Mike Matz, Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance

Mike Matz is executive director of the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance, which is pushing to preserve 9.1 million acres of Utah canyon country as federally protected wilderness.

Outside my office on the hallway wall is a large framed photograph at which I look at probably 50 times a day and never tire of the scene. It shows a twisting 40-mile edge in the Earth's crust that was turned up forcibly so its serrated line reaches at an angle toward the sky -- an anticline, in geologist's vernacular, I guess. Solid yellow sandstone, sculpted by eons of wind and water, gleams brightly compared to the brownish, sandy top cover on either side. On the east side of the anticline is this low austere desert and to the west the whole surface of land bulges up about 1500 feet higher, covered by juniper and pinyon trees The uplifted edge looks like the spines running along the back of a stegosaurus, and maybe was formed about the same time those creatures roamed this place. This geological wonder is called the San Rafael Reef.

Three weekends ago, I took some folks from California, Colorado, Montana, and Washington on a trip there. We slipped into the cool morning air of Old Woman Canyon, climbed a steady incline to the top of the Reef, less on edge and more level here than further north. On top we kept going to the next slickrock knob and then the next, and soon hit the cliff edge where we could go no further except 800 feet straight down. Just to the south lay Temple Mountain, but the views all around astounded us. Way off you could even see the Abajo Mountains. After lunch we descended Farnsworth Canyon, which spit us out onto the low sagebrush desert, where we hoofed it back to the camp for the night. A three-quarter moon lit up the night sky after dinner of lasagna cooked in a dutch oven.

I don't know why I'm sharing the vision of the photograph and my actual visit to the San Rafael Reef in my last installment of the week's diary entries. I guess it's to point out the spectacular wonders we have in Utah -- you know what I mean if you've ever visited the Escalante or Zion, or run Desolation or Cataract -- and which we sometimes take for granted or fail to appreciate fully. Not all, I'm sure, but many of us find solace in the natural world. Last weekend, I took a friend from California out on a trip and he saw a pronghorn for the first time, a nice healthy buck. I'm rewarded by the excitement in folks' eyes when they see something new like that. Escaping into what remains of our natural heritage has a way of refreshing the soul, of reminding us what's really important, of letting us know that simple things are often the best. I suppose bringing up the photo and visit could be a way of saying, "Take care of the places that mean something special to you."

Our office is going to be hectic today. There is a pack of dogs underfoot and a camaraderie borne of shared passion by canine and primate alike. We work pretty hard, though the hounds can be sometimes found lounging about. Today, we've got a couple of stories in the morning's paper. The open house hosted by BLM is this evening, with our rally beforehand, so people are scurrying to prepare.

But we make sure we take time to play as well. Getting out in the wilds helps us keep our work in perspective. We enjoy sharing the desert in each other's company because of our collective commitment. For me this week it's been a real pleasure sharing with you what we do. Thanks from letting me clutter your e-mail and web browser. Take care of yourselves -- and the places that mean something special.