The Glories of Utah (Part II)

Gratitude must also be given for the fact that I belonged to an organization that emphasized developing character and personal fitness through activity in the outdoors and in the community. Participating in the Boys Scouts of America was encouraged in my family. Although I whined and fussed at times concerning my parents’, namely my father’s, insistence on my participation in the Boy Scouts I thoroughly enjoyed and looked forward to campouts and adventures. Viewing the reels of my Boy Scout past I can strongly say that outside of the home and church the Boy Scouts of America was the most influential institution in shaping the person I have become today and the person I will be in the future. Utah is truly a haven for the Boy Scouts to teach young men the joys of the outdoors with an endless variety of natural tools to teach the programs objectives. Through the Boy Scouts I was able to gain a love for camping in the true sense of the word: Everything one needed was to be packed in a pack to be hauled into the campsite a few miles away from the cars and in the end everything was to be packed back out leaving not a trace that anyone had even been there. Even with all the experience my family had camping I cannot begin to claim we were the best or brightest campers. My brothers and I had a reputation of burning shoes, socks, shirts, and even ourselves during campouts. This was only necessary because we often found these things wet, like, for instance, the time I lost my sleeping bag in Tibblefork Reservoir. Furthermore, purposefully or not I found myself too often with fewer than one corner left of both my firemanship card and my toteinchip(sp?) card. I guess it was safer to keep me away from fires and shard objects!

My father finally got what was coming to him for pushing Boy Scouts on us. After years of counting beans as his church service he was recently assigned the role of Scout Master. It’s only fitting for before he was even involved in the scouts he was leading my brothers and I on backpacking trips that would last anywhere from three to seven days. I remember my feelings about the first one I went on quite vividly. I must have been 13 or 14 years old. Dad planned a 3 day trip that seemed relatively easy. My mother dropped us off at the trailhead, as was the custom, and we were sent on our way packin’. I was excited but worried I would not be able to keep up with my older brothers. My worries quickly turned into fear as I peered up the trail. Ahead of us the trail took a sharp incline up the face of the mountain. Surely, this was a joke. The joke was overplayed and lasted the whole day. Somehow I was convinced to go the next year and the next. Over the years I even grew to love the cold crisp early morning mountain air; camping by a river with the sound of rushing water the provided us with a fresh meal that brought us praising the fact that we could forgo at least one MRE meal; not to mention the vast solitude of being there with our small group and the nearest person or population was miles and miles away, unreachable by nearly any other means than by foot. The Uinta and Wasatch Mountain ranges were typical destinations for these little adventures. Their backcountry beauty is awe-inspiring, so much so it invokes a person to a point where one will find him or herself leaving the simple, and complex, conveniences of modern life to enjoy its beauty and solitude, at least for a short time, time and time again. With this being said, a little shout out is appropriate for my father for organizing those trips and to the other adults who assisted came along along with my brothers and our many friends who joined us. Even amidst the occasional pain, injuries, and lost wanderings we made it home alive and better for going. I thank you all that made those experiences possible.

Another shout out is now in order. Nathan Hansen and family introduced me to one of my favorite places in the entire world: Lake Powell. I’ll also have you know, Hansen family, that I am ruined for life now because I don’t know if Lake Powell can ever be as fantastic as it was with your family. And now that I have been I long to go back at times and sometimes it’s just not possible and so I cry. Just remember, those tears are because of you! I love southern Utah for so many reasons and Lake Powell has to top the list. In all the places I’ve been and all the places I have camped out never have I seen a night sky that is comparable to the night sky I enjoyed in awe laying on top of the houseboat in Lake Powell. Rarely did I know a name of a constellation but that did not matter for Grant would have the answers for me. And when he was not answering our ponderings concerning the stars a melody would play from his harmonica. Early mornings, when the party animals from other boats were still sleeping off their hangovers, provided a lake of glass: Conditions ideal for skiing, wakeboarding, or knee-boarding. Lake Powell may not have been the site of my introduction to water skiing or wakeboarding but it was definitely the place I developed a certain affinity for it. A floating house, bath tub like water, friends, boats, cliffs and more make Lake Powell an unforgettable memory for me. Even though I found myself being pulled away after a nap on an intertube certain to be heading towards my inevitable death I have nothing bad to say about Lake Powell. Sadly, I have not been back to this favorite place of mine more than twice. Once more with the Hansen family and a third time to camp, which I must confess during which something felt missing…