For decades, the iconic routed wooden signs, in national parks across America, were a familiar sight to tourists. They were works of art…
But leave it to the government to find one. Someone in the Department of Transportation, his/her identity lost to history, decided to take a look at the park signs and saw red flags everywhere…
“These signs! These signs are NOT in compliance with federal highway safety standards!!!”
Alan “Tug” Wilson isn’t exactly a household name to most Zephyr readers. But it should be. While he may not be instantly recognizable, many lovers of Canyonlands and Arches National Parks will recognize his father. Tug was blessed to be the only son of Bates Wilson. In 1949, Bates became the first official superintendent of “The Arches,” when it was still a national monument. Just a year after his arrival, Bates was introduced to the vast untouched landscape to the west of Moab— and north and south of the little town as well. The canyon Country of southeast Utah was still an almost untouched landscape, known only to the ranchers and cowboys of Scorup/Sommerville Ranch, and a handful of intrepid explorers. The land lay empty for centuries…
NOTE: You’ll notice that the quality of these images is not the best, but their historical value is priceless. The original 16mm film was badly degraded by the time anyone thought to digitize it. Still, despite the grainy, slightly blurred images, and those vertical scratches, I could look at these pictures all day. When you reach the end of the still images, note that there is a link to the film itself. There’s no sound, so do your own narration. But these images are worth thousands of words, coming as they do, from another time…Enjoy the ride
But when does a carved name on a rock stop being vandalism and take on a historic value of its own? Where do we draw the line? A century? Fifty years? I struggled with that question a lot when I was a ranger, though over the years, I came to believe that every one of these carvings is too special to be removed.
The above inscription has special meaning for me, because I found it during a backcountry patrol in 1977. It would be fairer to say I “re-found” it, many years after other humans, most likely Basque sheepherders had added their own names and comments (whether the ‘B.S.’ next to Julien’s name was an expression of doubt re: the inscription’s authenticity, of it just happened to be the man’s initials, the Julien inscription had surely been seen. but perhaps decades earlier.
I stumbled upon it purely by accident, toward the far north end of the Devils Garden. I saw the Basque inscriptions first and noticed that it was a perfect campsite. It was at the base of a small natural amphitheater—the sandstone tower and fins blocked the weather coming from the north or east. A fifty foot stabilized dune to the west of the site protected campers from the western winds. It was only after I stood directly in front of these larger inscriptions that I noticed Julien’s name. I had heard it before and thought it was worth writing up a report on my find. I had no idea it would create so much interest…
In 1989, my own seasonal ranger “career,” (if you could call it that) had ended, much to the relief of most park managers over the GS-7 pay level. But I still maintained good friendships with some of the older NPS staff, many of whom had retired years earlier but who had decided to live in Moab. I was particularly blessed to call two park veterans, Lloyd Pierson and Lyle Jamison, as dear friends. While newer park personnel loathed my irreverent, outspoken side, Lyle and Lloyd appreciated it. In fact, Lloyd’s humor was somewhat biting, and he was always willing to speak his mind, and let the chips fall where they may. He gave new meaning to the expression “unbridled candor.” It’s why, so many years ago, I concluded that, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Lloyd Pierson.” I’m still working on it.
Lloyd Pierson was the Chief Ranger at Arches from 1956 to 1961. He and Superintendent Bates Wilson oversaw the Mission 66 project during those most tumultuous years. The building of a new road was inevitable, and so both men played a role in determining the new highway alignment in a way that would have the least impact on the park they both loved.
Lyle Jamison worked as the Monument administrative officer from 1959 to 1960, but as they both later explain in this story, his duties in those days were “wide and varied.” . Lyle took another job in the NPS system that year, but a decade later returned to the newly formed Canyonlands National Park. It was Lyle who oversaw the hiring of seasonal rangers at Arches. I had signed on as a volunteer in the winter of 1975-76 but applied for the Arches seasonal campground job and often stopped by the old headquarters office downtown to check on my status. Using every technique possible, I told him that at volunteer pay I could not sustain myself on a diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Finally one day in March I poked my head in his office and Lyle looked up and grinned, “Stiley!”
…Lloyd retired from the Park Service a few years before my arrival but was a well-known face in Moab. A historian by trade, Pierson was an active board member of the Moab Museum and his frequent letters to the Moab Times-Independent were legendary. Lyle retired from government service just a few years after my arrival. But like Lloyd, he was hooked on Moab. He and his wonderful wife Lois bought a home in Spanish Valley and stayed active in local issues related to the parks.
When I decided to start The Zephyr, I was anxious to use it as a way of keeping and preserving the history of Southeast Utah. The first two people I sought out were Lloyd and Lyle. One cold morning in January 1989, I coerced both of these guys to take a ride with me through Arches to remember and recall the “good old days,” and observe the changes that have occurred over the years. We all bundled into my 1963 Volvo and I sat a tape recorder on the dashboard. I pushed the record button and off we went.. The overriding theme was: What’s changed? What’s here now that wasn’t here then? How different does this place feel to you? For the next hour and a half, they talked and I mostly listened…
Delicate Arch…the name sounds familiar. In its online literature the National Park Service at Arches National Park calls Delicate Arch “the best known arch in the world.” In years past, the State of Utah considered the arch “so iconic” that it stamped the arch’s image on all state license plates. Visitation to Delicate Arch has recently become such an event that it is virtually impossible to experience the arch alone, or even with a small group of fellow tourists…
…As far back as the late 19th Century, ranchers and cowboys and maybe a few sheepherders had come across the arch. None of them were impressed; tourism was still an industry that had only occurred to a few. Even the uniqueness of this sandstone span failed to attract many visitors.
John Wesley Wolfe moved West from Ohio for health reasons. His doctor thought the desert air might extend his life. He and his son Fred found their way to Southeast Utah, to the Salt Wash area below the arch and established a ranch there in 1898. He built a primitive cabin and eked out a living. When his daughter Flora Stanley and her husband Ed visited him in 1907, she was appalled at the living conditions and made him build a new cabin. At some point he mentioned the arch to his daughter who made the two mile trek and is credited with the first known photo of what was then called “The School Marm’s Bloomers.” According to early Park Service reports, the arch sported a variety of nicknames, from “Pants Crotch,” to “Mary’s Bloomers, to the less colorful “Salt Wash Arch.” It most likely depended on which name the various ranchers preferred.
This article first appeared in the Utah Historical Quarterly, and is reprinted with the permission of the author. Click Here to Read Parts 1 and 2… To assess the effect of national environmental discussions on road access in the Needles…
This article first appeared in the Utah Historical Quarterly, and is reprinted with the permission of the author. Click Here to Read Part 1… [Bates] Wilson had originally conceived a Canyonlands in which access would be substantially by jeep and…
This article first appeared in the Utah Historical Quarterly, and is reprinted with the permission of the author. Canyonlands National Park, established in 1964, is the largest national park in Utah and was the first new national park formed in…
The story of Bates and Robin Wilson is as much a story of community as it is of their love of the red rock of southeastern Utah. While their “lasting contributions” were accomplished separately, they both endeavored to introduce and…