girlonahalfshill

Yesterday we made it to Utah – driving to the Bonneville Salt Flas, through Salt Lake City and finally, spending the night on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. 

There were balmy, buffeting winds on the island and the day wrapped up with the boys spreading out their blanket to catch the wind, chasing after their banana peels and cracker boxes, before we decided against trying to set up our tent in the gale. We snuggled up in the car and bedded down for the night.

We woke up to jackrabbits and bison on the beach. A quick tour of the island introduced us to more bison, pronghorn antelope, lizards and a multitude of grasshoppers, one of whom tried to gnaw on my hand after Spencer introduced the two of us. Spencer sprang along the path, delighted by the grasshoppers and retuned to the car intent on photographing every animal in sight.

The following five hour drive took us through the mountains, to mesas and plateaus of varying shades – initially forested with forests, but then brick red, sage grey, then sandy white and back to terra cotta. The boys started out engaged by another set of Planet Money podcasts and a few chapters from Douglas Adams’ “Life, the Universe and Everything,” but that amusement had dwindled four hours later, by which time the eldest had been asleep for an hour and my youngest has taken to jabbering manically about his boredom.

Tonight we have reservations at Hite Campground on the northern side of Lake Powell in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. The approach was dramatic as the road carved through canyons and Hite Overlook felt akin to the view at the Grand Canyon, only without the crowds. One couple sat at beside their RV, watching us peer over the edge with trepidation. Our campground was desolate. We had the entire place to ourselves, with the exception of one bush bunny who hopped away as I approached. 

Tonight’s dinner was less than a four course meal. There were leftover grapes and crackers from earlier snacking and a burrito that met with no one’s approval, but none of us were terribly hungry, so we worked on our blogs and I cracked open John Stuart Mill’s “On Liberty” for the umteenth time. At dusk, the bats came out and swooped overhead, scooping up their evening meal.