Is the Great Salt Lake Really as Disgusting as Everyone Says?

When people warned me to stay out of the water at all costs, I knew I had to go all in

When I was in Salt Lake City, I wanted to take a dip in the body of water the city is named after. I had heard the salinity allowed you to float. I couldn’t imagine leaving the area without having this iconic experience.

As I asked locals about the best place to swim in the lake, I received a surprising response.

Literally EVERYONE who lived in Salt Lake said they’d never been in the lake, adding only a moron would do so.

I was told:

“The lake has been climate-changed. You could wade out half a mile and not get any deeper than your ankles, so don’t bother.”

“It smells like brine shrimp, which is even worse than it sounds.”

“The water is covered with a film of icky sea gnats.”

“It is a place with absolutely no redeeming aspects, and no means NO!”

The disgust with which the locals held the Great Salt Lake stunned me. As a check, I asked about another famous attraction in the area, the Salt Flats. This is the remnants of a salt lake that had dried up, leaving behind a white, flat surface imprinted with stunning hexagonal patterns.

In contrast to the Great Lake, people’s eyes lit up with excitement. They insisted I had to visit the Salt Flats.

I said, “So the lake that is filled with water is a waste of time, but the lake that is dried up is a must-see?”

“Without question,” I was told

I’m open-minded, so I went to the Salt Flats. It was a spectacular place both for the natural beauty and the pageantry. Salt Lake City residents covered the place. All of them were trying to get a stunning photo against the fiery sunset over the mountain ridge. In that pursuit, people had equipped themselves with everything from a jungle gym …

… to horses …

… to get a good photo.

I wandered around asking people if I should go to the Great Salt Lake next.

“God no,” everyone said.

It’s wretched.

Like rotten eggs.

Filled with bugs.

Worse than sewage.

Instead, the aerialist dangling from her contraption recommended I see a temporary public art project that was designed to educate and inspire people about further decline of the Great Salt Lake.

The project included a site-responsive outdoor dance about the crucial role the lake ecosystem plays for millions of migratory birds; a photo exhibition, and a mobile phone booth so people could record their stories, fears, and hopes for the lake.

“It’s inspiring!” she told me.

“That sounds good,” I said. “But if I see all that stuff about the lake, shouldn’t I go to the lake itself?”

“Don’t bother! It’s a cesspool.”

“How many times have you been there?”

“God, never! Why on earth would I ever go to such a place?”

I am the type of person who sees a no-trespassing sign and wants to immediately climb the fence the sign is posted on. So the more people told me to stay away from the Great Salt Lake, the more I was intrigued by it.

The next morning, I journeyed to the Great Lake State Park, about 15 minutes west of downtown, on the southern edge of the lake. I’d heard the south end smelled worse because of the wind. I wanted the full, terrible experience. Let's be honest: I was expecting to vomit.

One of my quirks is I become a junior ranger at every national and state park I go to. This is nominally a program for kids ages 12 and under, but anyone can do it. When I flipped open my junior ranger book for the Great Salt Lake Park, the first two sections I saw were foreboding: “What’s that Smell?” and “What’s With All the Spiders?”

The rancid odor I was expecting. But spiders? This was not looking good.

I walked out to the beach in my bathing suit. About a dozen people – all tourists, I quickly ascertained – were staring at the water. No one was so much as dipping a toe in it. The beach was covered with bugs. There was indeed a milky, scuzzy foam on the surface of the water.

As I stepped into the lake, people regarded me as if I were Sean Penn going to the electric chair in The Walking Dead. Their eyes conveyed both pity and horror.

While I had been warned the lake would barely cover my ankles, I went out about 50 feet and was able to get neck deep.

There was a slight smell, but no worse than a wet dog. Not the sulfury armpits of hell I had been warned to expect. I was surprised the water was cool and refreshing, rather than mucky.

I did indeed float.

The whole thing was …

… wonderful.

I luxuriated in the lake, staring at the distant shore in meditative bliss.

The “disgusting” and “horrible” place everyone told me to avoid.
___________

I couldn’t understand it. It was like being captivated by a movie that universally received thumbs down. Or being the only person in the known universe to find Tesla cyber trucks attractive.

Did I simply come at an opportune time? Or had the locals simply passed along the lore of how wretched the lake was from person to person, and taken it at face value?

I also thought how, if I had listened to the common knowledge, I would have missed out on an amazing experience. It made me realize that the stuff “everyone knows” is often wrong, and it’s worthwhile to check things out yourself, even if that means you get a little mucky from time to time.

What's the worst “common knowledge” you were glad you ignored?