Many stories, weird and lurid, true and untrue, have been told of this
body of saline water lying imposed on the breast of the beautiful and
scenic State of Utah. Although one of the transcontinental highways of
ocean-to-ocean travel has extended its bands of steel directly across
its wide bosom for many miles, it is still a spot where mystery
lingers.
Private as well as public legends are handed down from lip to ear
rather than from page to eye. For that reason there are tales of this
wonderful salt sea to be learned only by residing in the vicinity. Its
natural moods are unlike the ocean, and its individual characteristics
would make a book.
The briny pond is but a wee thing as compared with its gigantic
dimensions in the days when its waters were sweet and had an outlet to
the north. Then its arms spread far south into Arizona, over into
Nevada and into Idaho. It was 350 miles from the northern end to the
southern, and 145 miles across from east to west. The area was 20,000
square miles. This greater lake stood 1,000 feet higher than does the
present one, although this one is 4,280 feet above the level of the
sea. Geologists have named the earlier one Bonneville, in honor of the
intrepid soldier-explorer whom Washington Irving has so well fixed in
American literature.
By some as yet unknown cataclysm a great break was made at the north
end of this inland ocean and its pent volume was poured into the cañon
of the Port Neuf toward the ravenous Snake. This reduced the level
four hundred feet, but the old beach line may still be easily noted.
Gradually this diminished body became smaller and smaller until it
reached the present stage of desiccation.
So impure is this heavy liquid that after evaporation there is a
residuum of twenty-eight pounds of solid matter in every hundred. This
is composed of salt, magnesium, and other elements carrying three
dollars of gold to the ton; the gold is not made a matter of trade or
of industry because facilities are lacking for its handling. Very
little animal life is found in this brine, and none of vegetable; in
fact, at every point where the water touches the shore vegetation
vanishes utterly. The animal life is that of a very small gnat which,
mosquito-like, lays its eggs on the surface of the water. The larvæ,
when driven shoreward, collect in such quantities as to cause a
strong, unpleasant odor observable for miles to the leeward. Myriads
of seagulls here find a dainty feast.
Salt Lake affords the finest and really the only beach-bathing resort
in the whole interocean country. The bathing is attended with little,
if any, danger. In thirty years only two persons have been lost. These
strangled before assistance reached them. One body was found after
four years, lying in the salty sand at the south end of the lake,
whither the high winds from the north had drifted it. All the parts
protected by the sand were perfectly preserved and as beautiful as if
carved from Parian marble.
The tops of a number of sunken mountains still protrude above the
surface and form islands: such are Fremont, Church, Stanbury,
Carrington, and others. Some of these are habitable, possessing fine
springs and irrigable land. Very few people live on these islands, but
some brave spirits dare to face the semiprivations of such isolation
and stay there with their herds.
Doubtless, many tales of heroism and devotion could be told of those
who have lived on these islands. One of the best known is that of Mrs.
Wenner, who, a few years after her marriage, went with her husband and
little children to live on Fremont Island. Her husband's health
failing, the oversight of the herds fell largely upon her, but she
cheerily took up the burden, the while she trained her little ones,
and was ever a true companion to him whom she daily saw slipping
away.
The end came on a dread and fearsome day, while the faithful man who
worked for them was detained on the mainland by a raging storm. The
children and an incompetent woman could give her little assistance or
consolation. There on the lonely, storm-lashed island, with
faint-whispered words of love, the dear one closed his eyes forever.
Tenderly she cared for his body, and sadly she kept her vigil,
replenishing through the long night the two watchfires intended as a
signal to those on the mainland. On the night of the second day, the
man made his dangerous way back to the island--and with his help she
laid the loved husband in his island grave, with no service but the
tears and prayers of those who mourned.
This is but one story of desolation and sorrow--but the deep, briny
waters and the barren, forbidding shores hold in their keeping many
suggestions of mystery and of tears.