Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Old Syracuse Resort: Oasis of Trees By GSL

              The area today just south of where the Syracuse GSL resort would have been.


 Saltair and Lagoon ("Lake Park") traditionally dominate the history of pioneer era resorts along the shores of the Great Salt Lake.
However, just northeast of the east end of the causeway to Antelope Island and northwest of 4500 West and Antelope Drive in Syracuse was the location of the lessen-known seventh of eight Great Salt Lake shoreline resorts.
 This short-lived, 93-acre "Syracuse Resort," which predated the community of Syracuse, opened on July 4, 1887, in an era when “floating like a cork” in thick salt water was a very popular activity and a railroad regularly delivered patrons to this paradise. 
According to Don Strack on Utahrails.net, the Ogden and Syracuse Railway was built from Ogden, southwest to Syracuse, a distance of some 15 miles. The line broke off the Clearfield junction and went 5.85 miles southwest to the resort.
The railroad wasn’t built just for the resort, it had other uses. For example, salt was taken by wagons  from the great Salt Lake to railcars. Most of it in that day was shipped to Montana for use in mines.
Later, several canneries were built near the railroad line and crops, like sugar beets, were also transported readily by rail out of the Syracuse and west Davis County area.

          Looking northeast from the causeway to where the old Syracuse resort probably was located.


  Today's entrance to the Antelope Island causeway.


Notwithstanding, a historical article by Irene Woodhouse in the Nov. 3, 1985 Ogden Standard-Examiner stated that the Ogden and Syracuse Railway charged 50 cents for a roundtrip to the resort and made at least two trips there a day.
The infrequent Trains would sometimes strand people at the resort. For example, on July 8, 1889, an Ogden group had to spend the night there when the night's only train left suddenly and early.
The Syracuse’s opening day on the Fourth of July in 1887 attracted an estimated 2,000 visitors, with about 1,100 people coming from Ogden, another 600 from Salt Lake and the remainder from nearby towns.
The Syracuse Resort’s claim to fame was that it was the “only resort on the Great Salt Lake with trees. It was described as "an oasis in the desert."
According to the Ogden Standard-Examiner on March 25, 1888: 
"The finest beach anywhere on the lake shore is at Syracuse. It is not muddy, in fact, it is just exactly what is wanted for a first-class bathing resort. A strong, substantial pier has been constructed, and on it are erected a large number of handsome bathhouses with every convenience for bathers. There is abundance of fresh water ... The shade is excellent ... Every opportunity for enjoying all of the pleasures of a seaside, without the rush, heat and worry ..."
According to "A History of Syracuse," (1965) by Cora Bodily Bybee, a rare, twin  grove of trees were transplanted from Weber Canyon and survived the salty soil in the area. There were trees on each side of the railroad line, near its end, some 400 yards from the edge of of the lake's waters.
Bathhouses, where floaters could change clothes and receive a limited fresh water shower afterward, dotted the west side of the resort.
Wooden piers initially helped bathers get past any mud and into the briny lake waters.
The Great Salt Lake was still high in 1887, being about 4,199 feet above sea level. However, it was decreasing gradually.
In fact, resort visitors initially complained about the long walk from the lake to the 70 small bathhouses. They were soon moved closer and a street car, pulled by two mules, shuttled guests to the bath houses and back.
There was also a dirt track for bicycle races nearby, plus a horse-powered merry-go-round.
Soon after the resort opened, D.C. Adams and Salt Lake City and Fred J. Kiesel of Ogden (also one of Ogden's 19th Century mayors), teamed up to construct Utah's largest dance pavillon at the resort. This building was 125 feet long and 75 feet wide. coal lamps lit up the resort at night and music was provided by various bands from Ogden to Salt Lake. Wrestling matches and even magic shows were held there.
A title ownership dispute over the resort’s land were said to be its demise in 1892, after just a five-year run. There’s also little doubt that the shrinking lake level didn’t help visitation either.
The dance hall was moved east to the Syracuse Canning Factory in 1903 or 1904. It was used for storage and for one more year of dancing. However, sitting on a foundation of poles and rock, one side slipped and warped the wood dancing floor. So, the building was closed and soon torn down.
Some of the old dressing rooms were used as sheds on local farms for decades afterward.
By the early 1950s, most traces of the western railroad in Davis County, were removed.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Liquefaction Danger: A Part of Davis County History

A part of Davis County history is also its geological past and present.
One of the greatest dangers in Davis County is earthquake danger, with the locked-up Wasatch Fault traversing through the county.
Major earthquakes have struck Davis County in prehistoric times and they will happen again. It is not a matter of if, it is a matter of when.
Since the Wasatch Fault appears locked tight, is it storing energy for a future quake?
The Utah Geological Survey produced a map in 1994 (and still in use) that highlights the liquefaction dangers during an earthquake for various parts of the state, including Davis County (see a reproduction of the map below).
liquefaction is a "bowl of Jello effect" that could turn some of the ground to a slushy state and cause buildings to sink into the ground and in general cause a much higher destruction rate than from just ground shaking alone.
In Davis County, the map shows that most of Hill Air Force Base, as well as areas east of Highway 89 are in the very low danger range for liquefaction.
In the low area is a section of Davis County that includes the neighborhood where I live, Green Leaf subdivision in Layton, where clay soil dominates.
This low risk area generally goes from about the Hill Field Road Wal-Mart on the south side, to a part of the Layton Hills Mall on the south east and then generally otherwise only those areas west of Main Street on the east side. This area goes north to about Antelope Drive and is just east of the Union Pacific tracks on its western side.
A moderate area surrounds this low risk area and then the rest of the county is pretty much high risk otherwise.
Having earthquake insurance is a pretty wise idea in Davis County, though if you have a brick home, you pay a premium a lot higher than with a frame house.

For more information, go to: http://geology.utah.gov/utahgeo/hazards/liquefy.htm
and http://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/states/?region=utah




Sunday, November 4, 2012

A Walk to Fremont Island (twice) on Dry Ground!

                          Strolling to Fremont Island in 2008


                          Footprints in the dry lake bed of the GSL.

By Lynn Arave

SOMETIMES you've got to make history yourself, if the occasion presents itself (and nature cooperates), as it did for me in both 2004 and 2008.
As a kid growing up in Western Weber County, I often heard tales of the mysterious Fremont Island -- located straight west of my house.
One story highlighted a West Point, Utah farmer who drove his truck on a sandbar from the then dirt road causeway to Antelope Island, all the way to Fremont Island and back in only a few inches of water, when the Great Salt Lake was near a record low.
I vowed if the lake ever got that low again, I would walk all the way to Fremont Island.
(I had previously canoed to Fremont Island with Steve Hubbard and Larry Saunders and explored its secrets in the summer of 1982, when a herd of wild shetland ponies still roamed the island.)
One of the most reliable indicators of an extra dry Great Salt Lake is the presence of a large sandbar that leads to Fremont Island.
You can't walk on water without divine help, but you can get a kick out of this kind of a limited "Red Sea on dry ground" experience by walking on this waterless sandbar to Fremont Island when the Great Salt Lake level is 4,194.5 feet or lower.
That certainly was the case in September 2008, as the lake level sat at 4,194.1 feet above sea level. This sandbar (referred to as the "Fremont Island Bar" on maps) is located about 1.6 miles out from the causeway connection at the northeastern edge of Antelope Island.
 Why boat the lake when you can simply walk some of it? Seeing first-hand how dry this large tract of lake bed is illustrates perfectly the impact of low lake levels.
The window of opportunity for this kind of feat is small, with the sandbar being water free only 14 times in the past 167 years. In normal years, when the lake is at its 4,200-foot average elevation, the sandbar is under nearly six feet of salty water. 
During the lake's record high level of 1985 (at 4,212-feet), the sandbar was under 17 feet of water. 
 Prior to that, the sandbar had consecutive dry periods during portions of 1960 to 1965. The years 1936 and 1937 and 1939 to 1941 also offered brief periods of a dry sandbar. The sandbar is huge. It's almost a mile wide in places and goes 6.5 miles northwest to Fremont Island. Walking across the sandbar is like walking on the moon — no vegetation, almost nothing. It's the void itself that becomes an eerie attraction.
 The first few hundred feet off the causeway are the muddiest. From there, you might sink a bit in the crusty lake bed, but it is far easier than walking through sand. It's startling how empty the vast lake bed is.

In fact, rainfall can inundate portions of the sandbar, especially near the Causeway start. So, is isn't just the low lake level, there needs to be several weeks of dry sunny weather to evaporate any rainwater on the sandbar. Otherwise, it can be a mucky mess of sinking, almost like quicksand!


    This is the sign at the start of the sandbar to Fremont Island, as of September 2o24.


UPDATE 2024: Fremont Island is to be left in its current condition, with no facilities or improvements. Overnight camping is not allowed there, but if you can somehow boat, or walk, or bicycle there, you can visit this State-owned isle now..... No motorized vehicles or treasure hunts.
                  You also can't leave a vehicle parked on the causeway to access the sandbar and visit Fremont Island. The nearest parking lot is just east of the tip of Antelope Island, about 1 mile west from the sandbar start.

                   NO vehicles should be left unattended along the Causeway.


This is how the start of the sandbar to Fremont Island looked on September 21, 2024. Walkable, with some muddy sections. September and October are usually when the Great Salt Lake level is lowest.


                          The sandbar "road" to Fremont Island, Oct. 21, 2015.

Bird feathers here and there are the most common sight. There are also periodic dead birds, tumbleweeds, rocks, shotgun shell casings, old tires and bottles. A few ropes and plastic buoys also crop up. Faded tracks of three-wheeled ATVs are sometimes visible along the sandbar.
(During my 2004 walk, with Ryan Layton and Mike Spencer, we  encountered some type of large ship anchor about two miles out. It had been hauled away by someone before my 2008 walk. We only went to edge of the island that trip, lacking permission to visit Fremont Island itself.)
Fremont Island's owners can legally use the sandbar to reach the island and these tracks were probably from as long ago as 2004, the last time the sandbar was this dry. It took about 2 1/2 hours to walk the entire sandbar to Fremont Island.
Any potential lake bed walkers should be aware that Fremont Island is privately owned and requires permission to legally visit it. Also, there is no parking allowed along the causeway to Antelope Island.
Lightning during any storms would be of the greatest danger here too.
But this sandbar to Fremont Island is huge in places, spanning more than 1,000 yards in width.
After the fall of 2008, the Great Salt Lake's water level rose again and this feat was not possible in 2009, 2010, 2011 or 2012. (It was possible to walk the bar, briefly, in the fall of 2013.)
Odds are looking like with a dry winter in 2013-14, the sandbar could be walkable again in the fall of 2014.

Note that the sandbar curves on its west end -- it eventually reaches a section of lake water, but head east and the sandbar curves around this depression .....

              Kit Carson's famous cross at the north end of Fremont Island isn't all that large.


                      The strange shaped rock where Carson's cross was carved.


               Taylor Arave stands next to a landlocked buoy at the eastern bay of Fremont Island..


   Taylor Arave holds up his walking stick to show how deep the water here might have been in the mid                  1980s, when record water levels were reached by the GSL. This area is now under some 3 feet of water and has been under some 17 feet of water here before.


The Fremont Island Sandbar was discovered in the 1930s by Charles Stoddard of West Point.
He was able to put stakes in the lakebed to mark where the sandbar was and found it to be some 3/4 of a mile wide in places. The lake level was just 6 inches above the sandbar then, with often low lake levels of the 1930s.
According to the Davis County Clipper newspaper of May 19, 1967, Stodard then created a "Lakemobile" to traverse the sandbar.
This was a model "A" Ford Truck with caterpillar-like chains on it.
It easily crossed the sandbar to Fremont for several years.
Although there was no causeway to Antelope Island back then, Stoddard would have likely accessed the bar from the east, somewhere near Howard Slaugh.
However, in 1942, an iceberg ("saltberg?")  in the lake (they do form some years) struck his vehicle. This berg was 30 feet high and some 100 feet square. He escaped from the truck over ice on the lake's surface in the area.
When he returned the next year, he found his vehicle in a bog of quicksand material, where the ice had pushed it. He had to work at it, but soon got all the salt encrusted material off the engine and spark plugs and got the motor going and the Lakemobile moved once again.
However, the lake began an upcycle soon after and it would not be until the early 1960s that the levels dropped again.
The Fremont Sandbar is listed on some lake maps.
Apparently, the City of Corinne boat in the 1870s traversed through the Fremont Sandbar area and noted its presence.
The Fremont Sandbar also became important again in the 1960s. 
According to the Davis County Clipper on Nov. 27, 1964, when the original causeway to Antelope Island was constructed, builders took some of the sandbar itself (a mixture of sand and salt) and used it for portions of the causeway, instead of having to haul in fill from further away. 

                                                    Our foot prints in the cracked, dry lake bed.


                                      The Wenner grave marker on Fremont Island, above/below.



   Look to the left side of this photo and you can see the huge sandbar snake toward the Causeway. This picture was taken along the southern end of Fremont Island looking toward Antelope Island.


--John C. Fremont and Kit Carson, a pair of legendary 19th-century Western explorers, would certainly be awestruck by a visit to 21st-century Utah. That's not just because of modern technology, but because many Americans actually enjoy and savor "badlands" areas, places of no apparent worth in their day.

During a Sept. 9, 1843, trip to the island in the Great Salt Lake — the first recorded there — Fremont dubbed the isle "Disappointment Island" for its barren nature and lack of game. Carson was so bored he chiseled a cross in a rock there.
However, in the 21st century, Fremont Island is one of the most magical of places in the wondrous Great Salt Lake. It is the only privately owned isle in the lake and boasts fascinating tales of romance and a mysterious grave robber once exiled there, and scenic panoramas that are unrivaled in the Salt Lake Valley.
(Because of its then private ownership, permission was required years ago to legally visit the island.)
Some may have to switch into a "desert" gear to best enjoy Fremont. Void of all but a few trees, it isn't much different from Antelope Island. However, undeveloped, with only a few fences, it's like a trip back in time.
Peter G. Czerny, author of "The Great Great Salt Lake" book, accurately stated of Fremont Island, "For even though the island is barren it has a magical quality and those who have visited it have never lost the desire to return to it."
Today the island is used for ranching. Horses, cattle and sheep happily roam the isolated island, third-largest in the Great Salt Lake, behind Antelope and Stansbury islands. Fremont is about five miles long and more than three miles wide at its widest point.
Explorer Fremont and his party of four other men followed the Weber River and used an "India rubber" boat of that day to float to the island that they hoped was a paradise. After making surveys, they left in disappointment. The only excitement the explorers had was being threatened by an incoming thunderstorm; they felt they had to frantically row for their lives to get off the Great Salt Lake.
On April 22, 1848, Albert Carrington and a group of other Mormon pioneers boated around the Great Salt Lake and visited the isle and named it "Castle Island," for the throne-like top on its north end.
In the summer of 1850, Howard Stansbury surveyed the Great Salt Lake and gave the isle its permanent title. During the spring of 1859, Henry W. Jacob and Dan Miller of Farmington put 153 head of sheep on Fremont. They called the island "Miller's Island," though Fremont later won out as the official title.
Jean Baptiste, a Salt Lake City cemetery worker, was arrested for robbing at least 300 graves in the cemetery of clothes and jewelry in early 1862.
Brigham Young said imprisoning the man would do no good and suggested making him "a fugitive and a vagabond upon the Earth."
As such, he was banished to Fremont Island in the early spring of 1862. Water around the island was at least eight feet deep then.
There was a shack and provisions on Fremont. After six weeks there, Baptiste vanished. He had torn the roof and sides of the shack down, killed a 3-year-old heifer and cut portions of the hide into thongs, undoubtedly to make a raft to escape from the island.
What happened to Baptiste? There are many theories. The most plausible are that he drowned trying to float away from the island, or that he made his way to Montana.But Baptiste remains the specter of the island and lake because his fate remains uncertain.
The years 1871-73 featured a brief span of mining for precious metals on Fremont Island. Some 38 claims were made, but only small veins of silver, gold, copper and lead were found.
The island then became owned by the state government and Central Pacific Railroad.
In 1886, Salt Lake probate judge Uriah J. Wenner obtained possession of the island and moved there with his wife, Kate, and two small children for five years to help his battle with tuberculosis through salty, fresh air. The family loved living on the desert isle.
"I lived five consecutive years without a tree, without a neighbor and during this isolation from the world I made just one trip to mainland," Kate Wenner Noble's own diary recorded. "We learned to know ourselves, enjoy ourselves, children and books — without worrying about fashions or gossip and the like in the outside world. ... Fremont Island was my happy home, not a neglected sheep ranch as it is now."
Uriah Wenner died there on Sept. 19, 1891, and was buried on the island. The family moved away and Kate Wenner remarried. When she died on Dec. 29, 1942, her ashes were taken to the island next to her first husband that next June.
Today their graves are enclosed by a fence at the south end of the island. Their stone house foundation is also found nearby.
In 1960, the Richards family purchased the island and remains the current owner.
Visiting Fremont Island now is more desert-like than ever. With the Great Salt Lake so low, the island's shoreline is huge.
Mosquitoes and horseflies seem to love the south end of the island and were out in force to greet hikers. The grave site is here, among many cactus. Some lizards also reside on the island, but blow snakes — or any snakes — are rare these days here. An island-wide fire in 1940 apparently wiped most of them out. But Black Widow spiders do live all over the isle.
Cattle have grazed this end of the isle well and cow pies have to be sidestepped everywhere.
An old tractor and farm implement was in 2004 sitting just above the island's southeast beach. An occasional tin can, plastic bucket or pile of animal bones dot the landscape, but they are few and far between. One of the island's lone trees is also found in this area.
A few brackish wells supply water for the livestock on the island.
The stone house where the Wenner's lived was readily visible until the early 1970s. Today, it has been leveled by the elements and to find it, you are searching for no more than a small house foundation, below ground.
Moving northward, the center of Fremont rises in elevation some 800 feet. It's a steep climb in places, but it's void of most bugs up there. Some three miles distant are Castle Rock and Carson's cross.
Unusual black rocks grace the island's upper reaches, and one of them contain's Carson's cross. There is at least one small cave, and a metal pole sits atop the island's highest point.
Wild shetland ponies roamed the island as late as the 1980s. Today, they are gone, having been rounded up and taken off.
There were cows and sheep grazing on the island in 2008.
Sweeping views are found in every direction, and a lake breeze continually blows, moderating temperatures. Most of the island is totally quiet. Only the occasional jet flying over, or a passing boat on the west side, breaks the silence. At the north end, industrial noise from lake chemical industries near Little Mountain or from the Lucin railroad causeway can sometimes be heard.
The island's isolation and postcard panoramas give it a national park-like flavor. Today, the only disappointment here is having to say goodbye to the peaceful island and return to civilization.

-Lynn Arave and Taylor Arave visited Fremont Island on Sept. 25, 2008. Lynn also canoed to the island in June 1982. He obtained permission from the owners to visit. Now that the State of Utah owns Fremont Island.
(Some this material was originally published in the Deseret News in 2008, by Lynn Arave.)

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Do Mountain Peaks Change?



                                   The rugged backside of Mt. Ogden Peak today.

MOUNTAIN Peaks do change substantially over just a few decades, thanks to man.
This means history-wise, mountain peaks can change more rapidly than some of the natural landmarks in the valley below.
Take Mount Ogden, the tallest peak to the east of Ogden, Utah, at 9,572 feet above sea level.
In 1988, the peak had one small metal plaque and a single, narrow transmitter tower on its summit.
(See the 1988 photo below.)
That was the year when Weber State University's "Flaming W" fall hike to the top of Mount Ogden was revived. (I had pretty good video footage of that event.)
By 2010, 22 years later, there was an array of transmitters installed on the peak, as well as a cement helicopter pad.
You sat on rugged rocks when visiting the peak in the 1980s.
Today, it is cool to rest of a flat cement pad.
Back in 1988, there was no dirt road up the final approach to Mt. Ogden -- you had to scramble all the way up. There was a dirt road to the dip between peaks, to the south, but that's where the road ended.
(Note the newer, color photos below that show the many transmitters and the cement landing pad.)
Certainly some would argue that the many transmitters there now pollute the peak.
However, they comprise cell phone transmitters, emergency transmitters and even Utah Transit Authority repeaters. Without them, outdoor users in the area would probably receive no cell signal.
Also, emergency communications in the valley below would be spotty, making it less safe to help those in medical or emergency need.
Even the name of Mount Ogden has changed over the decades.
Dr. A.B. Condon of Ogden succeeded in getting the name of what had been called Observatory Peak since the 1870s, changed to Mount Ogden Peak in 1920.
--And, in Davis County, to the south, there is even a much more changed peak -- Francis Peak.
Although most maps list Francis Peak as being 9,547 feet above sea level, that was BEFORE the radar domes were constructed on its summit, during 1958-1959.
Built at a cost then of $2 million (more than $16 million in 2012 dollars), the facilities removed 32 feet in height from Francis Peak and forever changed its appearance.
So, you might argue that Francis Peak is only 9,515 feet tall now -- at least the rock portions are.
However, the radar domes add another 115 feet in artificial height and so a satellite GPS would measure the peak's elevation at more like 9,630 feet above sea level.
That's not enough to rival Thurston Peak (9,706 feet above sea level) as the highest peak in the area, though.
What I would love to find someday is a photograph of how Francis Peak looked BEFORE 1958, when it was still in its natural state.