A light late-afternoon breeze cooled the beating sun as I traversed from a sandy footpath onto a slickrock slab. It was a gorgeous 82 degrees on a September afternoon as I trekked through the desert in search of moonshine.

Moonshine Arch, that is.

It was a simple, well-marked desert hike at the base of Red Mountain, just a few miles from Steinaker Reservoir State Park. I passed ancient junipers, their trunks twisting and turning, and stands of prickly pear cactus sprouting from the sand.

Along the way, I spotted a couple wandering a parallel slickrock ridge. Was I on the wrong track? I didn’t think so.

Pondering the name, thoughts ran through my mind. Was this once a bootlegger’s hideaway? Would I find remnants of an old still?

I had moonshine on my mind, thinking back to a hike nearly 20 years ago in the San Rafael Desert. That one was Moonshine Wash, where there really was an old still. It was also like a death march through the sand after we ran out of water.

But we lived to tell.

It was just three-quarters of a mile to the arch. As it came into view, nestled against a rock ridge, the wandering couple turned back and headed down. I pushed on, closing in on my quest.

They never found the arch.

There is little recorded history about Moonshine Arch and seemingly nothing about its name. The Navajo sandstone here dates back roughly 190 million years, when immense sand dunes covered the region. Over time, freezing water expanded in cracks, weakening the rock. Wind, water and gravity did the rest, eventually sculpting the massive sandstone arch.

Even more impressive was the backdrop, where erosion had carved huge alcoves into the cliffs behind it.

But why Moonshine?

Old maps from the 1930s show the route through the area, but no Moonshine Arch. The name doesn’t appear on the historical maps I could find, emerging instead on more recent BLM maps. Somewhere along the way, somebody started calling it Moonshine Arch.

But who? And why?

Could it be yet another Uintah Basin mystery, like those Phenomecon attendees were seeking that week around Skinwalker Ranch?

What is no mystery is the Uintah Basin’s long history with distilling, moonshine and bootleggers. It stretches back into the 1800s and became especially colorful during Prohibition. There was even a still hidden in the Vogue Theater on Main Street, a story memorialized with a marker today. And then there was moonshiner John Aime, convicted in Vernal of illegally making liquor, whose biggest problem was that he kept getting arrested.

Whether any of that history made its way to this secluded sandstone alcove remains tantalizingly unclear.

Heading back down, I marveled at the landscape of slickrock benches, sandstone cliffs and desert vegetation. Off in the distance to the east was the distinctive outline of Molly’s Nipple rising from the ridgeline.

Some say it’s one of as many as 11 Molly’s Nipples in Utah alone.

But that’s a tale for another day.

DETAILS

Getting There: Simply take U.S. 191 north from downtown Vernal for seven miles to a well-marked turnoff to a dirt road, driving another mile to a well-developed trailhead with parking and a toilet.

Trail: This is an easy trail, well-marked — 0.72 miles to the arch, so a mile and a half total. The route climbs 300 feet. It’s suitable for all abilities.

Dining: There are plenty of restaurants in Vernal, but check out the family friendly Vernal Brewing Co. in the heart of downtown. Remarkable food for a brew pub and some great beer being brewed there. Or check out the legendary 7-11 Ranch Restaurant, which dates back to a hotdog stand in 1933.

Five Other Things to Do:

McConkie Ranch Petroglyphs — In Dry Fork Canyon, north of Vernal, the ranch has extraordinary Fremont rock art, including the distinctive large human figures associated with the Classic Vernal Style.

Dinosaur National Monument  — Just 20 minutes east near Jensen. The Quarry Exhibit Hall preserves roughly 1,500 dinosaur bones in the actual rock face rather than simply displaying excavated fossils in cases. 

Fantasy Canyon — South of Vernal, this small BLM area contains bizarre, extremely delicate sandstone formations that look almost sculpted.

Red Fleet State Park — About 13 miles north of Vernal, featuring beautiful red sandstone surrounding the reservoir. Its special attraction is the 200-million-year-old dinosaur trackway, reached by a hike through the sandstone.

Utah Field House of Natural History State Park Museum — Right on Main Street, it tells the broader geological and paleontological story of the Uintah Basin, with fossils, hands-on exhibits and the outdoor Dinosaur Garden.

The post Sunday Drive: In search of moonshine appeared first on Park Record.

Wandering past the Snowbasin moose, we were drawn in by the familiar strains of “In Heaven There Is No Beer,” an American polka classic adapted from the 1956 German song “Im Himmel gibt’s kein Bier.” The Park City Polka Players commanded the Bavarian Stage as families, baby strollers and dogs filled the green grass lawn at the base of the ski resort.

It’s Oktoberfest at Snowbasin, or as they say, SnowWiesn!

As the leaves begin to turn ever so slightly, and as days get just a little crisper in late summer, minds turn to fall festivals. I think Oktoberfest.

Since the 19th century wedding of Crown Prince Ludwig of Bavaria and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburghausen at Theresienwiese (Therese’s Meadow) in Munich, the annual gathering has been known simply as die Wiesn. Now it’s come to Snowbasin.

For me, it was a bit of a training exercise. In just a few weeks, I’ll be at the original Wiesn in Munich, gathering with the big boys to hoist steins of helles in the Bavarian capital.

Things were decidedly calmer at Snowbasin as we grabbed a shaded picnic table seat near the stage to listen to German music. Parading in front of us was an English setter in lederhosen and his border collie partner in a dirndl. 

Dogs totally rule at SnowViesn. And so do babies.

Knowing that this was a training run for me, I wandered through the nine beer purveyors. Kudos to local breweries for rising above the world of IPAs to make some classic German brews. I gravitated to Utah’s mothership of Bavarian brewing with a traditional Helles from Templin.

Halfway through the beer, I was tearing up as the band played “Edelweiss,” my mind wandering to Julie Andrews twirling around in the flowers amidst a mountain meadow high up in the Alps.

For me, it was about building knowledge. In just a few weeks, I’ll be at the original Wiesn in Munich, gathering with the big boys to hoist steins of helles in the Bavarian capital.

Finishing up my Helles, we waltzed over to the Needles Express to check out the view high atop the mountain. It’s still so impressive to see the huge log lodges Earl Holding built for the 2002 Winter Games. None is more breathtaking than Needles Lodge.

On a cool mountain afternoon, the mellow sounds of alphorns filled the air, echoing off the rocky escarpments of the Needles. In front of the lodge, an entire six-piece ensemble of handcrafted Swiss and German alphorns serenaded us in the sunshine.

Eric, from Utah Alphorns, was our guide, telling us that the 12-foot-long instruments are traditionally carved from mountain spruce aged for nine years, usually outside the woodworkers’ barn high in the Swiss Alps. And did you know that an alphorn can play only 14 notes? And it’s all highly dependent on the lips of the musician.

Carole always has probing questions — like, how do you get them on an airplane? Eric explained how they come apart in sections.

Then it was back to the music.

Down at the Snowbasin base area, it was time for the 3 p.m. competitions. First up was the costume contest. I wonder if that’s what they call it in Munich? I was getting a photograph of the contestants when I suddenly realized I had a chance to win myself. I hopped in.

“Everything from the waist up is from Bavaria,” I exclaimed to the crowd. “And I’m wearing Fjallraven pants only because my wife won’t let me wear lederhosen.”

I think I finished second.

Next came the Masskrugstemmen. This is where you hold a liter stein of beer with your arm extended out in front of you. My money was on Ryan. He just seemed to have the right focus, plus a cool Bavarian hat with a badge that said: “I’m the reason the beer is always gone.” Alas, after three or four minutes, Ryan’s arm gave out.

Hunger was setting in with the excitement of the day. It came down to the Rippchenstrang, Hähnchenbrötchen, or a Bratwurst. The brat won out. And the kind tapkeeper from Prodigy Brewing in Logan poured me a tasty Oktoberfest Märzen.

As the music played on, I contemplated. As many as 7 million people will come to the Wiesn in Munich this month and next. It’s decidedly quieter at Snowbasin. In fact, it was downright civil.

It was a true family affair, with dogs and babies reigning supreme. Bring a blanket. Pack the kids in a wagon. Dress up the family pooch. And enjoy an afternoon in the autumn sun, while thinking about carving some turns in just a few months.

Prosit!

DETAILS

When

Every Saturday and Sunday from noon to 6 p.m. through Oct. 18. Check out details at snowbasin.com.

The post Sunday Drive: In heaven, there is no beer appeared first on Park Record.

I sat at the elegant bar nursing my Coconut Stout, my mind wandering back to the last time I was in the more than century-old building on 1100 East. It was December 1989. I walked in to buy my wife, Carole, a Pfaff Hobbymatic sewing machine from Dave Dalton, the longtime proprietor of Shingleton’s Sewing Center. It was the place to go for sewing machines in the valley.

The building has evolved over the decades from a grocery store to a sewing center and now a neighborhood taproom — still bringing friends and neighbors together on the northwest edge of Sugar House. On a cold and rainy weekend, the new Kiitos Brewing Sugar House Bar was bustling with the kind of camaraderie only a brewery could bring together.

Breweries are burgeoning in Salt Lake City!

The minute I walked into Chappell’s in South Salt Lake, I knew it was all about the beer. I had met owner Tim Chappell once, and I finally took him up on the invite. This is the quintessential taproom — a half-dozen brewing tanks behind the bar, enough tables for friends to get together, and a lineup of seats at the bar.

Simple. No fancy back bar. Wine by the can. And a great selection of beers on draft, traveling only a few feet from their origin. At Chappell you can choose from Dawn Patrol to Purple Magic Underpants. 

Opie was tending the bar (yes, from Andy Griffith fame). He offered up a hazy IPA as one of their more popular brews. In recent years, I’ve strayed from the raging IPA scene. I stayed safe with a Crispy Boi, a cerveza-ish cream ale brewed with local corn.

Chappell’s is one of the newer breweries to open in South Salt Lake. After a 2017 ordinance change made it easier for breweries to set up shop, the scene exploded. Two years later, the state of Utah allowed beer up to 5% ABV on tap. Today, breweries are popping up throughout the valley as neighborhood gathering spots.

One beer down, four to go, I made my way two blocks to SaltFire, tucked away on South West Temple. Bartender Taylor intrigued me with a Codex Italian Pilsner. Don, at the end of the bar, helped explain the beer, which uses Tettnanger hops and is dry-hopped — adding hops after the boil to preserve more of their distinctive aroma and herbal character.

SaltFire has that industrial taproom feel on the outside, but it mellows inside with a nicely done interior and peaceful lighting. SaltFire says that “In these days of near-certain apocalypse, we are the zymotic transcendentalists working on the edges of the event horizon, exploring the depths of the abyss for enlightenment and occult-worthy sustenance.”

I say they just brew good beer.

Thank goodness my driver had now arrived, and we headed for Level Crossing. Step inside and you’ll find a bustling taproom with a full menu from pretzels to pizza to sandwiches. Guys, this is a place where you can legitimately bring a date while you drink beer!

Gavin was the busiest bartender I’ve ever seen in a taproom. Most of that was mixing cocktails rather than pulling taps. But I’ll cut him some slack as the award-winnng Vienna Lager looked and tasted elegant, and paired nicely with our ricotta and prosciutto pizza. Carole dutifully had an I’m the Driver mocktail.

As a finale, I had a taster of Bat Country blonde ale.

We headed north from South Salt Lake into Salt Lake City’s Ballpark neighborhood. RoHa Brewing Project sits on a side street in a largely residential area just east of Main Street. It’s an eclectic setting — food truck outside, patio going off, the Hazy Honey Band setting up inside.

Walking in the front door, a poster told part of the story, advertising a Sept. 17 premiere party for season seven of “The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.” It’s a ticketed event. 

Alex welcomed us to the bar. My eyes caught the Pink Boots Pilsner, a brew benefiting the Pink Boots Society, which supports women in the brewing industry. Alex warned me about the terpenes — aromatic compounds naturally found in hops that can bring out everything from citrus and flowers to pine and herbs.

I took a sip. Now I knew what Alex was telling me!

Hazy Honey was just kicking off the evening, but it was time to move on. One more to go.

Now, after a meandering five-brewery tour through the valley, I was thinking about settling in with one final beer at Kiitos. Walking in, I was transformed. The old sewing machine shop we knew was now a moody neighborhood lounge. 

From Crispy Boi to Coconut Stout, we came for the beer, but found the real flavor in the neighborhoods along the way.

DETAILS

You can find all the breweries on Google Maps and on the web. And remember, they’re all 21 and older.

The post Sunday Drive: Brew tour through the Salt Lake Valley appeared first on Park Record.

It was the middle of the fourth. The Utah Dirty Sodas were dealing the Reno Aces a stacked deck. All eyes were fixed on center field. Suddenly, the 4-1 score was out of mind.

Amid the thundering roar of the crowd, a melon, a carrot, an apple and an ear of corn approached the starting line. Mellie the Melon took the early lead, sprinting toward the finish in right field. On her right, Cornelius Corn had this perpetual smile but not a kernel of oomph to move up. Then out of nowhere, Rooty the Carrot made his move, slicing his way between the apple and the melon.

There’s nothing like a good produce race!

And, yes, there was also a ball game going on.

This is the second season for the Salt Lake Bees — or should I say the Dirty Sodas? — playing at The Ballpark at America First Square. It is an amazing experience, from the Utah-centric restaurants of Downtown Daybreak beyond center field to Beddy’s Berm in right, where families watch the game from blankets, hoping to catch a home run ball.

I have to admit, I’ve never really understood the dirty soda concept. But with the Bees playing that night in their Dirty Sodas jerseys, I was soon to learn.

Bottom of the first, and we were just getting settled into our dugout-level seats on the first-base side. With a beer in the cupholder, I was working my way through a giant bag of peanuts. As a kid, I used to love licking the salt off the shells. Can’t do that today.

The Dirty Sodas got off to a great start, loading the bases. Raudi Rodriguez, a Dominican Republic-born Dirty Sodas outfielder, came up and cleared them with a triple to the wall.

Now, this was great baseball! But the fans had other ideas. I learned that if the Dirty Sodas scored four runs in an inning, it meant free dirty sodas for all.

The line was already forming as Bryce Teodosio came to bat, sending Rodriguez home with run No. 4 four on an RBI single as fans descended on the Swig cart for their freebie.

A baseball game still takes me back to my youth. For me, it was regular trips to see the Milwaukee Braves at County Stadium in the late ’50s and early ’60s. I have memories of that 1957 World Series title season and following heroes like Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews. I’m sure I didn’t understand the game as an 8 year old, but it was a trip with Dad or Grandpa to the “game.”

At the end of the third, it was hot dog time. I scouted J Dawgs in center field. My seatmate, Paul, a wildland firefighter captain from nearby Camp Williams, was in search of a rare Chicago dog. He found it at the Franx stand on the third-base side.

For just $10, I had a beautiful dog in a soft poppy seed bun with relish and all the accouterments, topped off with a zig-zaggy line of yellow mustard. It was a perfect complement to a Wasatch Juicy IPA.

But soon it was time to complete the lyric, with mascots Bumble and Swiggy leading the way. For some reason, Paul instantly knew “Pink Pony Club” from Chappell Roan. The entire crowd knew “Sweet Caroline.”

Meanwhile, the score kept mounting.

Religion and sport always seem to come together in the middle of the seventh at a ball game. I proudly stood and joined the crowd for “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” the old vaudeville tune that generations of baseball fans have turned into a seventh-inning ritual.

In the bottom of the eighth, the Aces reached desperation stage as catcher Christian Cerda came in to pitch. His unorthodox style was very wrist-heavy, and his slider came in nearly 20 mph slower than the pitches we’d been watching all night.

We laughed. Then he retired three straight batters to get out of the inning.

But all good things come to an end. Before we knew it, we were in the top of the ninth with an insurmountable lead. I took a final sip of beer. In the darkness of a gorgeous South Jordan evening, the Aces’ A.J. Vukovich struck out.

The ball game was over.

For a few hours, though, it had felt wonderfully familiar — peanuts and hot dogs, silly songs and seventh-inning traditions, a night at the ballpark that somehow still felt a little like those trips to County Stadium with dad and grandpa.

Only now, instead of racing sausages, I was cheering for a carrot.

DETAILS

Getting There: Plan on an hour getting there for a night game with traffic, a bit easier coming back. It’s I-80 to 21st Street Freeway out to the Mountain View Expressway, then 13 miles south.

Dining: I have to say, the food at the ballpark is great and reasonably priced. Or you can grab a bite in Downtown Daybreak in the outfield with Hires, Nomad, Red Iguana, and Rockwell ice cream.

Tickets: For just $11.50 you can park yourself with a blanket on the rightfield berm. Stadium seating runs around $20-$30.

The post Sunday Drive: It’s all about the produce appeared first on Park Record.

Channeling her inner Julie Andrews from “The Sound of Music,” my wife, Carole, held out her arms and twirled magically in a meadow of golden rabbitbrush high in the Uintas. In the distance, the peaks of the Wasatch Range stood mystically in the haze of wildfire smoke. More than 3,000 feet below, the Weber River coursed through a lush green valley on Thousand Peaks Ranch, down Weber Canyon and on toward Oakley.

For a moment, it felt as if we had this immense landscape entirely to ourselves.

There are few more magical places in the Uintas than standing above Moffit Pass and looking out over the western skyline.

This adventure started a few weeks earlier. My wife was engrossed in the first episode of the Paramount docudrama “Marshals.” We play this game called We Were There. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as “Marshals” star Luke Grimes rode through a stunning “Montana” landscape as Kayce Dutton, with the unmistakable profile of Moffit Peak and the Uintas rising behind the action.

Hey, we were there!

Of course, we in Park City are proud to have TV crews use our landscape as a stand-in for Montana. But the real beauty is that we Parkites can easily travel there ourselves on a simple Sunday drive.

Well, maybe not all that simple.

Moffit Pass, at 700 feet below the 11,014-foot Moffit Peak, is essentially the extension of Weber Canyon beyond Smith and Morehouse Reservoir. The only thing is you can’t get there from there.

A few years ago, we crawled up the Gold Hill route to Moffit Pass off the Mirror Lake Highway. It’s a great 4WD adventure. This time, we approached from the north, following Chalk Creek Road east from Coalville and traversing miles of ranchland on a remote county road before reaching Whitney Reservoir. 

For mile after mile, Chalk Creek Road carried us through sprawling ranchland, where shepherds were moving hundreds of sheep from one high meadow to another. What struck us most was the vastness of this unspoiled corner of northeastern Summit County, a landscape most Parkites will never see despite its being practically in our backyard.

The farther we drove, the more the modern world seemed to fall away. Signs of human life were few: two pickups that passed us along the way, a lone shepherd on horseback, and a dirt bike rider frustratingly fixing a flat tire. Otherwise, there was simply the road, the mountains and an enormous sweep of open range.

After an hour on the gravel road through the ranchland, I had grown complacent. But as we began the climb toward Moffit Pass, I dropped the Rubicon into four-wheel-low. The narrow track demanded careful tire placement. Its undulating terrain could easily catch you off guard with unexpected dips and doodles.

Whether on foot or in a 2011 Rubicon, summiting is an exhilarating experience.

We emerged onto the high ridge and suddenly the world seemed to open in every direction. We stood beneath the sheer rock faces of Moffit Peak, looked northwest toward the wonderfully odd profile of Humpy Peak, and turned east to a staggering skyline of the High Uintas, with Hayden Peak anchoring the southern horizon, then Kletting and A-1 marching northward.

But it was the view west that stopped us.

Layer upon layer of mountain peaks fading into the hazy sky. The bright green valley of the Weber. Tens of thousands of acres of open land. And a light breeze ruffling the wildflowers around our feet in a mountain meadow. 

DETAILS

Getting There

You have multiple options, and they’re all similar — about two and a half hours from Park City to Moffit Pass. You will need a 4WD vehicle with high clearance for the final segment to the top. We used the Coalville to Chalk Creek Road to Whitney Reservoir and up past Beaver Lake, then looped back to the north on return. You can also access from Mirror Lake Highway at Whitney Road (mile 43.9) or Gold Hill Road (mile 43.3). The full loop is 135-140 miles from Park City. Head there with a full tank.

Ability Level

The Beaver Lake route up to Moffit Pass requires four-wheel-low and some knowledge. It’s rocky with uneven terrain. The return route to the north toward Whitney Road is a easier.

Private Land

If you take the Coalville route out Chalk Creek Road, you will ultimately drive for nearly 20 miles through private land. Respect that it’s private and stay on the road. These are working ranches. And thanks to the long stewardship of Thousand Peaks and Two Bear Ranches.

Dining

This adventure is begging for a burger, beer, and a game of pool at The Notch (kids welcome).

The post Sunday Drive: The hills are alive appeared first on Park Record.

A Sunday morning stroll through Wheeler Historic Farm turned into a treasure hunt for dinner — with Italian sausage, fresh produce, German strudel, jalapeño jelly and a soundtrack supplied by a talented 15-year-old musician.

I was already imagining the sizzle of Italian sausage on my grill that evening when I walked into the Sunday market at Wheeler Historic Farm and spotted Gerome, a local sausage aficionado. Minutes later, a coil of Gerome’s Market sweet Italian sausage was tucked into my bag, and our Sunday morning adventure was underway.

There’s a special sense of joy to a farmers market on a warm summer morning. Families wander the aisles with babies and strollers. Dogs of every conceivable size tug their humans toward the next potential treat. Shoppers linger over tables piled with produce, baked goods and things they never knew they needed.

Everyone seems happy.

For me, farmers markets are about exploration and creativity. We rarely arrive with a shopping list. Instead, we wander, see what looks good, and figure out how to turn our discoveries into dinner.

The Salt Lake Valley has a remarkable array of markets. After years of heading to Pioneer Park on Saturday mornings, we decided to change things up and try Sunday at historic Wheeler Farm, just off I-215 in Murray.

What a treat.

Families quickly filled the market’s gridwork aisles for the 9 a.m. opening. With sausage in hand, now I had to create a meal. Potatoes. Bell peppers. Fresh sweet corn. Thank you, Tagge’s and Chad’s Produce. Dinner was in hand. Well … almost.

Wheeler Historic Farm has been part of the Salt Lake Valley landscape since the 19th century. Salt Lake County acquired the property in the late 1960s, preserving a piece of the valley’s agricultural heritage and eventually opening it as a public working farm. The Sunday market, launched in 2011, has grown into one of the valley’s most popular.

And judging by our visit, it may be even more popular with dogs.

At Rebel Paw, a block of ice filled with frozen balls proved irresistible. Dogs licked furiously, seemingly convinced that persistence would eventually free the treasures inside, all the time hoping their humans would buy them a woofle.

Then there were K&K’s Bodacious Beer Biscuits, operating under a philosophy that’s difficult to argue with: “’Cause Every Dog Deserves a Biscuit.”

All those dog biscuits had me thinking about treats of my own.

And there was Brittany from Sweet Clementine Candy.

Get this: She makes 3,000 to 4,000 hand-wrapped caramels every week. She guided us through an enticing lineup that ranged from salted caramel and vanilla to piña colada, Chex Mix and pretzel.

Now, about dessert.

We had our creative farmers market dinner coming together, but it still needed a grand finale. Then we met Petra, a German-born baker whose Petra’s Backstübchen brings the baked goods of the old country to Utah.

Strudel it is!

But the salesman of the day was the Jellyman himself.

Lynn and Kim Hadfield started experimenting at home, combining jalapeños with fruit jellies and sharing the results with friends. Today, Hadfield House is a familiar sight on the farmers market circuit.

It didn’t take much convincing. We walked away with three new flavors.

That’s the magic of a farmers market. You may come looking for vegetables, but you leave knowing the people who made your candy, baked your strudel, grew your corn or turned jalapeños into jelly.

From Jellyman Lynn to Clementine’s Brittany,  we found the ultimate farm-to-table relationship.

As we started toward the car, we stopped once more near those dogs still working away at their block of ice. A melody was floating through the market.

As we were leaving, we stopped to watch some dogs licking the ice while a magical melody wafted through the air. The angelic voice, original lyrics, and rhythmic acoustic guitar of 15-year-old Claire Beesley stopped us in our tracks. 

Some day they’ll say her career began in a farmers market at Wheeler Historic Farm.

And we’ll be able to say we were there.

SALT LAKE VALLEY FARMERS MARKETS

Wednesday

New Roots Redwood Farmers Market, New Roots Farm, West Valley City (4-7 p.m. through Oct. 7)

West Jordan Community Market, Veterans Memorial Park, West Jordan (5-9 p.m. through Oct. 7)

Thursday

Central 9th Farmers Market, Jefferson Street at 900 South (Select Thursdays, 5-7 p.m. through Oct. 1)

University of Utah Farmers Market, Tanner Plaza, 200 S. Campus (begins Aug. 27, 10 a.m.-2:30 p.m. through Oct. 8)

West Valley City Farmers Market, Centennial Park (5-9 p.m. through Oct. 8)

Friday

Millcreek Farmers Market, Millcreek Common (5-9 p.m. through Oct. 30)

Utah Farm Bureau Farmers Market, Murray Park (8 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 30)

Saturday

Daybreak Farmers Market, SoDa Row, South Jordan (9 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 17)

Downtown Farmers Market, Pioneer Park, Salt Lake City (8 a.m.–2 p.m. through Oct. 24)

New Roots Farmers Market, New Roots Farm, West Valley City (10 a.m.-2 p.m. through Oct. 17)

Sandy City Farmers Market, Sandy Amphitheater (9 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 17) 

Utah Farm Bureau Farmers Market, Murray Park (8 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 31)

Utah Farm Bureau Farmers Market, Towne Center, South Jordan (8 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 10)

Sunday

Bohemian Bum Farmer’s Market, Gateway (10 a.m.-3 p.m. first Sunday plus Oct. 18)

Wheeler Farm Sunday Market, Wheeler Historic Farm, Murray (9 a.m.-1 p.m. through Oct. 11)

9th West Farmers Market, Jordan Park/International Peace Gardens, Salt Lake City (10 a.m.-3 p.m. through Oct. 11)

The post Sunday Drive: A Sunday market at Wheeler Historic Farm appeared first on Park Record.

A young boy stood beside the Union Pacific 833 steam locomotive’s 6-foot-diameter drive wheels as his family took a photo. Built in 1939, the Northern-type locomotive sacrificed some pulling power for speed. Those giant wheels once carried passenger trains between Ogden and Cheyenne at speeds topping 90 mph.

Old steam locomotives are having a moment, aren’t they? Museum docent Byron told me that over 25,000 showed up on an Ogden weekend in May to pay homage to Big Boy as the Union Pacific 4014 passed through town on its transcontinental journey.

Ogden’s Union Station traces its lineage to 1869, the year the Golden Spike was driven at nearby Promontory. A magnificent wooden depot crowned with a clock tower opened in 1889, becoming the centerpiece of the booming railroad town. After it was destroyed by fire in 1923, today’s station rose in its place the following year. Now at the foot of Historic 25th Street, Union Station serves FrontRunner commuters and visitors exploring its six museums.

Beneath the station, hidden from visitors, are remnants of the 1889 depot, including old bank vaults that survived the 1923 fire. Old-timers speak of ticket agent Frank Yentzer, killed when a loose brick fell from the station’s clock tower before the fire. Some still claim to hear unexplained footsteps or catch the scent of lilacs drifting through empty hallways. Whether fact or folklore, every great railroad station seems to collect stories that refuse to leave.

So why do those towering wheels and that pitch-black boiler make grown men stop and stare? Perhaps it’s because they remind us of a time when machines weren’t hidden beneath plastic covers and computer chips. Steam locomotives wore their strength on the outside. Every piston, rod and valve had a purpose you could see. They breathed, hissed and thundered with a kind of honest power that made technology feel almost human.

Stepping back outside, I watched four modern Union Pacific locomotives work in perfect unison as they eased a long freight through the Ogden yard. Nearly 160 years after the first transcontinental railroad united East and West, Ogden remains one of America’s great railroad crossroads.

A display on the so-called Lucin Cutoff caught my eye. Opened in 1904, 35 years after the Promontory golden spike, the cutoff was formed by giant wooden piers set into the Great Salt Lake, eliminating 44 miles of grueling grades and twisting curves through Promontory. The new route from Ogden to the west transformed rail service. I remember well when the old wooden piers were salvaged in the early ’90s, replaced decades earlier by a safer earthen grade.

Suddenly one photograph stopped me.

It was a familiar scene, but oh so many years ago. It was a construction photo from around 1869 of old Union Pacific steam engine 120 going through Weber Canyon Tunnel No. 3, now one of the most photographed tunnels in the West at the Taggart rapids on the Weber, east of Morgan.

Wandering farther through the museum, my eyes settled on photographs of Ogden’s gathering places — Brown’s, Farr’s and Jack’s Ice Cream; Harman Cafe (yes, the KFC pioneering family), Union Grill, La Ferrovia and the Territory. They weren’t simply restaurants. They were places where families celebrated birthdays, railroaders grabbed a late meal after a shift, and neighbors caught up over pie and coffee.

For Ogdenites, the photographs bring back memories. For others, they are reminders of the social impact of familiar gathering places. The history of Ogden’s rough-and-tumble 25th Street, still today filled with over a dozen restaurants and just about as many bars, still radiates outward from Union Station and remains the community’s social hub.

So what is it that draws us to trains? 

Why do songs like City of New Orleans, Wabash Cannonball and Orange Blossom Special still stir something deep inside us?

Perhaps it’s the rhythm of the rails. Perhaps it’s the promise that every whistle carried — that somewhere beyond the next bend lay opportunity, adventure or home. Trains have always represented movement, but they also represent memory. They remind us of the pioneers who stitched a continent together with iron rails, of families reunited on station platforms, of soldiers returning home, and of children who stood wide-eyed beside wheels taller than they were.

Maybe that’s why we still stop and stare. The locomotives may belong to another century, but what they symbolize — hope, possibility, and even the journey itself — never goes out of style.

DETAILS

Getting There: It’s an easy hour and change from Park City to Ogden’s Union Station, at the foot of 25th Street. 

What’s There: Union Station features a collection of six museums, from trains to art to Browning firearms. One admission covers it all.

Hours: 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday. Small family-friendly fee.

The post Sunday Drive: The lure of the train appeared first on Park Record.

Staring up at the faded orange figures on the shaded stone wall, I felt myself being pulled back in time. Humanlike forms, painted in reddish-brown pigment centuries ago, emerged from the weathered rock. Who were they meant to represent? What story were the Fremont people telling? And what lessons, if any, can we draw from them today?

Ancient rock-art panels are rare along the Wasatch Front. But in a narrow canyon carved into the western foothills of the range, a series of twisting ravines follow creeks deep up and into the mountains. Hidden within Parrish Creek Canyon is a spectacular pictograph panel, a fragile message from people who once knew this landscape intimately.

I knew it would be a short hike — only four-tenths of a mile to the panel. But trail reviews had prepared me for a sketchy approach after the bridge: a singletrack trail slanting generously toward the creek, a jungle of thick vegetation and lush stands of knee-high poison ivy.

Then there were the rattlesnakes.

No, I did not see any. But I came prepared.

It was a glorious Sunday morning as I started from the Parrish Creek Trailhead in Centerville. The first hundred yards climbed to a plateau, where a gentle trail led into the canyon. Before long, the canyon walls blocked the sun’s warming rays, and the air cooled as I walked deeper into the shade.

Yellow goldenasters bloomed along the trail as I headed briskly toward the sound of rushing water. A wooden bridge spanned Parrish Creek, offering a respite from the growing heat of the day.

Now halfway to the pictograph panel, I took a short break before continuing onto the singletrack trail. Using my poles to push aside the vegetation, I soon came to a gorgeous little waterfall, where a small but powerful stream rushed over an 8-foot drop.

I pushed onward as the track narrowed and the vegetation grew denser. Before long, the trail emerged into an opening beneath a rock face, where the route climbed to a higher ledge. A rope had been conveniently placed to help hikers scale a gigantic boulder. I grabbed hold and put my trust in whoever had secured it who knows how many years ago.

Unlike petroglyphs, which were carved into the rock, this pictograph panel was created with pigment from hematite, with the rock serving as the canvas. The Parrish Creek pictographs are generally considered work of the Fremont people, 700-1,300 years ago. What’s rare is a pictograph panel that has stood that many centuries.

The Parrish Creek location is on a south-facing wall with a ledge above, providing some amount of shelter. The images were painted onto a stunning landscape, an altar of sorts, in the lush canyon. Some of the paintings meshed with the mineral veins that formed their own mosaic in the rock. At first, you see blobs of brownish red. But soon you can see distinctive characters of hunters and animals. And on this artist’s canvas, you are taken back many centuries before outsiders found Utah.

Anytime you stand in the presence of ancient rock art, there is an emotional weight to the experience. The figures may be faded, but the human impulse behind them stands the test of time — the desire of people to record stories, mark a place, or leave something meaningful behind for generations to come in the future.

DETAILS

Getting There

It’s a 45-minute drive from Park City to the Parrish Creek Trailhead (Google Maps) in the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest, with plenty of parking. There are many good trail guides, including AllTrails, Road Trip Ryan, and Climb-Utah.

When to Go

While most of the trail is shaded, the earlier the better. I hit the trail at 9:30 a.m. with temps around 85. It was pleasant, mostly in the shade.

Cautions

The walk to the bridge is completely family friendly. And there’s a loop to bring you back. If you want to push on to the waterfall or pictographs, come prepared. Take the singletrack trail to the right on the north side of the bridge. Hiking poles help maintain stability. Long pants and preferably long shirts are important to avoid poison ivy. This is rattlesnake habitat, like all of the foothills. They don’t want to see you, so make yourself known. Watch where you step or place your hand. Use your hiking poles to clear areas ahead as you move up the trail.

Dining

Centerville is home to just about every quick-serve franchise you can imagine.

The post Sunday Drive: Voices from the rock appeared first on Park Record.

Walking along the mountain trail before dawn, I watched as the first rays of the sun outlined the ridgeline and painted a salmon hue across the early morning clouds. It would be a hot July day, yet patches of snow were still spotlighted on the steep chutes of Devil’s Castle.

Despite the fact that I was surrounded by a cacophony of color amid the wildflowers of Albion Basin, somehow my mind kept drifting to pillows of powder above Cecret Lake and ripping groomer runs down Rock ‘n’ Roll off Supreme.

Well, that would have to wait four or five more months. 

On a midsummer morning, there’s no place finer than Albion Basin at sunrise. The purple towers of petals on the larkspur, the brilliant red spikes of Indian paintbrush, the puffy light violet nettleleaf giant hyssop, and the blackened heads of coneflowers all form the pathway.

A decade or more ago, you could often find me at 5:30 a.m. in the Catherine’s Pass trailhead parking lot gathering my Nikons and tripod to set up for my next gallery image. Today I’m carrying an iPhone and a GoPro, traveling light and absorbing the scene.

You can find wildflowers anywhere in the Wasatch this time of year. But Albion Basin is different. It’s the towering alpine peak of Mount Superior. It’s the rocky crags of Devil’s Castle. It’s looking down on Grizzly Gulch across the canyon and following the trail up Catherine’s Pass toward Big Cottonwood. It’s just a different feeling.

Every stand of red, yellow and blue flowers took me back in time. One gorgeous morning years ago, I set up a tripod-selfie as I knelt in front of a rainbow of color. I still remember carefully arranging the camera, setting the timer, then scrambling into place before the shutter clicked.

Today was also like a journey through life. There was a bride in her flowing white gown, the photographer capturing her in the early morning light. Just above them, a young mother-to-be posed with her soon-to-be-born child still in the womb. Meanwhile, families carried newly born infants into the meadow for their first wildflower photo sessions.

It struck me that each of us had come to the basin carrying something different. Some brought cameras. Others carried babies, bouquets or memories. Most simply walked quietly along the trail, stopping every few yards to take in another splash of color.

The flowers themselves marked the passing of time. Their life is short, a few brilliant months between melting snow and the first hint of autumn. Yet every summer they return, drawing generations of families back to the same mountainside.

That’s the true magic of Albion Basin. The landscape changes constantly, yet somehow remains familiar. Children grow older. Cameras get smaller. Friends and family members come and go. But Devil’s Castle still catches the morning light, and the flowers still rise from the meadow in a celebration of color. And skiers still long for opening day.

As I walked back down the trail, the basin was awakening. More hikers were arriving. Cars were jockeying for parking places. Children wandered into the flowers as their parents called after them.

The quiet solitude of sunrise was fading. But the memories it rekindled would remain long after the wildflowers were gone.

DETAILS

You can find wildflowers anywhere in the Wasatch in July. But there is indeed something special about Albion Basin. And that’s why crowds flock there. Here are a few tips.

Getting There

It’s less than an hour from Park City to Alta, a simple drive down I-80 to I-215 to Wasatch Boulevard and up Little Cottonwood Canyon. Sunrise this month is around 6:10 a.m. And while it will be another hour before that sunlight crests the ridge, the alpenglow and rim lighting around sunrise time are well worth getting up early. And it’s easier to park!

Parking

The Catherine’s Pass trailhead lot is ideal. It’s $12 per vehicle, payable any time of day (or night). There are 20-25 spots. It will fill by 7:30 a.m. most days. Then vehicles are regulated going up. The trailhead is literally in the midst of Albion Basin.

Or you can park for free in the Albion Basin lot at Alta. Then it’s about a mile walk up through Lower Albion Meadows, with wildflowers all along the way. 

Hikes

If you want to get away from the crowds in Albion Meadows and Cecret Lake up higher on the mountain. The Lower Albion Meadows (Wildcat base) trail is a dreamy walk through wildflowers along Alta’s base and beside a stream. Snake Pit (Albion base) ups the ante a bit, offering a trail along a cascading stream. And for the adventurous, head up through Grizzly Gulch and over Twin Lakes Pass to Solitude and Brighton (Alta-Brighton trailhead across from Snowpine Lodge). Learn more at alta.com. And get a summer trail map to know where you’re going.

Wildflower Etiquette

Use the cool photo turnouts in the flowers that Alta and the U.S. Forest Service have added so you don’t walk on the wildflowers to get that colorful surround photo! And don’t pick them to take home! The flowers are a critical food source for pollinators like hummingbirds, bees, moths, butterflies, bats and various insects. And they typically produce 20 to 500 seeds per individual flower head. Because a single plant often produces multiple blooms over a season, one wildflower plant can yield anywhere from a few hundred to over 20,000 seeds!

The post Sunday Drive: Rekindling memories in the wildflowers appeared first on Park Record.

It was a hot July afternoon as our convoy of four Jeep Rubicons cruised along Cummings Parkway high above Midway in the heart of the Wasatch Back. Like a miniature Easter Jeep Safari, we cut through the dust, gazing across to the hazy silhouette of Mt. Timpanogos and American Fork Canyon.

The Snake Creek Canyon Jeep ride, following remnants of old State Highway 220, is one of my favorite Wasatch adventures. The scenery is spectacular, and the trail offers just enough challenge to make you feel like you’ve accomplished something.

But this day was never really about the road.

As we gathered at our Silver Creek barn before leaving, our guests surprised us with bright green Tom’s Tours T-shirts — remnants of shirts from our Yellowstone trip together decades ago. I laughed when I pulled it on. But it made me stop and think. This wasn’t simply another Jeep ride. It was the latest chapter in a story that had been unfolding with dear friends for half a century.

Our convoy included three generations of family friends from Wisconsin. Cindy was one of Carole’s young babysitters nearly 50 years ago. She and her husband, Carey, visit Park City almost every summer. Their children grew up exploring Utah’s mountains and red rock canyons. Now they were introducing those same places to their own children.

That’s the remarkable thing about mountain adventures. They have a way of becoming family heirlooms.

The destination is rarely what people remember most. Years later, they’ll recall laughing over the radio, poring through Wasatch Wildflowers to identify red flowers along the trail, or getting their wife’s reluctant blessing to tackle the hill climb that looked so inviting.

The mountains simply provide the stage. The families write the story.

Every memorable adventure needs the right ingredients: a little fun, a little uncertainty, something new to discover, a moment that nudges you outside your comfort zone, and just enough surprises that, 20 years later, you’re still telling the stories to another generation.

Siblings Ashley and Chris, along with cousin Vanessa, were part of the original adventure trips as kids. We explored the Wasatch, had a cookout at the base of the Grand Teton, Jeeped Hell’s Revenge in Moab, rafted the Snake River, and posed with the antler arch in Afton, Wyoming.

It was pushing 95 degrees as we aired down at the Wasatch State Park trailhead before climbing the switchbacks up to the ridgeline. The track up to Big Flat beckoned, so we pulled our four rigs off the road to stage.

“This is a trail that requires skillful tire placement,” I called out on the radio, along with a warning about the tempting hill climb track to our right.

As we headed up the trail, I suddenly lost sight of my tailgunner. A voice crackled over the radio. “Hey, where do I go now?” Sure enough, Chris had taken the hill climb challenge — giving his kids a real taste of adventure. “It was kind of scary midway up when you lose sight of the trail over the hood of the Jeep,” he admitted later.

We rejoined in a mountain meadow, with stands of lupine, scarlet paintbrush and firecracker penstemon forming a tapestry on a summer day.

I held out little hope for the Big Flat mudhole I had navigated a few weeks earlier. But alas, there it was! There’s really nothing like a little water to spice up a trail ride. It’s a Jeep thing.

One by one, each driver summoned his youth and put their BFG All-Terrains to the test. Splash went the Rubicons, water and mud flying up and over the hood. Wives and children held their breath, then let out whoops of joy.

Today’s edition of Sunday Drive isn’t so much about a new destination you can take your family next weekend. It’s more about the experiences you can offer them every day. It’s an encouragement to live a little out of the ordinary. Seek new horizons. Say yes to the unexpected. Instill in your kids a sense of adventure.

On a dusty road high up in the mountains, six young kids gained memories that will bring them back with their own families someday.

As John Denver so eloquently sang in “Country Roads”, “… all my memories, gather round here. …”

A younger Chris summed it up years ago on his first Tom’s Tours expedition years ago: “It’s crazy, but fun!”

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