Author: Eric Newell

Eric Newell taught 5th and 6th grade in Logan School District for 17 years and has worked as the Director of Experiential Learning at Edith Bowen Laboratory School on the Utah State University campus since 2015. He facilitates outdoor field programs that give relevance to state curriculum standards for students, kindergarten through sixth grade. He is a river runner, skier, mountain biker, hiker, backpacker, and the author of Idaho’s Salmon River: A River Runner’s Guide to the River of No Return. Eric volunteers for Nordic United and is on the Board of Directors for Stokes Nature Center. edithbowen.usu.edu and mountlogandiscovery.org Eric recently contributed to Access Utah: Opinion: The muddy boots and calloused hands of public servants
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Solar Calendars

This [observatory in Chacho Canyon, NM], is constructed of three large stone slabs [.https://wildaboututah.org/wp-content/uploads/sdagger_s1.jpg] wedged upright with smaller stones. On the day of the summer solstice, a dagger of light cast by the rising sun bisects a spiral carved into the rock behind the stones. On the winter solstice, two daggers of light frame the spiral. https://solarscience.msfc.nasa.gov/suntime/images/sdagger2_s.jpg
This [observatory in Chacho Canyon, NM], is constructed of three large stone slabs wedged upright with smaller stones. On the day of the summer solstice, a dagger of light cast by the rising sun bisects a spiral carved into the rock behind the stones. On the winter solstice, two daggers of light frame the spiral.
Courtesy NASA Solar Science
https://solarscience.msfc.nasa.gov/suntime/images/sdagger2_s.jpg
High on a remote butte on the Colorado Plateau, two spirals were etched into the rock centuries ago by Ancestral Puebloans. The petroglyphs are tucked discreetly behind three sandstone slabs that lean against the bedrock wall. The play of light that reaches through the gaps in the slabs bisect the large spiral on summer solstice near noon. On winter solstice, two ‘daggers’ of light bracket the large spiral perfectly. The smaller spiral is bisected with another shaft of light on the vernal and autumnal equinoxes. This is not accidental.

Indigenous people in the far reaches of the planet, constructed monuments with intention that mark the position of the sun on the solstices and equinoxes—the pyramids of Egypt, the moai on Rapa Nui (the most isolated island on earth), the temples of Chichén Itzá, Stonehenge, and numerous others.

These solar calendars where created thousands of years ago, before airplanes, satellites, space shuttles, and smartphones. They were likely constructed without any knowledge that other people in other parts of the world were doing the same. Each of these monuments are distinctive in their approach, a testament to both human curiosity and creativity.

Solar Calendar and Sundial Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell
Solar Calendar and Sundial
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Mount Logan Discovery Solar Calendar

Solar Calendar - How it Works Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Solar Calendar – How it Works
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Solar Calendar Design Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Solar Calendar Design
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Observing From the Solar Calendar Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Observing From the Solar Calendar
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Completed Solar Calendar Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Completed Solar Calendar
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Solar Calendar Near Solstice Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Solar Calendar Near Solstice
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Solar Calendar Layout in the Snow Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Solar Calendar Layout in the Snow
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Observations: The Shadow Grew Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Observations: The Shadow Grew
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Mount Logan Discovery Human [Analemmatic] Sundial

Human Sundial, Pre-Installation, Month Stone Layout Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Human Sundial
Pre-Installation
Month Stone Layout
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Students Install the Solar Sundial Month Blocks Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Students Install the Solar Sundial Month Blocks
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

When I started teaching 6th grade science at Mount Logan Middle School (in Logan, Utah), in 2003, state curriculum standards required me to teach why we have seasons, why we have night and day, and the basics of the solar system. The science textbook would put insomniacs to sleep. I struggled to figure out how to teach these concepts in ways that would captivate my students’ attention and allow them the chance to construct knowledge through project-based learning.

I was explaining my fascination with ancient solar calendars to my sixth graders in class one day and in the moment I said, “Hey, we should build a solar calendar at our school.” My students cheered a loud “Yeah!” and a new project was born.

I did some research, wrote and received a $500 grant from the Logan Schools Foundation for materials, ruffled a few feathers, and set to work with a simple plan that involved my 6th graders at every step. We cemented a metal pole in the ground on the edge of the soccer field, decorated with student art representing the four seasons. We surrounded the pole with a circular pattern of paver stones, enlisted the sand blasting services of a local headstone company, and then we started marking the shadow of the tip of the pole throughout the year. We had no idea how it would turn out.

What I thought would be a year-long project became a five year project. The shadows cast by the pole were not always easy to observe with storms and cloud cover. Cache Valley inversions—that trap fog and smog in the valley—made marking winter solstice shadow lines especially illusive.

We would mark the tip of the shadow throughout the day and then connect the dots to trace and identify the patterns. On the spring equinox a curious thing happened—we discovered the shadow line makes a perfectly straight line that runs exactly west to east. The same is true for the autumnal equinox. We did some research and confirmed our findings. This is something you can try anywhere. This year the autumnal equinox occurs September 22nd. Mark the tip of the shadow of any pole or post throughout the day on fairly level ground in your yard—an hour or two apart if you want, but the intervals don’t really matter. Then connect the dots and see what happens.

The solar calendar at Mount Logan Middle School marks the time of year and is our evidence that the earth’s axis is tilted.

We added an interactive sundial, with a human gnomon. When you stand on the correct month stone, your shadow falls on the time of day. The human sundial is our evidence that the earth spins on its’ axis.

Outside of school hours, you can find and interact with the human sundial and solar calendar on the soccer field at Mount Logan Middle School, located north of the sand volleyball court. Even though I no longer work there, I visit a couple of times each year. I take my weed eater, a shovel, and a blower and clean up the paver stones that mark the shadow lines of the solstices and equinoxes. I am frequently there alone in the evenings when I do this. While I work, I wonder about the hands that carved those spirals in the Cliff House Sandstone behind the slabs of rock in the New Mexican desert. I always set down my tools for a few minutes and watch with amazement as the shadow tracks along the pathways my sixth graders marked two decades ago.

I am Eric Newell, and I am wild about Utah and equinoxes and solstices.

Credits:
Images: Courtesy NASA Solar Science and Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer and author
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright © Anderson, Howe, Wakeman
Text: Eric Newell, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University
Additional Reading: Eric Newell & Lyle Bingham

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Eric Newell

http://MountLoganDiscovery.org/ (Hint: Select Projects on the left to find links to the Solar Calendar and Human Sundial pages)
Mount Logan Middle School Solar Calendar and Human Sundial Webpages (Hint: Select Sundial or Solar Calendar below the image.)
Mount Logan Discovery Solar Calendar
Mount Logan Discovery Human Sundial

Archeoastronomy in Stone, National Park Service,
https://www.nps.gov/articles/000/archeoastronomy-in-stone.htm

Ancestral Puebloan Sun Calendars
https://www.nps.gov/media/video/view.htm%3Fid%3D4A2A3F5E-7710-4A87-BC20-A8E833CBCE17

Schaefer, Bradley E., Stamm, James, A Case Study of the Picture Rocks Sun Dagger, Pluss a Review of the Intentionality of Sun Daggers, https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/image/2008/PictureRocks_Sundagger_JAHH.pdf

Friday Finishers: Logan landmark, The Herald Journal (HJNews), Jun 28, 2013,
https://www.hjnews.com/allaccess/friday-finishers-logan-landmark/article_7c9554ee-df82-11e2-b142-001a4bcf887a.html

Sundial Registry, Logan, UT Number 804, North American Sundial Society, https://sundials.org/index.php/component/sundials/onedial/804

Making an Analemmatic Sundial, North American Sundial Society, September 22, 2019, https://sundials.org/teachers-corner/sundial-construction/299-making-an-analemmatic-sundial.html

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John Muir Didn’t Wear Tevas

Three Teens Returning from the Wilderness Courtesy & Copyright Emma Mecham
Three Teens Returning from the Wilderness
Courtesy & Copyright Emma Mecham

Wasatch Rambling July 7, 1989 Dromedary Peak Summit Whitney Leary & Eric Newell Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Wasatch Rambling July 7, 1989
Dromedary Peak Summit
Whitney Leary & Eric Newell
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Morning Light Big Cottonwood Canyon July 7, 1989 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Morning Light Big Cottonwood Canyon
July 7, 1989
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

My Journal, July 6, 1989 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell My Journal, July 6, 1989
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

My Journal, July 7, 1989 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell My Journal, July 7, 1989
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Our 15 year-old and two of her friends just returned from their first backpacking trip without adults. When she hatched the idea, my wife and I were supportive of this big voyage, knowing all the growth that happens when you venture out on our own into the wilds for the first time. We asked questions and provided all the support she and her friends asked for—but we didn’t overdo it. This was their adventure.

They were giddy as they shouldered their packs at the Logan Canyon trailhead and set foot towards a popular lake for two nights. When my wife picked them up three days later, they had stories to tell.

When they are old, like me, they won’t remember the TikTok videos or Instagram reels they might have watched during that span. But they will remember trying to stay warm in their hammocks, sleeping by a mountain lake under a trillion stars, the crispness of the air, and that feeling of being out there on their own and all the uncertainly and joy that goes with it.

When I was sixteen—after finishing another of John Muir’s many books, Wilderness Essays—I decided that if John Muir only took a loaf of bread, an overcoat, and a wool blanket with him into the Sierras, that I could do the same. Certainly John Muir wasn’t—to use a John Muir word—”hardier” than I was. This wasn’t my first backpacking trip without adults, but I learn my lessons the hard way. After all, good judgement comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgement.

So I took a wool blanket from the closet in the basement and left a perfectly good sleeping pad and twenty-degree sleeping bag at home. My friends and I only wore Teva sandals when we hiked or backpacked at the time and I didn’t pack any socks. It was July after all.

Now, I am certain John Muir did not wear Teva’s. He wore socks and boots—even in July. He also built big fires and cut pine-boughs for sleeping on that would insulate him from the cold ground. Wanting to leave no trace, I did neither of those things.

That was a rough night next to a lake in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Aside from shivering on cold, hard bedrock in the darkness, I was constantly under attack from swarms of mosquitos because I couldn’t fit both my head and my bare feet under the small blanket at the same time. I also learned that if you only eat a loaf of French Bread from the Albertsons bakery for dinner, you get a lot of gas.

It turns out John Muir was much “hardier” than I.

I got “out” of my wool blanket well before dawn that morning to move my body and warm up. I watched the light show on the 11,000 foot peaks above and the reflection in the dead-calm lake below.

After breakfast, I spotted a couple of mountain goats on a pass above the lake and we scrambled up to have a closer look. When we arrived at the saddle we decided that since we had come this far, we might as well continue on and figure out the tricky and exposed route to the summit of Dromedary Peak—in our Teva’s.
I’m glad my parents weren’t there to save me from my own naiveté.

It is often hard for parents to let go and give their teens the chance to venture out into Edward Abby’s “back of beyond” to be responsible for themselves and to learn from their own mistakes. But I’m glad my parents were willing, and I have found satisfaction supporting my children, and other people’s children, on their own adventures.
Edward Abbey said it well, “It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and…mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space.”

The average 18 year-old high school graduate today has spent approximately four-years of their lives on screens. Four years. Four years of childhood that they will never get back. Our children need wildness now, more than ever.

Maybe our public lands will save us from ourselves—if we don’t sell them off to the highest bidder.

I am Eric Newell, and I am wild about Utah and our wild public lands.

Credits:
Images: Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Featured Audio: Courtesy & © Shalayne Smith Needham & Courtesy & Copyright © Anderson, Howe, Wakeman
Text: Eric Newell, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University
Additional Reading: Eric Newell & Lyle Bingham

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Eric Newell

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Eye to Eye

Eye to Eye: Lone Peak Wilderness Courtesy and Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Lone Peak Wilderness
Courtesy and Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
If you spend enough time in the wilds you acquire some remarkable stories. I’ve had some noteworthy wildlife encounters over the years, but one stands out from long ago.

In May, 1991, two high school friends and I headed for Thunder Bowl in the Wasatch Range, with skis on our packs. We had a long slog ahead of us.

Lone Peak Wilderness Courtesy and Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Lone Peak Wilderness Courtesy and Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Two hours and 3,000 vertical feet into our journey we began to encounter spring snow. As we moved through a leafless stand of aspen trees, we spotted a Rocky Mountain goat high on the glacier-polished granite cliffs. What was unusual was the behavior of this particular goat. She crisscrossed her way down the granite wall, leaping and sliding—frantically at times—on the verge of tumbling head-over hooves, with a reckless display of athletic skill.

Then loud and distinct human-like cries halted our stride. The goat stopped, then took one last heart-stopping leap to a narrow ledge.

Trapped from descending further, the goat paced nervously back and forth, peering down 150 feet to the forest floor were we were curiously standing. Another set of eerie cries, amplified by the granite walls, shattered the silence again.

Mountain Goat with Kid, Oreamnos Americanus, Courtesy US FWS, Lawrence S Smith, Photographer
Mountain Goat with Kid
Oreamnos Americanus
Courtesy US FWS, Lawrence S Smith, Photographer
The mountain goat hung her head and slowly, deliberately, began to ascend the canyon wall.

My friends shrugged and started to move again. I dropped my pack in the snow. “Let’s go see what’s making all the racket,” I said.

They wanted to keep moving. I told them I’d catch up soon.

Wearing only a pair of shorts and my hiking boots, 17 year-old me, crept carefully into the aspen grove, making my way towards the base of the cliff in a round-about way, scanning the forest constantly, but I did not see anything. Whatever it was, was gone. So I cut back towards the trail. As I approached two giant boulders resting side by side, I noticed movement on the ground.

I stooped to pick up a tuft of thick white wool and rolled it in my fingers. Mountain Goat wool. Another tuft of wool trundled towards me in the breeze. Goat wool littered the ground ahead of me. I stood up, took a long slow breath, and stepped between the boulders.

A massive cougar crouched over her kill, 20 feet away. Her thick, tan fur could not hide the muscular contours of her shoulders and back. The snow at her feet was red–bright red. The lion looked up. Our eyes locked. Time stopped. I was aware of every single detail of this consummate predator’s yellow eyes.

I was too full of absolute awe and stunned marvel to feel even a remote strand of fear. It remains one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. One or two seconds passed. That is all.
There was a blur of silent movement, a glimpse of hind legs and a long tail flung high in the air, and a thrashing of brush. The cougar was gone.

My attention shifted to the crumpled newborn mountain goat on the ground in front of me. Steam rose from the pooled blood on the miniature ribcage. The little goat’s wool was pure white and contrasted with jet-back hooves and eyes.

The prints in the snow told the story. The cougar circled the newborn prey, slowly decreasing her radius. I imagine her head low, beneath shoulder blades oscillating in slow motion, and eyes laser focused. The two-week-old goat turned in an even tighter circle, letting out a series of cries, as the mother goat paced helplessly, watching from the narrow ledge above. A lethal pounce from the cougar synchronized with the final cries of the little goat—the cries we heard from the trail.

Mountain Lion Courtesy US FWS Larry Moats, Photographer
Mountain Lion (Cougar)
Courtesy US FWS
Larry Moats, Photographer
A pair of giant cat tracks, left behind when the cougar fled, were embedded in the snow bank. I set my outstretched hand and fingers into the paw prints. Then I stood up. High above, through the barren aspen branches, I could see the nanny goat on the gray-granite cliffs, peering down. I scanned the woods for one more glimpse of the big cat. I wondered where she was hiding, knowing she was watching.

At that moment I came to my senses. I realized I needed to leave and not interfere with the cycles that were in motion. I turned and walked back towards my pack on the trail, then hurried to catch my friends—glancing over my shoulder from time to time—all the while thinking about those piercing yellow eyes.

I’m Eric Newell and I am wild about Utah’s wild public lands

Credits:
Images: Lone Peak Wilderness Courtesy and Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Mountain Goat with Kid, Courtesy US FWS, Lawrence S Smith, Photographer, https://images.fws.gov/
Mountain Lion, Courtesy US FWS, Larry Moat, Photographer, https://images.fws.gov/
Featured Audio: Courtesy & © Anderson, Wakeman and Howe.
Text: Eric Newell, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University
Additional Reading: Eric Newell

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Eric Newell

Shughart, Hilary, Mountain Lions Are Keystone Providers for Birds!, Wild About Utah, May 1, 2023, https://wildaboututah.org/mountain-lions-are-keystone-providers-for-birds/

Leavitt, Shauna, Cougars in Utah, Wild About Utah, October 7, 2019, https://wildaboututah.org/cougars-in-utah/

Greene, Jack, My Cougar Encounter, Wild About Utah, January 16, 2017, https://wildaboututah.org/my-cougar-encounter/

Strand, Holly, Mountain Lion, Wild About Utah, March 4, 2010, https://wildaboututah.org/mountain-lion/

Mountain Lion or Courgar – Puma concolor, Fieldguide, Utah Division of Wildlife Resources, https://fieldguide.wildlife.utah.gov/?species=puma%20concolor

What to do if you encounter a mountain lion in Utah, Utah Division of Wildlife Resources, May 21, 2024, https://wildlife.utah.gov/news/utah-wildlife-news/1906-what-to-do-if-you-encounter-a-mountain-lion-in-utah.html

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Three of Logan’s Finest

The Folly Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
The Folly
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Kick. Step. Breathe. Kick. Step. Breathe.

Skier John Louviere Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Skier John Louviere
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer

Skier Eric Newell Courtesy & Copyright John Louviere, Photographer Skier Eric Newell
Courtesy & Copyright John Louviere, Photographer

Miniature pellets of snow swirl past my face, land on the slope we are struggling against, then tumble hundreds of feet down the snow-encased mountain. My friend John Louviere and I have skied the Bear River Range backcountry together since we first met as Utah State University students in 1995.

Today the light is flat, causing both sky and mountain to blend into a single dimension, making it difficult to distinguish snow from clouds. The Dry Canyon slope we are ascending is prominent from nearly everywhere in Cache Valley. Each winter its absolute openness and gentle, seductive rolls tantalize backcountry skiers. For us, it is a blank canvas. We stare at it on our way to and from work, occasionally spotting other skier’s tracks, best highlighted when late evening sunlight turns the mountain hues of pink and orange.

But embedded in the stark beauty of this mountain is a dark past. Backcountry skiers call this slope “The Folly” for good reason: it measures exactly thirty-eight degrees in steepness—precisely the slope angle that produces the most deadly avalanches. Thirty-eight degree slopes are gentle enough to allow dangerous slabs of snow to build, where they can rest precariously without commitment to the mountain. A single skier, snowboarder, snowmobile, or even just one last snowflake can set it all in motion.

Because The Folly faces southwest, prevailing winds tend to transport freshly fallen snow off the slope, over the ridge, and deposit it in Spring Hollow. Afternoon sunshine also welds new layers of snow to old layers rather quickly. Both of these factors combine to stabilize the slope, despite its steepness, but it still shouldn’t be reckoned with unless you know and understand the composition and history of the snowpack. The spring-like conditions present today are exactly what John and I have waited for—everything is frozen firmly in place.
In January of 1997, Karl Mueggler and Max Lyon, who both grew up in Cache Valley, were visiting families for the holidays. The two decided to catch up on old times with Logan resident Keith Maas by ski-camping in Dry Canyon.

They pitched their tents in a stand of aspens interspersed with Englemann spruce at the base of The Folly. Trees generally serve as a good indicator of safety from avalanches since proven slide paths obliterate timber. Had they camped there any other night in a 20-year span, they would have awakened to another memorable ski day.
But while they slept, a foot of new snow fell and the west wind shifted, blowing violently from the northeast, heaping tons of snow from the Spring Hollow side onto The Folly. A week before, unseasonably warm temperatures caused rain to fall on the slope which later froze into a hard, smooth ice crust. All of these factors combined to create the perfect conditions for a spontaneous and catastrophic avalanche.

Despite their years of backcountry experience Karl, Max, and Keith were buried in their tent under five feet of concrete-hard snow. The community was devastated. Though I didn’t know Karl or Keith, I had spent a day skiing with Max only a few weeks before. He embodied the type of person anyone would aspire to become. Excitement for living radiated from his face. He laughed easily and spoke optimistically of the future. The same has been said of Karl and Keith. They were educators, outdoor activists, and advocates for community.
Over the years, I venture up here in the spring to pay tribute to their lives.

At the top of The Folly, still surrounded by thick clouds and meandering snowflakes, we start down, one at a time. Without warning, gracious sunlight bursts through the squall. We accelerate, gliding over the glowing snow, unsure if we are flying or skiing—a truly ethereal moment. The snow beneath our skis is firm and our metal edges cut tight turns with precision as we descend from the clouds, honoring three of Logan’s finest the best way we know how.

I’m Eric Newell, and I am wild about Utah.

Credits:
Images: Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer, Eric Newell image Courtesy & Copyright John Louviere
Featured Audio: Courtesy & © Kevin Colver https://wildstore.wildsanctuary.com/, Courtesy & © Friend Weller, https://www.upr.org/people/friend-weller, Courtesy & Copyright © Anderson, Howe, Wakeman
Thank you Eric Newell for recording the student audio clips
Text: Eric Newell, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University
Additional Reading: Eric Newell

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Eric Newell

A longer version of this story was printed in the Herald Journal Outdoors section May 5, 2006.

Opsahl, Kevin, Memories of fatal ’97 avalanche still fresh, The Herald Journal, Jan 14, 2017,
https://www.hjnews.com/accidents_disaster/memories-of-fatal-avalanche-still-fresh/article_03c457bd-ffa2-5e92-8527-38514ddb7016.html

“Outdoor Leadership Scholarship
The Lyon, Maas, Mueggler Outdoor Leadership Scholarship pays 50% of the tuition for the Desert Mountain Medicine Wilderness First Responder (WFR) certification course.”
Lyon, Maas, Mueggler, Outdoor Leadership Scholarship, Utah State University
https://www.usu.edu/campusrec/outdoor/

Cane, James, Snow Dynamics, Wild About Utah, February 2, 2012, https://wildaboututah.org/snow-pack-dynamics/

Utah Avalanche Center https://utahavalanchecenter.org/