[Disclaimer: The author reserves the right to be wrong on the identification of any plant in this post. Although most, if not all, labels should be accurate, the author is still learning, and quite new to the field of botanical nomenclature.]
Not to be confused with Mammoth Cave of
Kentucky, the longest cave system in the world, I am writing about
Mammoth Cave of Utah, the longest cave system (I know of) in Garfield
County.
I am here experiencing the cave with my
family. We drove several miles on a graveled road to the cave
opening, which sits amidst a stand of ponderosa pines.
There are four chambers, one of them
being the primary chamber, which is the largest and most used. There
is a metal grate that seals off the entrance, except for a low
two-foot opening. This part is sealed shut during the winter to
allow for bat hibernation.
We enter the main chamber first. The
beginning is wide, and relatively high. Anciently, these caves were
lava tubes. They still give the impression of walking through a
tube, possibly replicating the feeling that Jonah must have felt when
he was swallowed by a whale.
All four chambers of Mammoth Cave can be accessed from this opening in the ground.
Chamber #1.
Not too far in, the cave becomes
somewhat damp, with moisture collecting on the
ceiling of the cave. At this point, instead of a flat dirt surface
to walk on, the floor is strewn with large chunks of slippery rock.
A musty smell is present on the cold air of the cave.
Here, the ceiling drops lower and I am having to tip my head and watch for protruding rocks. A light of some sort is imperative
inside the cave, as it is pitch-black otherwise.
Chamber #1. Jenna is pointing her flashlight toward the small tunnel where the cave continues.
Soon, the large chamber gives way to a
shallow chamber. Travel becomes cumbersome, and I am on my
hands and knees. At this location, I'm not sure if the cave suddenly stops, or has an exit.
As we continue, the passageway shrinks
even more, and I find myself squeezing through a small enclosure. I
can't help but to think of the Nutty Putty Cave incident a few years
ago when a man got stuck inside a very narrow crevice and died after
several days and efforts to get him out. I hesitate to continue, but
I have Jenna and Savanah with me and they are both very determined to
discover where the tunnel leads.
After squeezing through the small
enclosure (which is much more difficult when carrying a little
backpack, camera, and tripod), Jenna hollers
back and notifies me that she has found a light at the end of the
tunnel!
We move toward the light, which throws
a substantial glow into the cave, and we can see well enough that we
know that we have reached the terminus of the tunnel. Above us and
to our left, we find the exit hole, covered with a grate, but with a
hole just large enough to squeeze through. We climb up the rocks and
through the grate and once again find ourselves amidst the ponderosa
pines and tall summer grass of the Markagunt Plateau. We are only
about a hundred yards from the entrance of the cave.
Exit to chamber #1.
As we return to the main entrance, we
find the second chamber at the opposite end of the large entrance hole in the ground. As
we slip inside, I feel like I am in the tube station in London.
I find myself walking sideways with my
head extremely tilted to avoid contact with the ceiling of the cave.
Soon, I am on my hands and knees, banging my joints against the hard
surface and dusting up my pants and belly of my shirt. At one point
I have to army crawl.
Once again, we see the light at the end
of the tunnel and emerge successively.
Exit to chamber #2.
The entrance to the third chamber is
just above the entrance to the first. To enter it, one has
three options: 1) climb up a twelve-foot rock face, 2) shimmy across a
rock ledge that goes over the first entrance, or 3) return outside
and enter through a ceiling hole in the ground and lower yourself in.
Being that I have two young daughters,
I choose the safest of them all, option number three. This tunnel is
very similar to the second, being a smooth, shallow tube. At
one point we come to a fork in the tunnel. The right fork appears
bigger. It is very wide, but it is also very shallow. A little too
shallow for me. I could probably squeeze through, but I would be
sliding on my belly for a long distance, with the cave ceiling right
at my back. That is a little too scary for me.
The left fork doesn't appear to be much
better in the beginning, as I would have to squeeze through a
thinner passageway, with a slightly higher ceiling, but also over a
large boulder. We squeeze through the left fork and find ourselves
inside a slightly bigger room where I can stand on my knees without
my head scraping the ceiling.
Two of the entrances to chamber #3.
Near the entrance of chamber #3.
Exit to chamber #3.
Jenna, always taking the lead, finds a
ray of light and once again we find our exit to the outside world.
At the terminus there are two possible exits: one where you can climb
up the rocks, and the other, more like a natural air vent, where you
have to use your arms to pull yourself up.
We find the fourth chamber. It is
near the first and third, but to the right. We don't have time to
explore it. There is defiantly more prospecting to be done here, as
well as knowledge to learn, such as the geology and history of the
cave.
As teenagers in a small town, we would
often spend our evenings driving up and down Main Street in a ritual
we called cruising main. We would stop at Gopher's and buy
Twinkies and Mountain Dew. As we drove, we would watch the cars
passing by to see who else was cruising main, and check out which
chicks were hanging out in the South Chapel parking lot. Invariably,
our drive included lots of conversation and plenty of music. When it
came to our bands of preference, there were the big three: Metallica,
Guns-n-Roses, and Mötley
Crüe.
When Mötley
Crüe released their hit
album, Dr. Feelgood, I was a junior in High School, and had
just received my driver's license. I was a true Crüe
fan by then, having already owned a Girls, Girls, Girls tape.
I even remember buying a heavy metal magazine with Vince Neil, Mick
Mars, Nikki Sixx, and Tommy Lee on the cover.
I liked the beat of the music. A lot
of the lyrics I didn't care for. Some of them I considered to be
down-right evil. But they knew how to write songs that really kicked butt!
As I graduated High School and moved on
with life, Mötley Crüe
got pushed to the nether regions of my mind. Maybe it was some sort
of mid-life crisis that resurrected my passion for loud music.
With the new technology of MP3's, I
began not only downloading all my favorite Mötley
Crüe songs of the past,
but also new (and old) songs that I had never heard before.
My wife and I even drove to Las Vegas
to watch them in concert at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.
So, who are these guys? I recently
read a book on them, and my eyes were opened.
They are four of the most decadent
people I have ever learned about. In some ways, I'm not even sure
why I like them so much because their lifestyles and music go against
almost every moral creed I believe in.
Along
with the drugs, the sex was unrestrained also. There was no limit.
Many of their sexual forays even bordered on rape. No one seemed to
care or do anything about it. The band members got exactly what they
wanted.
Vince
Neil, the lead singer, and sole member with blonde hair, was high on
drugs one night and crashed his Ferrari, killing a close friend who
was in the passenger seat. Vince spent a month in jail, time in
rehab, and performed many hours of community service as restitution.
Several
years later, his four year old daughter, Skyler, died from a
cancerous tumor in her abdomen. This devastated Neil and sent him
into a drinking binge that was even worse than before.
Nikki
Sixx, the bassist, I think is the brain-power behind the band. He
was born Frank Ferena, but later changed his name when he
decided to disown his father for never being around for him. He was
mostly raised by his grandparents from Idaho. They were the only
stability he had in his youth.
During
his time with Mötley Crüe, he became extremely addicted to heroin.
After a tour in 1987, Nikki overdosed on heroin and was considered
dead until doctors were able to revive him. This pivotal experience
became the genesis for their hit song, Kickstart My Heart. I
believe that he has been sober for eight years now from any kind of
drug or alcohol.
Guitarist Mick Mars is the oldest, and in my opinion, the most
mature member of the band. He didn't struggle with drugs as much as
the others, but was a deep alcoholic. He, too, was able to conquer
his addiction.
His biggest battle was against a chronic disease called ankylosing spondylitis, a
cruel condition that turns the bones in your body rigid and hard.
Mick is often perceived as stiff on stage, but in reality, it hurts him to move.
Tommy
Lee, the drummer, was considered the kid of the band, and could bang
the drums loud and hard. He is infamous for his tattooed body and
Hollywood wives, Heather Locklear and Pamela Anderson.
I
learned that his mother was Miss Greece before she immigrated to the
United States. As long as he was willing to take the first steps,
his parents always supported him in whatever he did.
Tommy
always wanted to have kids of his own and finally was able to with
Pamela Anderson. Shortly after his second child was born, he and
Pamela began having marriage problems, which eventually led to a
domestic fight, four months in jail for Tommy, and a divorce. This
was the period when Tommy left the group for a while and was replaced
by former Ozzy Osbourne drummer, Randy Castillo.
Through
all the drugs and sex and foul language, I saw glimmers of growth in
the band. They, in their own way, could see some of their folly and
sought to improve themselves.
With
Nikki's heroin overdose, the band had a wake-up call and decided to
check into rehab, making a pact that they would go sober.
This meant refraining from all drugs, including marijuana and
caffeine. They also abstained from red meats and engaged in daily
exercise. They cloistered themselves at a location in Canada and began working on music for their best-selling album, Dr. Feelgood. The
album went on to be 6x Platinum and reached the top of the Billboard
200 Chart.
When
Mötley Crüe declared they were making a stop in Salt Lake City on
their final tour, I had to get tickets.
My
wife and I traveled over 200 miles on a quick overnight trip to
attend the concert. We were tired, but enthusiastic to watch the
show. Energy Solutions Arena―the same place where the Utah Jazz
play ball―was the venue. Mötley Crüe would play with Alice
Cooper, an added bonus!
When
we walked across the parking lot to the venue, we found a long line
of anxious fans waiting to be first through the doors at 6 pm. A
couple of radio stations broadcasted live from the sidewalk.
We
saw a lot of tattoos, a lot of black Mötley Crüe shirts, and a
relatively calm crowd, either standing in line or relaxing beneath
the shade of a tree.
I
walked the circumference of the building and found large lines on
three of the four sides. On the back side I found several large semi
trucks and tour buses backed up near the loading dock.
We
weren't there long when a lady walked through the crowd selling
T-shirts. “Twenty dollars here or forty inside!” she yelled. I
didn't know if she was telling the truth, but I thought that I had
better jump on it, just in case. I handed her a twenty dollar bill
and purchased the very first rock and roll t-shirt of my entire life.
At
six, the doors didn't open. At seven, we were still waiting outside.
They started handing out complimentary water bottles. That pacified
us momentarily, but once eight o'clock rolled around and the doors
remained shut, the crowd began to transform from restless, to
resentful and ornery. By this time, many had consumed several beers
and began to taunt and jeer the venue employees.
Instead
of taunting, we found a nice couple from Preston, Idaho to talk with.
She displayed a Utah Jazz tattoo on her ankle, and he wore long
blonde hair, a bandana, and a rounded nose that made him look like a
pudgy Axl Rose. They told us of their ten kids and how their house
burned to the ground three years ago―one day after attending a
Guns-n-Roses concert.
Finally,
three hours late, we were let inside the venue! We still had to wait
in the halls for another forty-five minutes before they would let us
into the arena. I don't know if this was a good idea because now everyone had access to the alcohol venders. About 75% of the people
I saw had a plastic cup of beer in their hand.
The
guy next to us in the hall kept trying to mumble something, then
finally spilled his beer right on the floor. I was relieved when the
arena doors were finally let open and we were able to enter inside.
The
first thing we noticed were the two roller coaster-like tracks that
ran up, then down, then back up again―right over center court.
[After the concert, we learned that Energy Solutions was short-handed
with help setting things up. These two large tracks on the floor
probably contributed to the delay.]
At 10 pm, while people were still filing in, the lights went dim, and
Alice Cooper came on stage and the crowd went wild.
This
post is not about Alice Cooper, but I will say that I was very
impressed with him. He has a very spooky or Gothic persona, and on
stage, this is exactly how he portrayed himself. He was a great showman.
During the performance, he wrapped himself with a giant boa
constrictor, turned into a Frankenstein monster, and cut off his head with a guillotine.
I
was also impressed with his gorgeous blonde guitarist, Nita Strauss. (Even my wife agreed that she was hot!) It's not often that you see
a female guitarist with any rock band. And she was good, too,
pounding away at those strings like any well-seasoned guy. I later
learned that she was voted #1 in Guitar World's list of “10
Female Guitar Players You Should Know.”
The
show lasted one hour, and soon the stage crew was working hard to
tear down Alice Cooper, and set up Mötley Crüe.
When
the Crüe took the stage, the entire arena became engulfed with
swaying lights and heart pounding beats. They led the show with
their hit song, Girls, Girls, Girls.
From
our vantage point on the balcony, we couldn't see many details of how
they looked. For this, I brought a small pair of binoculars.
Nikki
Sixx had his face painted white with black stripes. Tommy Lee looked
like a punk kid going berserk on the drums. Mick Mars didn't get too
crazy on stage, but his hands looked like a machine gun on the
guitar. Vince Neil, although a bit heftier than in his glory days,
and without the long bleached blonde hair, still played the perfect
role of front-man, running all around the stage.
As
expected, these guys didn't know how to form a sentence without
spewing out a line of expletives.
Then
came the moment of the Crüecifly, flown by pilot, Tommy Lee.
Drugs
have taken their toll on the Mötley Crüe drummer. Tommy usually
shows up to concerts shirtless, with earrings, nipple rings, and
tattoos over his entire body. Sometimes he looks like a freak.
Despite all that, he can voraciously play the drums like few others.
Often his name will come up in lists for the greatest drummers of all
time. And he has a charisma that helps make Mötley Crüe who they
are.
The
Crüecifly is like a large indoor roller coaster that straps Tommy in
and raises him and his drum set high above the crowd, rotating upside
down and moving slowly across the arena. The rest of the band leaves
the stage, and for over eight minutes, Tommy Lee pounds a drum solo.
A funky blend of techno and rap music accompany the solo, probably of
Lee's own creation.
After
four minutes of soaring over the crowd, he gave one last bang, and in
an instant, all the music stopped and the swaying red lights shut
off. Tommy Lee stood up at his drum set, now on the other side of
the arena, and spoke to the crowd.
“What
the f--- mother f------! What's up baby?”
“Holy
s---!”
“Everybody
say hello to the g-- d---- Crüecifly, baby!”
“I
wish there were f------ more seats on this thing so we can all go for
a ride, don't you think?”
“Hey,
man, by the way, we f------ apologize for the late a-- start, but you
know what, it's a f------ party, so who gives a flying f---!”
“Let's
go baby!”
And
with one pound of the drums, the white lights went off, and the
swaying blue lights filled the arena, and Tommy Lee was hammering
away again while flipping upside down and slowing coasting back
toward the stage.
This
is who Mötley Crüe is. They are decadent. Since the beginning
they have aimed for the bad-boy image and have done a pretty good job
at keeping it up.
After
twenty songs, and a constant barrage of head-rattling music, flames,
dancing women, fog, and enough explosives to light downtown Baghdad,
Mötley Crüe rocked the walls down with their finale, Kickstart My Heart. The entire arena turned a cloudy white, with the music
and the blasting echoing off the walls, and confetti and streamers
falling from the ceiling.
Then,
in an instant, the band disappeared from the stage.
Of
course, we all know how this goes. Everyone comes to their feet and
begins cheering and clapping and chanting as loud as they can, and
cheering some more, and sustaining as long as they can for an encore.
Then,
we see four flashlight beams emerge from the tunnel below the stage,
and soon we can see Vince, Nikki, Mick, and Tommy in full light,
walking toward the opposite end of the arena. They climb onto a small
make-shift stage at the back of the arena where Tommy sits down to a
large piano.
The
stage slowly rises until they are high above the crowd, and Mötley
Crüe sings their classic ballad, Home Sweet Home. Vince
misses a couple notes, and the rest of the group appears haggard,
ready to go home.
After
twenty-five years, they've played in a lot of venues and have seen a
lot of faces. I think that I'd be ready to go home, too.
West of Brigham City, the highway
quickly gains elevation along the narrow, but short, Box Elder
Canyon. Quickly, it arrives at a lush basin in the mountains that the
early settlers called “Little Valley.”
I remember this valley when passing
through as a youngster, beholding the large lake and the picturesque
little town that resides along its shores―a
sight not too common in Utah. This would be just before the highway
curled back over another mountain hill and into Sardine Canyon, a
corridor notorious for its treacherous wintertime conditions.
We
never stopped in this little town. The road-sign read “Mantua,”
but I never knew how to pronounce it. I even remember seeing a
couple of moose feeding down by a stream one day as we passed through.
Little
did I know that a couple of decades later, my in-laws would buy a
house there and I would come to know the place a little more
intimately.
The
first thing I learned was how to pronounce it: Man-a-way.
In
the beginning, I didn't get to know the town very well―just the
backyard and fields around my in-laws' home. Bugs were everywhere:
mosquitoes, gnats, dragonflies, May bugs, and snowy aphids. Notably
the snowy aphids. Sometimes, especially in the evening when the glow of the
sun is just right, swarms of these tiny white bugs billow over the
air like wafting smoke. They don't seem to bite much, but if you
leave a door to the house ajar, they will invite themselves inside
and linger around the light bulbs.
The
bugs are there because of the lake. My in-laws' home is half a mile
from the southern shore.
I
soon discovered that a four and a half mile walking path circumvents
the lake. One morning I woke up and ran the length of it. I enjoyed
the long daybreak shadows from the trees and the
smell of wheat fields that grow along the side. I saw a couple does
feeding in the field.
The
edge of the lake is very swampy. Knarled trees grow from the water
and in some spots it can feel like you're on the bayou. A metal dock
at the southern edge of the lake floats in the water and provides a
place for locals to launch canoes and other small vessels.
One
day I decided to walk half-way around the lake and
then climb a large knoll on the eastern edge of the water. I hiked
at an angle straight up, over small rocks and through cheat grass.
It was all worth it because at the top there is a view like none
other.
The
entire lake comes into view and the tiny village on the other side,
with the small store and a yellow church and steeple. But they are
so far away. I could finally find my in-laws' house, surrounded by
fields in all directions, and could distinguish our little matchbox
Trailblazer parked in front.
Little
did I know that I had climbed the same hill that Lorenzo Snow,
Apostle of the Mormon Church, had climbed in late spring of 1864 with
many of the early settlers. Elder Snow named the little knoll “Mount
Hope” and dedicated the land and the water that it might be a
blessing to the people. The little town was given the name “Mantua”
in honor of Elder Snow's birthplace in Mantua, Ohio.
Mantua
truly lies in a basin surrounded by mountains. In a way, it is in a
world by itself. That, I think, is part of the appeal. Although
Brigham City, the Wasatch Front, and the smoggy I-15 corridor are
only miles away, they are completely out of view. Mantua might
as well be a village in Switzerland.
Finally,
after my in-laws had lived there a few years, I began to research the
history of Mantua.
Before
the settlers, the Shoshone passed through the valley during their
annual migrations from Bear Lake. Mantua was also well known to fur trappers, who traversed the Wasatch Mountains.
The
Mormons came into the picture in 1851 when Brigham City was settled.
The valley, or Little Valley, as it became known, was a
popular place to run cattle.
Around
1859, one of the two mail routes that led from Brigham City to Logan
traveled through Little Valley. The story is told of one of the
carriers, Samuel Alonzo Whitney, who had only one arm. Although there
were some conflicts with the Indians, Samuel was on a friendly basis
with them. The Shoshone called him “Burrowit,” meaning “one
arm gone,” and would often escort him through the valley. He spoke the Shoshone tongue fluently.
The
trail that he rode is the Indian Trail, and was a major route
used by early mountain men and Natives that traveled over the
mountains from the Paradise-Avon area into Mantua Valley.
In
1863, Elder Lorenzo Snow called five Danish families to create a
settlement in Little Valley. The settlers were to grow flax, which
church leaders thought would grow well in the valley due to the cool
nights and short growing season. The crop grew well enough that the
nickname “Flaxville” was given to the town. The idea was soon
abandoned due to the coarseness of the fiber.
These
Danish settlers persisted and built up a lovely little community.
Several generations raised their families in Mantua.
Now,
in the year 2015, I am stepping outside my in-laws' home on Reservoir
Drive, a short graveled road that reaches the southern dock of the
lake. Immediately I am welcomed by a nasty swarm of snowy aphids,
just beyond the door and hovering over some shrubs in the front yard.
I hurry to the road and begin my walk up the street.
I
walk past a field of freshly cut alfalfa and a soft breeze catches
the scent and gently blows it my direction. The piles lay in
even rows and wait to be raked and baled.
Soon,
I am on Main Street, a lightly visited road with no painted white or
yellow lines. On my right is the Mount Haven R.V. Park and Country
Store, the only “supermarket” in town. It looks a lot like a
barn and isn't much bigger than a house. I wouldn't be surprised if
somebody lives upstairs. No cars are parked in front.
During
my journey, I notice that all the lawns are very well manicured.
Grass has been freshly mowed, hedges perfectly trimmed, vegetable
gardens growing in exact rows, and no weeds between plants.
It's not just one lawn, but plot after plot.
While
passing one house, I spot a Plymouth Rock chicken strolling along the
shady side of a tree in the front yard. As I pass the large base of
the tree, I see a rooster in the crook of a branch, clucking back and
forth in a panic when he sees me.
Farther
up the road is a large building with yellow vinyl siding and black
steeple on top. On the front porch are two arm chairs and a mailbox.
Apparently, this is the “old church,” as opposed to the “new
church,” which is across town. Many years ago, someone bought and
converted it into a home. The view here is ideal as it sits on the
west shore of the lake.
I
turn around at this point and return the way I came. I walk along
the sidewalk on the west side of Main Street, leaving me mostly in
afternoon shadows.
Although
I am across the street from the reservoir, I can only see a
horizontal slice of water. Fisherman wait on casted poles and a
paddler pilots his canoe beyond the shore.
A
stream of water emerges from a conduit beneath the road. This would
be Big Creek, the drainage point of Mantua Reservoir, and it will
quickly coalesce with Box Elder Creek.
Instead
of returning to the house, I make a right-hand turn and walk up
Center Street toward the cemetery. There are no businesses on this
street. All are residential homes with the same perfectly manicured
lawns. Two thoughts cross my mind: first, these people must take
great pride in living here to keep their homes looking so nice; and
second, why does my lawn at home look like such a dump?
At
last, the road comes to an end and I arrive at the cemetery. The
cemetery lies on a hill and just below, but out of sight, is the main
highway that runs between Logan and Brigham City. Here it feels
secluded. There is a peaceful feeling that should exist in every
cemetery.
I
don't know what to expect as I begin to meander through the
headstones. Right away, I notice the abundance of Scandinavian
names: Peterson, Ekelsen, Andersen, Olsen. Generation after
generation of the sames names tells me that families have stayed in
the valley for over a century.
The
earliest death date I can find is that of Caroline Jeppesen, who
died in 1879. I'm sure there are others that are older, but I can't
find them.
I
see a small flat headstone for Elder Joseph L. Moffitt, missionary.
The only other inscription is a drawing of the state of Idaho, and
the Boise Temple. In the top-right corner is a small outline of the
state of Massachusetts. He died at the age of nineteen. It is
obvious that there is a story here that I may never know. In my mind
I ask where he served his mission and why is he buried
in Mantua.
As
I am about to leave the cemetery, I come across the most touching
headstone of all. Atop the base of the large black-marbled monument
are two bottles of Pepsi. The labels are a bit faded from the sun.
It is a double headstone, with both the husband and wife's name
etched in, although the wife hasn't died yet.
I
read the name of the deceased: Cade Fenton Wyatt. He died at the
youthful age of twenty-six, having been married to his wife for only
four years. Across the front is an engraving of the Salt Lake
Temple, and below it the inscription, “Eternally Yours, Forever
Mine.” I'm sure that one bottle of Pepsi was placed there by his
wife, and the other by his son.
As
I walk back to the house, through the shadows and scents of pre-dusk,
I contemplate the fragility of life and the beauty of the world. The
two often merge in exactly the same place and are so poignant
that they seem paradoxical.
Back
at the house, just for kicks, I pull out a local cookbook that was
put together by the ladies of the local LDS ward. I flip through the
pages to see if there is anything unique.
I
notice many of the same Scandinavian names that I found in the
cemetery. I also come across a few recipes that may have been handed
down through the generations: Danish Tea, Danish Dumplings, Swedish
Bread Dumplings, Swedish Pancakes, Norwegian Pancakes, Swedish
Roll-up Hotcakes, Swedish Meatballs, Danish Dessert Cake.
Perhaps
I'll never know the origin of these recipes, but these are the kind
of things I think about.
