Envisioning A New Moab Mountain Landform
In May 2009, we departed Los Angeles, California, and then traveled Interstate Highways I-15 and I-70 to our destination in Moab, Utah. After two days and 700 miles (1125 k) of mountain and desert driving, we neared our goal.
As the late afternoon sunlight slanted across a
desolate stretch of desert, we spotted a forest of billboards and an
oasis of trees to the north of I-70. With its unexpected splash of
greenery, the City of Green River, Utah lay
hidden amidst that foliage. The former railroad and mining town became
famous in the 1930’s with an anti-peddler law that some say was a thinly
disguised anti-vagrancy law. Henceforth, many Western town blatantly
the "get out of town before sundown" law henceforth known as The Green
River Ordinance. Well into the 1960s, official roadsigns at the
entrance of many Utah towns boasted, "Green River Ordinance Enforced
Here". It was like saying that the town had "no parking", even if one
did not have an automobile. Today, Green River is home to nearly one
thousand people, almost twenty percent of whom call themselves Hispanic or Latino.
With "prior rights" determining senioity in western water rights, Green
River's acequis (water ditches) dated back to the 1830s, when it was a
shallow-water crossing along the Old Spanish Trail. Today, Green River appears to be the most well watered town in the deserts of the West.
Twenty-one miles east of Green River, we reached Crescent Junction, which was our turn-off to Moab, via US Highway 191 South.
Although designated by census takers as “a populated place”, we found
no population figures for this dusty crossroads. The place supported
little more than a combination gas station and convenience store. Over
the years, we have passed through Crescent Junction many times.
Although the main building has stood throughout, sometimes we find a
business operating there and sometimes we do not. On this visit, the
“Stop & Go” appeared to be open for business. Its sagging banners
and many hand-painted signs gave out a halfhearted plea for recognition
and recompense. Its painted plywood cut-out characters evoke an ersatz
tourist attraction.
As with many other highway routes in the West, a
narrow strip of flat terrain determined the location of Crescent
Junction. During the 1830s, Spanish Americans pioneered the Old Spanish
Trail through here. In the 1850’s, Captain John W. Gunnison surveyed a
rail line through here and to the west. In 1883, Gunnison’s dream
became a reality when the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railway
laid tracks through here. During the twentieth century, US Highways 6
& 191 intersected and shared routes through Crescent Junction,
followed in the 1960s by Interstate Highway I-70. Natural gas pipelines
and fiber optic communications cables now share that route, as well.
Despite the crowding of transportation and utilities through the
junction, it retains the look of a sparcely populated place.
In contemporary American culture, we consider any
place in the West with two hundred or more years of European-stock
settlement to be old, if not ancient. With its raw, dry landscape,
current day travelers may have difficulty believing that this area
was once inhabited by what we can legitimately call "the Ancients". As proof of Ancient habitation, abundant Indian rockart at the nearby Book Cliffs
dates from between 2000 BCE and the 1800s CE. That span of continuous
culture was almost twenty times longer than the continuum of White men
in the West.
Before
commencing the forty-mile drive south to Moab, we paused to reflect on
the stark beauty of the surrounding desert. As the setting sun
illuminated the Book Cliffs to the north, we wondered what artifacts of
our contemporary culture might endure at Crescent Junction several
thousand years hence. Extending our consciousness to a group of future
desert trekkers, we heard them conjecture that we,
who would be their “Ancients” were the creators of a then extant
sandstone-clad pyramid, jutting skyward from behind the Stop & Go at
Crescent Junction.
Recently, U.S. Department of Energy (DOE) project
managers and engineers began relocating 135 acres of uranium tailings
from Moab, Utah to Crescent Junction. If they and the public have a
sense of history and a sense of humor, desert travelers of the future
may well see that pyramid in the desert.
After decades of delay, five trainloads of
nuclear-contaminated soil now move each week across the desert. The
train travels back and forth, from the fragile depository by the
Colorado River at Moab to a fully-lined hardpan disposal site at
Crescent Junction.
If lack of imagination and traditional landfill
techniques prevail, the new uranium pile will look much like the old
one, which is so nondescript that it barely shows in photographs taken a
mile or two away. With its flat top and natural red-dirt camoflage,
the pile is out of sight and too often out of mind. If anyone has a
mountain that they would like to hide, they should come to Moab and see
if they can even locate the uranium pile. However, if the DOE staff
uses its collective imagination, they could construct a Crescent
Junction Pyramid to rival the Great Pyramid of Giza,
in Egypt. With a raw material stockpile covering one hundred
thirty-five acres, buried up to 200 ft (61 m) deep, they should have an
easy time. If they construct a new pyramid at least 455 ft (135 m)
high, Moab, Utah, or perhaps Crescent Junction could claim bragging
rights over the tallest organic, nuclear-powered pyramid in the world.
Why create a pyramid in the desert? The single word, “tourism” should be enough to get residents of Grand County, Utah
interested. Imagine that place, twenty or thirty years in the future,
let alone two thousand years hence. If the DOE can mitigate radiation
danger at the new site, “See the New Seventh Wonder of the World”, could
become a long-term motto for the site.
In order to transport materials from the existing uranium pile, the Union Pacific Railroad
recently rebuilt the roadbed and upgraded the rails on the Cane Creek
Subdivision between Moab and Crescent Junction. By limiting future
pyramid-access to sanctioned rail visits, Moab could create a railway
excursion business, similar in scope to the long running one in Durango, Colorado.
Tourists could leave their automobiles in Moab, visit the pyramid at
midday and return to Moab in time for dinner. Although more tourists
would visit Moab, highway miles driven would decline. Since the new
uranium pile is a necessity, it behooves planners to make it every bit
as attractive to tourists as the natural wonders so abundant in the
surrounding Canyonlands area.
Currently, there are few pyramids of any consequence in the U.S. The only stone-faced pyramid we are aware of is the Ames Brothers Pyramid, near the town of Buford, which is a bit west of Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Standing at the highest point on the first transcontinental railroad in
1869, the pyramid is of modest height. Located less than a mile from
current Interstate I-80, the pyramid's location on a grassy knoll allows
it to stand out against the Wyoming sky. Forgotten by all except
locals, curious passers-bye and those who study railroad history, we
note that the brothers’ teamwork in the public and private sectors
made the words “Union Pacific Railroad” part of American history.
Imagine the goodwill that the current incarnation of the Union Pacific
Railroad would garner if it were to cooperate once again in the building
of an All American Pyramid.
The City of Moab, Utah’s Grand County, the Union
Pacific, the State of Utah and the United States DOE together have the
opportunity to transform a nuclear pariah into a beautiful and sacred
place. By studying and using as models, other remote, spiritual sites,
DOE planners could borrow the best aspects of each and create a monument
to peace and nuclear safety that would endure beyond our time.
Hotel and casino planners created the pyramidal Luxor Hotel
in Las Vegas, Nevada. Why should we not create a real pyramid in
Southeastern Utah? By combining the windswept, solitary feeling of the
Ames Brothers Pyramid with the remote magnificence of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico,
contemporary planners could create a monument of lasting value. When
completed, the Moab/Crescent Junction Pyramid should stand-alone, with
nothing more than a railroad siding, an interpretive center and a
footpath near its base.
Imagine a post-nuclear age when schoolchildren from
all over the world might visit the pyramid. Docents familiar with the
history of “Moab Mountain” could tell the story.
The story would begin with man’s lust for power, in
the form of nuclear weapons. After World War II, nuclear frenzy was so
strong that men and machines moved mountains of uranium ore to Moab
Utah. There, they extracted the Earth’s most dangerous and unstable
elements. During the course of its operation, the not-ironically named
Atlas Uranium Mill utilized over 420,000 tons of sulfuric acid and
unknown amounts of caustic soda
to leach radioactive isotopes out of the raw ore. When the mill shut
down in the 1980s, all of the chemicals, buildings and equipment
utilized during its thirty-year operating life were buried at the site.
Although extraction wells later dotted the site, a natural stream
running beneath the pile continued to conduct unknown quantities of
radioactive material, chemicals and heavy metals into the adjacent Colorado River.
Over the following twenty-five years, group consciousness slowly shifted from fear of the “Other”
to fear of our own powers of self-destruction. As consciousness
continued to evolve, fear of immanent nuclear disasters became stronger
than the ephemeral security possession of the nuclear weapons offered
us in the first place. Beginning in the late 1980s, a coalition of
government agencies, private citizens, environmental groups and the
press identified and publicized the scope of the nuclear dangers at Moab.
In 2005, we learned more about ancient, paleofloods on the Upper Colorado River
near Moab, Utah. A DOE study determined that “the geometry and
position of ancient Colorado River gravels buried under the surface of
Moab Valley show(ed) that the river has shifted back and forth across
the mill and tailings site in the recent geologic past”.
Our future docents' parable would include both
historical and ancient information. If a flood the size of at least one
that hit the Moab Valley since 2000 BCE were to occur in the near
future, much if not all of the uranium pile could wash downstream
towards Lake Powell. As we know, Las Vegas, Phoenix and Los Angeles all
rely on Colorado River water for a significant percentage of their
water supplies. If a megaflood were to hit Moab prior to the removal
and relocation of the uranium pile, release of its carcinogens and
mutagens could render much of Utah, Arizona, Nevada and California uninhabitable.
As the docents said to their future visitors, the
megaflood held off until early spring 2015. By then, DOE engineers
had protected the pile with a riprap rock casing, similar in
construction to the Castaic Dam in Southern California. At the time of
its construction, Castaic Dam's conservative design was considered to
be a "overkill" solution to contain Castaic Reservoir. After the 1928
collapse of the nearby St. Francis Dam, engineers and the public alike
demanded that the Castaic Dam be built to the highest seismic
standards. Tested soon after completion by the nearby 1971 Sylmar
Earthquake, Castaic Dam stood undamaged. Not ironically, the
cross-section of Castaic Dam is similar to the profile of the Great
Pyramid at Gisa, Egypt. Both are expected to last for a long time into
the future.
In 2018, the Colorado River tested the uranium
pile’s temporary encasement, but it held fast against the flood. By
2035, when the original pile was gone, workers who had started their
careers moving the uranium pile used their final working years to remove
the old Moab containment dam. As their final contribution, they reused
all of its boulders as cladding for the new Crescent Junction Pyramid.
If that stone encasement could withstand the force of a megaflood along
the Colorado River, they felt confident that its reuse at pyramid could
shelter that new mountain for millennia to come.
As the docents of the future ended their tale of fear and hope, students reflected on how we humans had used and abused Mother Earth.
Old Moab Mountain was a monument to ignorance, greed and fear.
New "Moab Mountain" stood as proof that the wisdom of the Ancients
revealed itself to mankind in the early twenty-first century and that we
listened.
By
James McGillis
at 05:23 PM |
Environment | Comments
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the
1950s. With latticework construction reminiscent of the Eiffel Tower,
the Moab Tower is tall and sturdy. Between its struts and a catwalk near
the top, it almost screams, “I am an old oil derrick”. As it turns out,
the tower was once part of the AT&T microwave tower network.
the
1950s. With latticework construction reminiscent of the Eiffel Tower,
the Moab Tower is tall and sturdy. Between its struts and a catwalk near
the top, it almost screams, “I am an old oil derrick”. As it turns out,
the tower was once part of the AT&T microwave tower network.
.
Chris’s easygoing nature belies the fact that he is adept at both
flying and repairing complex aircraft. The day I was there, Chris was
working on a tail-replacement for an old Cessna aircraft. With his
thoroughness, Chris had noticed that a factory replacement part sent
from Cessna, did not match the bent one he was replacing. His call to
Cessna in Kansas got them scrambling on a potential recall of other
similar faulty parts.
.
Chris’s easygoing nature belies the fact that he is adept at both
flying and repairing complex aircraft. The day I was there, Chris was
working on a tail-replacement for an old Cessna aircraft. With his
thoroughness, Chris had noticed that a factory replacement part sent
from Cessna, did not match the bent one he was replacing. His call to
Cessna in Kansas got them scrambling on a potential recall of other
similar faulty parts.
On that October day, the package count was small, fitting easily in the Cessna 182 that Chris then flew to Carbon County Regional Airport, in Price, Utah.
If the package count had been higher, a larger Cessna was available to
make the daily flight. That day, Chris signed for the packages, jumped
into his waiting Cessna and took off for Redtail Aviation’s headquarters
in Price. There, in the late afternoon, Redtail flights converge. As
soon as crews can transfer incoming packages to a larger plane, it
departs for Salt Lake City. From there, a UPS cargo jet takes packages
from all over Utah to the UPS hub in Louisville, Kentucky. After sorting
and reloading, packages make their way to destination airports all over
the country. As early as one business day after departing Moab, Utah, a
UPS Air package might arrive for delivery in New York City. 
Email James McGillis
