Shades of Grandpa Cliff

Desert trips used to be Spendlove spectaculars. Dave's dad, Cliff Spendlove, led a caravan of SUVs, filled with his children and grandchildren, along the Pony Express route to Simpson Springs, Fish Springs, Ibapah, and finally on to Wendover for dinner. Cliff is gone now, and when Dave and his sister, Nancy, announced a desert trip, Dave, Nancy, Darrell, and I were the only ones who came.

So, early Saturday morning, October 15, 2011, the four of us drove to Camp Floyd, first stop on our desert trip.

In 1856, the compromise that ended the Utah War between the Mormons and the federal government allowed Johnson's Army to pass through Salt Lake City, so long as they camped 20 miles south of Salt Lake City at Camp Floyd.

Today, a Boy Scout troop was earning a merit badge through dressing up as 1850s soldiers, sleeping overnight in canvas tents, doing maneuvers, and learning the history of Camp Floyd.

History was preserved in the Camp Floyd graveyard, although many or all of the tombs were "unknown".

History was also preserved in a museum which displayed a cannon from the 1850s, vintage photographs, and a trunk like the one I got from my Grandmother Eyring.

We drove over Lookout Pass...

into SkullValley.

The blue and sage green colors of the desert were the same as in the painting of Skull Valley which hung over Dave's mom's mantel for so many years. I always wondered if a desert was really that green and blue. Skull Valley was. We stopped at the graveyard built for dogs owned by Porter Rockwell's wife.

We stopped at Simpson Springs, where Dave and I picnicked with Lisa when she was eight months old.

Simpson Springs is the site of a pony express station, whose walls are still standing.

There were ATV trails among the sagebrush that I wish we could have explored.

Next stop was Fish Springs, a national wildlife refuge which is on the international flyway.

On this fall day, many birds were migrating from north to south.

We stopped in an isolated spot for some pistol practice.

We stopped again at Wilson Hot Springs, where Native Americans used to suspend their dead in the hot springs for a sort of mummification. Now there were just rusty school buses and ground too soggy to hike to the springs.

This was once part of the Lincoln Highway, a one-lane road which was the first transcontinental highway.

Ibapah is a quiet, remote town, which is also headquarters for the Goshutes, one of the most wretchedly poor of Utah's tribes.

Then, it was on to Wendover for the buffet at the Peppermill Casino.

Although there were only four of us, we experienced Grandpa Cliff's full, exotic desert trip. We were as thrilled by its beauty and remoteness as in the old days.