Over the weekend Carly and I headed out to Utah’s West Desert. Saturday we climbed at Pop Tire, a crag I hadn’t been back to in five years, since helping with some rebolting there. I didn’t do much climbing because my wrist and elbow have been bothering me, but I did get on a couple of the warmups, which felt good. Carly sampled a couple of the 5.12a’s. Definitely some good climbing and a place we’ll have to return to.
After climbing we looped back toward Wendover, then turned north for the long approach to Sun Tunnels. My planned shortcut—the most direct road I could piece together on Gaia—very nearly got us stuck in the playa. About halfway down it the van abruptly started losing speed. We were sinking into the unbelievably slick mud (which looked completely dry) and the spinning tires were throwing it onto the windows. Luckily I arced right onto slightly firmer ground and we were able to keep moving long enough to retreat without fully stopping. I’m pretty sure that if we had stopped, we would have been stuck.
After retracing our route toward Wendover we headed for another road in the right direction. It turned out to be much more traveled and maintained, though the first few miles were heavily washboarded. We followed along the base of the mountains near the Nevada-Utah border, weaving in and out of ranching and BLM land. We had planned to make it all the way to the Sun Tunnels that evening, but instead pulled off on a side road and camped for the night.
Early the next morning we headed out for the last twenty miles or so in the hope of making it there before sunrise.
Sun Tunnels, by Nancy Holt, consists of four massive concrete cylinders set in an X-shaped arrangement in the Great Basin Desert. The tunnels are aligned so that the sun rises and sets through opposing pairs during the summer and winter solstices. The perforations in the tunnels correspond to constellations, projecting spots of light inside when the sun is high enough. Even though March is the literal midpoint between the solstices, it still made for a beautiful time to visit. We lucked out with mostly clear skies and an unobstructed horizon to the east.
Between the muddy detour, a windy night, and a huge flock of sheep in the road on the way in, we cut it a little close. Nevertheless we rolled in only minutes after the sun crested the horizon.
The site was chosen for its solitude and remoteness, and that was certainly apparent. We were the only ones there and there is no infrastructure at all. We spent an hour or so enjoying the sunrise, albeit a windy one. Once the golden light gave way to the harder light of day we made some breakfast and then wandered back over to the tunnels for a few more photos and to see if the constellation cutouts would begin to show as intended. We didn’t wait long enough for that, unfortunately, but the tunnels were still impressive in the morning light.
As the sun was rising I was struck by how much difference there is in where it crests the horizon at the equinox compared to the solstices. It’s something I know intellectually, but the tunnels make it feel much more tangible because of the physical markers they create. It’s a great piece of land art and an equally good astronomical reminder.
Sun Tunnels is worth the drive at almost any time of year, though in a normal winter it could be even more remote and difficult to reach if there is snow. Even so, I think the equinox is a great time to visit given the moderate temperatures and the low-angle light at sunrise. I’d love to come back on a solstice someday.
