry. Thank goodness I could steer! Leaning to one side and the other came so natural. Avoiding gazing bystanders and using the zigzag technique to dampen gaining speed I shot down the mountain. The resolved to fall in order to stop was painful but what else could I do? So that would be the plan, stay upright (but crouched to maintain some control) until the very last slope and throw myself on the mercy of the land. That’s just what I did.

Upon seeing someone speeding down the mountain, David began to snap photos from the bottom of the slopes when suddenly, a cloud of dust. After realizing whom it was he was considerate and tried to keep the laughing to a minimum. But I didn’t care, for all that mattered at that point was: I hadn’t hit my head! What fun.

Careful contemplation concluded that I owed it to society to not go down again until I’d learned how to slow down and stop. So I took the advice offered earlier and joined the tiny kids on their little slopes to practice. I felt a little like Will Ferrell in Elf at Santa’s shop. Still, the skills improved and I had a good time.

Everyone else enjoyed themselves too. On her fourth time down Rachel proudly announced, “I didn’t fall this time and I even went faster!” I was just a tad bit jealous. If I get a chance to do it all over again I will certainly still dress warmly but add waterproof gloves. I will be sure to stay hydrated this next time and to practice practice practice before heading to the big slopes.

Petrglyphs and Pictograms

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 05:10:00 +0000

By Aaron Webb

(View more photos of Black Dragon Canyon; photos of Petroglyph Canyon. Area map.)

Somewhere around the New Year, I had a chance to make a quick trip down to the San Rafael Swell and to take my toddling daughter along for the ride. This would be her first hiking trip—she is only 14 months old—and I was excited to see how she would handle the uneven, rocky trails, and the separation from a warm, comfortable home, with toys, sippy cups, and most importantly, mom.

We were tagging along with my father, little sister, and the family dog. Our goal was to find Black Dragon Canyon and Petroglyph Canyon near the junction of Highway 6 and Interstate 70. We wanted to get some pictures of the artwork, and of the surrounding rock formations. Beyond that, it was simply an excuse to get away and enjoy the marvelous outdoors that Utah offers.

Along with Katie’s first time hiking, this was my first time in a while (I’m not going to count military marches), and I was more than a little excited to be scrambling through the redrock again as I had as a youth.

The drive from Utah County to the San Rafael Swell was relatively quick, only three hours—I am used to 18 hour trips where 12 of them are spent on the road, just to nab some photos of an arch or a set of dinosaur tracks. But three hours is still long for a girl who is has just barely seen her first Halloween. So I was delighted when my little girl was pleasant almost the entire way. I owe my sister, Xanthe, for that one. She is great with kids, and Katie has taken an instant liking to her. We spent a little more time at each fuel stop in order to let her run around and explore the snow. That seemed to keep her happy. You can never appreciate too much having a baby that is easily amused and well-behaved on a long car trip.

The temperature had dropped as we reached Soldier Summit, but now continued to steadily rise as we neared our sanctuary: the vast reaches of the magical Utah desert. I ought to let you know now that I grew up in Salt Lake, among other places, but almost all of my remaining childhood memories take place within the slot canyons, evergreen forests, and hoodoos of southern Utah.

By the time we reached the San Rafael Swell, the temperature had finally started flirting with a warm 32 degrees Fahrenheit or so. Perfect for us seasoned wasteland-dwellers. Katie on the other hand was not so thrilled. She has been hesitant in her acceptance of snow, something I had not expected. When we moved here from North Carolina, I had fully expected her to delight in the wondrous Christmas snow. Instead, she—the daughter of a Floridian girl, mind you—had tentatively touched it once, and then signaled that she wanted mommy to pick her back up.

And now she was staring dubiously at the frozen ground as we got out of the truck and started preparations for the short hike to Black Dragon Canyon. I mentioned that it was warmer now. Sure, warmer than the negative temperatures that we had been watching tick across the display of our vehicle on the way up Soldier Summit. But a temperature of a few degrees short of freezing is darn cold if you’re brand-spanking-new to it.

Katie did remarkably well. At first, starting away from the truck, I was holding her. I would put her down in the dry wash, trying to urge her to hike with us, to explore. She would take a few steps, get uncomfortably mired in a patch of sand or half-way atop a teetering rock, and she would start to whine for help. Then I would pick her up and catch up with my dad, sister, and our border collie.

It only took twenty minutes for her to become comfortable with the concept of hiking. She still struggled and fell every here and there, but she adamantly refused my hand from there on out. By the time we reached the black dragon, she was ignoring my attempts to help her climb, preferring to find her own way up the rocks. I just climbed beside her, ready to catch her when she fell.

The rock art panels in Black Dragon Canyon are marvelous. There are ornate human figures, a dog, and of course, the dragon. They are located just over half a mile up the canyon, at the base of the looming north wall—though it requires a bit of a scramble up the mounds of fallen stone and deposited sediment in order to reach the base of the rock face. The rock art is surrounded by a log barrier that makes them hard to miss. The barrier has an opening at the trailhead that leads up the loose rock.

Unfortunately, the dragon and its cohorts have been vandalized—someone outlined the drawings with white chalk. For some reason, past visitors have felt the need to add their own artistic signature to those of the ancient Indians; they scrawl or gouge their graffiti with complete disregard for the history and preservation of our dwindling examples of ancient southwest art. Just as bad, but somehow excusable to such people, they outline ancient rock art in chalk to better photograph them and make it easier to notice the figures from the trail. These practices destroy petroglyphs and pictographs and ruin the exciting experience of searching for and finding such sites for future generations.

Finding rock art is a spiritual experience for me. There is something profound about the sincere representation of a person’s life, culture, and religious beliefs left scribed onto the side of a cliff for me, hundreds or thousands of years later to come along and ponder. The earliest forms of writing and recorded history were conceived on the walls of ancient caves and canyons, giving us a link to those who passed on so long before our modern world.

I sat under the eaves of the north wall, Katie playing in the rocks at my feet, and I gazed up at the massive canyon that rose about me. The subdued red, brown, and gray of the sandstone contrasted sharply against the crisp blue sky. As I sat there I realized that I have not seen a sky so crystal blue in a long time; it almost seemed electric. I have been back east, and in the Middle East for quite a while now, surrounded by the haze and the humid gray of development and smog. Even Iraq lacked the color of the San Rafael desert around me. This was a therapy session for me.

All too soon it was time to move on. We backtracked toward the truck, walking slow so that Katie could keep up with us. She would stop every thirty seconds or so and examine the pebbles on the trail. She likes to take rocks home for her mommy. We got back to the truck eventually and drove to the trailhead for Arch Canyon and the route to Petroglyph Canyon. I took twenty minutes to run up Box Spring Canyon located at the trailhead, taking pictures of the frozen creek, while the others ate.

Then we were following a ravine that ran perpendicular to the reef, into Arch Canyon. The hike up the westward canyon is short, though steeper than Black Dragon, which is relatively flat up to the dragon itself. Arch Canyon splits a little ways in, going to the right while the tiny Petroglyph Canyon heads left. We went to the end of Arch first, eager to explore. The canyon ends at what could be a decent swimming hole dependent on the temperature of the water—in the cold of winter it served better as a skating rink as we ran and slid across its frozen surface in our hiking boots and running shoes. Katie daintily started out across the ice, and promptly did the splits as her feet flew out from under her. Bewildered but undaunted, she finally accepted my help as she stood and started out across the slippery surface again.

Above the ice rink the canyon walls close in and create a dead end that would require climbing gear to mount. At the top of the canyon wall is a set of three small arches, two of them very close, the third farther down and to the right. These arches give the canyon its name. Arch canyon is labeled as possessing a triple arch, which is a misnomer as the arches are not connected to each other.

We explored the end of Arch Canyon for a bit longer and then turned back to where Petroglyph Canyon branches off of Arch Canyon and heads in a southwesterly direction. Petroglyph is an extremely short, blunted canyon with its rock art along the black-varnished west wall, very close to the end. The walls of Petroglyph were darker than Arch, and very angular. There are two sections of rock art here, petroglyphs of herd animals and their tracks etched into the dark varnished area of wall, and then, harder to find, a faded panel only a stone’s down canyon of that. Sadly, this smaller panel had been vandalized in the past, gouged with a blade. Visitors who witness the vandalism of a rock art site should report it immediately.

Katie was starting to fuss now as we entered the canyon in search of the rock art panels. It was later in the afternoon and she was getting cold and hungry. The early evening wind was becoming frigid, and though she was bundled up, my little girl was starting to feel the clinging cold on the ends of her fingers and nose. That cut our exploration short slightly; we took enough time to find the petroglyphs and take some photos of them, and then we took off, emerging back into the gulch beside the great San Rafael reef.

I carried Katie back to the truck, anxious to get the little kid out of the cold, and to get some food in her belly. I hate hurrying through the sandstone deserts of southern Utah. I enjoy taking my time and soaking in the scenery. Like the ancient petroglyphs and pictographs and their timelessness and mystery, I have always felt that the desert hides great wonders that I will discover if I only stay long enough to watch and listen. I feel different after a weekend of bouldering or canyoneering. It is rejuvenating and awakening. I certainly enjoy the climbing itself. I enjoy the feel of the single-track racing by under my tires. I crave the adrenaline boost that fuels my last pull up a rock face. But there is something underneath it all when I stop and relax. Something subtle and quiet, almost religious.

For Katie, I doubt that the experience was so humbling. Instead, I think that she concentrated on the rock-scrambling. That is all right with me. Culture increases as awareness grows. I am not worried that she will long remain blind to the history and ecology of her home. Until then, it is neat to see her develop a taste for the outdoors, to see her focus on one stone and the path that she will have to take in order to climb around or atop it. I am eager to see in two or three years how much her love for hiking and climbing has grown.

Until then, I am going to continue to share the experience with her. I am going to continue to let her explore the vast deserts and sub-alpine forests of Utah. If she is as much of a sandstone junkie as I am when she grows up, I will know that I have done my job.

Brainwashing at its finest.

Whirlwind Trip to Spain

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 23:25:00 +0000

By Aaron Webb

My wife and I have wanted to go to Europe longer than we have known each other. Rebecca has envisioned the backdrops of France, Greece, and Italy as her ultimate honeymoon since she was young. I always had in mind a visit to the castles of Germany and the British Isles. These all remained fantasies though. We stayed in the country for our honeymoon—having an extraordinary time in a few luxurious resorts of the redrock deserts in Utah—and have continued to dream of our eventual trip to Europe.

Through the years I have somehow picked up the notion that in order to go anywhere far away and truly enjoy yourself, you need to take an extended trip. I thought it would be foolish and costly to fly across the world to stay for only a few nights. That philosophy has led to the quiet death of more than one potential weekend of travel.

A few months ago, we set aside time for a vacation this October, the first one since our daughter was born. The months crawled by, closing in on the date as we surfed the net for vacation deals. We had a dream vacation in the works to go to Ireland, slowly building an idea of where we wanted to go, and what we wanted to do once there. Then, just a few months back, we made the decision that we needed to save more money; I was in the middle of a planned job change, and school and other expenses were still, as of yet, unknown. Ireland was again put on a back burner, and we began looking a little more local.

Time was moving on quickly. Katie was growing, babbling, crawling, and then walking. But we were so busy, exhausted, and discouraged by the hectic and busy turn that our lives had taken in the last year that we could find nowhere that spoke to us of rest and relaxation. Even the inspiration and the desire to sit down and plan an escape were gone. There was the baby to consider. There was work. Our schedules were ridiculous, and even on vacation it was looking like we would be working.

A few days before we were supposed to leave, my mom flew into North Carolina. She would stay and watch our little girl while we relaxed somewhere on our second honeymoon.

Only one problem: we still did not know where we were going.

Two days before our vacation started, we were just narrowing it down to a road trip somewhere along the Atlantic coast. Talk about failure to plan. My wife made the suggestion to drive down to Charleston, South Carolina, for the historic feel to the city, and the ghost tours of the old buildings. I liked the idea, so we rented a car and packed up. We did not have anything planned for lodging or food, or even specific sites to see, just a spot on a map. So we packed the tent and our sleeping bags, and everything else that we thought we might need on our improvised odyssey.

We were on the road, thirty minutes away from our home when my wife called a friend, who reminded us that the military had free flights for military families out of Charleston to Spain and Germany.

Spain.

Europe.

Rebecca got off of the phone, and we looked at each other, the unasked question very clear. I was already slowing down and getting ready to turn the car back for Jacksonville.

Back home, we rummaged in the garage until we found our passports—great place to keep legal documents—and ran back to the car as my bewildered mom laughed and held little Katie.

We did not know how we were going to swing it in the few days we had free, and we did not know whether the vacation would end up being more of a hassle than a relaxation. We did not even know if we would be able to get on the plane, for scheduling concerns, passport concerns, and a billion other little problems that seemed to rise into some unmountable wall. But we were determined to try.

We got to Charleston with enough time to drive to the beach and eat dinner at a nice little seafood joint next to the water, then drove back to the city and onto the Air Force base, where we went through the procedures required to be included on the military flight to Spain.

We were in a daze the entire waiting period, still unsure as to whether this was reality or a dream. It was the equivalent to a how a child would feel if all of a sudden he or she learned that Christmas would come twice this year. We kept talking about all of the things that we would do once we got there, the sites we would see, the food we would try, the dialects of Spanish that we would hear.

Our flight would take us to a place on the southwest coast of Spain, a town called Rota, which boasts an American Navy base. It was in the Andalucia area of Spain, the Mediterranean part of the country that boasts Moorish architecture, spicy food, and a warm climate. As we looked in our travel guide, we found plenty of castles, exotic Roman and Moorish ruins, and plenty of other mouth-watering attractions with which to sate some of our appetite.

Over and over we would look at each other in wonder.

Spain.

We were going to Spain.

Our flight was classified as Space Available, which means the military sticks you on a cargo jet, if they have room for you. Then you have to plan a return trip, again, if they have room. There were a dozen or so of us stuffed onto a plane full of armored vehicles destined for Iraq. The eight-hour flight on folding seats in a chilly aircraft was not the mahogany and suede image of luxury, but on a free flight you get what you pay for.

We stepped off of the plane into the surprisingly dry climate of south-western Spain, Andalucian ground. There was a moment of blockbuster-quality slowed time where we both simply looked to each other and smiled. We were in Europe.

Granted, we were still on an American military base, but we were there. It was already very late, so we spent the night in cheap military lodging and set off in the morning to rent another car and have my wife’s passport stamped. We had been given a ton of vague information on the correct procedure to make sure you are allowed back in the States, or are even able to successfully get a seat on a return flight. So we rushed around until the afternoon of that first day chasing stamps, papers, and signatures. As we went, we made hasty, adrenaline-fueled plans, like the huddle before the last down.

Then we were free. We had a little car—when I say little, I really mean little. Even their freight trucks are small. While I am sure that there are other reasons beside, we found out that Europeans drive tiny cars because anything bigger does not fit on their narrow streets. We drove down the Atlantic coast to an ancient town called Cádiz, the port where Cristopher Columbus set sail for the Americas on more than one occasion, and the oldest continually inhabited city in western Europe.

Cádiz was not at all the small village that I was expecting. There is a large, bustling downtown area where buses, toy cars, and throngs of people hurry from point A to point B throughout their day. But as we closed in on the historic area of town, we found archaic chapels, mansions, and fortresses, all crammed into the urban maze that is European city planning. There is a large castle out on a stretch of rocks, coral, and sand, accessible by a long stone causeway. People were off of the walkway, catching crabs and fish in the hundreds of tidal pools along the way. We found the castle gates locked, but were delighted to find the rocks an exotic playground in their own right. Anemones, sea urchins, shrimp, crabs of various size and color, and darting fish all inhabited these hidden basins of water among the treacherous footing of the jagged stone and broken coral. The incoming tide surged through tunnels in the coral, crashing up like mini geysers as we picked our way among the sharp crags and small pools.

We strolled through the streets until late that evening, enjoying the crowds, the old buildings and the atmosphere of the antique port. Finally, suffering from jetlag, tired and stressed out, we slept in our car while the gaditanos, as the residents of the old city are known, partied around us until the early hours of the morning.

The next morning, relaxing in bed until ten or eleven in the morning, we headed straight to Seville, the fourth largest metropolitan area in Spain, and an area with much historical and artistic value. If Cádiz was large, then Seville was immense. A bustling city if I have ever seen one; it reminded me of Buenos Aires, only more open. We were there on a Sunday, and still there were people and vehicles everywhere. We were searching for a local branch of our church there in Seville, and even after figuring out how to get there, it still took us another thirty minutes just to find a parking spot.

Let me warn you now how easy it is to get lost in the tight streets between 18th century—and older—buildings. On the map, you see where you are, and where you want to go. Then you get there and you find that you cannot just drive straight down the easiest route in order to reach your destination. Partly because the roads are rarely straight, and rarely last for more than two or three blocks before t-boning or making a lazy curve in some other direction. But even more confusing is the fact that all of these inner city roads are one-way. The streets were planned and constructed centuries before cars were around, and are extremely narrow. So we ended up driving around to the other side of the maze, parking half a mile from the church, and walking.

It was a nice walk, one that we had wanted to do anyway. It is a gorgeous city. Elaborately ornate buildings are everywhere downtown, and we had a lot of fun just holding hands as we walked and admired the architecture. We did not make it in time for our church meetings, so we sat on the steps and ate crackers instead, gazing at an old plaza with pretty fountains and lovely orange trees.

We took the opportunity then to finish the walk through the historical downtown and went to the royal palace and the cathedral. The palace was not open on Sunday, and you could not enter the cathedral, one of the largest in Europe, unless you were willing to pay, And we try not to spend money on Sunday. So we admired them from the outside. Looking at the cathedral gave my wife flashbacks of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

On the way out of the city, we were trying to navigate back to Rota, our base of operations for the trip, without taking the toll road. But the non-toll roads are not as readily advertised or as easy to find, so we were having a hard time of it. After a half an hour or so of wandering up and down different routes, just as we were reaching the end of our patience with Spanish freeway planning, we stumbled into a suburb of Seville, the small town called Alcalá de Guadaira, complete with a sea serpent bridge, and a castle ruin.

Alcalá was an important city hundreds of years ago for the baked products that it sent to Seville everyday. A large percentage of Seville’s bread came from the smaller town. Even more, Alcalá was necessary to the area because of the castle. The town’s castle was one of the foremost defenses of the province.

Needless to say, we were thrilled about the castle. We spent the rest of the afternoon running along the crumbling walls of the ancient castle, which sits on a hill above the town. Alcalá has a long history; the Moors built the castle upon the ruins of a Roman settlement, whose baths have just been unearthed within the last decade.

The sun was sinking towards the horizon as we entered the castle walls, reading placards of information about the ancient structure. Boys were playing soccer in the courtyard, and the towers hovered over them, yellow and gray against a reddening sky. There was a feeling of peace there, despite the military purpose of the fortress. We climbed the walls and walked across their crumbling battlements.

Atop one of the towers, a solitary little oak, no more than a shrub really, grew out of the stone beside a worn gargoyle. It reminded both of us of the blarney stone of Ireland. So I snapped a photo while Rebecca lay on her belly and leaned over the edge of the tower to kiss the gargoyle’s head. Then we continued our exploration of the castle. Almost an entire roll of film later, the sunset was dimming in the west and we needed to leave. The castle was lit from the hillside below, bathing it in a yellow glow that shone like a beacon across the city.

Sadly, we drove away from Alcalá, intending once more to find a toll free route back to Rota. Though it took a few hours driving around on the confusing roads in the black of the Spanish night, we finally made our way back to Rota without having to pay a toll. Triumph.

There was a celebration going on in Rota when we pulled in, but I was tired, and figured that we would have other fiestas to attend, so we crashed that night at the naval lodging, exhausted and ready for a good night’s sleep. We awoke again too late for breakfast, a pattern we had set the first morning there in Spain, and begun to make plans for the morning. We wanted to go east towards Granada, Cordoba, and the White Towns. Every morning though we called in to check on outbound flights back to Charleston. This morning we were told that there would be no flights to Charleston for the rest of the week, and that the Rota airport was closing within a few days.

So we started asking about other destinations, and found that the only flight that would eventually put us back in Charleston, without pushing our luck, was leaving that afternoon. We had roughly four hours before we had to be back at the Rota airport, awaiting our flight to New Jersey, where we would spend the night and then fly down to Charleston.

Now I was kicking myself for having made sleep a priority over the party last night. You only live once, right? I think I am turning into a grumbling, creaking old man ahead of my time.

Our vacation had just been cut short by about four days. Bummed, we sat there for a while, trying to figure out what we could do in four hours. Should we stay in Rota? Should we try to find souvenirs for family members nearby? Too much to do, and so very little time.

The decision proved to be quite daring. We were going to drive out to the first of the White Towns, one called Medina Sidonia. It was just over an hour away according to the map. But we had up to this point not found much reason to trust the map, or the road signs (and the oft-time lack of road signs). Still, four hours. We could probably make it there and back in that time to catch our flight back to the States.

There was only one way to find out. This was an adventure after all, and I was determined to make up for missing out on the celebration the night before.

So we got in our rental and flew down the roads of Andalucia. Up until that point, I had been allowing traffic to race past me in their fanatic need to break the ridiculously low speed limits, but now I drove like I was not in Spain, but on the Autobahn of Germany.

The goal: to find and tour Medina in two hours.

The risk: get stupendously lost, late, and have to travel to Barcelona or somewhere else to pay for commercial tickets home.

The reward: see one more historical area of Spain in our three-day vacation.

The way was not nearly as hard as we were expecting, and with my genius wife navigating the tricky roads, and myself driving like a qualification for NASCAR, we got there in just over an hour. We found a strategic parking spot fairly quickly, and got out, cameras in hand, the paragons of tourists that we were, and began to soak in the sites of the beautiful town atop a gigantic hill.

Medina sits very high above the surrounding terrain, so much so that the rolling pastures and farmlands below have that hazy, graying quality as if you were atop a great mountain, or in a climbing airplane. The town is very obviously one of the White Towns; there were very few buildings of any other color. Roofs are still red tile and various other colors, but the whitewashed walls were the norm—I began to wonder if it was a city ordinance. Medina is clean, and very pleasing to the eye. Antique, and full of relaxed, smiling people who recline in the plazas outside of the tapas diners in the town square, enjoying their light meals and the conversations with old friends.

We climbed up to the towering chapel and paid for roaming rights. It was nothing in grandeur compared to the monolith cathedral of Seville, but possessed an elegance all its own. With bell towers that would have disappeared into the mist on a cloudy day, the chapel of Medina was an instant success on our risky venture to Medina. We sat in the tower, looking out over the broad valleys so far below, clinging to this last little bit of Spain that we would have to experience.

Finally it was time to go.

With a sad weight in our hearts, we descended from this little paradise and made our way back to the car, somewhere amid the narrow, maze-like streets of the town. It took a bit of back-tracking, but we found it. The hard part was finding our way out of the city, for the majority of perimeter roads dead-end instead of guiding you to the highway. Finally we stopped and asked a pleasant woman with a few children and she told us where to go.

Back on the highway, we turned our backs on Medina and raced once again like adrenaline junkies for Rota. I had bought a little bit of what in Argentina we would call chorizo gallego, or Spanish sausage, and some kind of old-world smelly cheese to eat with our crackers on the ride back. I kept it as a surprise from my wife until we were chasing the descending sun back towards Rota, and now we shared an authentic (minus the American crackers) Spanish treat.

Early on in our trip, we had hoped that the White Towns would provide our opportunity for souvenir shopping, and so we had not bought anything up to this point except for our meals. Medina, like the majority of Andalucian towns, is alive in the evening. Shops were not open during lunchtime, and we did not have the luxury of staying long enough for them to open later.

So, empty of tangible treasures, we found the airfield, twenty minutes later than we were supposed to report in, and turned in our rental car just in time to get our boarding passes and await our flight back home.

Sitting on the benches at the gate, we could just sit back and let our minds try to capture the fleeting images and memories of our frantic rush through Spain.

It was an amazing juxtaposition, our original wait in the air terminal, anxiously awaiting a flight to Spain, wondering if it were really going to happen. Now, we sat in the air terminal, wondering if it really had happened.

Certainly, it was different than any European vacation that I have imagined. We did not get to relax much, and we spent as much time worrying over flights and passports as we did taking in the sites of the country.

I am sure that some would say that we wasted our time. With the proper planning, and an ample amount of time, we could have truly basked in Spain’s luxurious historical sites and the exotic culture of spicy Andalucia. Truly, we still long for such a trip.

But if anyone ever asked if I would do it again had I the chance, I would tell them that I have rethought my earlier belief that it was too foolish and too costly to travel far for just a few nights. Andalucia, in three days, was one of those spontaneous adventures that I strongly feel a married couple needs every now and then.

We had a blast, and though sometimes I look back and seriously wonder if it was all in my head, I have the pictures to prove it. They were taken with a disposable camera, because we managed to misplace our digital, but some of them turned out much better than I expected, and I am including a good number of them with this article so that you can vicariously enjoy our whirlwind trip almost as much as we did.

Big Donation Will Help Utah Fisheries

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 01:10:00 +0000

(Editor's note: This is a news release from Utah DWR.)

Big Donation Will Get Even Bigger
Fishing groups provide money for state’s Blue Ribbon waters

The largest donation ever given to the Division of Wildlife Resources by an angling group was received Nov. 14.

That’s when three anglers presented the agency with a $10,750 check from the Utah Stonefly Society and Cache Valley Anglers.

DWR biologists will use the money to improve fishing at waters in Utah that are part of the state’s Blue Ribbon Fisheries program. Right now, the Weber River in northern Utah is their first choice. The DWR will use the money to buy land that anglers can use to access the river. The money will also be used to make habitat better for trout.

“What’s really exciting is that these groups have actually provided more money than the original $10,750 donation,” says Walt Donaldson, Aquatic Section chief for the DWR. “Now that we have this money, other federal dollars can be used to ‘match’ the donation.”

Donaldson says the DWR should receive $12,000 to $30,000, depending on which federal program the donation qualifies for. That means the groups’ donation will result in the DWR receiving a total of $22,000 to $40,000 that it didn’t have before.

And all of that money will be used to improve fishing on the Weber River or at other Blue Ribbon waters in the state.

Dave Serdar of the Utah Stonefly Society says donations like this one are critical to making fishing even better in Utah. “It’s absolutely critical that the DWR receive funding beyond the dollars anglers provide when they buy a fishing license,” Serdar says. “Through the Federal Aid (matching dollars) program, any donation that’s given can grow to as much as three times the original amount.”

“I want to compliment these guys for raising this much money,” says Roger Wilson, cold water sport fisheries coordinator for the DWR. Wilson is referring to Serdar and Cary Asper of the Stonefly Society, Paul Dremann, chairman of Utah’s Blue Ribbon Fisheries Advisory Council, and all the members of the Stonefly Society and Cache Valley Anglers.

“We’ll put the money to good use,” Wilson says.

The Stonefly Society and Cache Valley Anglers raised the money through fly-tying and fly-fishing clinics they offered last spring.

More information about Utah’s Blue Ribbon waters is available on the Web at wildlife.utah.gov/blueribbon.

Brown Trout in Cottonwood Creek

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 02 Oct 2007 04:52:00 +0000

Photos form this trip | Map of Joes Valley Area | Info on Joes Valley

Cottonwood Creek below Joes Valley Reservoir supports a good population of brown trout and fishing is good there right now. I fished the stream on Sept 29, during an early season winter-like storm, and had a great time. We caught fish, so many we lost count. Most were small but there were enough big ones to keep things interesting.

Cottonwood Creek is not well know and receives light fishing pressure, yet it has become one of our better streams. It flows along State Road 29, through Straight Canyon, between Joes Valley Reservoir and the small towns of Orangeville and Castle Dale, south of Price. It's about 140 miles from Salt Lake City.

It was raining when we headed down Hwy 6, heading toward Price. When we crested Soldier Summit and looked to the east the sky was only partly cloudy and we hoped the storm would miss the Joes Valley area. The mountains sometimes channel storms south, leaving that area dry.

Nope, we got hit hard by rain, sleet, snow and cold wind. The wind was strong and made fishing conditions difficult. Enough snow fell that it collected in some spots.

But the fish, they didn't seem to mind. The stream was low and clear and the fish were hungry. I had intended to cast streamers to them with my fly rod, but the strong wind made that next to impossible. Instead, we fished lures and jigs. Fish hit everything we tried. I started with a small Rapala and got strikes in virtually every hole. Most the fish were small and very aggressive. Even tiny fish would smack the lures.

We tied on jigs trying to get deeper, thinking large fish may be holding near the bottom in the bigger holes. My brother, Glen, tried a brown marabou jig and almost immediately hooked a large fish that gave him quite a fight. He was fishing from a big rock, up 4-5 feet above the water. The fish was heavy enough that he knew it would break off if he tried to horse it up the cliff face. There was no easy way for him to get off the rock but he finally jumped to the far side, hoping he could keep pressure on the fish. The strategy worked and he managed to land a fat brown that looked to be about 16 inches.

Glen hooked another large one that broke his line. I never managed to land anything bigger than 12 inches. One memorable fish charged at my jig, its mouth wide open, and startled me so much I jerked the hook away before it could hit.

The water was so clear, we could often see the fish strike our lures. Great fun.

Most streams that flow from reservoirs have clear water and are somewhat protected from flooding. That is somewhat true here but several side canyons can bring in heavy runoff at times.

SR 29 to the reservoir is plowed during the winter and Joes Valley is a popular ice fishing water. If offers splake and an assortment of trout.

The stream parallels the road. It is often a steep scramble from the road down to the stream. Large boulders have rolled into the canyon bottom, creating large pools in the stream. The boulders and brush make it difficult to walk along the stream in places. Still, the stream bank offers open areas where there is plenty of room to backcast while fly fishing.

All in all, this is a beautiful stream, well worth a visit.

Sierra Club Highlights Utah Lands

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 03:18:00 +0000

The Sierra Club has released a new report, America's Wild Legacy, "which highlights fifty-two special lands and the Club's ongoing efforts to protect them." The 56-page report includes a section on Utah's Red Rock country.

Here are excerpts from the introduction:

Some of our nation’s most spectacular landscapes — places like the Arctic, the Everglades, Giant Sequoia National Monument, Utah’s Red Rock wilderness and the Tongass National Forest — are teetering at the edge and could be lost forever.

Illegal off-road vehicle abuse is scarring irreplaceable lands like Utah’s Red Rock wilderness.

The Sierra Club has long been involved in a battle to have more Utah public land classified as wilderenss and protected by Congress. That battle has been bitter and bloody at times, with those opposing the Sierra Club saying the vast majority of our public lands should be left open for energy development and multiple use, including ATV and off-road vehicle travel.

Read the Club's description of the report. Download the introduction. Download the complete report. It offers insights into spectacular country, regardless of what viewpoint you hold.

Red Rock International Adventures

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 03:03:00 +0000

Some of my kids have an interest in this website and have decided to help me develop it. That's great because I haven't had time.

Interesting side note: this is happening as they go international. Our focus will be on the greater Utah area (Yellowstone to Grand Canyon), but now and then we'll sneak in an article about other areas. Here's the rundown:

Aaron, just back from Iraq, is living in North Carolina right now but intends to move to Utah later this year. He is an excellent writer and talented artist, so he will be a great help. He has already contributed a blog entry about extreme adventure in Al Anbar Province, and he's posted some of his photos.

Lil has decided she likes cruises; she and husband go somewhere every few months. Maybe I can talk her into sharing photos and writing up a report or two.

Dan has been scanning and posting photos for me, like the one above. I have a file cabinet full of slides, but I haven't had time to do anything with them. With Dan's help we're putting the best into our photo gallery. Dan will be trekking up a waterfall in Jamacia in November. His fiancée thinks they will be there on honeymoon. Dan should bring back interesting photos and a report.

Xanthe has been my model and fishing buddy - photos of her are all over this website. She is now going to college in Idaho. I don't know why she chose Idaho - I hear it gets mighty cold up there. But she is just outside Yellowstone and so we can expect reports from that area. She also helps with internet research and writing.

We've got great plans. Stay tuned because this website will soon be rockin'.

Tour of Duty: Al Anbar Province

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 20:20:00 +0000

By Aaron Webb

(See more of Aaron's photos from Iraq)

When you think of a grand adventure, what visions come to mind? Do you see slot canyons, underwater caves, and alpine slopes? What about the gear? Do you plan on stuffing your backpack with a two-man tent, climbing shoes, and insect repellant?

Or are you the person who has dreamed up images of wide, palm-crowded rivers in the deserts of a foreign country, where you patrol the wadis with rocket launchers and assault rifles, wearing armored vests and utilizing the most rugged night vision and communication equipment available?

Let me tell you about my latest journey to the ends of the earth.

I don’t even know where to start. I’m home from Iraq. It has been a few weeks now. Two and a half or so. In some ways it feels like I am slipping right back into normal life, like I have been gone to work over a long weekend or something. I don’t think I ever lost some of my rhythms upon leaving the states in the first place. Does that mean that I failed to engage the combat mindset? I am not sure.

Things are looking good. My faithful wife loves me. My nine month old daughter – she was two months old when I left for Iraq – didn’t seem to necessarily remember me, but she sure warmed back up to me remarkably fast. I have been offered a tantalizing job, writing for, and designing graphics for, redrockadventure.com, an opportunity that I am taking up with pleasure. It is a family-run business. One more way to remain close to those who I most care about. I am active in my church, and people seem not to have forgotten who I am. I am going back to school; I wonder if I will be the only twenty-seven year old freshman in the graphic arts program.

Other things are harder to gauge. I am adjusting well, but there are still hitches. I am ridiculously wary of the potholes on the roads as I drive. I hear machinegun fire on the Marine Corps ranges here at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, and my ears perk up and I automatically start trying to determine distance, direction, and possible caliber of the weapons.

I anger a lot quicker than I used to. I am not nearly as patient and easy-going as a few years ago. Maybe that would have come anyway with growing up and taking on the responsibilities of an adult. I used to fancy myself Peter Pan, the boy who would never grow up. Flying would have been cool too. I have always been a free spirit of sorts, a happy, carefree guy who was always playing games, reading books, exploring Anasazi ruins, or catching snakes.

In fact, life has always been just one large adventure to me, a quest for something larger than myself. During tough times, I have even disciplined myself to think of it as a game, a challenge. That is one of the reasons I like that Italian film from the late nineties, Life is Beautiful. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

The desire for exploration, for adventure, for a noble quest, has always been a driving factor in who I am. It is one of the reasons I love trekking through Grand Gulch with a backpack and a camera, or rafting down the Colorado, or climbing the spires of Zion National Park. It is one of the reasons that I went to South America to preach to the people for two years, learning a foreign language and foreign customs. It is also one of the reasons I enlisted into the United States Marine Corps infantry.

Iraq was certainly adventurous, and at times, a pure adrenaline rush. Just off of the plane in Kuwait, we were gearing up and loading ammunition into magazines, checking gear, and preparing to touch down in an unstable country with a fledgling government. A familiar military proverb – hurry up and wait – describes quite accurately how you slide into a seven month trip to this place of violence. We hit the ground running, alert, pumped up, ready for the worst that they could throw at us.

And we waited.

Three weeks passed. Finally we got a mission. And from that point on, until near the last two months of our deployment, we just kept getting missions, one after another. We ran clearing ops in three of the most volatile cities of the Al Anbar province, Ramadi, Fallujah, and Habbaniyah.

We ran some pretty spine-tingling operations, a few of which made the nightly news. We were working in an area where other, more stationary units were taking dozens of KIA during their deployments. We had our fair share of casualties, some of them very serious. I myself was the casualty of a roadside IED back in March. It was not too serious, but certainly startling. There were three other Marines with me at the time, and all four of us came closer than we would have desired to the flying slag and shrapnel of shredded vehicle armor and equipment. But we suffered only six fallen brothers in our battalion. All of them were courageously committed men who had earned the respect and admiration of the Marines they worked and fought with.

I suppose that there is still a layer of reality amid all of the games and challenges of turning life into an adventure. There is still responsibility. There is still emotion, both joyous and tragic. There is consequence. There is living with the choices you have made.

When I think of memorable experiences now, I will include other things to the standard list of bouldering, scorpion-catching, and stargazing. The rate at which my heart thundered in my ears as I kicked in doors and cleared rooms immediately after being hit by an IED on the roads outside of Habbaniyah definitely rivaled any high I have ever felt while preparing to leap into the dark waters of Lake Powell from a protruding sandstone rock face.

It was a unique thrill to poke around in the bushes at the edge of the Euphrates River, looking for camel spiders, cobras and saw-scaled vipers instead of bull snakes and diamondback rattlers.

The age and history of ancient Mesopotamia were tangible enough to be felt in my bones, and thick enough to be breathed in and tasted as I looked over the vast, desolate stretches of dust and sand outside of the frantic noise of the cities. It was not unlike the heavy sense of reverence that I feel upon sitting quietly and gazing upon the abandoned cliff-dwellings of the original Southwest inhabitants.

Racing up walls, roofs, riverbanks, and hills in over eighty pounds of armor, comm. gear, weaponry, and water, while not my favorite pastime, was still a personal challenge of endurance and reckless daring. Worthy of any of my twenty-mile day hikes back home.

I was reminded of my missionary days in Argentina as I went through the neighborhoods of Ramadi, Fallujah, and Habbaniyah, meeting the people, playing with the kids, trying to learn their language and customs. It was easy to see some good coming of an otherwise violently unpleasant situation, as Marines handed out school and medical supplies to eager children, as families finally dared to emerge from their homes because we had set up secure areas where they knew that insurgent activity would be sorely impeded, where they could live, and work, and play in peace. People would beg us not to go once we were done with an op.

I think that I will learn from and grow from the undesirable memories and lessons that I have from Iraq too. The tedious hours doing busy work while the rest of my squad is out on a recon patrol. The grudging patience with, and painful obedience to incomprehensible, and sometimes inane commands.

The horrible feeling of helplessness as I watch a combat surgeon operate on a man whose lungs are gunshot and rapidly filling with blood.

And I don’t think that I am ever going to forget the stench of charred human flesh. I am not going to get over the hollow in my soul that was there as I cleaned up the armor and weaponry that a fellow Marine had been using when he was killed.

There was still more to drag me down to stark reality once I came home as well. The weight in the pit of my stomach as I attended the memorial service of one of the guys that I was just joking around with in Fallujah. The convulsing sobs of another’s wife and children as the Chaplain talks of heroic deeds and noble sacrifice.

So, looking into my own soul, I begin to preach. Peter Pan, life is a challenge. A game. You know what you have to do. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Don’t panic when you can’t control the world around you. Don’t lose sight of the joy and the wisdom that later come from living a good life, even if existence is sometimes harsh.

So with all of those sins of commission lurking out there, what kinds of things should a person do? Go on a quest. Go climb a mountain. Kayak down a stretch of whitewater. Earn a degree. Teach kids in Peru how to speak English. Tackle one of your fears or weaknesses. Turn it into a strength.

Whatever it is, go courageously, and commit yourself to a cause, an exploration. And enjoy life.

I think that there is some solace to be had in the idea, to me anyway, that my fallen brothers didn’t go sitting down, doing nothing. They were actively engaged in helping their brothers in arms win the fight. Maybe all of them were on their own quests for adventure, for meaningful, life-inspiring experiences. There are some of us who knew them who have set aside a place in our hearts for honor, for mourning, for memories. I would hope that their sacrifices would have positive, life-inspiring effects on those who will still remember them even after the war in Iraq is over with and set aside for whatever takes its place.

Guatemala Multi-Adventure Trek

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 04:58:00 +0000

Here's my daughter's account of her trip
See more photos from this trip

It’s my daughter’s fault that I’m relaxing on a beach here in Monterrico, Guatemala, reminiscing about a fun trip where we mountain biked technical singletrack, explored an ancient Mayan ruin, kayaked across one of the most beautiful lakes in the world and climbed an active volcano searching for flowing lava.

Fresh out of high school, excited to go to college, Xanthe decided to spend part of the summer doing volunteer work at an orphanage in a developing nation. “Right,” I said to myself, not taking her seriously. But a few months later, when she had $1,000 in the bank, I decided she was serious and so I started to learn about Guatemala.

A friend works for a non-profit organization down there and she set up the volunteer stint. I wanted to let Xanthe see some of the sights and so I started doing Internet research about possible destinations. I soon discovered Guatemala does not offer posh, trendy resorts. Rather, it has many great albeit little-known wonders that appealed to my sense of adventure. Not wanting my little blond girl to wander around down there all alone, I happily volunteered to tour with her. (She was still on her own at the orphanage.)

I discovered that Guatemala is best known for its Mayan ruins (including Tikal and other famous sites). The country also boasts majestic volcanoes (three of which are active). Another well-known attraction is Lake Atitlan (which locals proudly describe as the most beautiful lake in the world). Atitlan is indeed beautiful, surrounded to towering, heavily forested volcanoes that climb almost straight up from the shoreline. Atitlan has become a refuge for displaced Europeans and Americans because it is beautiful, the weather is perfect (around 75F most days of the year), and the cost of living is low.

Lesser-known attractions include the country’s vast jungle/rain forest region, its wide rivers (including scenic waterfalls and some whitewater), and a long stretch of Pacific coast beach that is beautiful but almost deserted.

It soon became obvious that we could never see all interesting attractions in one visit. We decided to focus on the western side (since that is where the orphanage is located).

Usually when I travel I like a flexible schedule so I can wander a bit, adjusting to circumstance and my fickle whims. Not this time. Since I don’t know Spanish, and didn’t know the country, I elected to take the fat tourist approach and had a booking agency arrange a customized, fully-guided excursion. I told the people at enjoyguatemala.com what I wanted to do and they arranged transportation, hotels and guides.

Our trip unfolded exactly as planned and we had a very enjoyable time. Our guides were excellent (personable and knowledgeable about their sports). They kept us out of trouble and made sure we had fun.

We began by exploring Iximche, a small complex of post-classic Mayan ruins. I learned that indigenous people consider these sites to be sacred. Some come there to burn candles and perform religious ceremonies. While we were there a small group assembled on one ancient structure and played traditional music, some using traditional instruments. The music was beautiful and the performers, in brightly colored costumes, created a memorable scene.

Next we biked down a mountain above Lake Atitlan. We started out on a dirt road, riding past cultivated fields and a small village. The countryside is beautiful and that part of the ride was pleasant. We stopped briefly at a lean-to where several women were working, hand weaving cloth for rugs and clothing items. With the women’s permission, I took several photos. I understand it is customary is to offer payment when you photograph natives; I did so and the women looked grateful.

We continued our trek and soon turned off onto a rougher road, which crossed a stream several times. Ah, a little excitement. The road gave way to rocky singletrack, which plunged over cut banks where it crossed the stream. That part of the trail was technical enough that I had to get off and walk my bike over some spots.

I’m from Utah (USA), and we Utahns think we invented mountain biking. I’m not a great rider but I enjoy the sport and I’ve ridded with guides over some highly touted trails. That Guatemalan route was pretty good. And our guide really was excellent. He put us on good quality bikes and provided helmets and riding gloves. He was very enthusiastic about biking. Put him in Moab and he could work for any of the guide services there.

I learned that mountain biking is starting to catch on as a sport in Guatemala. Natives ride bikes everywhere, as a practical matter, but now some people are riding for sport, and blazing new trails through the volcanic mountains. The country has real potential for serious biking.

To end our ride we coasted down a paved road through the village of Panajachel, to the shoreline of Lake Atitlan. We ate lunch there and visited the open-air market. My sales resistance was low and I bought more than I intended. It is hard to walk away from the persistent little children and sad-faced old ladies.

Next we kayaked partway around the lake - paddling until we were good and tired. The villages around the lakeshore are very picturesque - picture postcard views in every direction. Xanthe couldn’t resist jumping into the clear water, which was cool but not cold.

I understand the lake offers good bass fishing, but I didn’t have time to try.

The next morning we meet our guide early and headed out to climb Pacaya Volcano. Hikes are possible on several Guatemalan volcanoes; some routes are quite challenging and a couple routes require multi-day backpacks. Pacaya is not one of the difficult ones. You can drive most of the way up the mountain and it is easy hiking the rest of the way if you stay on the well-established trail.

Pacaya is attractive because it is alive and unpredictable. During the past few months it has been erupting, slowly, with a continual small lava flow. Before that it threw a violent fit and shot ash out over Guatemala City, 18 miles away. The lava flow changes from day to day. Sometimes you can see the flow. Our guide hoped to get us up close enough that he could poke a stick into it. He had us hike a faint trail along the rim, searching for the lava.

We could hear it hiss and pop, but a cloud had settled onto the mountain and the mist made it impossible to see very far. It also made it dangerous to descend off the steep rim. We tried hard to find the flow, but gave up when the clouds thickened around us.

We hiked out onto new lava - which had completely filled up a valley during a large eruption last April. In spots you could feel heat coming up through the rocks. In one spot our guide shoved a stick down into the rocks and it instantly started on fire. Lava was close, right under us, but we couldn’t see it.

Pacaya is lush, like a manicured garden. Short grass, towering tress and flowers everywhere. It was beautiful in the midst.

To complete our tour we spent a night at a resort on the beach at Monterrico. The beach there is very nice, with clean black volcanic sand stretching for miles. The waves are strong and there can be strong riptides. That makes it tickly to swim, body surf or surf. But it also makes it exciting.

Small resorts and private residences sit just off the beach, along the scenic shoreline. But I was surprised because the beach was almost deserted. Even on Sunday there were only scattered groups here and there. And the beachgoers were all Guatemalans, as near as I could tell. Spanish was the only language I heard.

I gathered that the other people at our resort were young professionals with their families, taking a weekend break. The area has the potential to become a popular tourist spot, but the infrastructure (access roads, in particular) would need significant improvements.

I understand there is a small but growing local surfing community, although I did not see a single surfer.

The Guatemalan coast offers great deep-sea fishing, particularly for billfish, but I didn’t have time to try it.

It was a great trip. Now I’m anxious to go back. I think I’ll need to make several trips. I’ll be back, soon, exploring the classic Mayan ruins. I also want to boat into the jungle from the country’s small Caribbean coast. I’ve been told that Guatemala’s Caribbean coast provides easy access to the famous diving and fishing areas off Belize - that access is easier and less expensive coming from Guatemala than from Belize.

I’d also like to go deep sea fishing on the Pacific side.

Adventuring in Guatemala is affordable - I was pleasantly surprised at how cheap it is to fly to the country, stay in nice hotels and hire guides. Guatemala is one of those developing destinations not yet overrun by tourists, where you can enjoy great adventure at an affordable price.

But the country does have its problems. Traveler safety is an issue. When we read the US State Department synopsis on Guatemala we were concerned because it says there have been aggressive, violent attacks. That’s one reason I elected to go with guides rather than attempt a do-it-yourself adventure. But we had no problems and never felt threatened in any way. We took measures to minimize risk, and found the people to be friendly and hospitable.

Guatemala is a developing country. As you travel you see poverty. Many roads are inadequate and driving can be hectic. Many towns are congested and some areas look dirty and run down.

The country has an efficient bus system - busses go everywhere and it is very inexpensive to ride them. They are affectionately known as “chicken buses.” They are always crowded, with some people carrying produce and/or chickens and other farm animals. I would not recommend riding the chicken buses unless you speak Spanish fluently and take the time to learn about the culture and bus routes.

If you cruise to Jamaica or fly into fly into Puerto Vallarta you have a sanitized experience. Everything is beautiful. Third World? What Third World?

Now I enjoy a firm mattress, clean sheets and a nice steak. I don’t want to plunge headlong into trouble. But I enjoy meeting real people in real communities, muddy roads notwithstanding. I prefer to avoid sanitized resorts.

If you are really interested in seeing the country and meeting its people, consider volunteering at an orphanage. That was the highlight for my daughter.

Details:

Map of Guatemala

I booked through enjoyguatemala.com and they were excellent.

I enjoyed these tours:
Lake Atitlan Multiadventure
Pacaya Volcano Hike

Most major US airlines fly into Guatemala City
I flew Delta from Salt Lake City (SLC) to LAX to Guatemala (GUA)

Most tourists say in Antigua, an interesting colonial city. It offers several quality hotels geared for American and European tourists, plus a large central marketplace where you can buy anything - literally. Prices are good. Most tours leave from Antigua hotels. If you don’t book ahead of time, you can always find tours once you arrive in Antigua. Just walk through the market and you’ll see a number of companies.

I stayed at the Real Plaza Hotel in Antigua, Hotel Utz-Tzaba in Monterrico and Hotel Stofella in Guatemala City. All were mid-priced, comfortable and clean.

State Auction Will Sell Rec Property

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 03:31:00 +0000

The Utah Trust Lands office provided the info below. (Trust Lands manages school trust property, and occasionally sells off parcels to raise money.)

Dear Prospective Trust Lands Buyer:

The Trust Lands Administration will offer over 20 properties for sale at public auction on Friday, October 12, 2007, at 10:00 a.m. The auction will be held at the Little America Hotel in Salt Lake City. Some properties are suitable for industrial/ commercial uses or residential development. Others are ideally located for individual home sites, agricultural uses, and recreational uses. The following is a brief summary of the lands that will be offered:

Beaver County:
The North Creek property consists of 52.22 acres and is located approximately 5 miles northeast of Beaver and 3.5 miles southeast of Manderfield. The property is zoned for agriculture and offers privacy, solitude, clean mountain air, great views, and country atmosphere. The Fishlake National Forest boundary is only 2 miles away. The area offers many good recreational opportunities, including hunting, fishing, hiking, and site-seeing.

Box Elder County:
The Promontory North parcel consists of 714.38 acres and is located near the eastern edge of the Great Salt Lake on the west side of the Promontory Peninsula, approximately 9 miles west of the Golden Spike National Historic Site. The property has historically been used for seasonal cattle grazing.

Piute County:
Four parcels located on the northwest side of Otter Creek Reservoir, approximately 8 miles north of Antimony and 1 mile south of Angle, will be offered. The Otter Creek parcels offer excellent recreational opportunities, including fishing and boating, as well as easy access to Otter Creek State Park on the south end of the reservoir. Two of the parcels consist of 80 acres each and have some frontage on the reservoir when it is full. The other two parcels consist of slightly less than 40 acres each. The parcels will be offered separately.

San Juan County:
Eight Montezuma Creek parcels will be offered. The parcels range in size from 0.84 to 3.69 acres and are located in the city of Montezuma Creek on the Navajo Nation Reservation. The properties are in a developed area and are zoned for commercial use. Water, power, and sewer are available to each property. Each parcel will be offered separately.

Located in a remote area approximately 10 miles north of Monticello and 35 miles south of Moab, the Photograph Gap property is situated on the road leading to the spectacular Canyonlands National Park. This property consists of 180 acres. Good agricultural opportunity exists, along with recreational and residential opportunities.

Utah County:
Three Lake Shore properties, located about 5 miles west of Spanish Fork, are ideal for agricultural and residential uses. Parcels 1 and 2 each consist of 50 acres, and Parcel 3 consists of 120 acres. Two of the properties are currently being cultivated. The third parcel is horse property. Water rights are included. Each parcel will be offered separately. State financing is not available for these properties.

Washington County:
Located in a country club subdivision 5 miles southwest of St. George, the Tonaquint – Montezuma at Bloomington parcel sits in a small canyon. The site is exceptionally scenic and quiet, due to its canyon location and minimal exposure to roadway traffic. Large single family homes and the Bloomington Country Club and Golf Course are nearby. This 15.20 acre parcel is currently zoned as open space. A zoning change and other municipal approvals will need to be obtained prior to any development.

The Shoal Creek property is located approximately 2.5 miles west of Enterprise. This 10 acre parcel is bordered on all sides by private land. Some recreational opportunity exists. The parcel is zoned Open Space Transitional.

Wayne County:
Two Hanksville properties, just outside city limits, are suitable for various uses, including commercial and residential development. This property lies south of the town of Hanksville and offers excellent recreational opportunities, with easy access to Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and Lake Powell which are within an hour’s drive. Parcel A contains 80 acres, and Parcel B contains 160 acres.

State financing is available on most properties being offered. If you would like further information about any of the above properties, the auction process or financing options, please feel free to call me toll-free at (877) 526-3725 [877-LANDSALE], or visit us on the Web at www.trustlands.com.

Another Monster Catfish Caught At Huntington North Reservoir

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 23:03:00 +0000

This is from a DWR news release:

Reservoir is yielding big catfish

HUNTINGTON — Price resident Calvin Grogan landed a lake-record catfish at Huntington North Reservoir on Aug. 8. The channel catfish weighed 27 pounds and measured 36 inches.

Grogan caught the fish at 10:20 p.m. that evening. Huntington North Reservoir is two miles north of the town of Huntington in east-central Utah.

Grogan was fishing from the bank near the boat dock that evening. He baited his size-2 treble hook with raw chicken meat and liver, and cast it into the water. Once he hooked the monster fish, it took him 20 minutes to land it.

This latest catch breaks a record at the lake that was established just three weeks ago by Clifton Elliot of Price. Elliot landed a 25-pound, 34-inch catfish on July 26.

This latest catch still falls short of the state record channel cat. It was caught in 1978 at Utah Lake. That fish tipped the scale at 32.5 pounds and measured 39.75 inches.

Utah’s Best Waterfalls

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:02:00 +0000

I found time today to upload some of my better waterfall photos. You can see them here.

This new waterfall photo gallery doesn’t include falls that are found in national parks or other areas. To see those photos look at my Zion Park waterfalls, Grand Canyon Havasu Falls, and Calf Creek Falls albums.

And I’ve tweaked my Google map showing waterfall locations.

I still have photos to upload, but I’ve run out of time.

Tomorrow I leave on a trek where I’ll be climbing volcanoes and exploring ancient ruins. Now, we have some of those things in southern Utah but for this trip I’m going to Guatemala where I’ll climb the active Mount Pacaya volcano and check out some Mayan ruins.

My daughter persuaded me to go on this trip. She has been down there for a few weeks, doing volunteer work at an orphanage. I wanted to let her see some of the sights, but didn’t want a little blond girl wandering around Guatemala by herself. Should be a fun adventure.

Does it fit under Red Rock? Sure, I’ll give a report on the trip.

Get Ready For Archery Deer Hunt, Turkeys, Chukars, Pheasants

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 02:39:00 +0000

DWR has released an Archery Deer Hunt forecast by region, saying the number of young bucks is up this year.

DWR includes tips for a safe archery hunt.

DWR is proposing major changes in turkey hunting, and has scheduled youth pheasant and cuckar hunts.

These are excellent, in-depth articles. Hunters interested in these species should read them.

Google Maps Show Locations of Waterfalls

noreply@blogger.com (Dave) — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 04:11:00 +0000

I've been way too busy lately, but have still found time to make a few website improvements. I've been implementing Google Maps on the site, and using them to provide an alternate navigation method.

I never actually finish anything, but my waterfalls section shows the concept. Note that when you click on one of the markers it opens a small window with a title, link and thumbnail. That gives you some info to use as you judge whether you want to click further to an inside page.

I plan to use this kind of scheme throughout the website, if I can find time to develop it. Fishing sections, in particular, will be enhanced when people can see where waters are, and see a photo of the waters, before clicking.

I'm interested in comments - what do you think about this approach.

- Dave