lost my head

Sunday dawned cool and breezy with high, thin clouds, so we opted for some far-ranging exploration: driving west across the valley to the base of the largely imprenetrable Oquirrh Mountains (largely imprenetrable from their eastern slopes because of the hugenormous Kennecott copper mine that restricts public access).  We ended up with two strikes - attempting to drive up Butterfield Canyon: road not yet open for the season; and attempting to check out the Wild Horse and Burro center: open to the public M-F 9 a.m. - 3 p.m. - before saying the hell with it, let's just drive all the way around Utah Lake.

The lakes and reservoirs out here are the total opposite of lakes and ponds back in Maine: there are hardly any houses on the shorelines.  A lot of this is due to watershed issues, of course, but as we trundled down the western shore of Utah Lake, past the Oquirrhs and the smaller, rolling Lake Mountains, all BLM or state land trust land to the west, even the privately-owned (per the UT Gazeteer) land right on the edge of the lake was unbuilt - even the not swampy bits.  Weird.  But nice to be able to see the lake for sure.

As we went further south - turning to the east at Elmira, cruising through Goshen at the lake's southern terminus, turning north back along the lake in Genola - the land use turned to farming, first cattle and sheep (and lots of adorable lambs), then acres and acres of orchards, apples and peaches and perhaps cherries.  We saw a lone proghorn antelope, a gorgeous male pheasant and a bunch of white pelicans, dipping their bills into the weeds at the lake's bank.

The route home was uneventful.  We avoided the interstate, sticking to Route 89 which took us through Spanish Fork, Provo, Pleasant Grove, etc.  It's funny to drive through these urban areas on Sundays and not see anything - save a tattoo parlor or maybe a Mexican restaurant - open.  But this is Utah County, with an extremely high concentration of Mormons, and things just close on Sunday.

When we got back closer to home, I had H drop me off at the Bells Canyon parking lot.  He continued back to the house to take a bike ride while I headed up the trail.  Why?  Not just for the exercise, but because on our hike there last weekend, we found an entire mule deer skeleton, complete with skull.  And I wanted the skull.  Back east, my dad has a fantastic collection of animal skulls and bones - quite nearly an ossuary, including an elk jaw, a moose skull and a porcupine skull a moose jaw, deer skulls and a beaver skull that I found washed up on their beach - and, thus inspired, I've started a collection of my own out here.  I have only fragments right now - part of a moose's thigh bone, a couple of vertebra and a portion of a jaw (with teeth).  So to find a whole deer was a total find - the skull was still attached to the neck even. 

My current [meager] collection

I had intended to go back up the canyon earlier, Sunday or Monday, but the week just got away from me.  And, of course, I'd waited too long: the skull was gone.  Maybe some critter dragged it off for gnawing purposes; a couple of the deer's legs had been moved into the underbrush.  But more likely some other human collector spied the find and determined not to look a gift skull in the mouth.  I searched around the clearing just in case, but it was gone and I walked home, lesson learned: a skull in the hand is worth two in the bush.

The one that got away - and yes, I should have

taken the skull when I took the picture