A frightful, smelly lake, surely, but our own and only. Loathe the day, swiftly approaching, when I can cross from Saltair to Antelope, Fremont and Carrington islands all without a drop of saline upon my feet.
Standing now, as I am writing this, some foot and a half deep in the Great Salt Lake, I remember only a few years ago when, from this same spot, I would have been waist-deep in the briny shallows. This terminal lake is prone to magnificent fluctuation of water level, both historically higher and lower than it is now; but the mile and a half trek from the parking lot to the first rush of water is alarming, to say the least.
I’ve found that an hour spent wandering Great Salt Lake’s shores will clear up most worries. These waters have mystic and primal powers. They tell of histories lost or only vaguely recalled. They heal. Tell me I’m not the only one enamored of this lake.
I ask, how can we preserve and replenish the Great Salt Lake? Should we simply leave nature to nature? I ask, aren’t we responsible for using these shores as a city dump (if only I had counted the discarded socks, shoes and television sets!) for allowing gross industry to siphon limited minerals and water? One of Utah’s greatest treasures, one of the few lakes visible on maps of the continental U.S., and we’ll sit idle as it disappears?
Rarely have our politicians seen profit in preservation. So, it’s left to us. Neighborly I call upon you, American-we, Utahn-we, strong of spirit, resilient at heart, determined in mind, help me save this diminishing lake of ours. Fill your buckets, vases, cups full of water and eagerly dump them into the lake! Or help me find a better solution.
Zac Smith, Kearns
