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Liberty Village • Bighorn Sheep Revival • Timpanogos Cave Cleaning • Roundnet Pro

AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2026

THE LONGEST LINE

Highliners set a record across Utah’s Book Cliffs

EPHEMERAL ARCHES How Utah’s stone spans rise and fall

RECIPES

Three ways to savor peach season

HISTORIC WENDOVER AIRFIELD GET TO KNOW YOUR FAMILY HISTORY BY WALKING WHERE THEY WALKED

Experience the most original remaining Army Air Force base. This historic site is representative of training fields nationwide that prepared our nation to fight in World War II. You’ve heard the stories— now join us at Historic Wendover Airfield for a glimpse into your ancestor’s experiences.

Historic Wendover Airfield 352 Airport Way Wendover, UT 84083 Open Monday - Saturday Tour Most Days at 1:30 wendoverairfield.org

IN THIS ISSUE ... AUGUST/SEPTEMBER 2026 Ogden, pg. 42

Salt Lake City, pg. 36

American Fork, pg. 12, 34

Thompson Springs, pg. 14 Moab, pg. 22

Cedar City, pg. 43 Hurricane, pg. 6

22 Joshua Hardin

DEPARTMENTS 5

ON THE COVER

Above Utah’s Book Cliffs west of Thompson Springs, Logan Henning nears the end of his 4-kilometer highline record-attempt crossing under moonlight. Story begins on page 14 Photo by Erik Makić

Editor’s Letter

Observations from Chris Amundson.

Honeycomb

Trivia

Liberty Village; Bear River Marsh book; bighorn sheep restoration How monumental is your Utah knowledge? Answers on page 45.

Kitchens

Poetry

Peach dishes, sweet and savory. Alpine hikes turned into verses.

Uncommon Champions

Explore Utah

FEATURES 12 Guardians of the Underground

Meet roundnet pro, Garrett Carver. Día de los Muertos, Cedar Livestock & Heritage Festival and 14 other events.

Last Laugh

Clock in! Utah’s teenage summer jobs.

Staff and volunteers at Timpanogos Cave carefully remove lint and debris left behind by thousands of visitors, helping protect its delicate formations for future generations. by Heather Bergeson

Four Kilometers of Air

Highliners spend days rigging a span across Utah’s Book Cliffs in an attempt to set a new world record. story and photographs by Erik Makić

Ephemeral Arches

Utah’s stone spans can endure for ages, but erosion, weathering and gravity eventually bring some crashing down. story and photographs by Joshua Hardin

Joe Hill

A Salt Lake City murder trial turned a labor songwriter into one of the movement’s most enduring and divisive figures. by Matt Masich

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Editor’s Letter

When Utah Was Underwater

August/September 2026

’M HAPPY TO leave the highlining to Logan Henning. He set out to walk nearly

Chris Amundson

2.5 miles between cliffs west of Thompson Springs on webbing an inch wide. Our photo coordinator, Erik Makić, went to photograph the attempt and soon found himself helping tape the line. Crew member Brandon Proffitt removed a rear wheel from the converted ambulance he lived in and used its engine to haul webbing across the basin. “I turned my home into a winch!” he shouted. While putting Erik’s story together, I became interested in the country beneath that crossing. The gray slopes below the Book Cliffs began as mud and clay on a seafloor. Roughly 80-100 million years ago, the Western Interior Seaway stretched from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. Those deposits hardened into Mancos Shale, now exposed at the foot of the cliffs. The Book Cliffs also preserve deposits from beaches, river deltas and coastal swamps. A hundred million years is hard for me to picture, but I can imagine a river depositing sand along a coast. It’s quite a coast to imagine in the desert west of Thompson Springs. At Timpanogos Cave in American Fork Canyon, the limestone has a much older marine history. About 340 million years ago, this part of Utah lay near the equator beneath a warm, shallow sea. Corals and other marine animals left skeletal remains that became Deseret Limestone. The cave passages came much later. Writer Heather Bergeson follows staff and volunteers who carry tweezers and toothbrushes up the cave trail to remove lint and hair from the formations. Workers blasted tunnels to connect the three caves in the 1930s, drying the caves. Decades later, park staff installed paired doors to reduce airflow and restore the humidity that helps protect the formations. Bryce Canyon’s hoodoos began as lake and floodplain sediment about 50 million years ago. As the land rose, rain and freezing water gradually broke the rock into spires. Lake Bonneville brings us closer to our own time. At its fullest, about 18,000 years ago, it covered roughly 20,000 square miles across western Utah and parts of Idaho and Nevada and was more than 1,000 feet deep. Mountain ranges stood as islands and peninsulas. Great Salt Lake is a remnant of that larger freshwater lake. Near Wendover, the Bonneville Salt Flats occupy part of the former lake floor. As the lake shrank, salts left a white crust across the basin. Above the flats, terraces on the Silver Island Mountains mark where waves cut into the slopes. When Lake Bonneville overflowed at Red Rock Pass, erosion cut through the dam, dropping the lake more than 300 feet to the Provo level. It remained there long enough to cut another shoreline before shrinking further. At Point of the Mountain and Steep Mountain, those beaches remain visible from I-15. For a state known for its deserts, Utah has surprising evidence of vanished water. Old shorelines cross the hills above Utah Valley, salt remains east of Wendover and marine limestone rises at Timpanogos. In the Book Cliffs near Thompson Springs, Logan Henning stretched his line above that ancient seafloor.

CHRIS AMUNDSON Publisher & Editor editor@utahlifemag.com

Volume 9, Number 4

Publisher & Editor

Associate Publisher

Angela Amundson

Editorial Assistant

Savannah Dagupion

Design

John Anton Sisbreño Rasa Velicka

Photo Coordinator Erik Makić

Staff Writer

Ariella Nardizzi

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THE BUZZ

AROUND UTAH

Liberty Takes Root in Hurricane A Revolutionary-era village brings the nation’s founding story to southern Utah by ARIELLA NARDIZZI In Hurricane, the story of the American Revolution is being rebuilt far from its New England origins. On 32 acres in southern Utah’s Washington County, Liberty Village roots the nation’s founding in Western soil. An immersive Revolutionary-era replica town tells the story of hard-fought freedom through performances and full-scale buildings that will one day bridge the gap between the 18th-century East and the Beehive State. Lex Howard, CEO of Balance of Nature, first launched this philanthropic effort to expand civics education in 2021 through the nonprofit United We Pledge. A family Liberty Village

6 UTAH LIFE

visit to the American Village in Alabama inspired his blueprint for Utah. Howard dreamed of bringing the country’s founding story west, grounded in the ideals of freedom, family and faith. The village itself is a work in progress, but Howard’s vision is clear. Plans call for 21 full-scale structures organized into six districts, from 13 Colonies Plaza to Minute Man Meadows. Three buildings already stand, with pavilions hosting a mercantile, a plaza and a Liberty Bell replica that visitors can ring. But they aren’t just facades. Most structures are designed to mirror historic Eastern sites and buildings, even down to their proportions and materials,

including Plymouth Rock, the Old North Bridge and the Philadelphia house where Thomas Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence. At the heart of the village, costumed actors known as Liberty Legends play the parts of Founding Fathers and tradesmen. A blacksmith pounds metal in his shop, providing hands-on demonstrations. At the Isaiah Thomas printing shop, printing presses ink lessons on free speech. Visitors Full-scale replicas of Revolutionary-era buildings and landmarks bring early American history to life at Liberty Village in Hurricane.

A Reed Shaken with the Wind New book chronicles the fascinating history of Bear River Marsh by LISA TRUESDALE

Liberty Village

can follow a virtual Benjamin Franklin for a self-guided tour or gather at the Stand Your Ground Monument for reenactments. One of the most anticipated builds is the Green Dragon Tavern, a Boston meeting place of the Sons of Liberty. Here in Utah, it’s envisioned as a working lodge, with upper rooms exploring Freemasonry principles. “It’s a bedrock place of the beginning of what’s now America,” said marketing director Ben Towers. The site aims to make history accessible and encourage patriotism. “We want to ensure kids in Utah are learning about and experiencing historic Revolutionary sites the same way a kid on the East Coast is,” Towers said. That personal connection often arrives in a single, resonant moment when a visitor pulls the Liberty Bell’s rope and sends a thunderous clang across the plaza. “That’s what freedom sounds like,” Towers said. Liberty Village is open Monday through Saturday, with free and ticketed educational programs. Though the site is still finding its full form, it’s becoming a place where Revolutionary history – even taught at a distance – feels right at home in Utah. Learn more about Liberty Village and the ongoing project at libertyvillage.org.

Andrew Hedges recalls fond memories of his childhood, when he’d often explore northern Utah’s bogs and swamps with his father and brother, playfully chasing ducks and frogs. So when he finished writing A Reed Shaken with the Wind: A Human and Natural History of the Bear River Marsh, he naturally dedicated it to the memory of his father, “who always loved a good marsh.” Bear River Marsh is, indeed, a very good marsh. Created during the last ice age, it’s part of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, where the Bear River flows into the northeast arm of the Great Salt Lake. One cold November day several years ago, Hedges spent a full day at the marsh, hoping to witness the 20,000 to 40,000 tundra swans that use it as a rest stop on their journey from breeding grounds in the Canadian Arctic to winter homes in Nevada and California. Immersed in the natural beauty of the place, Hedges wondered how different his experience was from that of someone who had done the same a century earlier, or a century before that. He decided then and there that the story of the marsh needed to be told – and that he could be the one to tell it. The book is a carefully researched, comprehensive history of the marsh and the refuge as a whole. It covers the basics, such as “what actually is a marsh?” and “how was the marsh formed?” as well as more complex issues, including controversial refuge management plans over the years, how heavy irrigation and upstream water use have contributed to the marsh’s decline in size, its abundant flora and fauna and recreational opportunities such as birdwatching, fishing and even hunting. Though the word “refuge” implies a safe haven for birds, hunting waterfowl and pheasants is allowed in designated areas

during hunting season. Hedges dives deep into this often divisive issue without taking sides, discussing the long history of hunting in the area, its challenges – including trudging a mile or more through mud before finding a suitable spot – and how hunting culture has evolved over the years. Throughout the book, Hedges displays a deep and abiding respect for the marsh, which he describes as “the child of a lake and a river in its earliest expression.” “[My book] is a story of people and wildlife, disease and science, drought and flood; of good decisions, bad decisions, education, and unforeseen events and implications,” he wrote. “Most fundamentally, it is a story of place, and a history of the variety of beings – humans, birds, and others – that have inhabited and interacted in that space over the years.” “The events it discusses, and the issues it raises, will, I hope, be a contribution to the ongoing discussion of our place as humans in the environment, and to our continued efforts to make our peace with the planet we inhabit.”

A Reed Shaken with the Wind University of Utah Press 336 pages Hardcover, $75 Softcover, $35 Ebook, $28

HONEYCOMB 7

Howie Garber

Bighorns on the Brink – and Back Utah’s wild sheep rebound from disease, predators and near disappearance By TIM GURRISTER Wild sheep, an oxymoron if ever there was one. Especially when it comes to the regal, rugged bighorn sheep. Their magnificent horns are among the largest in nature and easily surpass those of their distant domestic cousins – cattle, even the Texas longhorn. Bighorn headgear can weigh 30 pounds, often 40 and, some say, even 50, with the trademark curl extending up to 3 feet. The horns aren’t shed and take at least seven years to become so distinctive. Only the moose surpasses them in the wild, with 50 to 75 pounds of antler. While Bullwinkle can reach 1,500 pounds, the

8 UTAH LIFE

bighorn has a frame of 300 pounds at most to hold its head up. “These impressive growths,” National Geographic notes, “are a symbol of status and a weapon used in epic battles across the Rocky Mountains.” But bighorns use the horns mostly on each other, with rams settling disputes and maintaining social hierarchy through head-butting battles that can go on for days. The collisions can be spectacular. “Mating competition involves two rams running toward one another at speeds around 40 miles an hour and clashing their curled horns, which produces a sound that can be heard a mile away,” according to the National Wildlife Federation.

The horns aren’t much help against predators, from whom bighorns escape as elegant gymnasts dancing across the mountains’ most treacherous, rocky landscapes, up to 10,000 feet when the terrain allows. Their muscular athleticism allows them to navigate 2-inch-wide ledges no cougar can follow. But for all that, they are dainty souls. The isolation of high terrain makes encounters with other species risky because bighorns are susceptible to disease – one of the reasons they almost vanished. Wildlife biologists estimate bighorns numbered in the millions across the West before an influx of European settlers in the 1800s brought hunting and exposure to

domestic sheep. Their numbers plummeted to just 20,000 by 1940, a decline halted only by conservation efforts. Those efforts continue today. Utah’s bighorn population was down to “none, or few” before the state’s restoration effort began in 1967, says Rusty Robinson, project coordinator for the bighorn revival led by the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources. Efforts included growing a bighorn colony on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake, which by 1997 numbered more than 100, aided by transfers from out of state and steady birthrates. By 2018, the herd had reached 150 when tragedy struck. While relatively safe from predators on the island, the bighorns’ immune systems could not stave off pathogens from some of the other species sharing the state-run animal sanctuary, including deer, pronghorn antelope and bison. Which species infected the bighorns is difficult to determine, but in November 2018, DWR biologists discovered some were dying from pneumonia. Within a month, the situation had worsened and a difficult decision had to be made. “In order to avoid the chronic respiratory disease and to reestablish a healthy herd of bighorn sheep, the remaining bighorn sheep on the island were euthanized in January 2019,” said Faith Heaton Jolley, DWR spokeswoman. “It’s always devastating to see wildlife populations impacted by disease, and especially one that has no cure and leads to a slow, agonizing death.” Before the Antelope Island herd was wiped out, it had contributed an estimated 600 healthy bighorns to herds around the state. After the heartbreak at Antelope Island, officials decided on a new direction: “nursery” herds kept separate from other species by location and fencing. The first was established near Tabiona, in Duchesne County, in 2021, with assistance from Sportsmen for Fish and Wildlife and the Utah Wild Sheep Foundation. But the Tabiona site was curtailed by 2023 after cougars and other predators discovered the new prey. Antelope Island was being restocked, but not as a nurs-

ery herd, because only minimal fencing could be established. In 2023, the DWR settled on what it considers a prime nursery location: Boothe Valley on the Promontory peninsula of the Great Salt Lake – naturally predator-free and fully fenced. SFW purchased the 1,000-acre site for

“These bighorn were dying off due to changes in land use, hunting for sport, and susceptibility to disease. Luckily, conservationists stepped in to defend the species.” – National Park Service

the division. “They along with other partners built a high fence around the property to keep the bighorn sheep free from disease,” Robinson said. Earlier this year, Robinson proudly put together a video published online highlighting the progress of the Promontory nursery herd, now numbering more than 85, with another healthy crop of births anticipated. Ten lambs were born at Promontory in 2024 and 20 last year. The new nursery is expected to provide disease-free bighorns to augment existing populations around the state “and reintroduce native bighorns to currently unoccupied areas of Utah as well, and will hopefully provide long-term viability,” Robinson said. Meanwhile, the Antelope Island bighorns have bounced back to about 150 animals. In all, Utah is home to roughly 4,700 bighorn sheep. Fingers are crossed as wildlife officials and sportsmen watch their efforts to preserve the hardy but delicate bighorn sheep, a storied resident of Utah. Daniel Lindhardt

HONEYCOMB 9

STATUES & MONUMENTS Utah facts set in stone by BEN JENKINS

Church History Library of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

GENERAL

The Seagull Monument at Temple Square was created by which Utah sculptor, a grandson of Brigham Young?

Wasatch County’s Memorial Hill lists more than 2,400 residents who served in U.S. military conflicts. The memorial stands in what city, which shares its name with a pivotal World War II naval battle?

Panguitch’s Quilt Walk memorial honors seven men who crossed deep snow on quilts to save the starving settlement. What staple food were they trying to bring back? Utah State Capitol

Before welcoming visitors to Vernal, the 40-foot-tall pink dinosaur Dinah spent four decades as giant roadside advertising for what business?

The Jupiter and No. 119 locomotives at Golden Spike are replicas built in 1979. What happened to the locomotives that actually met at Promontory Summit in 1869? No peeking, answers on page 45.

10 UTAH LIFE

TRUE OR FALSE MULTIPLE CHOICE

A statue of Utah inventor Philo Farnsworth represented the state in the U.S. Capitol for more than three decades. Farnsworth is best known for his work on television, but later in life he developed what kind of device? a. Nuclear fusion device b. Artificial heart pump c. Jet propulsion system

Layton is home to an 80%-scale replica of Washington, D.C.’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, which bears 58,317 names. How many of those named are women? a. 8 b. 230 c. 12,051

At This Is the Place Heritage Park in Salt Lake City, the National Pony Express Monument honors riders who delivered mail by horseback. What does the monument’s sculpture depict? a. A rider delivering the mail b. A rider changing horses c. A horse with wings

“Out of the Blue,” a Salt Lake City sculpture of a humpback whale, depicts a full-size humpback.

Helper’s 18-foot-tall Big John statue originally stood as a Paul Bunyan figure before the city converted it into a coal miner.

The Carbon County Coal Miners’ Memorial in Price bears the names of more than 1,300 miners killed in Carbon County mines.

Four Corners Monument sits at exactly 109 degrees west longitude because Congress designated that meridian as the Arizona-New Mexico boundary.

In 2024, the University of Utah paid $4.5 million for a 12-foottall Robert Indiana “LOVE” sculpture, using a combination of state and private funding. Logan Sorenson, Courtesy of the Salt Lake City Arts Council Art Program

Two animal sculptures installed near Park City’s Main Street in the early 2000s remain local landmarks. Which of these is NOT one of them? a. Sylvan the Seal b. Loosey the Moose c. Franz the Bear

Thomas Child and his assistants used an unusual technique to carve some of the stone at Salt Lake City’s Gilgal Sculpture Garden. What tool, more commonly used to cut steel, did they use? a. Oxyacetylene torch b. Diamond-wire saw c. Sandblaster

TRIVIA 11

GUARDIANS OF THE

UNDERGROUND Inside the quiet, painstaking effort to keep Timpanogos Cave pristine for generations story by HEATHER BERGESON photographs by NATIONAL PARK SERVICE

12 UTAH LIFE

In Timpanogos Cave, delicate stalactites and walls of cave popcorn glimmer under lamplight while volunteers carefully remove lint and debris, meticulously preserving this hidden underground world so that every visitor can experience its wonder and beauty.

TEP THROUGH THE tunnel doors of Timpanogos Cave, and you enter a hidden world few ever glimpse so closely – a realm where gravity-defying helictites twist from the ceiling, delicate stalactites gleam in the lamplight, and walls shimmer with formations called cave bacon and cave popcorn. It’s a place that feels untouched, as if time itself has slowed to let these mineral wonders grow in peace. But every year, nearly 50,000 visitors stream through the passageways, leaving behind more than memories. A fog of microscopic debris – hair, lint, skin cells – settles onto fragile surfaces, threatening the health and longevity of the cave’s formations. Even the most careful guests can’t help but shed traces of themselves. To counteract this constant human imprint, Timpanogos Cave staff and volunteers undertake an exacting ritual each October known as Cave Restoration Camp. Led by physical science technician

Kirsten Bahr, teams hike the steep trail to spend days crouched in the cool darkness, armed with tweezers, toothbrushes and patience, lifting stray fibers from the cave walls one by one. Bahr and her team move methodically along the damp stone, identifying areas where air currents have pushed clumps of lint together. This is when science comes in to make the painstaking task of picking lint a bit more bearable. “When you understand the climate and how the air moves around the cave,” she said with an excitement that reflects both amazement and satisfaction, “it makes it easier to find these restoration areas.” This cleaning is vital to preserving the caves for future generations. Along the way, the crew sometimes uncovers forgotten objects – like a smartphone swallowed by Middle Cave Lake and later returned to its owner, still functional beneath the slime – or damage that requires expert re-

pair with museum-grade adhesive. Yet, as much as conservation requires vigilance, it also depends on connection. Many volunteers and staff first fell in love with the caves as visitors themselves. Annie Brantley, now the supervisory interpreter and volunteer coordinator, began as a seasonal worker in 2010 to help pay for college. Four years later, she had a degree – and a deep commitment to the place that had captured her heart. “We want people to be here, because we need stewards,” said park superintendent Brandon Flint. “We need people who want to volunteer, to come and help us. And we also want people to be advocates and tell others about how cool this place is.” Visitors will inevitably leave their mark on Timpanogos Cave. But rangers hope the cave, in turn, will leave an even deeper impression – inspiring a new generation of caretakers to protect this extraordinary underground world. TIMPANOGOS CAVE CLEANING 13

FOUR KILOMETERS OF

AIR

Highliners test the limits of their sport on a moonlit crossing above Utah’s Book Cliffs story and photographs by ERIK MAKIĆ

14 UTAH LIFE

OR 45 MINUTES, the radios were dead. On the night of Oct. 8, 2025, somewhere beyond the ridges, Logan Henning was trying to set a world record on a strip of webbing 1 inch wide. His crew had spent most of a week rigging it across roughly 2.5 miles of the Book Cliffs west of Thompson Springs. Darkness had swallowed the line and the cliffs blocked the radio signal. I had joined the project to photograph the attempt. Now four of us were racing toward the western anchor with no idea what was happening out there. Then a transmission punched through the static. “Logan fell.” The webbing bounced under his weight, caught by Henning’s 4-foot safety leash on his harness. The highline stretch lowered him another 10 to 15 feet, leaving him hanging beneath the line. To continue, he would have to climb those 4 feet back to the webbing. He could still finish the crossing, but the record required a clean walk – a “send” in highline language. One fall ended the attempt.

Henning was still out there. Five days earlier, nothing connected those cliffs but air. In July 2024, Jaan Roose crossed 3.6 kilometers over the Strait of Messina between mainland Italy and Sicily, only to fall about 80 meters before the finish. He climbed back onto the webbing and completed the crossing but lost the send. Three months later, Danny Schlitt sent a roughly 3-kilometer highline at Thacker Pass, Nevada. Henning had helped rig it. His Utah line would stretch more than a kilometer farther. The record Henning wanted was the longest highline send ever – a complete crossing without a fall. The Utah line would instead become, by Henning’s account, the longest ever successfully rigged and the longest ever crossed, though not sent. At that scale, even experienced highliners were working beyond what they knew. How would more than 4 kilometers of webbing move under tension? How deeply would it sag? How much wind would it catch? What would the line feel like pushing back against a walker for hours?

Professional athlete Logan Henning nears the end of a record-long 2.5-mile highline suspended in air between Book Cliffs, just west of Thompson Springs.

HIGHLINING 15

Setting the world record for the longest highline takes a village. Henry Adams, above, and the crew of 15 spent days preparing equipment, watching weather forecasts and rigging more than 4 kilometers of webbing before the athletes could even attempt their feat in air.

Nobody in the world had walked anything this long. Henning wanted to build it and find out. HENNING IS ALWAYS looking for the next line. At a computer, he scans Google Earth, moving across mountain ranges, canyons and cliff bands around the world for gaps that might be crossed. Some of those searches have led to projects people told him couldn’t be done. He spent six months planning the Utah attempt. In the Book Cliffs, two flat-topped cliffs about 40 minutes by dirt road from Thompson Springs caught his attention. The gap was right around the 4-kilometer goal. Vehicles could reach both rims, and the tops were broad enough for crews to work without climbing to the anchors. Part of the line crossed the Blaze Canyon drainage. From one rim, I could make out people back at camp only through my telephoto lens. Even our radios sometimes struggled to cover the distance. The cliffs rose roughly 800 feet above

16 UTAH LIFE

the canyon floor, but the line’s deep sag would bring its midpoint to about 200 feet above the basin. That was low enough for the crew to haul a rescue rope from the basin up to a stranded highliner. A much higher span would require more rope and weight, slowing an evacuation. The crew had permission from the Bureau of Land Management to work at the site and use the vehicles and motorized equipment the project required. Now the crew needed rock that would hold. Henning and Brandon Proffitt walked the eastern rim comparing outcrops with measurements on Henning’s phone. Across the basin, Henning checked the western cliff with an anemometer as gusts pushed up the face. Once the span, wind and anchor sites checked out, Ryan Jenks, founder of HowNot2, unpacked the drill. The sandstone proved softer than it looked. Even cleaning a fresh bolt hole required restraint. Brushing too aggres-

sively or blowing out too much dust could enlarge the opening enough to compromise the hardware. On the eastern side, the strongest rock sat farther from the edge, so the crew built the anchor inland and extended the rigging toward the cliff. Henning, a satellite mission architect in Colorado Springs, had spent six years building and walking highlines – nearly 300 by his count. “I love this sport. I love pushing the limits,” he later told me. Henning believed his combination of highlining experience, logistics and problem-solving put him in a position to try projects the sport had not seen before. If he didn’t attempt this one, he said, he would feel as though he were withholding something he could contribute. Proffitt was his frequent partner on what they called “missions” – projects complicated enough to require engineering, travel and days of improvisation. An ICU nurse from Denver, Proffitt lived in Bonnie, a retired 2002 Ford E350 ambulance converted into an off-grid home.

He and Henning had already rigged major lines together, including one at Castleton Tower east of Moab. The rest of the crew came from Utah, Colorado, Washington, Hawaiʻi and France, mixing elite walkers with experienced riggers. That Friday night, everyone crowded around headlamps and a car-mounted floodlight while Henning laid out the week. Their best weather was expected Monday through Wednesday. A Pacific system could begin changing conditions Thursday. The next morning, Isaac Leighninger had me taping webbing. He measured lengths with his arms like human meter sticks while I cut and wrapped. Over six hours, we prepared more than 400 meters. If I could tape, carry gear, hold tools or drive something to the

other anchor, somebody put me to work. The crew needed about 4,300 meters of webbing, including extra material for the deep sag before the line was tensioned. For more than two days, people flattened, spliced, taped and bagged sections around camp. Peppermint oil went onto the bags overnight so rodents wouldn’t chew them. After dark, headlamps replaced daylight. Cars and trucks moved along I-70 in the distance. Trains rumbled along the tracks below. After sunset, Thompson Springs glowed beyond the basin. From either rim, the opposite side seemed close across the open country, but getting from one anchor to the other meant circling the broken terrain by road. Another night, crew members carried lightweight lines across the basin floor while teams on both cliffs waited

to haul them upward. Headlamps crept through the dark. Once the support line was hauled clear of the basin floor and tensioned, a vibration sent into it at one anchor could travel through miles of material and be heard at the other. Then Proffitt found a new use for his house. He removed one of Bonnie’s rear wheels, fitted an extension and hub to the axle and turned the ambulance into a capstan winch. The diesel engine slowly rotated the axle, winding rope onto the makeshift drum and hauling webbing across the basin. “This is the best day of my life!” Proffitt shouted. “I turned my home into a winch!” To haul more than 4 kilometers of webbing across the basin without dragging it over the ground, the crew suspended it HIGHLINING 17

The team worked late into the night to prep webbing and install anchors. Creative solutions were often required. Team member Brandon Proffitt’s van, nicknamed Bonnie, was vital to set up, where it was used as a winch to pull webbing across the 4-kilometer gap.

from a separate support line using small battery-powered release devices Henning had designed and built from scratch. Once the webbing reached the opposite anchor, a radio command would tell the devices’ hooks to open, freeing the webbing from the support line and leaving the highline hanging between the cliffs. THE FINAL PULL had taken hours longer than planned. More than 4 kilometers of webbing now hung in the dark from the release devices. Five days of drilling, taping, hauling and fixing problems had narrowed to one radio command. The battery-powered units had been running throughout the long pull. Henning transmitted the command to open the hooks. Somewhere beyond the reach of the headlamps, dozens of hooks were supposed to rotate, freeing the webbing from the temporary support line. Nobody could see whether they had.

18 UTAH LIFE

There was no way to inspect kilometers of line in the dark, so we went to bed without knowing whether five days of work had produced a walkable highline. At first light, I aimed my longest lens toward the opposite side while others raised binoculars. Dark shapes were still hanging where they shouldn’t have been. Jan Verhaeren sent a drone along the line. Twelve hooks had failed to release. Sections of the highline were still tethered to the temporary support system. Nobody could walk it until they were freed. The crew suspected battery drain. The devices switched on earliest were the ones

that failed, while those powered later still worked. Caleb Pegues moved out along the highline to free the failed hooks by hand. At each one, he stopped, unclipped the webbing and watched another section swing loose beneath him. “The best rollercoaster ever!” he announced over the radio. After working his way toward the middle of the span, Pegues rappelled to the basin below using the rescue system the crew had planned before the line went up. From the opposite cliff, French highliner Benoît Brume, who competes in speed events, worked toward the remain-

Henning begins his long walk, suspended in air, from the east anchor. The highline provided stunning views of Castleton Tower and the La Sal Mountains. HIGHLINING 19

Athletes from around the world gathered for this ambitious attempt. Isaac Leighninger tested the line, walking 100 meters into the canyon. Although Henning, the team lead, later fell, the attempt still set a record for the longest highline ever rigged and crossed.

ing hooks, unclipping the devices as he went. When he released the last one, he was roughly a quarter of the way out on the span. Rather than return to the far anchor, Brume stood and walked toward the other side, covering the remaining three-quarters of the highline without falling. Because he hadn’t started at the anchor, it wasn’t a complete crossing or a send. “Allez! Allez!” (“Go! Go!”) the crew shouted as he came in. Brume stepped onto solid ground to hugs and cheers and said his feet had never hurt so badly. Almost immediately, he was talking Henning through the line. Highliners call that beta – firsthand information passed to whoever goes next. From Henning’s starting anchor, Brume told him, the line descended steeply into the sag, flattened through the middle and climbed toward the finish. The sun was dropping. Henning went to the bathroom, stretched,

20 UTAH LIFE

ate, drank and got ready. The plan was to walk perhaps 300 meters, see how the line felt and decide whether to turn around. Weather could deteriorate the following afternoon, perhaps sooner. Waiting until morning would be a gamble, but so would walking into the dark. HENNING CLIPPED in around 6 p.m. A few hundred meters out, he still felt strong. He kept going. The webbing weighed about 500 pounds and presented roughly 1,700 square feet of surface area to the wind. At midpoint, the line sagged to about 200 feet above the basin; from there, Henning faced roughly 600 feet of elevation gain to the far anchor. Balancing on 1-inch webbing, Henning moved with his arms raised while the line shifted beneath him. Proffitt, Leighninger, Sean Englund and I headed to Mia Noblet who was maintaining the west anchor, following rough

roads behind ridges that cut off radios. Henning continued somewhere beyond them. For 45 minutes, we heard nothing. Then the signal returned. “Logan fell.” He was roughly 3 kilometers into the crossing – about three-quarters of the way across – when he fell for the first time. The leash caught him about 4 feet below the line. Henning climbed back up. The send was gone. After that, Henning stopped counting. With the send already lost, his goal was to reach the far anchor quickly rather than avoid another fall. “In my mind one fall is just the same as falling 100 times,” he later said. He estimated that he fell about five times in all. With the record attempt over, he broke his radio silence and started talking. “The bats are going crazy on me!” he said. “I’m getting echo located from all around

and it’s kind of disorienting to be honest.” We could hear them near the western cliff, too – clicking and sweeping through the darkness. We switched off our headlamps so the light wouldn’t interfere with Henning’s depth perception. His body disappeared, but every so often his voice came through the radio from somewhere over the basin. I’d told myself before the trip that if I came home with only one photograph, the landing needed to be it. I hadn’t expected the landing after dark. A nearly full moon had risen, enough to show the webbing during a long exposure but not enough to freeze Henning in an image. The line appeared on the back of my camera. Henning didn’t. “Do you think Logan would be OK with some flash photos?” I asked. Proffitt grabbed his radio. “Brandon to Logan. We wanted to see if you would be OK with some sick flash

photography on this beautiful highline?” “Definitely,” Henning answered. “Go for it!” Before the fall, I wouldn’t have risked adding another distraction. Now I pulled the flash from my bag, cranked it to full power and put the camera on a tripod. I set the timer, stood near the cliff edge and aimed the flash into the dark. Henning was already closing the distance. Each five-second exposure felt absurdly slow. I fired, waited for the shutter, fired again and tried to read the tiny image on the back of the camera before he moved through another frame. Did I get it? There was no time to know. Eventually a figure separated itself from the dark, perhaps 50 meters away. Moonlight caught the webbing behind him. Each burst of flash pulled Henning briefly into view – one foot finding the line in front of the other, black space beneath him. Soon we could hear him without the radio.

After nearly three and a half hours on the line, Henning took the final steps and stepped onto the western cliff. Both feet were back on Utah sandstone. Whoops and hollers broke out at the anchor while more cheers crackled through the radios from across the basin. Henning was visibly exhausted. He thanked the people around him for getting him there. “Now we know,” he told them. “It is possible.” Henning had hoped to call the line Revelations, a callback to Genesis, an earlier record line that had marked a turning point in his life. Highline tradition generally reserves naming rights for someone who sends the line. Henning had fallen. For now, the span remained unnamed. Across the basin, the radios kept crackling with cheers. Moonlight caught more than 4 kilometers of webbing stretched from one Book Cliffs rim to the other. HIGHLINING 21

Ephemeral

Arches Utah’s stone spans can endure for millennia – then vanish in a night. story and photographs by JOSHUA HARDIN

N THE NIGHT of Aug. 4, 2008, campers at Devils Garden Campground in Arches National Park heard what sounded like thunder. The skies were clear. By morning, Wall Arch was gone. Thousands of tons of sandstone had crashed to the ground, erasing a landmark along one of the park’s most popular trails. The opening beneath the span had stretched 71 feet wide and 33½ feet high, making it the park’s 12th-largest known arch before it fell. “Not being a geologist, I can’t get very technical but it just went ‘kaboom,’” Chief Ranger Denny Ziemann reported at the time. “The middle of the arch just collapsed under its own weight. It just happens.” That is the unsettling thing about Utah’s natural arches: They look permanent. They aren’t. Wind, water, ice and gravity spend ages carving stone into improbable spans, then continue working until those same spans eventually fail. Utah’s abundance of arches and natural bridges makes the state a destination for scientists, photographers, hik-

ers and other enthusiasts who document, measure and celebrate formations they know may not always be there. Some are icons, like Delicate Arch, stamped onto Utah license plates. Others hide at the ends of rugged trails or 4x4 roads, like Angel Arch in Bears Ears National Monument. Landscape Arch stretches an almost impossible 290 feet across the desert in Arches National Park, while Morning Glory Natural Bridge near Moab reveals itself only at close range. Their forms are nearly as varied as their locations. Some are spindly stretches of stone connecting canyon walls, while others are thick spans crossing plateaus. Some hide beneath boulders. Others tower dozens of feet above mesa tops. From openings smaller than a person to massive spans across canyon walls, each is a geological snapshot – caught somewhere between formation and collapse.

BOUNTIFUL BRIDGES

The Natural Arch and Bridge Society, an all-volunteer nonprofit based in Murray, has been bringing arch enthusiasts togethEPHEMERAL ARCHES 23

er since 1988. Its members range from scientists and educators to photographers, plein-air painters, hikers and people who simply enjoy finding remarkable holes in rock. One of the society’s first challenges was answering deceptively simple questions: What exactly is a natural arch, and how do you measure one? Natural arches are rock openings formed through weathering and erosion from forces such as wind, ice and frost. Natural bridges are a type of arch formed primarily by flowing water cutting through rock. All natural bridges are arches, but not all arches are bridges. A feature made of compacted soil, ice or organic matter does not qualify, no matter how arch-like it looks. Measuring them required standards, too. NABS assembled experts in geology, geography, physics and mathematics and settled on “span” as the key measurement: the horizontal extent of unsupported rock. The term matters enough that the society named its quarterly newsletter SPAN. For society president Richard Beckman, however, measurements are only part of the attraction. Beckman became editor of SPAN more than a decade ago, bringing experience as an environmental photojournalist covering habitat and endangered species conservation. He attended his first arch rally in 2018 and has since traveled widely in pursuit of them. “I’ve hiked to arches in more than a dozen countries and more than 30 states and don’t have a favorite arch in any of them,” Beckman said. “I enjoy the journey and getting to the arch is a nice reward. As a photographer I enjoy the challenge of documenting arches in different ways and appreciate how they fit within their landscape.”

SUPERLATIVE SPANS

NABS lists 19 known natural arches with spans greater than 200 feet: nine in China, eight on the Colorado Plateau and one each in Chad and Afghanistan. Utah still claims two of the giants. Landscape Arch in Arches National Park spans about 290 feet, while Kolob Arch in Zion National Park reaches about 287 feet. For

24 UTAH LIFE

years they were considered contenders for the world’s longest natural arch until measurements of spans in China reordered the list. Fairy Bridge in China now leads at about 400 feet. NABS members gather for “Arch Rallies” that combine travel, hiking and arch hunting. A 2025 Moab gathering drew about 50 members, and other rallies have taken members to New Mexico and China. But Beckman is careful with the word “discover.” “We don’t discover arches, as we realize that every arch has likely been seen before, whether by an early explorer, a Native American or somebody who just never reported it,” he said. “We document and measure arches and support conservation and research efforts.”

REMEMBERING THE FALLEN

Wall Arch was not an isolated loss. A small formation called Rainbow Arch above the Arches National Park Visitor Center collapsed during the winter of 2017-2018. Karen Garthwait, spokesperson for Arches and Canyonlands national parks, described such losses as part of the same natural cycle that creates the formations. “Our mission is not to freeze time and preserve these structures exactly as they are,” she said. “Our mission is to preserve the natural processes that create these structures, which of course, is the same process that will eventually undo them as well.” Then, on Aug. 8, 2024, another wellknown formation vanished. Double Arch in Rock Creek Bay at Glen Canyon National Recreation Area – also called “Hole in the Roof ” – collapsed without injuring anyone. The arch had formed in roughly 190-million-year-old Navajo sandstone. Wind, rain and other weathering had long worked on it, while changing Lake Powell water levels and Arches take many forms across Utah, from Delicate Arch (previous page) to Metate Arch in Devils Garden of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument (top). Turret Arch rises among the sandstone fins of Arches National Park (bottom), while Wilson Arch overlooks U.S. Highway 191 south of Moab (far right).

FEATURES 25

26 UTAH LIFE

Erosion and weathering continue long after an arch forms and can eventually lead to its collapse. Until then, visitors admire formations such as those at Arches National Park (left) and Mesa Arch in Canyonlands National Park (above).

wave action may also have contributed. “This event serves as a reminder of our responsibility and need to protect the mineral resources surrounding Lake Powell,” recreation area Superintendent Michelle Kerns said after the collapse. Officials did not know exactly what caused the failure, but Kerns noted that human activity can influence or damage formations with finite life spans. University of Utah geology and geophysics professor Jeff Moore studies how such seemingly solid formations move. His research has shown that natural arches and bridges vibrate in response to both natural forces and human activity,

including aircraft. Some of that work has focused on the effects of helicopter-generated vibrations on fragile rock formations. The lesson is not that every footstep or flyby will topple an arch. It is that structures appearing motionless on a human timescale are still changing, grain by grain. Natural arches are reminders that we live at a brief point in the passage of time. Some stand for ages, yet a formation familiar to generations of visitors can disappear between sunset and sunrise. For Beckman, that knowledge adds urgency to the journey. “I’m sad to see them go, but I’m hurt more by the arches that collapsed that I

never saw in person,” he said. “We don’t know how long they’re going to last, so you have to go appreciate them.”

Arch appreciators can join the Natural Arch and Bridge Society at naturalarches.org for $20 per year for an individual membership or $30 per year for a family membership. Membership includes the quarterly SPAN newsletter and participation in NABS meetings, field trips and rallies. EPHEMERAL ARCHES 27

Peachy

Keen

Three simple recipes bring seasonal sweetness to the table

recipes by TONI THAYN photographs by KYLIE ELIZABETH

ew fruits capture the flavor of the season quite like a ripe peach. Juicy, fragrant and naturally sweet, peaches move easily from savory dishes to dessert – topping a crisp flatbread, caramelizing on the grill with chicken and finishing the meal with honey mascarpone.

Peach, Arugula & Prosciutto Flatbread Sweet, juicy peaches meet creamy ricotta, salty prosciutto and peppery arugula in a flatbread that’s equal parts elegant and effortless. Finished with a drizzle of balsamic glaze, it’s the perfect appetizer for a backyard gathering or a light lunch. Preheat oven to 425°F. Brush flatbread with olive oil and bake for 5 minutes, until lightly crisp. Spread ricotta over the warm flatbread. Arrange peach slices and prosciutto on top. Return to oven for 3-4 minutes. Top with fresh arugula, drizzle with balsamic glaze and finish with flaky salt and pepper.

1 1 ½ 2 4 2 2

prepared flatbread or naan Tbsp olive oil cup ricotta cheese ripe peaches, thinly sliced oz prosciutto cups arugula Tbsp balsamic glaze Flaky sea salt Freshly cracked pepper

Serves 4-6 KITCHENS 29

Sweet & Spicy Peach BBQ Chicken Skewers Fresh peaches caramelize on the grill alongside tender chicken, creating a smoky, sweet and savory combination. Brushed with a peach BBQ glaze and served with fresh lime, these skewers are made for sweet evenings around the dinner table and easy outdoor entertaining. For the marinade, whisk together peach preserves, olive oil, lime juice, soy sauce, smoked paprika, garlic powder, cayenne pepper, salt and pepper. Reserve half the marinade. Toss chicken with the remaining half and refrigerate for 30 minutes. Thread chicken and peach wedges onto skewers. Grill over medium-high heat for 10-12 minutes, turning occasionally, until the chicken reaches 165°F. Brush with the reserved marinade during the final few minutes of cooking. Serve with fresh lime wedges.

lbs boneless chicken thighs, cut into chunks 3 peaches, cut into wedges or chunks ¼ cup peach preserves 2 Tbsp olive oil 1 Tbsp lime juice 1 Tbsp soy sauce 1 tsp smoked paprika ½ tsp garlic powder ¼ tsp cayenne pepper Salt and pepper to taste Serves 3-4

Brown Sugar Grilled Peaches with Honey Mascarpone Simple ingredients become something special when ripe peaches hit the grill. Topped with creamy honey mascarpone, toasted almonds and a drizzle of golden honey, this effortless dessert celebrates the sweetest flavors. Heat grill to medium. Brush peach halves with butter and sprinkle with brown sugar. Grill cut side down for 3-4 minutes, until lightly caramelized. Mix mascarpone, honey and vanilla until smooth. Spoon honey mascarpone onto a serving platter and top with warm peaches. Sprinkle with almonds and mint, then drizzle with honey.

4 ripe peaches, halved and pitted 2 Tbsp melted butter 2 Tbsp brown sugar 8 oz mascarpone cheese 2 Tbsp honey 1 tsp vanilla extract Toasted sliced almonds Fresh mint Extra honey for drizzling Serves 4-6

KITCHENS 31

UTAH THROUGH OUR POETS

igh above the valleys, hikers pause beneath towering pines, wait out passing storms and greet the first light on mountain summits. These poems follow Utah’s alpine trails, where every step reveals not only the beauty of the high country but also a deeper way of seeing it.

Bryan Anderson

Into High Elevations, Early Spring Early Ascent

John Mark Sunday, Orem “Piece of cake,” you said again, The summit ridge loomed near; My headlamp beam began to dim While pre-dawn calmed my fear. “Sunrise on Timp will stir your soul,” You promised four hours ago; My heart buoys up upon the view O’ the valley spread far below. “C’mon! Pick it up! Five-hundred more feet,” And gestured toward the top; With a groan I rose, my rest incomplete, But sure, of the quest we sought. “Elation! Joy! You should be proud!” As the sun came warm and round; Ironic, the spirit swells anew, With nowhere to go but down.

32 UTAH LIFE

Dixie Lee Partridge, Provo

Cool, cool minutes. No one stirring … Just being there. – William Stafford Walking out and upward in early daylight it’s been like hiking backward in time, leaves growing smaller until high deciduous trees make only a suggestion of green – like a mist – the dawn a pale yellow hint through their fingertip buddings. Up from the silver birches: a flock of small birds you can’t identify … up, upward as if one body – their tiny rapid wingbeats like flickering lives, leaving you wishing again you could better tell such stories as these … Soon you must turn back from what’s come too briefly of a morning: the sometime beauty of starting out, of movement and of standing still; the sometime beauty of return, the singular recognition of how many times, and from how many places, it feels as though you’ve had to leave home.

Taking the Long Way Back Michael Shoemaker, Magna

I trekked out in a flurry beating hot thin dust on the trail burdened with the swiftness of worry and pretense. On the way back there will be no such error. I will take time to lean on the old picket fence and stare at the far distance, of the mist rising above the hills counting my brothers the quail bolting from the trees to lie on the cool damp ground in the meadow, tasting the tang of wild raspberries looking up saluting the bottom of daisies listening to the musical consonance of bees that must also breathe in the sweet smell of the graciousness of grasses to sit in playing light and shadow almost like a laugh by the brook with feet immersed in cold brisk liquidself-transcendence. You ask me how to live, this is how.

Noah Wetzel

Among the Pines

Vaughn Neeld, Cañon City, CO I wander amid the oozing trunks of ponderosa pines. This is solitude. I come to the pines to find myself. I am not lonely here. The pines moan with the wind, but they do not grieve. No matter how old they are, they still strive to reach ever higher into the blue. Within a high-mountain prairie, grasshoppers leap; they do not know nor plan where they will land. The pines and the grasshoppers befriend my solitude.

The Qi of Fir

Margaret Pettis, Hyrum A needle of white fire stitched cloud to ground. We stashed our heavy packs, tarped tight, and scrambled beneath a canopy of fir. Clark’s nutcrackers shared the dry boughs. Sheets of cold rain draped the Middle Fork. Patient half an hour, starting to shiver, I taught you Qigong – arms in a slow arc, legs shifting stance, hands pushing dark energy away, pulling light in. Again. Again. The storm growled down the canyon. We emerged into a sparkling kingdom of trees, hefted our packs and climbed the puddled path to the summit, glowing in afternoon sun.

Send your poems on the theme “Small Wonders” for the December 2026 issue, deadline October 15 and “Frost and Fog” for the January/February 2027 issue, deadline November 1. Email your poems to poetry@utahlifemag.com or mail to the address at the front of this magazine. POETRY 33

Garrett Carver Utah Roundnet Pro

Isaiah Bergsma

by BIANCA DUMAS

A front-yard rivalry with his younger brother led Garrett Carver to professional roundnet. The American Fork athlete now competes with the Lehi Raptors.

34 UTAH LIFE

ARRETT CARVER WASN’T very good at roundnet the first time he played it with his little brother in their Virginia front yard. But his competitive streak kept him practicing. “Naturally, as an older brother I wanted to be better at it,” said Carver, 31, who lives in American Fork. Carver moved to Utah to attend BYU, where he studied exercise and wellness and discovered groups of students playing roundnet between classes. He joined in and found the game fun, competitive and social. And he got good. Better than his little brother. Inspired by concepts from volleyball and foursquare, roundnet pits two teams of two players against each other around a small, trampoline-like net. Each team has up to three touches to return the ball off the net.

Garrett Carver

In 2023, Carver signed with the Lehi Raptors as one of seven players on the roster in the PRO Roundnet League, which uses a club system modeled after English soccer. Athletes sign contracts with their clubs and compete in a season that runs from March through October. The Raptors earned a third-place finish at the 2025 Nationals in Baltimore. Professionals also compete in open tournaments, and Carver went undefeated in Utah tournaments in 2025, with his team taking first in every event it entered. At the 2026 season opener in Las Vegas, the Raptors tied for second in points. The top five teams in group points advance automatically to the top playoff bracket. Competition came naturally to Carver. “I grew up in a very competitive household. We brothers would often come up with games and find ways to compete against each other,” he said. The boys had limited access to video games, so they got creative, even inventing living room street hockey. Carver competed in soccer, swimming, tennis, basketball and

Garrett Carver competes professionally in roundnet, a fast-paced sport inspired by volleyball and foursquare with a strong community in Utah. He is known for his fierce backhand serve.

baseball and joined quirky intramural teams such as inner tube water polo. That competitive streak eventually found a natural home in Utah. According to Taylor Sanford, owner of Premier Spike, a Utah-based roundnet equipment manufacturer, Utah has the largest community of roundnet players in the United States. Sanford ran as many as 30 tournaments a year from 2020-2024 through his organization, Utah Roundnet. Today, the organization hosts about one tournament a month during the season. Players can also find pickup games throughout Salt Lake and Utah counties at beginner, contender, elite and pro levels. Sanford said the professional squad has helped Utah earn respect for both the breadth and depth of its roundnet field. “It’s been a way for us to really showcase our top players – to see them playing as a squad,” he said. Carver began playing seriously as an amateur on Sanford’s Utah Roundnet circuit, where he also became known for helping other players.

WoodysPhotos/Shutterstock

“He is a very good community leader,” Sanford said. “He will help the newer players, he will teach them, and on the court he’s a good guy.” Carver is also known for a fierce backhand serve. “It’s a difficult serve for people to receive,” he said. Not everyone will play roundnet professionally, but Carver says the game is open to players of all ages and abilities. “I’d say being able to play at a competitive level has much to do with technique,” Carver said. “It’s a fast-paced game and there’s a lot of agility involved. Anyone at any age can compete as long as they can stick to the basics.” Carver’s work and competition schedule is packed, but he has plenty of family support. When he married his wife, Jaycie, he thought his competitive roundnet days might be behind him. She had other ideas. “She was immediately encouraging,” Carver said. “She said, ‘I’m going to every tournament.’ ” UNCOMMON CHAMPIONS 35

Born in Sweden, Joe Hill traveled throughout the West before spending his final fateful years in Utah. J. Willard Marriott Library

THE LIFE, DEATH AND AFTERLIFE OF

JOE HILL The labor activist and songwriter’s Salt Lake City murder trial electrified the nation. More than a century after he was shot by firing squad, Joe Hill remains a powerful if divisive hero of the labor movement. by MATT MASICH

N THE EVENING of Saturday, Jan. 10, 1914, John G. Morrison was getting ready to close his downtown Salt Lake City grocery for the night. At just past 9:45 p.m., Morrison was dragging a sack of potatoes through the store, while his 17-year-old son, Arling, swept the floor; his 13-year-old son, Merlin, was in a rear storeroom. Suddenly, two men with red bandanas obscuring their faces burst through the front door. “We’ve got you now!” they yelled. A shot rang out. A bullet hit Morrison in the right side of his chest, dropping him to the floor. Arling grabbed a revolver from the ice chest. As he attempted to fire, he was shot three times – twice in the back. Neighbors who heard the commotion saw the two men flee the building. Some said one of the men was clutching his chest and stooping over. One witness said they heard the man call out, “Hold on, Bob, I’m shot.” Young Merlin emerged from his hiding place in the rear storeroom, from which he had seen at least some of the confrontation, to find his brother already dead and his father breathing his last breaths. About 5 miles south, sometime before midnight, a 34-year-old Swedish immigrant known as Joe Hill staggered into the doorway of Dr. Frank M. McHugh’s home office in Murray. “Is that you, doctor?” Hill called out. “Yes, what is it?” McHugh replied. “I’ve been shot, doc, and want you to do something for me.” Hill explained that another man had shot him in a quarrel over a woman. As Hill said he was as much to blame in the matter as his shooter, he asked the doctor to keep it quiet. Dr. Arthur Bird, passing in his car, noticed his colleague’s lights on and went to see if he needed assistance, arriving just as McHugh was finishing bandaging Hill. The shot was a lucky one – it passed completely through his body, puncturing his lung but missing his heart; the wound would not require hospitalization. As they tended to him, the doctors noticed that Hill carried a pistol in a shoulder holster.

Headlines about the Morrisons’ murders splashed across local newspapers in the following days. Gov. William Spry announced a $500 reward for information leading to the conviction of their killers. Hoping to get the reward, McHugh reported Hill’s gunshot wound to the Murray police department. In the wee hours of Wednesday, Jan. 14, Hill was arrested as he lay on a cot in the house where he was staying. The jumpy arresting officer shot Hill through his right hand, saying he thought he was reaching for a gun. When the newspapers found out about Hill’s status as the foremost writer of propaganda songs for the Industrial Workers of the World, a radical labor union with socialist ties, they wasted no time declaring him guilty of the murders. Overnight, Hill became a symbol – representing, depending on one’s ideology, either the violence inherent in the labor movement, or of the wickedness of the capitalist ruling class in perverting justice to crush union opposition.

JOE HILL WAS born Joel Hägglund in Gävle, Sweden, in 1879. He grew up in a musical family that sang together; as a boy, Hill learned to play the violin and began writing his first songs about his family. When he was 8, his father died of injuries sustained on the job as a railway conductor. Hill left school at age 12 to work in a rope factory, then worked at the local port. When he was 22, after his mother died, he and his brother Paul caught a steamship to America. Upon arrival, Hill changed his name to Joseph Hillstrom, though he became best known by the shortened version: Joe Hill. Hill worked his way west, arriving in San Francisco by the time of the 1906 earthquake there. He and a friend hoboed their way up to Oregon, where by 1908 he had joined the Industrial Workers of the World, or IWW, whose members were known as “Wobblies.” The IWW was known as the “one big union.” Whereas other unions were specific to certain trades – miners, millworkers, engineers, conductors, etc. – the Wobblies welcomed all workers. JOE HILL 37

The idea was that if one trade went on strike, the rest of the trades would, too, increasing their bargaining leverage. The IWW had been founded in Chicago in 1905, with one of the founders and key leaders being Salt Lake City native Big Bill Haywood. Wobblies espoused many socialist ideals, marching under a red banner and exhorting the “workers of the world” to join them. In the eyes of industrialists and members of the ruling class, the IWW was a menace and threat to the social order. Songs were one of the key methods the Wobblies used to win hearts and minds. By 1911, many of the most popular Wobbly songs were those written by Joe Hill. One of his first big hits was called “The Preacher and the Slave.” The song made fun of religious leaders who tell impoverished workers that they shouldn’t bother seeking fair treatment on earth – that they will get their reward in heaven. In the chorus, a “long-haired preacher” says: You will eat, bye and bye In that glorious land above the sky. Work and pray, live on hay, You’ll get pie in the sky when you die. In addition to introducing the phrase “pie in the sky” to the lexicon, the song resonated with workers impatient for better working conditions. Each year, the IWW published its Little Red Songbook, compiling the most popular Wobbly anthems. In the 1912 edition, four out of seven songs were written by Hill; in the 1913 edition, he wrote 10 out of 12 songs. Morrison Family

His songwriting success didn’t make him much money, however, and Hill continued to drift from job to job. By 1913, Hill was employed as a dockworker at Los Angeles Harbor. There, he and friend Otto Appelquist befriended a pair of fellow Swedes, brothers John and Ed Eselius. The brothers were about to return to their family home in the Salt Lake City suburb of Murray, and they encouraged Hill and Appelquist to join them in one of the plentiful smelting and mining jobs there. In August 1913, after spending 30 days in a Los Angeles jail on vagrancy charges, Hill hopped a boxcar bound for Salt Lake City. As it happened, Utah had recently been the scene of some intense Wobbly activity. The IWW opened its first Salt Lake City union hall in 1910; in July 1913, just a month before Hill arrived in town, the IWW orchestrated a strike among workers building a grade for the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad near Tucker. Strikers demanded that their employer, the Utah Construction Co. – the state’s largest contractor – provide adequate food and bedding, sanitary bathing and laundry facilities, and a raise of 25 cents per day. The company conceded to the strikers’ demands, but officials vowed revenge on the union. A month later, on Aug. 12, 1913, the company sent 20 armed thugs to violently break up an IWW meeting in Salt Lake City. Hill arrived in town just days later. His friend Appelquist had already arrived in Utah, and both stayed with the Eselius brothers in Murray while lining up work. Within a month, Hill and Appelquist took jobs in Park City’s Silver King Mine. When Hill fell ill in December, he and Appelquist returned to stay with the Eselius family as he recovered over the Christmas holiday.

Arling Morrison, arms crossed, and his father, John, behind him, were killed at their Salt Lake City market. Gov. William Spry had the final say on whether the state would carry out Joe Hill’s death sentence. Harris and Ewing, Library of Congress

Morrison Family

38 UTAH LIFE

JURY SELECTION FOR Joe Hill’s murder trial began on THE ESELIUS HOUSE was a bustling place, with much of June 10, 1914. The scales of justice seemed tipped against Hill the brothers’ extended family living there. A 20-year-old niece, from the start, as presiding Judge Morris L. Ritchie and the Hilda Erickson, who boarded in Salt Lake City, was a frequent lead prosecutor, District Attorney Elmer O. Leatherwood, were visitor. She and Appelquist became an item, and by Christmas, friends belonging to the same clubs and fraternal organizations. they were engaged to be married. However, just a few days into When Ritchie deemed the defense attorneys were taking too long the new year, Erickson called off the engagement. examining potential jurors, the judge simply appointed the last According to a letter written by Erickson – which author Wilthree of 12 jurors himself. One of those jurors was Joseph Kimliam Adler published for the first time in his 2011 book The Man ball, a friend of the judge. Who Never Died: The Life, Times and Legacy of Joe Hill, American The first prosecution witness was Merlin Morrison, the 13-yearLabor Icon, the source for much of this story – Appelquist “got old son who had survived the shooting hiding in the storeroom. very angry and asked me if I liked Joe better than him.” Erickson He testified that Hill looked like the man who shot his father. (Hill told him no, but that didn’t stop Hill from teasing his friend that was being tried only for the elder Morrison’s murder; prosecutors he was going to take her from him. theorized Appelquist shot the other son.) Despite this tension, Hill and Appelquist continued to room Hill’s attorneys scarcely cross-examined the boy for fear he may together at the Eselius house. On Jan. 10, 1914, the day of the start crying and upset the jury. Hill was furious with his attorneys, Morrison killings, the pair spent most of the day at the house tryand the next day in open court, he fired them, demanding to reping to fix a motorcycle. That evening Erickson, Appelquist and a resent himself. The judge allowed Hill to do so, but he also kept friend went to see a 7:30 p.m. vaudeville show. They left a note his fired lawyers on to provide defense as “friends of the court.” for Hill, who joined them at the theater before parting ways after The next key witness was Phoebe Seeley, who said she had the show. walked past two men – one tall, one short – wearing red bandanErickson next saw Hill the following morning, as he lay on a as on the street outside the grocery store just before the murders. cot in the Eselius house. When she asked him what was wrong, At the preliminary hearing, Seeley said she couldn’t be sure that he “told me that Otto shot him in a fit of anger,” adding that Apthe taller man was Hill. At trial, pelquist “was sorry right after, however, she said she thought he and carried him to Dr. McHugh’s office.” Appelquist had disap- “The main thing the state has against Hill looked similar, but that the tall peared into the night shortly is that he is an IWW and therefore sure man had different hair – lighter, bushier. The judge interjected, after Hill returned from the doctor’s, never to be heard from to be guilty.” – defense lawyers Ernest D. proceeding to feed her lines to make it seem as though she were again. MacDougall and Frank B. Scott positively identifying Hill. When Hill was arrested severAfter Seeley’s testimony, the al days later, he simply told them Deseret Evening News ran a story about the trial, accompanied by he had been shot after arguing over a woman, but he refused to an editorial about the IWW, which said, in part: “They are revoluname the shooter or the woman. Hill didn’t want to sully the hontionaries. They believe in a violent overturning of the established or of Erickson – and, stubbornly idealistic, he believed in the preinstitutions.” sumption of innocence, and that the burden lay on prosecutors Virginia Snow Stephen, daughter of former Church of Jesus to prove his guilt. As he knew he was not guilty, he had faith he Christ of Latter-day Saints President Lorenzo Snow, read about the would eventually be exonerated. case and believed Hill was innocent. She got expert lawyer Soren As Hill awaited his trial, Utah newspapers ran articles about Christensen to join the defense; the IWW paid his legal fees. Wobblies causing chaos. “Work is the last thing in the world that The prosecution rested its case having presented no motive for an Industrial Worker of the World desires. His principles are the shooting. Hill clearly did not know the Morrisons, and not based on the ‘general strike’ and the ‘social revolution,’ ” the Salt a cent had been taken from the till, ruling out robbery. When Lake Tribune wrote. “It is a challenge to society that can be met the defense presented its case, Hill’s attorneys presented evidence only with retaliation. The IWW makes war upon society … and suggesting an alternate suspect, along with a motive: revenge. society can only defend itself by warlike measures.” Criminals had attempted to rob Morrison twice in the decade The newspapers and civic leaders behaved as though the IWW before he was shot. Both times, he had foiled the would-be robbers were being put on trial alongside Hill. The IWW, in their own pubby firing his pistol at them, sending them scurrying away. His most lications, began depicting Hill as an icon of capitalist oppression. recent shootout had been just a few months before he was killed. Wobblies held protest rallies across the nation, and tens of thouHe told a newspaper reporter at the time that he thought he knew sands of letters and telegrams on Hill’s behalf flooded the goverwho his attacker was, and that he feared he would be back. nor’s office. The defense had a theory about who this mystery bandit was. “The main thing the state has against Hill is that he is an IWW Witness Peter Rhengreen testified that as he was walking to his and therefore sure to be guilty,” wrote Hill’s pro bono defense lawovernight shift as a railroad machinist about 90 minutes after the yers, Ernest D. MacDougall and Frank B. Scott, a few weeks before shooting, he saw two men standing on the street a mile west of his trial began. JOE HILL 39

the crime scene. The men split up. The taller man then either lay Court, so as not to drain the IWW’s resources on his account. down or fell on the snowy sidewalk, moaning and shutting his eyes. The last option was to appeal to the Utah Board of Pardons. The Rhengreen stopped and looked at him for a minute. Then the man board urged Hill to say who had shot him to prove his innocence. got up and boarded a streetcar. The streetcar operator testified, too, Hill refused. After a short recess to confer with his client, Hill’s and both witnesses identified the man they saw as Frank Z. Wilson. attorney Hilton returned to the board and said, “It seems he wants Wilson was a career criminal who had spent his adult life in and to be considered a martyr.” Hilton recalled Hill saying, “Gentleout of jail. He had lately been on a crime spree, robbing railroad men, the cause I stand for, that of a fair and honest trial, is worth cars and attempting to burn down a brothel after a failed jewel heist. more than human life – much more than mine.” Wilson, it turned out, was law enforcement’s original prime Popular demand for a new trial reached a new pitch. Influential suspect. Police had arrested him in a dragnet as he was walking supporters even prevailed upon President Woodrow Wilson to without a coat in the freezing cold near Morrison’s store around twice ask Utah Gov. Spry to stay the execution to consider more 1 a.m. the night of the shootings. Wilson gave a false name and evidence. Spry halted the execution both times but ultimately orlied about where he lived; he said he was out taking a walk before dered it to be carried out on Nov. 19, 1915. bed. A search revealed no weapon. Still, he was jailed, and a later That morning, deputies marched a blindfolded Hill to a chair search turned up a bloody handkerchief. outside the Utah State Prison’s blacksmith shop. They strapped Yet, for reasons unclear, police determined Wilson was not inhim into the chair and placed a paper target over his heart. A volved. Instead, he voluntarily confessed to a robbery in Nevada curtain with five slits hung on the long blacksmith shop window. and was sent there to be tried. Five rifles appeared through the slits. The final witness was Dr. F.M. Beer, who made two salient points. A deputy gave the commands. First, the bullet that struck Hill was jacketed in hard metal, where“Ready … Aim …” as the Morrisons’ gun fired unjacketed, soft lead bullets. Second, Hill yelled out the final command: “Yes, aim! Let it go! Fire!” the bullet holes in Hill’s coat were 4 inches lower than the holes in Witnesses saw Hill smile as the bullets tore into his chest. his body; the only way they lined up was if Hill had been holding Thousands viewed his body at a Salt Lake City funeral home, his arms above his head, lifting but Hill wouldn’t be buried in the coat – hardly the posture of a He said in a telegram to “Could you arrange to have my body Utah. brutal attacker. Big Bill Haywood: “It is a hunThe jury began deliberating at hauled to the state line to be buried? dred miles from here to Wyo4:45 p.m. on Friday, June 26, 1914. ming. Could you arrange to have The next morning, just before 10 Don’t want to be found dead in Utah.” my body hauled to the state line a.m., they notified the judge they to be buried? Don’t want to be – Joe Hill had a verdict. The foreman, the found dead in Utah.” judge’s friend Kimball, announced Rather than Wyoming, his that the jury found Hill guilty of murder in the first degree. body was transported via railroad to Chicago, where 5,000 peoA week and a half later, Hill returned to court for his sentencple packed the auditorium for his funeral, and another 30,000 ing. He had a choice: death by firing squad or hanging. jammed the streets around for three blocks. Haywood read one of “I’ll take shooting,” Hill said. “I’m used to that. I have been shot the final telegrams Hill sent: “Goodbye, Bill. I will die like a truea few times in the past, and I guess I can stand it again.” blue rebel. Don’t waste any time in mourning – organize.” Shortly before his death, Hill composed a will in verse form: HILL’S EXECUTION WAS put on hold while he appealed My Will is easy to decide, his case. All through the appeals process, Hill wrote at a feverish For there is nothing to divide. pace – both letters to supporters and new songs. He wrote one of My kin don’t need to fuss and moan – his best-loved songs, “Workers of the World, Awaken,” while in ‘Moss does not cling to a rolling stone.’ jail. The song begins: My body? Oh! If I could choose, If the workers take a notion, I would to ashes it reduce, They can stop all speeding trains. And let the merry breezes blow Every ship upon the ocean My dust to where some flowers grow. They can tie with mighty chains. Meanwhile, Hill had become something of a celebrity and a Perhaps some fading flowers then hero of the Wobbly movement. Gov. William Spry received some Would come to life and bloom again. 40,000 letters urging a new trial for Hill. This is my Last and Final Will, The Utah Supreme Court heard Hill’s appeal on May 28, 1915, Good Luck to All of you, with Denver attorney Orrin Hilton representing him. Hill had Joe Hill high hopes he would get a new trial, but those were dashed when, His friends followed his instructions and cremated his body a little more than a month later, the court unanimously affirmed the day after the funeral. The next year on the anniversary of his the guilty verdict. Hill decided not to appeal to the U.S. Supreme death, Haywood distributed 600 packets of Hill’s ashes to 150

40 UTAH LIFE

IWW delegates from across the globe, instructing them to scatter his ashes as they wished. The ashes were eventually distributed over five continents and 47 of the 48 states – all but Utah.

HILL’S LEGACY IS hard to assess. The IWW, to which he devoted his life, saw its power and influence significantly curtailed in 1917, when the United States entered World War I, and the federal government cracked down on the union’s activities, deeming them “treasonable conspiracy.” Yet many of the principles Hill fought for have become more accepted since his time: the right to due process under the law, the right to freedom of expression, the right to a living wage, safe workplace, affordable healthcare and housing. At the 1969 Woodstock festival, singer Joan Baez, who closed out the first night of performances, sang a song called “Joe Hill”: I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night, Alive as you and me. Says I, “But Joe, you’re 10 years dead,” “I never died,” said he, “I never died,” said he.

Joshua Hardin

Mildred Baldwin

“The copper bosses killed you, Joe, They shot you Joe,” says I. “Takes more than guns to kill a man,” Says Joe, “I didn’t die,” Says Joe, “I didn’t die.” And standing there as big as life, And smiling with his eyes, Says Joe, “What they can never kill Went on to organize, Went on to organize.” To commemorate the 100th anniversary of Hill’s death in 2015, Josh and Heidi Belka, members of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees union, painted a mural of Hill on the side of their Salt Lake City union hall. The mural lasted only eight days before someone came in the night and painted over it with an American flag – proof that Hill’s beliefs remain as controversial as ever. Ken Sanders, owner of Ken Sanders Rare Books, offered one of his shop’s walls for the Belkas to paint a new version of the mural. Hill’s portrait is ringed by the slogans “Educate. Agitate. Organize,” “Fire Your Bosses” and “Abolish the Wage System.” “The mural was painted over because some people think Joe Hill and the movement and his lyrics are un-American,” Heidi Belka said. “Since the advent of labor organizing, the bosses have been trying to tear down the labor movement. They’ve convinced people to go against their own best interests, thinking one day they’ll be middle management – ‘pie in the sky,’ as Joe put it.” Sanders is proud to have the mural on his store, and he plans to put a new one up at his new location at The Leonardo. “Joe Hill … and the other great IWW labor leaders fought on behalf of working men and women against the low wages, putrid working conditions and the malfeasance of the robber barons of the gilded age,” Sanders said. “We need to learn the lessons of the past to confront the sins of the present.”

Wikipedia

IMDB

Hill’s legacy lives on in a Salt Lake City mural, his songs like “The Rebel Girl,” art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum and the 1971 film Joe Hill starring Thommy Berggren as the titular hero.

JOE HILL 41

CULTURE. ADVENTURE. HISTORY. by ARIELLA NARDIZZI

CULTURE DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS OCT. 11 • OGDEN

Marigolds adorn ofrendas, or altars, honoring loved ones. Photos, favorite foods and personal mementos fill the altars. Incense hangs in the air, while candles are lit to guide spirits home. Ogden Friends of Acoustic Music’s Día de los Muertos celebration brings the community together to honor and remember loved ones who have passed. Día de los Muertos is traditionally observed Nov. 1-2. The holiday blends Indigenous Mesoamerican traditions with Catholic observances, using food, flowers, candles and other offerings to remember the dead. On Oct. 11, festivities at the Ogden Amphitheater run from noon to 8 p.m. The Ogden celebration draws inspiration from traditions in Michoacán, Mexico. Visitors can explore the community altar and learn the meaning behind the photographs, flowers, candles, food

and personal items placed there. A separate pet altar, hosted by The Golden Bark Foundation, honors animals that have been part of families’ lives. Throughout the day, mariachi and other live music fill the amphitheater. On stage, folklórico and traditional dance performances take over, along with other Mexican and Latin American performing arts. Along with song and dance, ofrendas honor loved ones with photos, mementos and storytelling to keep their memories alive. The main altar welcomes visitors to add a photo of a loved one, creating a visual portrait of the community. At the Mercadito hosted by La Buena Vida Utah, artists and businesses display handmade wares, while local food vendors serve festivalgoers. Local students also show their artwork. The festival puts its own spin on Día de los Muertos with a car show hosted by GoodTimes Car Club

UT, incorporating altars into the display. Colorful decorations and flowers fill the grounds, but the stories families share remain the focus. ofoam.org/dia-de-losmuertos. (385) 240-0994.

WHERE TO EAT ALL ABOUT TACOS

The downtown Mexican restaurant takes its cues from Veracruz. Try the barbacoa ramen, taco flight or pastor negro carne. 2421 Kiesel Ave. (801) 689-3628.

WHERE TO GO

OGDEN NATURE CENTER The state’s first nature center includes a 152-acre preserve with trails, ponds, meadows, wetlands and native wildlife. The center also offers camps, classes, seminars and conservation opportunities. 966 W. 12th St. (801) 621-7595.

The Day of the Dead celebrates loved ones with altars, music and dance. Ogden Friends of Acoustic Music/Sam Crump

Cedar Livestock and Heritage Festival

The longstanding heritage of livestock and agriculture in Cedar City is on full display in October. Sheep herders journey down Main Street with their herd for the signature event. Other activities include rodeos, cowboy poetry, a Dutch oven contest and a quilt show.

AGRICULTURE CEDAR LIVESTOCK & HERITAGE FESTIVAL OCT. 23-25 • CEDAR CITY

Each year, about 1,000 sheep are herded down from Cedar Mountain pastures to an expectant, cheering crowd on Main Street. The spectacle is the centerpiece of the Cedar Livestock & Heritage Festival, a three-day celebration of Iron County’s fall harvest and annual livestock drive from the mountains. Cedar City’s sheep story stretches back to 1862, when the first 10 sheep arrived. By 1869, the community herd had grown to more than 2,000, and the Cedar Sheep Association formed to manage it. Cross Hollows Events Center hosts most of the activities, while others are spread around town. On Friday, the festivities kick off when the wagon train rolls into town. Wagon trains were part of Cedar City’s early settlement, and every year participants make the trek from St. George to the Iron Rangers Arena. Saturday brings the Dutch oven contest.

Pioneers relied on cast-iron Dutch ovens, and competitors keep the tradition going today. For $5, visitors can sample and judge entries for main courses, sides and desserts. At 10 a.m., the sheep parade moves down Main Street. Horses, wagons, antique tractors, stock dogs and historic and modern sheep camps join the procession. Later, live sheep-shearing demonstrations put another ranching skill on display. Throughout the weekend, visitors can enjoy cowboy poetry and music, Cowboy Church on Sunday at 10 a.m., an art and photo contest, vintage car show, quilt show, the crowning of a Grand Marshal and a fashion show featuring garments made with wool. By weekend’s end, the wagons roll out, but the dust, stories and scent of Dutch oven cooking linger long after they’re gone. cedarlivestockfest.com.

WHERE TO EAT

CENTRO WOODFIRED PIZZERIA Centro builds its menu around family recipes and fresh, seasonal ingredients. Pair Nonna’s meatballs with a fennel sausage pizza. And save room for dessert – a classic cannoli to finish. 50 W. Center St. (844) 385-3285.

WHERE TO STAY BIG YELLOW INN

The spacious yellow B&B features themed rooms, including safari and maritime decor. A grand staircase, fireplaces and a guest library add to the setting. 234 S. 300 West. (435) 586-0960.

EXPLORE UTAH 43

Other events you may enjoy OCTOBER Vienna Boys Choir Oct. 21 • Orem

The Vienna Boys Choir celebrates more than 100 years of international touring with a show at the Noorda Center for the Performing Arts in Orem. One of the world’s oldest and most renowned choirs performs Johann Strauss II’s “The Blue Danube” and Billy Joel’s “Vienna.” Tickets start at $20. 7:30 p.m. 960 S. Campus Dr. (801) 863-7529.

Halloween Silent Disco

Mormons & Ardent Spirits

Dance under the twinkling lights of Laub Plaza with Logan City Parks and Recreation. Halloween costumes are encouraged. Free admission. 7-10 p.m. 55 N. Main St. (435) 716-9250.

Troy Dryer, a fifth-generation Latter-day Saint, and Sandy Brumley, a hiking guide and student of Park City history, discuss Utah’s early liquor trade and distribution through the lens of Latter-day Saint history. The lecture is held at the Education and Collections Center of Park City Museum. 5-6 p.m. 2079 Sidewinder Dr. (435) 649-7457.

Oct. 31 • Logan

Hotel Vernal Haunt

Weekends in October • Vernal

The former Weston Lamplighter Hotel now hosts demons, spirits, ghouls, monsters and other haunted creatures. Enter if you dare. Tickets are $15 for adults and $13 for students, seniors and veterans. Doors open at 6:30 p.m. 120 E. Main St. hotelvernalhaunt.com.

Southern Utah Triathlon

NOVEMBER

Athletes swim Quail Creek Reservoir, bike through the surrounding red-rock landscape and run along the reservoir’s scenic shoreline in this Southern Utah destination. Participants can choose from the sprint or Olympic-distance course. Races begin at 8 a.m., with an awards ceremony to follow the last racers. 472 N. 5300 West. (801) 335-4940.

Parowan Gap Sun Watch

Oct. 24 • Hurricane

Salsaween Latin Dance Oct. 24 • Sandy

Salsa, bachata, cumbia, cha-cha, rumba, tango and reggaeton take over the dance floor at Utah Salsa’s Halloween party. A Latin dance class starts the night at 9 p.m., followed by social dancing and the Salsaween show at 10 p.m. All ages are welcome. 9 p.m.-1:30 a.m. $20. Mountain America Expo Center, 9575 S. State St. (888) 725-7201.

The Halloween Express Thru Oct. 30 • Heber City

The Heber Valley Railroad rolls through the Wasatch Back on a 90-minute family-friendly Halloween ride to haunted Decker Bay village, with hosts and a cast of spooky characters entertaining riders along the way. Monday, Thursday and Friday nights. Train departs at 7 p.m. General admission $35, $75 first class. 450 S. 600 West. (435) 654-5601.

44 UTAH LIFE

Nov. 7 • Cedar City

At sunrise, watch the Overseer rock formation appear to swallow the sun, marking winter’s arrival as told by Indigenous lore. Parowan Gap has more than 90 petroglyph panels and about 1,500 figures. The free event begins at 6:45 a.m. with an interpretive program, 12 miles north of Cedar City off Highway 130. Dress warmly. visitcedarcity.com.

Fall Orchid Show

Nov. 7-8 • Salt Lake City

Common and exotic orchids fill the Richard K. Hemingway Orangerie at Red Butte Garden. The Utah Orchid Society shares growing tips, and a selection of plants and pottery is available for purchase. Free for members; non-members pay garden admission. Saturday 9 a.m.-5 p.m., Sunday 9 a.m.-4 p.m. 300 S. Wakara Way. (801) 585-0556.

Nov. 11 • Park City

Butch Cassidy 10K/5K Nov. 14 • Springdale

The 43rd annual race takes runners along the Virgin River, over the Rockville Bridge and into the historic ghost town of Grafton. At the finish line, there’s a “Catch Butch” competition, Butch Cassidy lookalike competition, poker hand and prizes. Race begins at 9 a.m. 1584 Zion Park Blvd. (435) 772-3434.

‘Alpenbock’ Film Nov. 19 • Alta

A screening of Alpenbock, presented by the Salt Lake Climbers Alliance, traces Little Cottonwood Canyon’s history and the University of Utah climbers who formed the Alpenbock Club in the 1960s. The film begins at Our Lady of the Snows at 6:30 p.m., followed by a Q&A. 6 p.m. 10185 E. Hwy. 210. saltlakeclimbers.org.

‘The Nutcracker’ Nov. 27-29 • Ogden

Ballet West brings “The Nutcracker” to the Val A. Browning Center. Willam Christensen first choreographed the production in 1944, and Utah designated it a Living Historic Landmark in 2024. 2 and 7 p.m. Friday and Saturday; noon Sunday. Tickets start at $17. 3950 W. Campus Dr. (801) 399-9214.

Desert Heartstrings

‘Messiah’ Sing-In

The husband-and-wife duo blends banjo, acoustic guitar, mandolin, kick drum and tambourine for a night of folk rock and Americana. Show is at the Utah State University Blanding Arts & Events Center and hosted by Kigalia Fine Arts. $10. 7-9 p.m. 715 W. 200 South.

The Utah Symphony joins Utah Symphony Chorus and vocal soloists for Handel’s Messiah at Abravanel Hall. Sing along with the “Hallelujah” chorus and other selections during this Thanksgiving weekend tradition. 7:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. 123 W. South Temple. utahsymphony.org.

Nov. 9 • Blanding

Nov. 28-29 • Salt Lake City

TRIVIA ANSWERS Questions on p 10-11 adapted an exist1 Mahonri Young ing Paul Bunyan 2 Midway mold, swapping 3 Dine-A-Ville Motel the axe for a pick. 4 Both were scrapped Locals named him after becoming after Jimmy Dean’s obsolete. 5 Flour “Big Bad John.” 13 True 6 a. Nuclear fusion 14 False - Congress device used the old 7 a. 8 Washington 8 b. A rider changing Meridian, not horses Greenwich. That 9 a. Sylvan the Seal difference is the 10 a. Oxyacetylene source of the fatorch mous “misplaced 11 True Four Corners” 12 False - Helper myth. ordered a coal miner, but the manufacturer 15 True Trivia Photographs Page 10, Top Seagull Monument Page 10, Bottom Philo Farnsworth Page 11 “Out of the Blue” sculpture

Tooele Pioneer

Museum

Experience the beauty, legacy, and historical value of Tooele Open Every Tuesday Year Round 10 am-1 pm Open Memorial Day through Labor Day Friday and Saturday • 10 am-4 pm

47 E Vine St • Tooele, UT 435-882-3168

TooelePioneerMuseum.org

EXPLORE UTAH 45

story by KERRY SOPER illustration by JOSH TALBOT

Summer jobs for Utah teens

ECAUSE UTAH HAS plenty of young people desperate to earn a few bucks each summer, there’s a long tradition of businesses taking advantage of – er, I mean harnessing – this eager labor force. Thus the low-paying, often absurd summer job has become a rite of passage. Some examples from friends and family: • Pulling hazardous materials from donations at Deseret Industries while working alongside a paranoid former roadie for heavy metal bands. • Cleaning sludge from a neglected swimming pool in Davis County, then getting partial payment in surplus Amway products. • Wrestling large animals for a chain-smoking llama groomer in Sanpete County who worked out of her rusty red Chevy Cavalier. • Picking cherries at an Orem orchard for $1 an hour while consuming enough fruit each shift to develop chronic diarrhea. My brother-in-law’s first job at 16 evokes vivid images and smells: He spent the summer stirring straw into giant piles of turkey manure in a fly-filled barn in Manti. The most demeaning part was reporting to a hardened 10-year-old boss in a backward baseball cap who sped around on a souped-up four-wheeler. I’ve also heard about psychologically challenging gigs: • Selling animated scripture stories on VHS door to door in Utah County after everyone had already switched to DVDs. • Nannying for an Alpine family of nine feral, homeschooled boys, three still working through potty-training issues. • Dressing as a gorilla one day, then a clown or Ariel the next, to deliver balloons and off-key songs around Salt Lake. • Delivering newspapers before dawn, then facing angry subscribers if a Salt Lake Tribune landed at a Deseret News house – or vice versa. My older brother’s first job in the mid-1970s was on Lagoon’s garden crew, earning $1.80 an hour. Technically, the

46 UTAH LIFE

back-breaking, sweaty work, which required salt tablets to avoid passing out from dehydration, was classified as “nonhazardous,” allowing the park to legally employ 14-year-olds. Too bad “hazard” didn’t include being spit on by patrons of the Skyride, enduring sweary flirtations from his crusty 60-yearold boss or navigating Lagoon’s labyrinthine teenage caste system. At the top were the musically talented high schoolers performing live shows and garnering groupies. Next came the cool lifeguards, skilled ride operators and cocky carnival barkers. Then came the pathetic kids wandering around in animal costumes with perpetual B.O., followed by the sad teens cranking out corn dogs in cramped concession stands.

Near the bottom came the garden crew: soil-encrusted pariahs barred from the employee cafeteria because of – you know – all the dirt. My brother consoled himself that at least he wasn’t one of the untouchables on the grounds crew, collecting garbage because they didn’t know anybody in the system or applied too late in the spring. My own sad series of teenage jobs left me with more scars, mental and physical, than actual skills. As a chunky 12-year-old in Farmington, I was so desperate to buy more Dungeons & Dragons figures that I worked alongside aging hippies at a plant nursery, moving sloppy trays of wet plants between greenhouses for $2 an hour. They let me go after two weeks for being too slow, dropping too many trays and probably annoying

did develop a nice moon tan and intrigueveryone with incessant preteen chatter ingly dark circles under my eyes. and flatulence. The next summer I worked as an artsAt 14, I was a grunt laborer for a landand-crafts counselor in a sweltering Army scaping company. That lasted a month betent on a high school football field. For cause 10-minute breaks in the shade after legal reasons, I won’t mention the school, every 10 minutes of mowing didn’t sit well since the other counselors and with the uppity boss. I accidentally destroyed a giAt 15, I flipped burgers at ant swath of grass behind the Stevenett’s malt shop in Provo tent by surreptitiously peeing for several weeks. When they on it between class sessions. fired me, they said it was for We told the camp owners we “serving too many bags of soghad no idea what caused the gy, under-cooked fries,” but I damage. later discovered I was a victim Finally, I worked the midof nepotism when the ownnight shift at a Top Stop coner replaced me with his even AUTHOR venience store, the Maverik of more incompetent nephew. Kerry Soper writes After getting my driver’s liand teaches satire, the 1990s, in Mt. Pleasant after my senior year. The meager cense, I spent a summer cleanhumor and history amount I saved for college was ing restaurants and bathrooms from Provo. well earned: dudes in old pickalong the Wasatch Front in the up trucks tried nightly to steal gas and beer, middle of the night. The work paid decentsometimes during the same visit. ly, but my dad was between jobs, so my I got the last laugh, I think. The withearnings covered the family grocery bill. I

ered hot dogs they tended to eat each day, plucked from those metal rollers, were usually placed there, 18 hours earlier, at the start of my shift. The summer after my freshman year in college, I graduated from the indignities of teenage employment. Finally appreciated for my skills, I was hired by a wealthy family in Provo’s Oak Hills neighborhood to paint a mural of Utah red-rock country in their basement. I foolishly neglected to negotiate a fee, assuming they would be generous. Bad idea. After a month of work, it became clear they thought I was painting the mural for free to gain experience or get “exposure.” On the final day, they acted like magnanimous art patrons and presented me with a generous $100 tip. After that deflating introduction to the adult world, I was tempted to call Lagoon’s gardening department – or, heck, even the grounds crew – to see if they had any long-term career opportunities.

LAST LAUGH 47

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Utah Life — August/September 2026