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Show THE ZEPHYR/OCTOBER-NOVEMBER 2003 Something had been needed to handle the swelling throngs of emigrants from the big cities. I was determined to find some of my old camping spots and spend the night under the few remaining stars that could pierce the haze. We headed north toward Arches and Ingebretsen started to remind me... "I told you before...no reservation, no entry to the parks!" "I know Rich. I’m not headed for Arches. I want to take that old jeep road by Dalton Wells. I’ve got to get away from all this." "Stiles...you just don’t get it. You can’t..can NOT get off this road. This vehicle is programmed to go where we're allowed to go. All that public land out there is closed, just like the parks. The wilderness zones. All of it. There’s a waiting list three years long, just to do an overnight at the Dalton Wells Camping Area. Of course there’s a Marriot at Dalton...6425 double occupancy.” I stared blankly out the window. "Somehow I never dreamed it would be THIS bad...what’s it like in Thompson? "Don’t ask." Hopeless. We were able to program the vehicle for a return trajectory and back to Moab. As we returned to town via the bypass, I could see Charlie Steen’s cliffside home high above the valley on what used to be Moab’s north end. The 1950s mansion of the Uranium King, bathed in colored spotlights, was clearly visible in the early evening sky. "Hey," I wondered, “Do the Steens still own Mi Vida?" "It’s in litigation,” Rich said. "The youngest son, Mark, finally gained custody of the home and for a while, he apparently tried to restore some of the ambience and excitement of the Boom Days. But..." : "What?" "Well...one night he tried to recreate one of Charlie’s great parties. Invited about 500 guests to the hilltop mansion. Everyone had a to dress 1950s-style and the folks were all having a wonderful time. But then Mark, who was about twelve sheets to a strong breeze, fell off the railing and cracked his head. He was 73.” "Damn...he always was sort of crazy.” “But it was a nice gesture." "REMEMBER ESCALANTE? ITS GOT A POPULATION OF 15,000 AND THEIR OWN MUSIC FESTIVAL. AND | HEAR THEY HAVE THE HIGHEST MEDIAN INCOME IN UTAH EXCEPT FOR PARK CITY AND PANGUITCH- As we passed the north "Moab Portal," a massive fake adobe and pine log entry, I thought about Abbey and Sleight. Just north of what used to be Moab’s city limit, we passed the Moab Springs Condos. It was once a restaurant and we called it the Grand Old Ranch House, and before that, when my old buddy Treadway lived there in the off-season, it was just the ranch house. I'd met Abbey in the front room of that old building. I gave him a drawing of Glen Canyon Dam blown up. Just beyond Chi Chi’s chain Mexican restaurant (formerly La Hacienda), Ken Sleight owned a little book store; I remembered the day we celebrated Ed’s new novel The Monkey Wrench Gang. "How’s the environmental movement going these days?” I asked. "As if it mattered.” "As if..." Rich sighed. "Well...they finally got what they wanted. The Drought did most of the ranchers in and big city speculators snatched up most of the land. Remember Escalante? It’s got a population of 15,000 now. They have their own Classical Music Festival and I hear they've got the highest median income in Utah except for Park City and Panguitch. "What about a wilderness bill?" "The Congress passed the "Red Rocks Wilderness Bill" in 2020. That Sierra Club and...what was the other one? SUWER?" "SUWA.” "Yeah...SUWA. They got their 9 million acres or whatever it was. But with so many people moving here and with the increased travel, the easily accessible wilderness areas got slammed. Unbelievable damage from millions of morons. Finally the government allowed the construction a permit, or we can sign you up right now for one of the senior tours. These companies have covered every angle. They've got a package for every demographic. If you’ve got the money, they’ve got the tour.” "T feel sick." "Hey...not to despair. They’re all ‘proud members of the Utah Wildlands Allegiance. All the groups consolidated in 2025, in conjunction with the Outdoor Products Environmental Esprit (OPEE). Remember...they were your pals." "If you recall, I moved to the South Pacific." I could feel my metabolism rising again, the old ticker. I reached into my shirt pocket and popped a couple of little blue pills. "So tell me, is there any resistance to any of this? Is there any youth uprising against all these restrictions and controls? This total sell-out?" Ingebretsen shrugged. "Look...none of these kids even remembers what it was like to have freedom. Even 40 years ago, you could see that. After that War on Terror, remember what happened?" "The ‘War on Terror," I sighed. "When will it end?" Dr. Rich glanced at me with an unfamiliar look of concern. "Hey, there is one good bit of news. We almost drained the reservoir." I laughed bitterly. "What is they say? Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades?" "Well. The water needs of the southwest became so acute that by 2030, the value of a gallon of water far exceeded the electrical energy that the dam produced, especially after the ion engine was developed. Downstream in California and Arizona, they needed the water there, not in the middle of Utah. But all the growing little towns on the Colorado Plateau wanted some of it as well. It was weird. Here was the Utah Chapter of the Sierra Club arguing in favor of a pipeline to Escalante and Panguitch and Kanab, when they’d opposed the St. George deal back in 99. Finally the enviros and the watermongers reached a compromise. The dam would stay but they’d draw down the level of the reservoir by 300 feet. It opened up a lot of the upper parts of Glen Canyon...we got Cathedral back. But Music Temple is still under 250 feet of water. And of course, like everything else, the waiting list to float down the re-exposed parts of the river is several years long. The best way to see it is to volunteer for the restoration project--it’s quite an undertaking." We drove to the south end of what used to be Spanish Valley again, mostly in silence. But we were using up our surplus of urban miles and needed to find a place to sleep. "Damnit, Rich. I refuse to go to a hotel. I want to camp out. Just let me out here and I'll take my chances. Pick me up right here tomorrow morning at 7 am." "You’re crazy. For one thing, you're almost 90 years old. You look like hell. I doubt if you’d get 100 meters. And second it’s illegal. They have sensors along this road. A security patrol would be here in ten minutes.” "I don’t care. Stop the car.” Ingebretsen’s driver slowed and pulled to the shoulder of the road. I pushed open the door and stared into the hot late afternoon sun. In an hour the light would fade behind the great ramparts of the West Wall. I had often thought of exploring all those cracks and crevices and broken canyons. Each time I drove south in my GMC truck, I’d stare longingly at those mysteriously beautiful, harsh yet inviting towers, and somehow, I’d never stopped. Now I would. "Are you sure...” "See you in the morning, Rich." I stepped over the Russian Thistle that still grew prolifically along the Interstate and slid down the embankment. With great difficulty I climbed the three-strand fence and tore my old jeans in the process. Damn. I’d had those Levis for 45 years. The roar of traffic behind me was inescapable but I ignored it. Put it away in some other part of my brain. This is why I came. I saw an old juniper tree, its weathered silver trunk caught in the late sun, each swirl of bark and wood delineated and accentuated by the light. A bird...1 looked closer. A Say’s Phoebe landed on one of the skeletal branches just above my head. I listened. Her song was as melancholy and sad as the first time I’d heard her, 60 years earlier. I began to weep. An ant crawled up my pant leg and bit me on the calf. It felt good. I took off my boots and dug my wrinkled and withered old feet into the hot red sand. I leaned against the juniper’s trunk and looked up. Above the burnt green berries and the foliage and the phoebe and the streaked canyon walls, I could still see what was left of a desert sky. I could almost see stars. In the distance, from the north, the sound of sirens grew louder and louder. of designated trails inside the wilderness areas and restricted private use to those routes." "Some wilderness." "Yeah, but it gets worse. The enviro groups and the recreational industry got together and proposed that most wilderness travel be restricted to commercial use. The industry sold the enviros on the idea that they could control impacts and limit abuse much better than letting these yahoos wander about on their own." "There are a lot of yahoos these days." "Better a yahoo than a lemming." "So today, if you want to take a hike up Courthouse Wash, for example, you can wait for THE LAZY Heaven is under our feet, as well as over our heads. H.D. Thoreau LIZARD INTERNATIONAL HOSTEL One Mile South of Moab on US 191 435.259.6057 reservations@lazylizardhostel.com www.lazylizardhostel.com : Check out our nightly rates: Lipay “) "THE BEST DEAL on the PLANET" “@x.a¥j WE ALSO OFFER ‘Ay GROUP LODGING HOUSES ARE YOU DIRTY? TAKE A SHOWER! FOR TWO BUCKS HOUSES for LARGE GROUPS--Family Reunions, Clubs, Sports Teams School & Church Groups PAGE 21 x OC ews - ees Zs |