Today we drove to Bear Lake. Just to see. This is deep in the mountain pass
between Logan
(Yellow highway 89)
and Garden City. Patches of blue light the water as we approach Bear Lake,
though facing where we've come from, and right over our car, only fog banks and squalls.
The lake to the right, we head north. I snap pictures with my phone as the water changes color with the weather.
We drive past the entrance to the State Park after a few miles, cross the state line into Fish Haven, drive 45 mph within patches of towns called Liberty and Bloomington and,
whoa, Paris, Idaho!
Didn't a former member of our stake presidency in Georgia
– he was our Bishop too, yeah
– our good friend, say he was from here? Told us he was from near Bear Lake, and this is that.
Here's a tabernacle.
Designed by one of Brigham Young's sons, built in the 1880s.
We drove on, north and west to where we wanted to cross the mountains again, this time on Highway 36 heading to Preston from which we could cruise south to Logan and on home. Full circle.
(Arrow tip.)
Here's us
↓ heading there. Snow pack closed in on the road finally at forest's edge (way in the distance, almost invisible; we drove a
long way). "Chains Advised" a yellow sign advertised as we neared the Wasatch Cache National Forest, conditions worsening. We slowed; went ahead. We slowed and crept. Stopped: couldn't go farther
– in good conscience, as the tread is thinner on our four wheel-drive car than we'd like for snow pack, we wouldn't cross here.
I was white knucklin' it. Sure wanting to go in,
heavens don't go all the way back!, but hating the skids and now super-slow-going. We'd be all day at this. I won't tell you a little old man and his wife in like a 1966 Galaxy four-door sedan trundled past us into the woods us as we turned and made our way out. Kent suggested they lived only a mile or so up the road. He was being hopeful, optimistic
– and they were too.
We drove east then south over the roads we'd come on, Paris, Bloomington, Liberty, Fish Haven, 45 mph into Utah then alongside the lake, the while passing under squalls and sunshine. CUh-
RaZy wEAtHeR.
Snow followed us out of the canyon on the way to Logan, though at points sunlight dappled the road and ridges through bare trees and pines. Light flooded the I-15 corridor the hour we traveled home and I turned to look at what we'd left behind: darkened mountains, storm clouds swallowing the passes. I felt safe
– now on our way to get take-n-bake pizza for supper
– happy we missed spending the rest of the afternoon (maybe into the dark night) in the forest. In the snow. In the
mists! We'd not thought to bring our snowshoes.
A trip to Bear Lake in February is a driving tour only. Not much is inviting though the water under scudding clouds is beautiful. There's no place to eat, nothing's open: raspberries, shakes, subs, pizza, flame-broiled hamburgers, steaks, down-home cookin'... nothin'. Well I take it back
– we found Mexican food at Cafe Sabor and I had a vegetarian burrito and Kent a combination plate
– but nothing
now like it will be when we go back in July.