From Jackson, Wyoming, to Logan, Utah, Route 89 wanders around through national forests: Targhee first, then Caribou, then a long way through Bridger-Teton running the Salt River Range, and then finally Cache National Forest. The drive—okay call it a meandering—from Jackson to Logan was as delightful and mellow as any part of my trip.
Miniature splendors emerged along the route. Smoke plumes spired over farmhouse flues. Veils of mist crept down from the hills to cloak the homesteads. Horses in concert paced in pastures with whitewashed fences, or congregated in corners to swap the equine gossip of day. Intense fall splatters of reds and oranges highlighted the high country. I wasn’t in awe or astonished or stunned or amazed. I was entranced.
Staying on 89, I drifted briefly into Idaho, then circled around east again on Route 30, crossing into the northern tip of Utah. I think. I really was lost, until I drove out of the hills directly at and almost into a massive body of water.
Twenty miles long, eight miles wide, and almost 6000 feet above sea level, Bear Lake shares its bounty across the border between Idaho and Utah. Bits of limestone suspended in the water create an unusual turquoise color (though this wasn’t as noticeable when I was there because of the overcast sky.)
Bear Lake was a shock. I just couldn’t get used to finding sealets in the mountains. God’s exterior decorator had some more explaining to do.
Past Bear Lake on 89, I entered Logan Canyon. I don’t know who Logan was, but he makes a fine canyon. The highway runs alongside a creek maybe ten feet wide, which on that day was no more than a persistent trickle. Yet the relentless flow had carved a ravine hundreds of feet deep.
My own flow was not relentless but aimless, not creating a path but taking the one tendered under the watchful protection of the Wasatch mountain range. But once I reached Ogden, Utah, I had located myself again. I was expecting the Great Salt Lake, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw it, though it was another huge body of water where there shouldn’t be one.
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