In fall of 2023, Jason and I participated in the Dusk to Dawn Relay + Ultra for the fourth time. One of the reasons we love this race is that it isn’t just a race, it’s a blast. On this occasion, the event took a literal interpretation of that cliched expression.

Before I talk about our 2023 Dusk to Dawn experience, allow me to go back a tad further and give a brief background on the Bonneville Salt Flats starting from the beginning of time. The Bonneville Salt Flats are the desiccated remains of Lake Bonneville, an inland sea that once covered most of Utah along with parts of Idaho and Nevada in water up to 1,000 feet deep. It formed about 30,000 years ago and dried up at the end of the last ice age.

The Bonneville Salt Flats aren’t the largest salt flat in the world, that brackish honor belongs to Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. However, Bonneville’s 30,000+ acres offer plenty for the imagination and the camera lens. They flood nearly every spring transforming the area into a shallow lake. When this fluid dries up around July, it leaves behind a perfectly level and shockingly bright swath of sodium chloride up to 60 inches deep, a running surface unlike any other. Now, the table salt is set for our Dusk to Dawn discussion.

At 2022’s Dusk to Dawn, the weather started out scorching before the sun went down. In 2023, temperatures began cool, only in the 80s. That sounds like a drastic improvement until you factor in the wind. High winds are common on the salt flats as there is nothing for miles to break gusts. However, that evening a brewing storm was causing even more than the typical unbroken havoc.

What do I mean by more than typical? I’m talking 40 MPH. Beyond being a nuisance, the air currents were a formidable obstacle to movement. Running against them required much more effort than running uphill. It wasn’t just being blasted by 40 MPH gusts that wore us down though, it was being blasted by 40 MPH gusts packed with salt. It was like trying to push against a tornado inside a saltshaker. We earned our Wheaties that night. Also, it drizzled off and on. The worst of that rain, a downpour, happened while Jason and I were taking our scheduled nap in the middle of the night, so at least the two of us missed that.

Our six-person team encountered other obstacles. One teammate, a teenager, had a cold and was even less inclined to be motivated than adolescents normally are. Another teammate twisted his ankle on the bumpy (recently wet) surface during his second lap, the first lap of the two-hour block assigned to him and his partner. It took 37 minutes for him to complete that loop, and he was out of commission the remainder of the night. The rest of us had to compensate.

Jason and I ended up doing six loops each, 12 miles apiece, like all members of our team except the snotty teenager, who did 10, and the hobbler. My times per loop ranged between about 20 and 22 minutes. That’s not great, but given the aforementioned saltshaker, it was acceptable. As usual, Jason was quick with lap times between 15 and a half and 16 and a half minutes.

Like the previous year, our group was divided into two teams. The other team halted their circling in the middle of the night for about four hours giving them a chance to take naps and complete 15 loops (30 miles) in total. This also gave them the chance to come in last out of the 10 six-person teams. Their times per lap ranged widely from 17 minutes to nearly 37 minutes.

Times weren’t the only highly variable component of this race. Near 3:30, hints of the almost full moon started to peek out from behind the curtains of sodium chloride we’d been tangled in all night. By 4:00, that orb was fully exposed turning the briny ground into a shimmering sea of reflected moonshine.

How did our team do? There were a lot more participants in the race this time, 24 ultra runners and 22 teams, making the event more competitive. We finished fifth out of the 10 teams in the six-person category with 62 miles completed, which was our placement the prior year. Was our lack of position improvement a byproduct of the increased participation? I wish I could say yes, but, despite the boost in entrants, the number of six-person teams did not change from 2022. So, why?

Before seeing the results, we had anticipated that we’d done better, probably because we had worked harder. It turns out, working harder does not directly correlate to moving faster when a resolute headwind is part of the equation. While we didn’t exceed our team best for Dusk to Dawn, 64 miles, or our previous year’s mileage, I can safely say we did exceed our record for perseverance in uncomplimentary conditions.

I was once told that life’s notable moments are either good memories, when things go according to plan, or good stories when they don’t. My impressions of 2023’s Dusk to Dawn will remain a flavorful mix of both.

As a kid, I remember getting out of school for summer break and feeling like an endless amount of time spanned solidly between me and the point when I’d have to sit at a desk again. And yet, summer passed in a bundle of water fights, sleepovers, TV shows, visits from grandparents, and a few “I’m bored” moments. Now, summer always seems to elapse at an even brisker pace despite no protestations of boredom. One moment you are planning a summertime trip that’s months away. Then, in a flash, you are wondering how the leaves are already falling. In a futile attempt to freeze summer’s passage, here is a small synopsis of our outdoor undertakings in the summer of 2023. A typo? Nope, 2023 for reals. Why am I so behind on posts? The busier life gets, the more there is to write about but the less time there is to do it. This post may be hopelessly outdated, but its contents are nearly as timeless as drinking from the hose or gliding on a Slip N Slide.

Early in the summer, Jason and I took my parents to see the Beach Boys perform at Deer Valley. We brought them comfy chairs and loaded them up with plenty of Deer Valley’s housemade potato chips, which are a personal favorite. They dropped decades as they bopped in their matching, squatty lawn seats.

In mid-July, we treated Jason’s family to a day at Snowbird Resort in honor of all their birthdays for the year. Jason and his brother both crashed on the alpine slide within minutes of starting their first descents due to unwarranted speeds. It’s possible poor judgement is genetic. The fam took the tram to the top of Hidden Peak. Fields of snow remained in those upper regions, which made widespread butt sliding an inevitability.

A couple weeks later, Jason and I went to Snowbird again sans family and hiked down from the Peruvian Chairlift, which apparently is about 3.5 miles. There was a heat advisory in the valleys, but we had jackets on for the first third of this trek as 6,700 extra feet do make a substantial difference. Although it was the end of July, the area still had extensive snow coverage.

In August, we hiked to Willow Lake (2.5 miles RT) with my sister’s family, my brother’s family, and my parents. The hike was quite mellow and passed through fields of wildflowers made shoulder-high by the extraordinary wetness of the season. Afterward, we headed to the Limber Grove Overnight Group Site at Jordan Pines. Although some members of the company were going to camp, that plan fell apart because they “forgot” their camping gear. Unlike the last-minute flakers, Jason and I had decided beforehand that we were going to forget our camping gear and sleep at home, but we happily hung out until midnight.

During that time, we took a break from the campfire to hike to Donut Falls (1.5 miles RT) just before (and slightly after) it got dark. Although this trail was minutes away from our campsite, none of the kids wanted to hike, so the outing became just Jason, my brother, and my brother-in-law wandering alone down what is typically an extremely popular path. I guess it’s not just teenagers who don’t appreciate the ambiance of a little dusk trudge.

That evening coincided with the peak of the annual Perseid meteor shower and the launch of 22 Starlink satellites. In addition to witnessing a few shooting stars, we saw Starlink pass through the heavens like a bedazzled caterpillar. We consumed my brother’s famous “car” chili and my soon-to-be-famous waffle smores. It was a pleasant evening followed by a pleasant night of sleeping in our own beds.

The next day, Jason and I hiked to Primrose Overlook in American Fork Canyon (3.6 miles RT) and completed the loop back on the Lame Horse Trail. Like the wildflowers on the Willow Lake Trail, the plants on this path were overly sized and exaggeratedly lush – a fern and aspen jungle.

On Labor Day weekend, just after doing the Dusk to Dawn Relay + Ultra, Jason and I hiked over 6.1 miles to the top of Preston Peak (10,315 ft) at Brighton Resort. Clayton Peak, the crest above Great Western Express, was our original goal, but daylight didn’t cooperate with our plans. Getting profoundly distracted by the top of Snake Creek Pass in its summertime strangeness didn’t help with time management either. As it was, we ended up doing half of the hike back in the dark, which happened to coincide with the half we did in the rain.

I didn’t mind a dark, wet return. Snake Creek is sacred. For so many winters, its sunshine and exhilaration have saved me from the bleak throes of winter. Although the terrain looked uncanny sheathed in bright flowers and vibrant greens, joy, serenity, strength, and connection, the remnants of so many powder days, seemed to emanate from the trees, rocks, and even the earth. Still, that joy and serenity didn’t keep us from needing extra jackets from the top of the pass on as the wind also did its part to remind us of frigid days past. It took us about 3.5 hours to complete this hike.

In September, we were back at a different resort. A group of my family trekked to the top of Hidden Peak at Snowbird. And yes, a tram goes to that same summit, but if you catch a ride, you miss nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain and a serious thigh workout. You wouldn’t want to miss out on a thigh high would you? It was chilly on Hidden Peak even with a hoodie as it was in the mid-50s and a bit breezy. The sweat we’d accumulated on the climb didn’t help.

Just a couple days after our hike at Snowbird, a greater swath of my family gathered there again for Oktoberfest and its associated activities. This was the whole gang’s Christmas present from my parents. We arrived early to give us a couple hours before the crowds came for their steins. The group did the mountain coaster, alpine slide, ropes course, and tree climb. Many also conquered the vertical drop and ZipWhipper. The vertical drop is a 50-foot plunge from a bungee rope at sub-bungee speeds. While the ZipWhipper is 20 seconds of rock climbing followed by a backward swing in the air. Both are mild mental challenges not real challenges, but some of the kids regarded them as the latter. Most of our party also took the Peruvian Chairlift and Tunnel to reach Mineral Basin. It was beautiful and nippy at the top; two jackets weren’t enough… again. Maybe I should have just called this post “Remember Your Jackets.”

We took a break to eat some Bavarian foods in a massive tent with what felt like about a million people. If you decide to do this tent meal thing at Oktoberfest, go early. The tent never calms down once lunchtime hits; it’s still a mess well into the afternoon.

In other 36-month-old news, Jason and I climbed a significant portion of the Deer Creek-Dry Creek Trail on some random day in some random month – okay, it was September if you want to be particular. We had to turn around and start our hike over about a half mile in due to a pant malfunction, so our dreams of making it to the Box Elder saddle were thwarted. However, a new goal developed as we walked. There is a massive rock along this path with an excellent viewpoint that we thought was “just up the hill” from our current location for about a mile. That wishful rocking delayed us from turning around judiciously as night approached. Ultimately, we hiked 7.3 miles, which would have gotten us to the saddle in normal circumstances. Nonetheless, it was a picturesque ramble with few people. The scrub oaks were shifting from green to red in large patches while the aspens were still resisting the inevitable. Despite our misguided rock seeking, we only had to complete the last mile or so with a flashlight. That’s pretty good for us.

Less than a week later, we trekked up to the Primrose Overlook and looped back on the Lame Horse Trail (3.6 miles). Although it had only been six days since our last visit to American Fork Canyon, the scenery looked much different. The aspens had begun transforming too, and more people were roaming about to gawk at them. It sprinkled on us here and there but was only chilly right at the overlook. Otherwise, with a jacket or two, we felt toasty. A lovely hike!

That sums up the summer of 2023. Yes, it was a while back, but may it be forever etched in my memory like Kick the Can and BMX bikes. Also, don’t forget your jackets!

Jason and I gave my family members their pick between four potential activities as their birthday presents in 2023. A morning of rappelling down waterfalls was the wildest of these alternatives. In August, the brave individuals who chose this option headed into the mountains with a few canyoneering guides. Here is the synopsis of that soggy and slippery adventure.

Our group started on some 35-foot cliffs in Big Cottonwood Canyon to improve our minimal rappelling skills. Then, we moved over to Little Cottonwood and the Lisa Falls Trail. Lisa Falls is a popular destination as the hike to it is extremely short, and it tumbles at an unusual askew angle over imposing granite blocks. Although Jason and I had been to the waterfall before, we’d never explored the elevations above it. As we discovered, what’s beyond is even more impressive.

Lisa Falls extends out of a hanging valley formed by a glacier tributary. This valley is distinctly U-shaped and once held heavy ice that flowed into Little Cottonwood Canyon’s larger glacier. That greater glacier covered 12 miles of the canyon in ice up to 850 feet deep at one time.

We used short climbing to get up this hanging valley. For those unfamiliar, short climbing is a technique used to make difficult terrain safer to scale. It involves linking multiple people together via rope to decrease the chances of any of them falling unhindered.

After we had climbed this attractive crevice, we rappelled down. We did five rappels, three of which were slick and drenching. When rappelling a waterfall, you must face away from the rock and only use one hand to descend. Otherwise, the force of the water combined with the slippery surface may turn you upside down and/or cause significant rock whackings. Asking the inexperienced to do one-handed, front-facing rappels is asking a lot. Apparently, most of the waterfall sections in this canyon are classified as 3C, with the last of those being 197 feet long. I’m too inexperienced to fully understand the substance of those ratings.

However, although our route was sometimes tricky, the views distracted us from being intimidated. The area was beautiful beyond our expectations. We had no idea Lisa Falls extends so far up the mountain on a path that is exceptionally gorgeous. The scenery also distracted us from our sogginess. It turns out, waterfalls are wet. Everyone returned sopping and nearly all returned with scrapes. Our niece received the most significant abrasions of the outing when both her knees banged against a rock during a descent. Still, no one was complaining. On the contrary, the magnitude of one nephew’s smiles increased in proportion to the magnitude of the soaking he was presently receiving. Unlike him, I elected to take two of the optional “dry” routes instead of going down the area with the heaviest current. One of these was far from dry, and I got thoroughly re-drenched from the waist down.

What an awesome adventure! Our clothes came back smelling of pine and mountain mint, the scents that permeated that alpine water. Like our fits, our bodies too returned refreshed.