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Time for Cautious Budgeting?
Even though tax revenues remain strong, the governor and Legislature are likely to take a careful approach in budgeting and cutting taxes in the upcoming legislative session. With inflationary pressures, sky-high energy costs, a burgeoning federal deficit, high personal debt, a costly war in Iraq, and multi-billion dollar restoration efforts in the Gulf Coast, the national economy is considered somewhat fragile even though so far it remains solid.
In recent conversations, both Senate President John Valentine and Huntsman Chief of Staff Neil Ashdown said revenues in Utah are coming in strong, but small signs of potential softness are appearing. Neither believe now is the time for big tax cuts, although a relatively small cut (in the $20 to $30 million range) in income taxes is possible as a result of tax reform.
In a time of uncertainty, it makes sense to budget carefully. That means using most of the surplus for infrastructure like buildings and transportation instead of absorbing it into base operating budgets. That way, if the economy turns down, those capital areas can be cut back without having to slash programs and state employee jobs. Prudent budgeting also means avoiding a big tax cut that could be hurtful if the economy slows.
Hamlet Teams with UTOPIA
Hamlet Homes is partnering with UTOPIA to provide ultra-broadband connections in a new town home development in Murray. See Utah Business article.
Podcast Watch
Check out Jennifer Napier-Pearce’s InsideUtah.com, which this week features a conversation with Gov. Jon Huntsman on taxes, the Legislature and reflections on the past 10 months (:50); plus, a progress report on the Guv from watchdog Claire Geddes and State Sen. Greg Bell (8:30). Also, University of Utah political science professor Matt Burbank on why Utahns love President Bush (15:14); Connect Magazine on a red flag for Utah entrepreneurs (19:16); and Sunstone Magazine on technology and faith (23:09).
Blog Watch
At the New West Network blog, Ken Bingham has a unique take on the liberal/conservative divide in Utah, one that perhaps defies conventional wisdom. Says Bingham:
"There is no place in the country, politically or socially, like the State of Utah. It is unique in the sense that no other place holds a dichotomy of faith and secularism that often are at odds with one another. In most areas of the country, politics is merely an argument with Republicans and Democrats, liberals and conservatives but, in Utah, religion is added to the mix -- that changes the dynamic considerably.
"We consider Utah to be a conservative state. However, Salt Lake City elected and re-elected one of the most liberal mayors in the nation. Salt Lake has become a liberal city and it is precisely because of the divide between LDS conservatives and non-LDS liberals.
"There are those who have said that before moving to Utah they considered themselves conservative, but when they came to Utah they became liberals. Many who lean toward liberalism will come to Salt Lake and, because of the perceived conservative climate of the state, will become super-liberals -- as if their ideology was put through a magnifying glass. For example, other states also have strict liquor laws (some have more restrictions than Utah). Those who may not have been concerned over the laws in other states will come here and resent ours because they feel it is 'Mormon-imposed.'
"On the other side of the coin, the LDS population doesn't want to be seen as flexing their political muscle too much as to not offend those of other faiths (or no faith at all). There are many LDS who would consider themselves conservatives but, to avoid appearing overbearing or too 'Molly Mormon,' will either bow out of the political process or vote for less conservative candidates in order to accommodate the non-LDS population. This is especially prevalent in Salt Lake City, where pollster Dan Jones reported that if more LDS--especially women--voted in the last mayoral election, Rocky Anderson would not have been re-elected.
”Utah is a Republican state but ironically, because of this dichotomy, it is becoming more and more liberal. Not that liberals are a majority, but because conservatives have been intimidated or lulled into silence."
Washington Watch
Sex Offender Bill Clears Committee
Sen. Orrin Hatch’s Sex Offender Registration and Notification Act cleared the Senate Judiciary Committee Thursday. The legislation, which would overhaul the nation’s sex offender laws, was also championed by Ed Smart, father of Elizabeth Smart. “For too long, too many sex offenders have been treated like petty criminals,” Hatch said. “These pedophiles prey on our children and will continue to do so unless stopped.”
House Protects Gun Makers
On Thursday the House passed S. 397, which would protect gun manufacturers from frivolous lawsuits. Reps. Chris Cannon, Jim Matheson, and Rob Bishop all voted yea. Sen. Orrin Hatch sponsored the legislation, which is virtually identical to H.R. 800, a bill co-sponsored by Cannon and which he helped move through the House Judiciary Committee. “This bill cracks down on junk lawsuits that are overwhelming law-abiding small businesses that are central to our military and those who wish to exercise their Second Amendment rights,” Hatch said.
Casual Friday
Burr Trail: The Most Beautiful Back Road of Them All
By Golden Webb
I’d awakened that morning in Salt Lake to winter smog. Not a cool, wet fog on little cat feet, but one of the Wasatch Front’s black-smoggy-death-clouds, the kind that kills stray dogs. No matter. Smog like that gives me an excuse to flee to the Elysian graces of the desert, where the air smells like sagebrush instead of car exhaust, where the only particulates in the air are empty locust husks and fine clean granules of blowsand.
I headed south on I-15 in my Chevy truck, traveling at first without a destination in mind, only a direction. I was hungry for beauty but only had a day to find it. I needed a superlative road to explore -- one of Utah’s beautiful backways. Almost unconsciously I found myself drifting southeast across the state, following some kind of inner homing impulse like a wistful pigeon, toward the Burr Trail -- the most beautiful back road of them all. An officially designated “National Scenic Backway,” the Burr Trail is a partially paved route that connects Highway 12 in the town of Boulder with Bullfrog Marina on Lake Powell. Beginning in the foothills of the Aquarius Plateau, it winds down through the spectacular backcountry areas of Grand Staircase-Escalante NM, Capitol Reef NP, and Glen Canyon NRA, passing through a remarkable quilted patchwork of federally protected lands and proposed wilderness areas.
Cloistered for decades by its remoteness and rugged topography, until recently the Burr Trail was a hard place to explore, one of those rare 70+-mile roads in the Lower 48 where a high-clearance (and, in some cases, four-wheel drive) vehicle was essential to see much of its length. That changed in the 90s, when all but the 16 miles of road within Capitol Reef was paved by the BLM. Aside from a few environmentalists (whose delicate esthetic preferences were bruised), most people have welcomed this increased accessibility. The Burr Trail now offers something for both the casual automobile sightseer and the hardcore explorer. The road takes the car-bound into some of Utah's most beautiful and extraordinary country, offering glorious views from every direction; it also offers canyoneers and hikers backcountry access to the wild-and-woolly Eastern Escalante Drainage, one of the world’s most spectacular canyon systems, and to the Waterpocket Fold, with its little-explored slots and high slickrock ramparts.
Sadly, I don’t have time on this trip to get out and roam on my feet; I plan on seeing what I can from my truck. I drive eastward out of Boulder on shiny new chip-sealed asphalt, past bucolic green fields and white checkerboard Navajo Sandstone domes. Stately ponderosa pines tower over dry sandy washes. Off to the northwest the snow-bound bulk of the Aquarius Plateau pushes into the clear January sky.
The road wraps around a cliff and swings south, plunging down to the dancing waters of The Gulch. One of Grand Staircase-Escalante’s most popular canyons due to its easy walking and glorious scenery, in the winter The Gulch exhibits a spare sylvan beauty: leafless cottonwood groves rise above silvery sage and a muddy stream. The place seems completely abandoned. Not a single solitary soul in sight -- no cars at the trailhead, no other cars on the road, not even an airplane in the sky. The empty road means only one thing: emptier backcountry. Oh the humanity! Equipped with more time, I could have had The Gulch all to my greedy little misanthropic self -- surely a rare opportunity.
Instead, and with deep regret, I drive right on by. I cross over a concrete bridge and enter the Stygian corridor of Long Canyon. Soaring Wingate cliff faces cast long cold shadows across the road even though it’s midday. The canyon floor on either side of the road is buried in rolling slopes of fallen riprap and scree. Pinyon pines, twisted junipers, and tall ponderosas grow in unlikely places out of the rocky detritus; massive sandstone blocks and boulders stand balanced at the angle of repose, waiting patiently for an earthquake. The only regularity in the scene is the mostly-straight road, which I follow until it tops out in the heights of the Circle Cliffs Upwarp.
The canyon walls fall away and the horizon leaps back several miles. I pull over at a scenic overlook, hop out of the truck. The sky above my head is 360 degrees of blue; at approximately 6,600 feet in elevation, the air has a good clean bite to it. The overlook breaks on an expansive view of the Circle Cliffs: inward-facing Wingate ramparts that encircle a huge basin of pinyon-juniper woodlands and rust-colored badland slopes. Patterns in the landscape carry the eye past castellated cliffs to distant white peaks on the eastern skyline -- the Henry Mountains, the last-surveyed and last-named mountain range in the continental United States.
Wild country. I can’t wait to get down into it.
I turn to get back in my truck. A huge jackrabbit spooks from a scatter of junipers in an explosion of movement and sound. I recoil in terror. The jackrabbit bounds in a panicked zigzag back into the orange mouth of Long Canyon: a blur of white and a puff of dust, then stillness. Everything is as it was before -- except my pride. “Mangy rabbit,” I say as I climb into the cab. Actually, not a rabbit at all but a hare -- or, in Edward Abbey’s more precise terminology, a “black-tailed mule-eared wall-eyed lagomorph.” I make a silent promise to come back here with a .22 and go rabbit hunting.
I drop into the Circle Cliffs amphitheater and race across its vast basin. A bug glances off the windshield, leaving a pastel smear on the glass at eye level. I can’t understand how a bug could be flying around down here in January, but there it is. I pass through the Studhorse Peaks (named after the stallions that stood vigil on the high ground here, guarding their mares) and descend to the entrance of Capitol Reef National Park. Here the pavement ends abruptly, the velvety smooth macadam giving way to slick gumbo mud.
My truck slews in the deep moist ruts; sticky wet clay thumps in the wheel wells. This is the Burr Trail as it was 30 years ago -- well nigh impassable. I shift into 4WD High and slalom along for a few miles toward a break in the slickrock mass of the Waterpocket Fold. I splash through a half-foot of flowing water where the road follows the course of a (usually dry) streambed, pass through the seam in the cliffs, and pull off the road at the top of the infamous Burr Canyon switchbacks. A century and a half ago these switchbacks were the crux of the cattle trail built by John Atlantic Burr, a rancher who moved his herds back and forth between the Aquarius Plateau and Bullfrog Basin on the Colorado River. According to guidebook author Steve Allen, “Burr died alone on the desert while trying to remedy a urinary tract blockage with a piece of wire.”
If Burr’s ghost lurks in this country, I’m sure it often stops at this high desert perch to admire the beauty. The air up here is thick with the distilled magical essence of the Burr Trail: if I could bottle it up somehow and sell it to the Japanese, I’d be richer than a Rockefeller. To the east, honey-colored cliffs frame a phantasmagoric panorama of eroded mesas and snowy mountains. To my right and left the Fold’s knobby ridgeline extends into the wings, the devil’s very own backbone pointing south toward Lake Powell and north toward Thousand Lake Mountain. Below my feet the road drops in a series of vertiginous Z’s to the cool shadows of Burr Canyon.
It’s too much to take in all at once. I mentally slice the scene up into frames and savor each one individually: The Fold’s Navajo sandstone glowing in the rich afternoon sunlight; the bruise-gray badland hills spilling off the crumbling rim of Swap Mesa; the laccolithic cones of Mount Pennell and Mount Hillers floating above the desert flats, their shimmering, snow-clad slopes white as sun-bleached bone.
Gorgeous, stunning, wild country. I can’t wait to get down into it.
As I climb back in the truck, a snippet of verse pops into my head: “I like a road that leads away to prospects bright and fair, a road that is an ordered road, like a nun’s evening prayer; but best of all I love a road that leads to God knows where.” Another poet, Shakespeare, said, “All roads lead to Rome.” In Utah’s desert country, all backroads lead to adventure and discovery. I shift into 4WD Low, point my Chevy down the switchbacks, and continue my journey on the most beautiful backroad of them all, sinking deeper into its matrix of geology, history, and raw beauty. |
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