BonnevilleMariner

Weekly Run-Down: Site Updates and Vending Machine Wierdness

2008-04-01T10:14:00.001-07:00

Goodbye Blogger, Hello Wordpress!

It was a really tough decision—ok, no, it wasn’t—but I’m officially abandoning Blogger and hopping over to Wordpress. Blogger is the only Google product that disappoints me. It works ok for regular blogspot.com blogs, but FTP blogs- not so much. It’s clunky, temperamental, and rigid. Wordpress isn’t perfect, but it’s stable and versatile. Plus it’s got better widgets, the ability to create multiple pages, and a wider variety of templates. Since mine is an FTP blog (it resides on my own domain rather than a blogspot subdomain), publishing with Blogger is delay-prone, error-ridden pain in the butt. Wordpress will allow me to post, edit, and customize things much easier.

I’ll be migrating the site over for the next day or so, and everything should be working properly by the end of the week. The URL will remain the same (www.bonnevillemariner.com), but the format will be different. For those of you who subscribe to my RSS feed, the feed URL will obviously change. Check back by Friday and you can re-subscribe to the new feed. You may see a handful of older posts come through on the feed, but that’s just me doing some housekeeping.

Vending Machine Freakiness: A Sign?

Could this be some weird what-comes-around-goes-around lesson, or are the vending machines at work just having some April Fools Day fun at my expense?

So yesterday I go into the break room to get a granola bar from the vending machine. I drop in 75 cents (an absolute rip-off, I know. But what I am I going to do when I don’t have time to grab breakfast before I leave?). The machine steals my money and I walk away hungry and mad. I walk in later that afternoon to buy a Diet Pepsi, which, at $1.25 is even more of a rip-off. I insert 4 quarters and realize I don’t have the 5th. So I hit the coin return button. Nothing.

All I’ve got is a $5 bill, so I walk over to the food machine that robbed me earlier because it accepts $5 bills. If I buy something there, I’ll get $4.25 back in quarters. Then I can add my final quarter to the Pepsi machine and get my Diet Pepsi. I insert my $5 and buy the only thing in there that’s somewhat healthy- the granola bar I was robbed of earlier and that I’ve been craving all day. Not only do I get my granola bar, but the machine graciously drops an extra one, then returns my $4.25.

I drop the final quarter in the Pepsi machine and press the Diet Pepsi button. It drops not one, but two regular Pepsi’s, which took me about 10 minutes to wiggle from the slot. At this point I figure that even though it gave me the wrong bottles, I didn’t see any “Buy One, Get One Free” signs anywhere, so I owe the Pepsi machine $1.25. I figured I’d call the 800 number the next day and inform them that their Pepsi machine was giving away free pop.

That was yesterday. I return today to buy an actual Diet Pepsi (expecting perhaps a Dr. Pepper) and this time, no Pepsi of any variety. I push the coin return. Nothing. Looks like we’re even.

Hunt for aquatic fossils takes one back to before Utah was

2008-03-28T08:47:00.005-07:00

Mississippian Period (ambrotype by Alison Carey)

"The prospect of fossil discovery put an extra spring in his step that day. For some reason, this area is a hot spot for invertebrate fossils -- crinoids, bi-valve seashells, and horn coral in particular. We stopped to rest on a large limestone slab and I scanned the vast desert below, wondering what made this desolate mountainside such a popular final resting place for ancient sea creatures.
"'It's a combination of a few things,' Mark Milligan told me. He explained that to understand why parts of Utah are so fossil-rich, we must look at ancient geology. Rewind past the great Lake Bonneville, past the formation of the mountain ranges and even the age of the dinosaurs to the Mississippian Period -- roughly 350 million years ago -- when "here" technically wasn't here ... yet."

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

Campfire stories: An art form that survives in the TV age of SpongeBob

2008-03-23T22:09:00.002-07:00

"No matter your cable or satellite package, there's at least one channel almost exclusively devoted to his screwball undersea exploits. While television probably plays a less-than-average role in our household, I must admit that the SpongeBob Revolution has officially taken the Thomsen family by storm. And as obnoxious as the show is, I must admit that I find it hysterically addicting.
"The simply-drawn 2D characters and their perky ocean world have a way of sucking you in, instantly hypnotizing you. For the adult, it starts with the casual walk past the TV, then a quick sit-down to catch a punch line. Four hours and 37 episodes later, you're peeling yourself off the couch, wondering where the time went.

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

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

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

Sometimes worst-laid plans make for best adventures

2008-03-13T21:44:00.004-07:00

Wild horses in Skull Valley (photo from wikipedia)

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

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

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

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

Drive on Old Lincoln Highway evokes golden age of adventure motoring

2008-03-07T11:03:00.003-07:00

"As the popularity of automobile travel increased, so did the already growing demand for more car-friendly routes. Entrepreneur Carl Fisher dreamed of building a continuous transcontinental highway, and began promoting the idea in 1912. In 1913, the Lincoln Highway Association was formed and the first section of the highway was completed. By 1919, the "improved" dirt highway connecting Times Square in New York City and Lincoln Park in San Francisco had cut a highly anticipated auto route through nearly 3,400 miles of rugged America.
"Much of the eastern half of the Utah stretch is now a combination of major freeways and highly-traveled roads. But Utah favored the more practical Victory Highway (present I-80) for travel through the western half of the state, and civilization gravitated northward. Thus, like the Pony Express Route, much of the Tooele County stretch of the Lincoln Highway has preserved its historic, middle-of-nowhere uniqueness."

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

Looking east across Rush Valley from the summit of Johnson's Pass.
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

Old wagon at Orr's Ranch, Skull Valley
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

Closeup of the log cabin at Orr's Ranch, Skull Valley
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

South Willow Canyon provides a quiet snowshoe outing for father and son

2008-02-29T22:51:00.006-07:00

"Boys come prepackaged with three innate characteristics which seem to inevitably express themselves independent of nature or nurture: a love for fire, the urge to climb stuff, and the impulse to throw rocks into bodies of water. In the case of rock-throwing, the larger the better.
"Since I began writing these columns, I've become accustomed to pausing to gather my thoughts on a place and jot them down later. Coulter vocalized my thoughts in toddlerspeak when I set him down to strap on the snow shoes.

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

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

First date gone wrong leads to shared love of outdoors

2008-02-22T10:37:00.006-07:00

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

Yeah, that's where I stranded us.
Looking west toward the Salt Lake Valley from Broads Fork Trail in Big Cottonwood Canyon.
(photo by UtahPictures.com)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No dice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lone Rock climb rewards with views of the past

2008-02-18T18:48:00.003-07:00

"Friends and relatives affectionately poke fun at my near pious affinity for Skull Valley. Whether its name derives from scattered buffalo skulls or the discovery of numerous Indian skulls in the valley -- the historical debate remains unsettled -- Skull Valley has always been my happy place.
"Perhaps it's the mysterious mountains and the miles of empty space between them, or the colorful histories of the pioneers, outlaws, and Indians who wandered its paths so long ago. Even before I met my wife in Skull Valley, I spent my teenage years tracing forgotten roads and playing tackle football on the mud flats."

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

Click here to read the full article.

Exploring wild Florida at The Disney Wilderness Preserve

2008-02-13T17:27:00.005-07:00

Bonneville Mariner recounts a January, 2008 visit to The Nature Conservancy's central Florida gem, The Disney Wilderness Preserve.

“I don't like formal gardens. I like wild nature.
It's just the wilderness instinct in me, I guess.”
-Walt Disney

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exploring White Rock brings peril aplenty

2008-02-10T04:20:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Sleeping through the static: Jack Johnson's new album a downer

2008-02-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

"No. Please don't tell me this is the best song on this album."

Those were my thoughts upon hearing the first single, "If I Had Eyes", from Jack Johnson's newly released "Sleep Through the Static."

I had waited nearly two years for new music from Johnson. His last release, the brilliant "Sing-A-Longs and Lullabies" from the Curious George movie, left me begging for more.

While recording "Sing-A-Longs", Jack informed his fans that he would be taking a couple years off to hang out with his kids and do some environmental stuff. Though I was bummed about the wait, I admired Jack for focusing on fatherhood, and I figured the time off might inspire a stellar return to the studio.

Boy, was I wrong.

And I shouldn't be surprised. Every artist has his growing pains. "Static" is clearly Jack Johnson's mid-career crisis album.

And I should have seen it coming. Jack's previous albums, "Sing-A-Long" and "In Between Dreams" were preluded by months of interviews, behind-the-scenes videos, and preview performances. I tabbed out the ukulele part of "Wrong Turn" weeks before "Sing-A-Longs" hit store shelves.

"Static" enjoyed no such hype. No preview performances or radio interviews- just a mention here and there about Jack's solar-powered studio or his environmental activism. Oh- and by the way, he's releasing an album in February.

These days the Web is everything. But when the album dropped Tuesday, Jack's website looked like it hadn't been updated since "Sing-A-Longs" and his web forums were still not up since going down "for maintenance" December. An interesting way to market a new album.

Well, it turns out there isn't much here to market or hype. "Static" retains Jack's signature mellow sound, but he's ditched the radio-friendly riffs and hooks that skyrocketed him into surf rock fame in favor of structureless, melancholy dribble.

I can't criticize the production, the instrumentation, the lyrics, or Jack's voice. It's just that the whole seems much less than the sum of its parts.

Don't get me wrong- I've been a Jack Johnson fanatic from the early days when he was a college kid writing campfire songs for the beach. I get Jack Johnson. But as much as I love the guy, I can't sugarcoat my disappointment with this album.

"In Between Dreams" was great because it was fresh and lyrically exciting. Songs like "No Other Way" and "Breakdown" blow me away every time I hear them. "Sing-A-Longs" was great primarily because it was a soundtrack. Jack's unmatched knack for pairing simple music with emotional imagery is what launched his musical career. Curious George doesn't speak and Jack's job in that film was to provide his voice through the music. The attention to mood and instrumentation on that record is stunning.

"Static" sounds as if Jack threw it together in a few hours on a really stormy day. Gone are the playful cynicism and the upbeat introspection. Every song on the record sounds like a Wal-Mart "bonus track"- you know, the B-side, so-so songs that record label throws in for free when you purchase an album there. By the end of the album you feel like you've listened to the same song 14 times.

Music industry spotlight articles tried their best to up-play the album prior to its release by raving about Jack's maturing lyrical sensibilities and world-weary savvy. But "mature" lyrics don't necessarily mean good music. In his defense, he did write this album amidst political upheaval and the death of a friend. But to be brutally honest, Jack could be singing Microsoft technical documentation and I don't think I'd notice a difference here.

I'm sure, like many other albums, "Static" will grow on me. Despite my frustration with this album, Jack retains his spot in the Holy Trinity of my life's soundtrack (flanked on both sides by U2's Bono and Alison Krauss). But here's to wishing Jack will step off his soapbox and back onto the beach.

Ice fishing at Grantsville reservoir chills the body, warms the soul

2008-02-03T22:25:00.000-07:00

Ice over Grantsville Reservoir (photos by Clint Thomsen)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben's Rainbow

Kickin' it on Cocoa Beach

2008-01-29T02:22:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

The rain had left most of the beach area parking lots with 3-4 inches of water.

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

Shirts in the actual store go for about $25.

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

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

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

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

Winter camp on Pony Express trail full of history and adventure for all ages

2008-01-24T23:39:00.001-07:00

Simpson Springs Pony Express Station
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

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

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

Cold, cold night, awesome morning.

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

Dugway Pass looking eastward (photo by Clint Thomsen)

Stairs to nowhere: remains of the CCC camp at Simpson Springs
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

Little Hunter Passes On

2008-01-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

For those of you following the life of Hunter Greyson Keel, which I touched on a few weeks ago, I'm sad to inform you that he passed away on January 11. I received a note from his mother several days ago. In it, she said that Hunter's first Christmas was wonderful, and that Hunter passed comfortably as she held him in her arms.

You can read his obituary here.

Amber, you and Dennis are in my thoughts and prayers.

Remote geode beds allow rockhounds to search for buried treasure

2008-01-21T22:54:00.000-07:00

"Even if you're not familiar with the word "geode," you probably know exactly what they look like after they've been cut and polished. They're the rough rounded rocks with hollow, crystal-lined cavities that you see in abundance at museum gift shops and on bosses' desks at work. These spherical wonders began as gas-filled lava bubbles produced by ancient volcanoes and formed over millions of years. Large deposits of geodes are located along the old Pony Express route that winds through Tooele and Juab counties.
My friend Dave had invited Tyler and I down to the Dugway geode beds, and we decided to bring our kids along for the adventure. I jump at any chance to drive the Pony Express route because it's a history-paved road through some of the most desolately beautiful terrain in the state. The 133-mile-long byway passes strange geological phenomena, station house ruins, and the only real pet cemetery I've ever heard of or seen. Whether you're a trail-weary express rider in 1860 or a Mountain Dew-sipping road-tripper in 2008, the landscape along most of the route looks exactly the same."

A drink of Lake Bonneville, anyone?

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

Weekly Run-Down: Interview with Deb Goodrich

2008-01-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

Varina Howell Davis, First Lady of
the Confederate States of America

Regular readers of this website know of my fascination with the American South. I'm a 5th generation Utahn on both sides, and before marrying my Texas belle I had never set foot in a southern state. Yet every time I visit the South, I feel like I'm coming home. The South is an essential element of Americana. It's more than just the food, the music, and culture. It's the underlying roots of these things- a unique blend of nature, peoples, and history- that have fused together in time's crucible to form a rich and enduring character.

I'm not sure, as an outsider, that I can ever truly understand the South. Author/Guide/Blogger/History buff Debra Goodrich does. Deb was born in Mt. Airy, NC- Andy Griffith's home town and the real-life model for the fictional "Mayberry". She grew up in the nearby Blue Ridge foothills and is a southern girl to the core. She has spent much of her life researching the historic figures and events that shaped the South. I recently asked her for some insight on the South, and the following is the first half of our cyber interview:

BONNEVILLEMARINER: If you could travel back in time only once to any point in southern history, where would you go and which event would you witness?

DEB GOODRICH: I would go back to about 1850, to Ararat, Virginia, and Mount Airy, North Carolina, where I grew up. The communities--The Hollow, Doe Run, My great-grandparents and great-great grandparents would have been children, and when I read the census reports from that year it awakens so much curiosity in me about the families that would intermarry, the roads that would be built, the men who would go off to war. Jeb Stuart's family was still in the neighborhood, and I would like to hang out at the post office and watch the families stopping to get their mail. I'd like to go to Galax and Fries and Independence, over to Indian Valley, up to Roanoke, down to Winston and Salem and Boone and Yadkinville across the state line. So there is no real event I'd choose to see, just the daily lives of my ancestors.

BM: If you could have dinner with one historical southern figure, who would it be and why?

DG: I've thought often about this and posed the question to several folks myself, and the answer is difficult. Since I've been working for so long on the life of Varina Davis, I would most enjoy sitting down with her, but at what point in her life and in what context? Varina, like most Southern society, or society of any part of the world, was conscious of class. Would she accept me as a reporter? Since she was a writer, I think so, but I'm not sure. As an author, I might be acceptable on her social level, but as just a "Common White," as my former professor put it, Varina might not feel free to open up to me. Would I want to interview the First Lady of the Confederacy, a woman shuffling children and national diplomacy? Or would I choose to speak with the elderly Varina who had suffered the deaths of five children and her husband who could reflect on her extraordinary life? Would she be insulted, embarrassed, exposed to know I had read the private letters between her and her husband or closest friends? She possessed a tremendous heart, which grew as she grew older, but had been so wounded. A part of my desire to talk with her is simply woman to woman, not as a journalist or historian, but simply as someone who has been inspired by her courage and compassion. I would very much like to take her hand between mine and tell her how often I have thought of her and wished her peace.

BM: A southern-based travel agent once told me "When you come here, the South will get in your blood. Doesn't matter if you go to Louisiana, Kentucky, or North Carolina. It's all the same. It'll be in your blood for the rest of your life." What is it about the American South that makes it so distinct? What makes it bleed so deep into the American psyche?

DG: Many people have tried to answer this, and I understand it more deeply and believe it more strongly as I travel, but find it more difficult to put into words. Perhaps watching Paula Deen on the Food Channel explains it best. People perceive Southerners as having more fun. I hate to make it sound that trivial, but I believe at the heart of the matter, that is it. There's all this hype about storytelling and Southern hospitality, and the pace of life's being slower in the South, but I think what this all boils down to is "We're having more fun!" That's why people visit the South, move to the South, won't leave the South. Church and Family and Society translate to getting together-for food, for music, for drink. Even for the Baptists who don't drink in public, the ultimate goal is always a party. People are forever planning how to get together, where to get together, when to get together, and who's going to bring the potato salad. That is the focus of Southern life. Some folks manage a job or some major accomplishments along the way, but that's pretty much it--getting together.

Stay tuned for part II. You can check out Deb's musings at her blog, Mason-Dixon Wild West. For information on tours, books, and talks, visit www.tomanddeb.com.

Floating Island: Chasing the Mirage

2008-01-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swords & Ukuleles: A visit to Davy Jones' locker

2008-01-06T21:40:00.001-07:00

"For certain, you have to be lost to find a place as can't be found,
elseways everyone would know where it was."

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

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

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

Coulter in Davy Jones' locker

This would make a good album cover.
Reminds me of U2's The Joshua Tree.

WEEKLY RUN-DOWN: LISTS

2008-01-02T13:38:00.001-07:00

I've been having one of those weeks where for some reason my mind works only in list format- lists of things to do, new years resolutions, ideas for my Transcript Bulletin articles, database server IP's for work, etc. So in keeping with this peculiar train of thought, this week's round-up consists of two unrelated random lists that have been floating around in my head lately.

Faces I'd like to see less of in outdoor magazines:

Every outdoors nut loves outdoors magazines. I read them because I like to analyze the writing styles in the feature articles and look at the numerous gear ads (I imagine having enough money to actually buy the stuff). But these mags also hack me off because they all practically worship an elite pantheon of "adventure gods."

Take Richard Branson, for example. The prettyboy billionaire Virgin CEO is everywhere. I'm hard-pressed to open any outdoors magazine and not see his his dyed blonde locks flowing somewhere within its pages. Sure, when he's not doing photo shoots for outdoors magazines, he's breaking world records, flitting around the globe on his planes, and building spaceships. But when you have that much time and money, what else are you going to do?

Then there's Aron Ralston, the solo climber that got pinned under a boulder in Utah's remote Blue John Canyon and had to cut his own arm off with a knock-off Leatherman. Outdoor magazines can't get enough of him. But had Ralston taken a partner with him or simply not survived the ordeal, he would have been lucky to get a blip on the local news along with snowboarders buried in avalanches they've accidentally triggered and fools stuck on ledges.

And I admire Lance Armstrong all day long, but reading the major outdoor magazines you'd think he was the only person ever to don spandex shorts and ride a bike. I like the guy, but I'm not sure we need a cover story on him every other month.

Gee, that was a grumpy list, huh? Let's get to the positive.

Some of my favorite writers:

I'm not really into fiction. What little reading time I get I'd rather spend with history, news, or real-life stories. I don't have time for pretend. So I apologize that J.K Rowling and John Grisham don't make my list. A good non-fiction writer can spin computer programming instructions into the most thrilling thing you've ever read. Here are a few of my favorites:

My favorite writer is freelancer Steve Friedman. I discovered him in Backpacker Magazine, but he's regularly published in major newspapers like The New York Times and The Washington Post, and is the author of three books. His writing style is a combination of self-deprecating humor and what I like to call "thinking out loud." I'd love to link to some of my favorite Friedman articles, but his website is under construction and the links to past articles have been (hopefully temporarily) removed. One of his more recent pieces, Lost in America, was featured in Best American Travel Writing 2007. Read it at backpacker.com.

Another of my favorites is Tom Goodrich. Tom is a Civil War historian and the author of several books (my favorite is Scalp Dance). He currently writes for Wild West Magazine's official blog. When he's not writing books or shooting the breeze on his blog, Tom and wife Deb (who we'll hear from on this website probably next week) can often be seen talking history in TV documentaries. Tom has a knack for digging to the heart of his subjects and telling stories in the words of the participants themselves. I always tell people my goal is to write campfire stories. These are the kind of stories Tom writes.

Dan Baum is another freelancer, whose articles have appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times Magazine, Wired, and other national magazines. He collaborates with Margaret Knox and most everything, but most of their stuff appears under his byline. Dan's work lately has focused on post-Katrina New Orleans, and his New Orleans Journal on The New Yorker's website is an excellent read. He and Margaret are working on a book about New Orleans that's due out next year.

Richard Menzies is best known for his work in the Salt Flat News, a quirky Wendover-based newspaper that ran in the early 1970's. Menzies' articles and unique photographs made the Salt Flat News a collector's item. "The original idea was that we would have a newspaper where nothing happens in the middle of nowhere," Menzies said in an interview with the Deseret News.

Menzies' most recent work is "Passing Through: An Existential Journey Across America's Outback." This book chronicles Menzies' experiences in the forgotten hinterlands of eastern Utah and western Nevada. The book is a must-read for anybody interested in these mysterious deserts and the people who call them home.

Winter camping can quickly become an exercise in survival

2008-01-01T11:09:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

Ophir is a treat for history, nature lovers

2007-12-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

The road to Ophir (photo by Clint Thomsen)

A group of mule deer at the mouth of the canyon
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

A small cabin on the east end of the town
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

Old ore cars along old Main Street
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

Helping Hunter

2007-12-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

As I was finishing up my Weekly Run-Down post for this week, my wife alerted me to something that switched my train of thought completely and touched my heart. I'm not usually one to take up causes, but I feel strongly about this one. Please take a moment to read this and visit the websites I'll link to.

Hunter Greyson Keel was born to Dennis and Amber Keel on April 14, 2007. He was born at 30 weeks gestation with semi-lobar holoprosencephaly (H.P.E.), a rare and almost always fatal condition characterized by the failure of the the forebrain to develop. Despite this condition and others- including a cleft lip and palate, only one functioning kidney, and dextrocardia- little Hunter's spirit is whole and strong and he blesses the lives of his family every day he's with them.

Because of his condition, Hunter stayed at Primary Children's Hospital until November, when Dennis and Amber decided against putting him through yet another surgery for mitral valve stenosis. Amber recounts the day they took Hunter home on her blog:

They told me that with his blood gas being as bad as it was, he may only have a few hours to a few days...they told me they were worried he wouldn't survive the ride home....This was 4 weeks ago. This roller coaster that Dennis and I have been on has been so stressful, we have gone through the "imminent" loss of our son so many times. I held him all the way home that night, I know I probably shouldn't have, but i couldn't bare having him pass in his car seat.

Since then, Hunter has continued to defy the odds against him. He's becoming aware of his surroundings and has learned to grasp and grab things. He loves focusing on faces and has started to smile. "The next goal is Christmas," Amber writes. "I cannot tell you how much i hope he chooses to spend it with us. We have the tree up, which he LOVES. We have his stocking, and will soon have his first ornament."

I think of my own kids, our youngest being just a month younger than Hunter, and I can't imagine what the Keels are going through. As we talked about Hunter and read Amber's blog, we couldn't help but be amazed at this family, their enduring spirit, and the love they have for their little boy. Amber writes about a particularly tough night last week:

I rocked him and patted his bottom and said "Hunter, I know that you have gone through so much, and have so many trials and discomforts...do you know how much you are loved baby boy?" I proceeded to tell him how much I loved him and daddy loved him, how much all of you love him and God and his angels love him. About halfway through the conversation he calmed down was just looking at me. Now, he may have just been wondering what his mother was chattering on and on about….but in my heart, I just know that he could understand what I was saying.

The toll of this experience has been emotional, but financial as well. As you can imagine, the hospital stay and the numerous procedures undertaken to help Hunter have resulted in overwhelming financial strain. This has prompted friends or family (perhaps both, I don't know) to create a website, Help For Hunter, where donations can be made.

I don't know the Keels, but I can't imagine being on the emotional roller coaster they're on. Financial donations cannot heal Hunter, but they can certainly ease some of the stress his parents are facing. With just under a week until Christmas, I can't think of a better gift then a donation or kind words for this family and their special little one. 2000 years ago, wise men gave gifts to a babe in a manger. What a blessing it is to have the same opportunity now.

If you're like me, sometimes the buzz and business of the season cloud the Christmas spirit. If you need a kick start this year, visit Amber Keel's blog here.

Please also visit www.HelpForHunter.com to make a donation or drop the Keels a line. Please keep Hunter and his parents in your thoughts and prayers this Christmas.

Clint

Snorkling on outskirts of Grantsville makes for excellent wintertime sport

2007-12-17T14:36:00.000-07:00

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

"I've always loved the ocean and everything associated with it. My sea gene became manifest one day as a young boy at SeaWorld, when I was selected from the audience to meet Shamu the killer whale. The moment I ran my hand over that slick orca skin I fell in love. I hugged the whale and fed him some squid and the sea has coursed through my veins ever since.
But ocean addiction is rough for a landlocked desert rat -- especially when the nearest coast is two states and hundreds of gas dollars away. And Discovery Channel specials and repeated viewings of "Finding Nemo" just don't cut it. So I was stoked to jump into the salty waters at Seabase. Linda handed me a head of romaine lettuce to coax fish within visual range and I descended the ladder into the spring. The water was chilly at first, but the neoprene wetsuit warmed me back up quickly. With lettuce in hand, I swam toward the center of the pool to make some tropical friends."

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

RELATED LINKS
Bonneville Seabase

Early morning drive proves Great Salt Lake is more than a big, dead pool

2007-12-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

Looking north toward Antelope Island
(photo by Clint Thomsen)

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

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

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

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