Sunrise on the Little Salt Lake

The Parowan Valley has a place called the Little Salt Lake. It is not really a lake the way someone from, say, Minnesota, would conceive of it. For one thing, it contains no water; and, for another, it is flat. Which is to say that the Little Salt Lake is a salt flat. On hot, windy days, it is nice to go out there and watch the towering clouds of alkali dust build like columns of smoke.

This year, however, much of the western United States has enjoyed a near record snowfall in conjunction with a late spring warm-up. In Utah, many of the river basins have accumulated (and retained) up to 200 percent of the normal water supply. As that snow-pack melts, many areas are at risk for flooding . . . including the Little Salt Lake. So, the other day, I drove out there to see where all the run-off was going. It was going into the lake, and it made me think of the canoe.

This morning, at sunrise, I launched the Old Town on the Little Salt Lake. I'm not sure, but I'd guess, that it was the first Old Town ever paddled on the Little Salt Lake. Actually, no paddling occurred because there wasn't enough water. The Little Salt Lake is probably two to three thousand acres in extent. The entire lake is currently covered with water, but it is only one inch deep. I moved the canoe away from the shore by pushing on the lake bottom with a paddle. The bottom consisted of five inches of saturated muck, so the going was slow. After pushing out a couple of hundred yards, nothing had changed (I had hoped to float), so I pushed myself back and went home.

It was a failed endeavor, I suppose, but the lake was quiet at six in the morning, and calm, and beautiful. That is something. Besides, I'll probably never meet another person who can say, "I paddled the Little Salt Lake."