TriumphAnt

Springdale, Utah

At one point during the drive from Kayenta to Springdale, one of our backseat teens was heard to murmur, “The desert has a beauty all its own.” And yes, there was a whinge of sarcasm in her voice. Having left the Grand Canyon and the dust of the magnificent Monument Valley in our wake, we certainly weren’t bored, but we were becoming hard pressed to summon a feeling of “awe” with each new appearance of yet another marching line of mesas and buttes, or of the almost uncountable number of delicately coloured layers between their bases and their caps. I suspect that even though the country remained a fascinating vista, our passengers could likely have been forgiven for allowing the thought “When does it change?” to enter into their heads.

Then there’s that line about “Be careful what you wish for”.

As we neared a town that our map told us would be Page, Arizona, we crested a hill. Laid out before us was a vast valley. On our right was yes, yet another long plateau, culminating in a brief series of mesas and buttes. And in the distance on our left, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, was this:

http://www.trainweb.org/southwestshorts/bmlppowerplant.html

The Black Mesa / Lake Powell Generating Station (BMLPGS) takes long trainloads of coal gouged from nearby Black Mesa and converts it to electricity. In a wonderful example of closing the loop, the train is actually a single-purpose railroad – officially known as the Black Mesa – Lake Powell Railroad, or BMLPRR – with no connections to any other ribbon of steel between where it begins and where it ends. It’s the US railroad’s version of the Galapagos Islands. Built solely for the purpose of transporting this coal, the six locomotives are electric and their 50,000-volt overhead power line draws its electricity from the very plant to which it carries the raw material for electrical power production.

But when the plant first fired up beginning in 1974, it promptly ticked off a lot of people whose goal is to keep that part of the country attractive and interesting to tourists. Because the BMLPGS, you see, operating at full output burns the staggering total of 13-14 million tons (!!) of coal annually. In the process, the plant produces roughly 25,000 tons of nitrogen oxide and 14 million (!!) tons of carbon dioxide every year. And prior to the installation of the scrubbers to remove a large portion of the toxic gunk from its emissions, the plant emitted an annual average of 72,000 tons of the bad stuff every year. That was a lot of air pollution and much of it, apparently, found its way into the Grand Canyon, trapping a permanent haze in the vista between the Canyon’s north and south rims.

The Grand Canyon Trust (not surprisingly, given their name) was representative of several groups who were exceedingly unhappy with the BMLPGS. Eventually, they persuaded the Bush White House to grudgingly enact a practical application of its election promise to “clean up the air”, and this from the man who campaigned in part as “The Environmental President”. A nasty little very public release of several caustic faxes finally got Mr Bush to implement the clean-up that was agreed in 1991 and, nearly a decade later, finally led to the installation of water scrubbers and the reduction of emissions to their present volume of 6,000 tons annually.

But the bottom line for a tourist is this: the plant’s stacks still belch significant plumes of steam into the air, which when combined with the coal-dust blackened surroundings (that the low angle photo linked above conveniently blocks out) make for a most unattractive visual blight on a vista that combines the sparse desert landscape with the shoreline of Lake Powell. It’s a huge, ugly vapour-spewing behemoth that is visible for dozens of miles in all directions, sitting as it does near the low point on the floor of the surrounding valley.

Shortly after we crossed the BMLPRR and left the BMLPGS behind, we crossed another dam that, in Canada, easily would have qualified as the country’s biggest. But here, not too far from Hoover Dam, the Glen Canyon dam, behind which sits Lake Powell, earned an “Oh, that’s interesting” as we pressed on once more into Utah without really even slowing down. I felt a twinge of sadness, however, as I noted the roughly 40-foot high white border ringing what we could see of the lake’s shoreline. This land is experiencing a drought, and the visible evidence of that fact is the distance between the present waterline and the shoreline’s demarcation of where it has been in wetter times. Being Canadian, I occasionally am given to musing about just how far the US government might go to “negotiate” the acquisition of a portion of our still-vast reserves of fresh water if circumstances in the western US, especially in population-heavy California, should ever begin to creep into the red-lined zone labelled “desperate”. Everything old, it seems, is new again: http://www.ihr.org/jhr/v12/v12p121_HNAC.html

The roadside homes began to look a little more affluent and it became apparent that we were approaching an area that, in all probability, seemed to hold some attraction for new home development.

Settled by Mormons in 1870 at the specific direction of Brigham Young himself, Kanab, Utah, is smack in the centre of another area that has held a huge attraction for directors of western-themed entertainment, television in this case. According to one article I read, its environs saw the taping of dozens of episodes of The Lone Ranger, Death Valley Days, Have Gun Will Travel, Daniel Boone, Gunsmoke and, more recently, The Six Million Dollar Man and Grizzly Adams.

Since we got there shortly after noon, we decided to have lunch in a roadside restaurant called the Three Bears Creamery Cottage, hands-down winner of last year’s “Name Most Dripping with Saccharine” Award. But on the other hand, they also whipped up the thickest milkshakes I have ever been served, anywhere. These things had the consistency of ice cream when you allow it to thaw slightly and then stir it to remove the lumps. It had to be consumed with a spoon because a straw big enough to draw any amount into its vacuum would have had to be too big for a mortal human mouth to envelop.

We pressed on to our next destination, one I had been particularly looking forward to. Zion National Park is the Grand Canyon in reverse. At the latter, as you’ve already read, you’re perched at the edge of the Canyon, a mile above its floor. With Zion, you actually drive down into the canyon, eventually to find yourself looking up at its soaring walls of rock.

The road through Zion to Springdale is definitely a passage you want to take in daylight, if only because you have to travel something akin to the already-described switchback paths along which the Grand Canyon’s mules carry riders down its cliff face. In this case, of course, you’re in your car, but the feeling is no doubt similarly unnerving. The roadway also travels through a tunnel over a mile long, something both our teen-aged travelers pronounced to be one of the trip’s highlights. They even developed a spontaneous backseat “tunnel dance” with vocal accompaniment which they decided they had to perform for the entire duration of our sojourn in the rock-encased darkness. (How long can a mile possibly be? Oy, let me tell you…)

Then suddenly, we exited Zion’s south end, which simultaneously serves as the front door to the town of Springdale. And among the very first of Springdale’s businesses we encountered was our home for the next couple nights – Flanigan’s Spa.

Flanigan’s, to me, was just a very nice place to stay. Their spa-ing is something I really wasn’t ready to buy into – but if I were, they would quite happily immerse me, we were told on arrival, into an array of New Age experiences like Qigong massage, external Qi healing, “Singing Bowls” audio therapy, “dermalogica face-mapping skin care”, aromatherapy, “spiritual journaling” to the accompaniment of Native American flutes, eyelash tinting, exotic body wraps, Shiatsu…

Singing bowls? Eyelash tinting?

(Googlegooglegoogle…)

1. “Following in the tradition of the ancient Tibetan sing bowls and bells, it can be used to balance the physical energies and harmonizes body, mind, and spirit. Many scientists, musicians, doctors and health practitioners are discovering that quartz crystal bowls create a sacred spiral energy which can be used for healing and empowering, calming the mind and intensifying meditation experiences, balancing the human energy system, cleansing the auric field, awakening creativity, creating or bonding relationships, manifesting abundance, and expanding consciousness.”

Okay… maybe. Lord knows it’s been years since I cleansed the wax from the ol’ auric field with a turkey baster and warm water.

2. “This Monday, I had my first experience with eyelash tinting. So naïve. I think, bravely, how many nerve endings can an eyelash have, anyway? It’s just an eye fringe, really. Well, lots… When sailors were punished with ‘twenty lashes’, I think I know how they felt.”

Oooooo-kay. Maybe not.

Flanigan’s also has something called a Meditation Labyrinth perched atop a hill on their property. With visions of the Hampton Court Maze in our heads, my wife and I hiked up only to discover a representation in concrete of the spiral symbol that almost seems to serve as Flanigan’s logo. It’s here: http://www.outdoorutah.com/flan_labyWR.jpg and yes, it does look like something the Ontario Provincial Police would lay out in an elementary schoolyard the day they bring their “How to Ride Your Bicycle Safely” mobile unit to Show-and-Tell. My wife and I sort of paraded around it, goofing around and skipping over its boundaries after a while, but really just taking in the gorgeous surroundings while chatting happily away, rather than engaging in any sort of meaningful contemplation.

Later, when we were reading the spa guide in our room, we read that the labyrinth was intended as a place for deeply meditative moments, that it should be approached in silence, most especially when walking its narrow spiral pathway. The guide even went so far as to counsel passing other walkers very carefully and respectfully, so as not to disrupt their personal meditation. (Fortunately, we were the only two present during our visit to the hilltop, otherwise I have no doubt we would have been voted out of the spa entirely.)

Springdale essentially served as our base while we tripped through Zion and, on a different day, drove to Bryce Canyon. Here, in brief, are a few of the next couple days’ highlights:

Zion’s geology: It is a geologist’s Nirvana and a summer in Zion apparently features a wide variety of opportunities for field geology camps, or flora and fauna-based – or truly spectacular photo-shoot – camping experiences. Just Google “geology of Zion National Park” and you’ll discover the highlights of its 240 million-year old history. From the non-geologically-trained tourist’s point of view, it is a breathtaking array of sheer vertical surfaces, scarred by some often surrealistic patterns. We paused at something called “Checkerboard Mesa”, an enormous formation whose sides are criss-crossed by far more vertical and horizontal lines than one would find on a checkerboard, but it’s easily clear how the game board provided the naming inspiration for this unique tower. If the link works, it should open up as the very first picture right here: http://www.eastziontourismcouncil.org/znps.htm
You can be forgiven for thinking, “I hope that giant sleeping rhinoceros doesn’t wake up!”

The next day, on a somewhat longer scenic drive into the canyon, we would pause for a short hike up something called Weeping Rock, a waterfall beside which is a sheer rock face that does indeed seem to weep water. Once again, it’s explained by the geology as ground water from the canyon rim far above leeches through the strata, easily passing through the softer, more porous layers, to be squeezed out when it runs into a harder dam of an impermeable rock layer farther down, leaving some rather striking run-off patterns after thousands of years o’ tears:
http://www.zionnational-park.com/images/albums/pages/weeping-rock-s_jpg.htm

Bryce Canyon: In Bryce, we were actually defeated somewhat by that huge snowfall a few days earlier. “Somewhat”, because it didn’t keep us from driving the canyon’s rim road, which had been beautifully cleared. But the viewer overlooks had the distinct feel of fortress ramparts with snow that reached as high as the tops of their rail fences. We have a great photo of our teen travellers standing atop a snowpack that had to be at least 12 feet deep, its boundary defined by the line where what must have been a simply enormous snowblower had worked to clear the visitors’ parking lot. But all of the canyon’s scenic side trails were completely blocked so there would be no rimwalk hikes on this visit. (Aw, shucks!) Bryce Canyon also includes a formation called the hoodoos, eroded columns that are eerily humanoid in form and reminiscent of that Chinese archaeological dig where they unearthed several thousand terracotta warriors. Compare for yourself:

http://www.sights-and-culture.com/America/Bryce-Canyon-hoodoos.html

vs

http://www.chinavista.com/travel/terracotta/warrior01.html

I especially like the caption’s reference to the “No.one pit” under the photo of the warriors. It reminded me of Ulysses’ encounter with the Cyclops Polyphemus, who cried out that “No One is hurting me!” after Ulysses had introduced himself as such, and then poked him in his one eye to make good his escape when none of Polyphemus’ brothers came to his aid. (Baby Duck: it’s not just a cheap wine; it’s a Classics education!)

Buffalo burgers: Just outside the northern entrance to Zion National Park is an enormous farm that is home to domesticated herds of mule deer and buffalo, both of which we saw in considerable numbers. At one point along the perimeter fence, there is a small café with a large sign advertising “Buffalo burgers!” On at least one occasion as we drove by, there were some 30-40 of the huge critters grazing placidly scant feet away the sign. To my mind, it was the meat-eater’s version of a restaurant lobster tank. (“Yeah… give me a half pound ground off the haunch of that big shaggy guy over there, please.”) Fortunately none of them could read, otherwise I suspect they might have trampled the rather casually constructed building, along with anyone who happened to be in it at the time, into the Utah dust. They are frighteningly large animals!

Polygamy Porter: We were, after all, in Utah. And some waggish brewery – Wasatch Beers of Park City, Utah – has actually managed to parley a not-too-bad dark beer into a brilliant bit of marketing. (And successful! I returned with a t-shirt emblazoned with a Rubenesque portrait of a man surrounded by many women, and the caption: “Why stop with just one? Bring some home to the wives!”) I also have an empty PP bottle, and even found time to try it from the tap in its draft version while waiting for our take-out pasta ‘n’ pizza dinner one evening. And yes, it offends the Mormons. But the brewery’s owner has rather pragmatically addressed the concern from a totally unexpected point of view. In at least one interview, he agreed that he had been worried about marketing the now hugely popular beer, but not on religious grounds. No, he said that he understood that practising polygamists marry women in many cases when they’re still well underage, and was worried that he might be charged with targeting alcohol-related advertising at minors!

What makes a teen-ager laugh?: After hiking up yet another occasionally cliffside trail to something called the Upper Emerald Pool (How “cliffside”, you may wonder? At several places you are warned not to dislodge any size of rock, because it could fall on hikers somewhere else on the trail a switchback or two below), we decided a late lunch at the Zion Park Lodge was entirely deserved. As we waited for a break in the moderate traffic, one kind driver in a very large SUV stopped and waved us on. As we started across, suddenly a heavily amplified voice boomed out loudly from speakers located somewhere behind the grille, commanding us to “Enjoy your stay, but watch out for falling ducks!” We gave the whole cluster of passengers a big wave and the warning set our youthful co-travelers off for probably an hour. It was also immediately made clear to us, as parents and vehicle owners, that it would be “So cool!” to have a speaker system and microphone just like that installed in our car once we got back home.

And speaking of food: We ate bumbleberry pie at The Bumbleberry Restaurant in Springdale! I don’t know if the place is the namesake of the dessert, but if you believe their own promotional material, it is (from a review in The New York Times, no less): “One mile south of the park boundary, this family restaurant is known far and wide for its patented bumbleberry pie. What's a bumbleberry? The waitress will be more than happy to tell you.”

I’ll spare you the suspense – children and the feeble of heart please avert your eyes: there is no such thing as a “bumbleberry”. But the pie indeed exists, and its “ingredient” is in fact a most happily baked blend of (usually) apples, raspberries, blueberries and rhubarb. Oh, and a whole bunch o’ sugar. Ontario residents might in fact be interested to note that Loblaws sells a pretty darned good facsimile of it, perhaps not quite so “raspberry-ish” and augmented with chopped pears, but it’s just fine if you’re looking to approximate the original bumbleberry taste experience without having to cross the continent.

(I could make a career of this – Baby Ducklings with especially long memories, or no life whatsoever, might recall that during last year’s Spring Break, we enjoyed key lime pie at the Key Lime Bistro on Captiva Island, Florida. Maybe next year, we’ll visit the Sandwich Islands.)

Up next: Finally bringing an end to the story that has taken five times longer to tell than the trip actually took: Back to Las Vegas and consigning Spring Break 2005 to the memory file.