Leaving the Great Salt Lake

Never again. Never, ever again.

Let me first say that I am loving Utah. The landscape has been lovely since we crossed the border coming from Idaho. Big mountains, green and snow-capped, everywhere you look. And the Great Salt Lake looks beautiful with the sun reflecting off the blue waters and a backdrop of those gorgeous mountains--that is, when you're looking from a safe distance within the confines of your air-conditioned car. 

It's been hot and sunny and we haven't showered since our last morning camping in Yellowstone and a dip in the water sounded like just the thing we needed. I had read that you can swim in the Great Salt Lake and that the heavy salt concentration allows anyone to float effortlessly. That sounded like fun to me, especially since I was never any good at floating. (I can remember my dad telling me as a kid that fat is much more buoyant than dense bone and muscle; ever since then, I've noticed that the only parts that stay on top of the water are my air-filled chest and my butt.)

I noticed something was wrong as soon as I parked the car. Despite it being 95 degrees and the strong, hot sun practically melting our skin, there was no one in the water. And as we were changing into our bathing suits, still within the safety of the car, hundreds of little flies began to land on the windows. I remembered reading something about how the high salinity of the lake supports little life besides algae, bacteria, some tiny shrimp-like creatures, and flies. Well, these are the flies, I thought.

We emerged from the car and slammed the doors shut as quickly as possible before the flies could get in. It was like we had just stepped into an oven swarming with flies. They immediately started landing on us. We headed toward the water, hoping that our motion would be enough to deter them, but they were persistent. Luckily, they weren't biting, otherwise I would have jumped right back in the car and scrapped the whole swimming idea.

The saltiness of the sand was apparent immediately: our first few steps left a dusty coating of salt on our feet. I kicked off my flip flops and carried them in my hand, as I always do at the beach. I regretted this decision when I realized we were walking through a giant seagull graveyard. Everywhere we looked were dead birds, some with their carcasses still in tact, and some with their feathers still matted to the bones. Colin's theory was that they all ate plastic and came here to die. Something tells me that's not far from the truth.

Then came the putrid smell of decay. I don't think it was from the birds because the smell didn't hit us until we were closer to the water and had already walked through the bulk of the bird graveyard, but the stench was so odorous that we were gagging. I wanted to turn around right there and sprint back to the car, but Colin convinced me to forge ahead.  It felt as if we had been walking forever but we were almost there--I could see where the water was pooling in some spots. To get to water's edge, we had to walk through the pools. Once again, I wanted to turn around, but Colin wouldn't let me give up. The pools were covered with a layer of seemingly dead insect-like sea creatures--I looked it up later and found out that they are brine shrimp, commonly sold as novelty "sea monkeys." I was holding my breath at this point, not wanting to inhale any more of the putrid stench or the flies that were now swarming in thick hoards. We reached the edge of the water and were now standing ankle-deep in the Great Salt Lake. Just then, the wind picked up and suddenly my skin began to sting: we were being pelted by flies! I felt them rocketing into my ears. I turned away from the wind and let them ricochet off my back. That was the last straw. Colin and I turned and ran full-speed back to the car, mouths closed but silently screaming, flies slapping our skin, our feet trampling on sea monkeys and dead birds. 

I guess we can't really say we swam in the Great Salt Lake, but it wasn't for lack of effort, and it certainly was an all-sensory experience I will never forget.

(Colin's feet)