by Clint Thomsen

GUEST COLUMNIST

"It's not much to look at, is it?" a co-worker once asked me as we passed Skull Valley on our way to fix a few computers in our Wendover office.

"Them's fightin' words," I wanted to say, but paused to temper my response. "Well, maybe not at first glance."

British explorer Sir Francis Younghusband wrote that "To those who have struggled with them, the mountains reveal beauties that they will not disclose to those who make no effort ... The mountains reserve their choice gifts for those who stand upon their summits."

The same can also be said of the desert in general and Skull Valley in particular. Situated on the eastern edge of the Great Salt Lake Desert and at the periphery of civilization, the sparsely populated valley is full of adventure and beauty for those who make the effort.

Friends and relatives affectionately poke fun at my near pious devotion to Skull Valley. Whether its name derives from scattered buffalo skulls or the discovery of numerous Indian skulls in the valley -- the historical debate remains unsettled -- Skull Valley has always been my happy place.

Perhaps it's the mysterious mountains and the miles of empty space between them, or the colorful histories of the pioneers, outlaws, and Indians who wandered its paths so long ago. Even before I met my wife in Skull Valley, I spent my teenage years tracing forgotten roads and playing tackle football on the mud flats.

Whatever the adventure, it's hard to drive south on SR-196 and not stop to admire Lone Rock. The aptly named mountain pillar rises to an elevation of 4,285 feet 3 miles south of I-80, and is Skull Valley's defining landmark. It was listed on early maps as both "Pilot Rocks" and "Lone Rock," but the latter eventually won out. Historian and all-round west desert enthusiast Roy D. Tea calls it "Submarine Rock," because from the west it looks exactly like the conning tower of a submarine.

In 1849, Captain Howard Stansbury looked at Lone Rock with a strategic eye, describing it as "a curious, isolated mass of rocks resembling a small fortification or redoubt ... and could, in case of need, be defended by a small force."

Indeed, the solitary limestone sentinel looks fortress-like from the road. What I call the "castle" part of the mountain rises steeply from a low rock ridge and is surrounded by a maze of ATV trails. The rock is a geological treasure, and one spot on the north face is a type locale for Utah lichens.

I'm not a plant biologist, but I am a climber. Last Saturday, my boys and I turned onto the snow-dusted road by Lone Rock and drove around the narrow southern tip of the ridge. The gradual rise to the prominent "castle" rock tricks the mind into thinking it's smaller than it appears from highway.

There are many routes to the top of Lone Rock. The north face offers more technical routes while several easier and less dangerous routes wind along and up the south face. Six-year-old Bridger and 4-year-old Weston have climbed the rock twice before, and they ran cheerfully toward it. I followed with 2-year-old Coulter strapped to my back. We followed a well-trod trail along the south face and branched up on our usual route. The trail and climbing route were a little muddy, but not enough to get our boots dirty.

Like many of the mountains in the western half of the state, Lone Rock was once an island in great Lake Bonneville. Visitors not familiar with our legendary inland sea must be baffled by the copious amounts of fossilized marine life embedded throughout the formation. In fact, it's tough to find an individual rock near the top that's not speckled by fossilized fragments of some ancient creature.

For this reason, it usually takes our little party a bit longer to reach the top. By the time Bridger leads us over the final ledge, his pockets are usually loaded with coral, brachiopods, and crinoid stems. Fortunately for his mother, Saturday's biting winds were not conducive to leisurely fossil collecting, and we were at the top in short order.

I don't recommend this climb for anybody afraid of heights, and I keep the boys on a short leash while on top. Though Lone Rock's footprint makes it seem smaller from the base, peering in any direction from the summit readily puts any doubts about its size to rest.

To the North lie the Lakeside Mountains and the Great Salt Lake. Davis Mountain and the Simpson Range rise some 40 empty miles to the south, with the Stansbury Mountains to the east and mud flats leading to the Cedar range further west. From this vantage point, our van looked like a matchbox car parked along a pretend dirt road. The rock would have indeed made a fine fortification for Captain Stansbury and his men.

Skull Valley may not be much to look at from the freeway, but like Sir Frances Younghusband's beloved mountains, Lone Rock saves its choicest gifts for those who leave the comfort of their air-conditioned cars to scale its jagged crags and stand on its summit.

Clint Thomsen is a Stansbury Park resident who grew up climbing mountains, wandering desert paths and exploring Utah's wilds. He may be contacted via his Web site at www.bonnevillemariner.com.

TRIP TIPS

To get to Lone Rock, take the Rowley-Dugway exit from I-80 and drive south for 3.1 miles to a well-worn dirt road. Turn west and drive 1.3 miles to Lone Rock's base. Sadly, the area has apparently become Tooele County's most popular shooting range. There are almost more beer bottle fragments and spent shells than rocks in some areas. It's a shame that such a landmark has been marred by callous littering. Luckily, litterers are lazy, and the parts of Lone Rock that take some effort to get to are free of such debris. Give back to the land -- bring a garbage bag and pick up some shells while you're there.