The Utah Underground

 

About two million years ago, Magma flowed on the surface of the western Utah desert.  It flowed again as recently as a few centuries ago, but this time along faults in the Basin and Range physiographic province.  I’d like to take you on an underground adventure for a feeling of what happened.  

 

To walk out safely on a lava flow is to carefully watch your step—black lava rocks are often loose and to fall on them is like falling on spikes.  Cracks like this one are common because as the molten rock flowed, its surface cooled first, becoming solid rock, which was pushed and dragged by the flow beneath like ice on a river.  

 

Sometimes the liquid rock flowed completely out from under the solid surface, leaving a cavern underneath.  Eventually, lopping lengths of the roof collapsed forming valleys, which over time eroded into a pasture-like floors with steep canyon walls.  

 

Walking on the surface where a cavern has not collapsed, we often see holes through which we can peer deep into the earth to the bottom of what was once a flowing mass of magma.  A hole like this one begs the question of how strong is the roof on which we stand.  It’s like asking, “How strong is the life that keeps me from the underground.”  

 

Climbing down into one of the caved-in sections, we see the entrance to a cave that might be interesting to explore.  It’s just a bridge, really, and we can see the other side.  In such manner, perhaps, Dante went into hell and came out to tell us what it’s like.  

 

A more mysterious and adventurous trip might be to enter where lava once flowed and from which we cannot see where it was going.  I saw many such entries along a trek following the edge and the bottom of this long ancient tube and thought that in one place I might go for an underground visit.   

 

Entering such a place is almost always a matter of climbing over boulders that broke from the collapsing roof, who knows how long ago.  I chose this entry because it looked easier than most of the others.  

 

Inside, the going is easy and the scenery interesting.  The roof looked stable as any human-made tunnel, and floor is like a garden path.  Ahead there is a light to guide our way, but we know its just one of the holes we saw earlier.  I hope you’re enjoying this underground stroll; we’ll be out of here soon and on to a completely different underground experience.  

 

There’s daylight ahead and maybe a way to climb out without having to go back to where we climbed in.  Did I mention that we’re in The Black Rock Desert, under it really, in the Tabernacle Hill area of Millard County?   

 

Driving a roly-poly road across a flat and arid desert we’re searching for hot water.  They said it’s out here, but hard to find.  They say that in volcanic areas water may come in contact with rock that has been heated by magma below, and we’re not far from the volcanic area of lava tubes.   

 

And there it is a pool of water in the desert—no creek flowing into it, no erosion around it, just a container of water alone, or is it?  

 

We’ll have to investigate this strange feature; unlike anything I’ve seen.  A playa lake comes to mind, but it’s not shallow and wide like a playa, and no rain has fallen for weeks; playas are usually dry except after rain.   

 

It has a shallow end and a deep end—strange.  The water has no obvious current to tell where it comes from, no higher water line to show where it might have risen to.  We’ll have to investigate.  

 

The shallow end is fine for wading up to our knees.  Warm, but not hot.  So clear is the water that I can’t wait to explore the deep end.  

 

Peering down into the deep, I cannot see the bottom.  It’s about ten feet down to where it becomes too dark to see.  Formations along the bank appear to be deposits from water, so the water must be rich in minerals.  Since there is no inflow from the surrounding surface, it must be coming from deep underground.  Don’t worry, we’ll not be going down under as we did in the lava.  No scuba diving for us.   

 

Fish live here!  So the water must not come and go; it must be here all the time.  These fish are about six inches long, so they’re not one of tiny species that can survive a dry pond as found in Death Valley and the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming.  

 

The air is still and the water so reflective that a scene along its edge is like a range of mountains.   

 

And so I leave you for now, perhaps still wondering after my many hints, where nobody goes and where I am.  Maybe it’s an adventure of gross ignorance, outright lying, or of poetic definition.  I promise to tell you before it’s over.