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Wearing a dark red shirt, Joshua Dixon sits in a tall grass field, singing a traditional Diné song. The song ends, and Dixon, a member of Utah’s Navajo Nation, looks to the camera and explains the deep connection many Native people have to the land. When they came into this world, he said, they understood they were part of the system.
“That’s what they mean by ‘Tó éí ííńá át'é,’” he said in the opening scene of a new documentary. “Water is our life.”
“The Illusion of Abundance,” premieres April 30 at Westminster University with the Great Salt Lake Institute. A Brolly Arts film, the documentary short combines the art forms of dance, music and poetry to bring attention to Great Salt Lake and its rapid demise.
Amy McDonald, director and founder of Brolly Arts, said the film was inspired by a narrative piece by local artist Sophia Cutubrus in 2022. Her written piece explores the plight of Great Salt Lake through its history as the “West’s Coney Island,” the tributaries that flow into it and the science behind the drying lake.
The film originally opened with a group of modern dancers on the shores of the drying lake, McDonald said, but after seeing an early cut, she knew they needed to rethink the approach.
“We realized to complete the picture … we really have to include the Indigenous voice to go along with this narrative so that we get the holistic viewpoint,” she said.
Throughout the documentary, filmmakers weave in perspectives from members of Diné (Navajo), Tewa (Hopi), Confederated Tribes of the Goshute Nation, the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation and Northern Utes from the Uintah Band and Uncompahgre Band.
The new opening scene centers on Dixon to illustrate the deep relationship between Indigenous people and the land as a link to the current reality surrounding Great Salt Lake, which filmmakers strived to connect through culture and art.
“I chose a really simple Navajo song, but it does carry a lot of meaning behind it,” Dixon told the Great Salt Lake Collaborative. “[It] showcases the way the Navajo community and many other Indigenous communities felt that connection to the land.”
In September of 2022, Sofia Gorder, choreographer and Brolly Art’s director of program development, created a dance to go along with Cutubrus’ spoken narrative to bring awareness of the crisis at the lake and use of water in Utah through different art forms. Brolly called the project “Evaporation: What Does It Take To Leave Enough Water For Great Salt Lake” and began to perform it at lake-related events.
Watching the dance performed for audiences at the Great Salt Lake Symposium and at Alta Ski Resort, from where water eventually flows to the Jordan River and Great Salt Lake, McDonald said she realized the message should be broadened through a documentary film.
“We have to touch hearts, as well as minds and [make] people care, then people are more likely to engage and take action, particularly when they understand that their actions will have impact,” she said.
In her choreography, Gorder said she tapped into feminism and Afro-feminism because conversations between the largely female dancers often centered on personal experiences of exploitation — much like Great Salt Lake has experienced.
“There was just this adjacent kind of conversation that felt almost exactly the same,” she said, “like this cultural and biological development around women holding space for healing and all of the ecosystems … while it's being exploited and taken from."
Ursula Perry dances near Great Salt Lake for the film, ‘The Illusion of Abundance.’ (Photo Alex Lee | Brolly Arts).
Gorder said after she finished choreographing her piece and before the film process had begun, she found herself wondering, like McDonald had, whether it would be relevant or make an impact.
“Who wants to watch modern dance, a predominantly white cast of modern dancers, talk about the plight of the lake?” she said. “It felt vapid, even though it was artistically pretty solid.”
Gorder said she had to ask herself what makes this film an important one. She realized, she said, the original approach was too limiting to individual experiences when everyone living in the Salt Lake Valley is part of a larger ecosystem.
“[Many Utah Natives] have incredible language and knowledge systems that explain all of this,” she said. “And so we knew we wanted to shift the film to learn from Indigenous folks and their voice.”
Gorder reached out to Jessica Wiarda, a Hopi artist and fashion designer, to work as a liaison with filmmakers throughout the process. Wiarda said she then began connecting with and inviting other Indigenous people to share their knowledge and participate in the film.
“A lot of what's been missing in the Great Salt Lake movement is just Native voices being elevated,” Wiarda said.
While the film’s creators showed a commitment to honoring and accurately reflecting Indigenous voices, Wiarda said natural challenges can come about when bringing together different sensibilities and approaches. For example, she said, many Indigenous people like to take their time to sit with things, like listening to an idea five or six times before committing to it.
“There's a lot of approvals that need to go through [with] such a marginalized group like Indigenous people,” Wiarda said. “We’re often told we're elevated but then we don't get invited to the party afterward – we don't get invited to the table. We're just put as an afterthought.”
Wiarda said another challenge was a disconnect of cultural ideas. Non-Indigenous people, she said, seem to look at the lake as something that needs saving because of what it provides to the environment and the state’s residents.
“Indigenous knowledge is, ‘No, the lake is your equal being. It's equal to you,’” she said. “You're not just taking from [it], and a lot of our Indigenous voices in that film talk about that.”
Throughout the filming process, Dixon said the Native people involved had a lot to say, and Wiarda pushed for the perspective of Indigenous people’s connection to the environment to be shown.
“It's not some dreamy wishy-washy thing,” he said. “It is a very real, concrete connection we have to the land, and we have a concern over the land that is genuine.”
McDonald said filmmakers were committed to building relationships with the Indigenous people sharing their knowledge and voices for the film. They didn’t want to unintentionally disregard cultural beliefs but create a space where knowledge could be shared with the purpose of educating, she said. Those perspectives, she said, helped them learn and grow.
“It's not surprising that there’s not a lot of trust of white people for all the harm that's been done,” she said. “[It’s] a fine line for a relationship because everybody needs to feel respected and honored and make sure that every voice is heard.”
Gorder said she also hopes the film – and the process of making it – encourages people to ask questions and begin to understand the many ways conversations and advocacy are forming around the lake.
“There are some conflicts there — certainly a lot of the Native elders [ask], ‘Why are they doing weird modern dance? Why are white people dancing about Indigenous issues?’” she said. “It brings up some good questions about … whose voice is important and how do we integrate them?”
Dixon said, overall, he thinks the film is a step in the right direction toward including Indigenous representation, but it will always be challenging to get a genuine representation of Native people.
“The main issue with trying to capture a genuine portrayal of Native people is that … it's going to be put through [the filmmakers’] lens –- what they would like to capture and what they would like to portray us as,” he said. “That's just the nature of human beings. Unless we have experience with something first hand, we really don't know.”
Wiarda said it’s a good turning point for the Great Salt Lake movement to start working to understand, respect and include Indigenous voices, despite it being a slow and meticulous process.
“Conversation[s] started that people were kind of afraid to have,” she said. “[The filmmakers] did a really good job of melding the two voices — that we both exist in Salt Lake."
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“An Illusion of Abundance” premieres April 30, 6:30-8:30 p.m., at Westminster University’s Jones Recital Hall (1840 S. 1300 East, Salt Lake City). The free screening will be followed by a discussion with the film’s creators and experts on the Great Salt Lake Basin. Click here to RSVP.
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Vanessa Hudson, a student at the University of Utah, wrote this story as part of a College of Humanities journalism course in partnership with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative and Amplify Utah. The collaborative is a solutions journalism initiative that partners news, education and media organizations to help inform people about the plight of the Great Salt Lake – and what can be done to make a difference before it is too late. Read all of our stories at greatsaltlakenews.org.
During the Bear River Massacre in 1863, around 200 U.S. Army soldiers killed at least 350 Shoshone men, women and children. It was the largest massacre of Native Americans in U.S. history, with some estimates saying the death toll was closer to 490.
Now, the restoration of Wuda Ogwa, the site near Preston, Idaho, along the banks of the Bear River and where the Bear River Massacre happened, is underway by the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation.
“Cultural healing is the reason we started … to heal that land there,” said Brad Parry, vice chairman of the Northwestern Band of Shoshone and natural resources program manager. “At the time we camped there in 1863, it was free-flowing.”
His ancestors could catch trout in the Bear River and hunt deer, elk and all sorts of waterfowl nearby, Parry said.
“We want to start that place over as a happy place, as a place you want to visit for the right reasons,” he said. “Right now, it's a graveyard. It's a cemetery. It's a place where something extremely bad happened.”
In 2018, the tribe purchased over 500 acres around the massacre site and is in the process of acquiring more. To restore the site to how it was in 1863 and before, the tribe is using historic aerial photography and written accounts of the site conditions, Parry said.
The project includes stream restoration efforts, digging a new wetlands pond, removing invasive species and planting native plants, he said. The construction of stream restoration structures along the Battle Creek Tributary are expected to begin in May 2024.
In his project grant application, Parry said the restoration “will improve overall water quality in Battle Creek and in Bear River," according to Great Salt Lake Collaborative partner, KSL.com. He estimated the project will send about 13,000 additional acre-feet of water to Great Salt Lake every year.
The project is expected to be completed by the fall of 2026.
The tribe also plans to build the Boa Ogoi Cultural and Interpretive Center, which Parry said will feature interactive and educational experiences about Shoshone culture and history to commemorate the massacre.
The Great Salt Lake Collaborative spoke with Parry about the importance of the restoration project to the tribe, its relationship with the lake and Bear River, and his views on how local media covers these issues.
This conversation was edited for conciseness and clarity.
The Bear River Massacre site (as pictured on Jan. 29, 2024) is being restored by the Northwestern Band of Shoshone and collaborators to culturally heal and provide more water to the dying Great Salt Lake. (Photo: Brad Parry)
Concerning the overall importance of water to your tribe, history and culture, how do you see the restoration of Boa Ogoi contributing to both environmental and cultural healing?
“Cultural healing is the reason we started it … After the massacre, we were either buried on that land or left. And as agriculturalists came in, they brought in silt, dirt and smoothed that out, and basically just changed the landscape … Our ancestors knew it as an extremely happy place to go because of the warm dance, [and] a lot of food, a lot of sustenance. It just makes sense that if you're going to heal something, you start with the natural — you remove the invasive [plants] and plant natural things and let the water do what it wants … So, there's going to be an unintended consequence of water coming down to the Great Salt Lake.”
Can you please elaborate on the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation’s efforts in restoring this area and its importance?
“That's how we teach. It's hard to teach somebody how to grow medicine plants and harvest and use them inside of a building. [With the restoration], we can teach our kids, ‘This is how we do this … this is how you gather it, this is how you use it.’ … We can start to flip the narrative and change the landscape … We've got a lot of partners and a lot of people who donate time and work with us … The community has changed. And so that's what we want to do – rejuvenate the place, so it has that spirit … of welcoming. It's hard to start to feel welcome at a massacre site, you know?”
What’s the significance of the Bear River to the Northwestern Shoshone?
“It was a major life source for us. We camped along the banks basically from where the Bear River massacre site is to all the way down to the Great Salt Lake. You travel with water, and the [nearby] Bear Lake produces fish. There are wetlands that were all around it, willows, so we could fish and hunt birds. And then, with the amount of willows and cattails and other things around there, we could make camp anywhere … We could always use those things to make temporary homes, wickiups.”
What is your personal connection to the lake as well as its significance to your tribe?
“I'm from Syracuse, Utah, so the lake was always a landmark to me. We would travel the Bear River and we would camp at Promontory Point, right on the banks of the Great Salt Lake because Chief Segwich – my great, great, great grandfather – was in charge of the rabbit hunt for all bands of the Shoshone. We would get together for rabbit hunts, salmon run, buffalo hunts, deer hunts and eat … I've seen [the lake] fluctuate, but I've never seen it this low …I can speak for my ancestors [when I say] that if they saw this, they would be concerned because they would worry about the loss of wetlands, the loss of wildlife and waterfowl. The loss of being able to collect clean salt and doing those sorts of things. It's really important that we take all of those factors in when we talk about the Great Salt Lake. It's not the lake itself, it's what it produces.”
What have been the biggest challenges and successes the tribe has faced in reclaiming and restoring its ancestral lands?
“There really haven't been blockades. We've got several people we've received grants from. I think the hardest part is just finding those big grants that allow you to do the work. It's challenging because you have to get so many people on the same page when you're using federal money or state money or private donations … It took three years of planning to get to the point where [we could start construction] … Now we're ready to really put in the work … We’ve [also] had volunteer days to come out and plant trees with the community. It's been wonderful. We've been able to talk to people about why we're doing the restoration and how it helps [educate].”
How have you approached making sure your collaborators understand what’s being done and why it’s being done?
“To work with us, you just have to respect our beliefs. This has been 100% indigenously led, and we try to include people who are interested in that and who have a high respect. We're running our own project — that's the biggest thing, no one's doing this for us. We've hired everybody – we've done everything – and so this is truly a tribal project. That's been really important to us. In asking for help from people, we make sure that they're on the same page and that they want to do the same things that we do.”
Where do you place environmental issues at Great Salt Lake in your list of priorities?
“A lot of people want us to come out and lead the charge [on issues related to] the Great Salt Lake, and that's just not how it's done. The lake is important, it's important to everybody. And, so, [we’ve] chosen to work with the state and their leaders and water districts and just talk. We don't have any land around the Great Salt Lake. We have very few water rights that go to the Great Salt Lake. All we can do is suggest [things]. My biggest suggestion to the people in Utah is, if they support our project, we'll [be able to] send Idaho water to the Great Salt Lake… We believe in [improving things in a] natural way … We also know when to get out of the way … I don't know that our voice is any more important than the people — you know, the farmers that depend on the water and the snow it produces when the Great Salt Lake’s full. All of us have a good argument for wanting it there.”
What else do you think can be done to save the lake?
“Honestly, conserve water, pray for rain. That's really the only thing we can do … How do we figure out how to conserve water so the farmers are happy, so the city users are happy, the Indigenous people are happy and the leadership is happy? … Everybody knows the lake’s there, everybody knows it's dropping, and people are having protests. I mean, it’s really kind of time to shut up and put our money where our mouth is and just start building projects … [People] have to work together and come together as a community. We need to figure that out.”
How would you describe your interactions with journalists as the lake has garnered more attention in recent years?
“I've done several interviews. I've spoken at certain things, and it gets published online. I think our stance is out there. People keep calling us and saying, ‘Well, I want your perspective.’ … We've been talking about it for three years. Nothing's changed — we need more water to the Great Salt Lake. We're always interested in people who want to understand [culturally] why we're doing it … so we take time to explain that. And it's really just a simple concept — remove invasive [plants] and replant native and let the water, let Mother Earth heal itself, let it take over. That's culturally and spiritually what we believe – [let] the stuff all live in harmony. Not everybody thinks that way, and that's fine … People [have] to start working together and see what possibility could be there. It's a political thing, it's a community thing, and that’s sometimes hard to do.”
What do journalists often get wrong?
“A lot of times people will contact us and say, ‘Hey, we're about to give you a voice’ and that's super offensive. We have a voice — I can get on Gov. Cox's [or Great Salt Lake Commissioner Brian Steed’s] schedule in about 10 minutes if I see something … I have those contacts because of what I do and who I am with the tribe. What we want people to understand is that we support increasing the level of the lake. We don't have all the answers … People keep thinking that we need to lead the charge, and we don't. People don't understand how exploitative that can be … We're doing what we're doing, and at the end of the day, that is going to help the Great Salt Lake.”
What would you like to see journalists do differently?
“Unless we call you, don't call us. I mean, quite honestly, we'll reach out if we have something to say … We're not more special than anybody else. What we would care about is if people come out to take a look at what we're doing and then write the story we tell them instead of trying … to use us [as] the voice of the Great Salt Lake. We don't want to do that … It's always been hard between Native Americans and journalists. There's just not that relationship because we've been misquoted so many times. And that's why we take over our own media … people just get [things] wrong.”
Looking ahead, what are the priorities regarding land restoration, cultural preservation and environmental sustainability?
“We'd like to acquire more land along the Battle Creek corridor and around the Bear River massacre site and kind of update them the same way we did, culturally, to keep that preservation and to keep learning and teaching … Since we've never had a reservation, we want to obtain lands for a reservation and kind of see what we can do to upgrade [and help us] … with our cultural preservation … [As for] environmental stability, we're hoping that everything we do will continue to keep the environment better. We just want to keep doing more. The more we do, the longer we can, the longer the state's sustainability. The more we do upstream of the Great Salt Lake, [more and better water will] flow into the Great Salt Lake … Our sustainability is to get to the point where we've done all of this restoration – and have moved it along and monitored it and cultivated it – so, in the future, it just runs on its own.”
Vice Chairman of the Northwestern Shoshone Tribe Brad Parry and his sister, Angie, at the Bear River Massacre site on Jan. 29, 2024. (Photo: Clint Barnes)
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Andrew Christiansen, a senior at the University of Utah, wrote this story as part of a College of Humanities journalism course in partnership with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative and Amplify Utah. The collaborative is a solutions journalism initiative that partners news, education and media organizations to help inform people about the plight of the Great Salt Lake – and what can be done to make a difference before it is too late. Read all of our stories at greatsaltlakenews.org.
Olivia Juarez doesn’t want to leave Salt Lake City. And they don’t want you to leave either.
“All of my family's here,” said Juarez, a lifelong Utahn and one of the voices behind a new podcast focused on Great Salt Lake. “Everything I love is here …. and so, it would be incredibly heartbreaking and disrupting to my life to leave.”
The “Stay Salty: Lakefacing Stories” podcast launched on March 25 and explores what it means to keep living in the Great Salt Lake Basin as concerns mount around environmental and public health issues around the shrinking body of water.
Juarez, public land program director for GreenLatinos, said they and co-host Meisei Gonzalez wanted to amplify voices not always heard in storytelling about the lake, including conversations with youth activists, Indigenous leaders, people with disabilities, farmers, parents, brine shrimpers and people who are incarcerated.
“Conversations about the climate crisis and economic transition happen at a scientific level or a policy decision-making level, but not on a personal level,” Juarez said. “We started this podcast to focus on people who live here [and] to understand how their daily lives are being impacted by the Great Salt Lake.”
A project by Of Salt and Sand, a Utah-based storytelling collective, the podcast team includes Hosts Juarez and Gonzalez, Visual Artist Frances Ngo, Photographer and Visual Director Jeri Gravlin, Event Curator Ashley Finley, and Producers Maria Archibald, Amelia Diehl and Brooke Larsen.
Gonzalez said he and the team hope to raise questions about what these changes mean for the broadest possible cross-section of the valley’s residents.
“As with many environmental issues, many community members who are primarily people of color, Indigenous, queer, disabled and working class are facing the realities of climate change firsthand,” said Gonzalez, who grew up in Salt Lake’s west side communities and works as communications director for Healthy Environment Alliance of Utah, or HEAL Utah. “We believe there is a need for frontline community members' voices to be centered in this conversation.”
Just weeks after the launch of “Stay Salty,” Juarez and Gonzalez talked with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative about their hopes for the podcast, the future of the lake, and what they want to learn from the people who live in its namesake valley.
Rios Pacheco, cultural and history advisor for the Northwestern Band of the Shoshone Nation, and Olivia Juarez meet at the Antelope Island State Park Visitor Center to talk about Shoshone connections to Great Salt Lake on March 11. (Photo Jeri Gravlin)
GSLC: Why did you choose "What It Means to Stay" as the theme of your first episode?
MG: This helped set the stage for the rest of the podcast, letting individuals know the complexity of what it means to stay in a place facing an environmental crisis.
OJ: Our entire project team came together to come up with a list of podcast topics. We decided which ones to include in season one … by choosing stories that felt relevant, highlighted perspectives and stories that have not been focused on by others and that were timely and relevant.
GSLC: The lake is also, in many ways, one of the podcast’s main characters. Do you stick around the studio to record?
OJ: [We’re] in the field at various locations such as Antelope Island, the Jordan River Nature Center and the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance (SUWA) podcast studio.
MG: And [on] the Great Salt Lake’s shores.
GSLC: This podcast grapples with what it means to stay in the Great Salt Lake Basin as we face an ecological and public health crisis. What have you learned so far?
MG: We have learned that financials and community are big driving factors in staying. Many individuals expressed that they do not have the financial resources to simply leave the state. Others expressed that their community, family and work are primarily here, making it very difficult for them to leave this state.
GSLC: How do you bring humor into a podcast about a pretty heavy topic?
OJ: By speaking in a light or humorous tone when it is appropriate. The title, “Stay Salty,” is a form of humor. For me, in the face of difficult questions, you can be optimistic, despair or fight back, and “staying salty” is a form of the latter. It's a reflection that it's OK to be salty, or in other words be angry or dissatisfied, with the crisis at Great Salt Lake, and use that energy to act.
MG: We believe that humor is needed and is something that we can all relate to one another. We wanted the interview questions to help guide the interviewee but relied heavily on stories of joy to bring humor and hope.
GSLC: How do you approach communities to be involved in the show?
MG: Our goal is to amplify the stories of individuals and community members who have historically been left out of the Great Salt Lake conversations … The team all have backgrounds in community organizing, which was key to ensuring that we were creating this podcast by the community for the community.
OJ: We [first] invite guests to join the show and have a pre-interview with them to give details about the project. We gift guests an honorarium and a photograph that will be used in the art exhibit at the [downtown Salt Lake City] library … The exhibit features portrait photography of podcast guests, with quotes from their interviews. We hope to bring this art exhibit to other Great Salt Lake Basin communities.
GSLC: Any standout episodes you’d like to give a shout out?
OJ: My favorite episode is episode two. It's the episode about love. Love for and at the Great Salt Lake. There are dating stories and engagement stories. It will be very fun to listen to it.
GSLC: What’s to come in future episodes?
MG: We will interview many different community members and highlight important stories. One episode that was very interesting to produce was about the Utah state prison, which is built on the shores of the Great Salt Lake.
OJ: My goal for this podcast and project is for everybody who lives in our community to know that their stories are valuable, to know that their connection to the Great Salt Lake and the climate, when they talk about it, and it’s going to make a difference.
GSLC: What’s your takeaway so far? Is it worth staying?
MG: This depends on everyone's own needs, but to many, Utah is home. This is where they grew up, created a community, and raised their families. It is also a state with many natural resources and outdoor spaces that many Utah residents cherish … I hope to see systemic action taken to help address not only the drying of the Great Salt Lake but many other environmental issues that we are facing, such as heat waves and air pollution.
Some of the ‘Stay Salty: Lakefacing Stories’ team, from left: Maria Archibald, Jeri Gravlin, Brooke Larsen, Meisei Gonzalez, Amelia Diehl and Olivia Juarez. (Photo courtesy Stay Salty)
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See the Exhibit
The “What it Means to Stay: Lakefacing Stories” exhibit at the downtown Salt Lake City public library (210 E. 400 South) opened April 13 and runs through June 1. The multimedia project explores “what it means to stay with Great Salt Lake through ecological collapse, climate crisis, and a public health disaster.” Free and open to the public.
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Kyungsoo Park, a student at the University of Utah, wrote this story with his instructor, Marcie Young Cancio, as part of a College of Humanities journalism course in partnership with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative and Amplify Utah. The collaborative is a solutions journalism initiative that partners news, education and media organizations to help inform people about the plight of the Great Salt Lake – and what can be done to make a difference before it is too late. Read all of our stories at greatsaltlakenews.org.
As the sun begins to fall behind the rugged mountains surrounding Great Salt Lake, clear water ripples around a 40-foot, dark blue canoe with yellow trim and big white letters that read “HUI PAOAKALANI.” Each canoe holds six people, all of whom have a specific role as they paddle through the cool waters.
For 13 years, members of the Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Club launched the canoes from the Great Salt Lake Marina every Saturday morning – a great workout for paddlers, but that was never the main purpose.
“The Hawaiian people don’t like to look at the canoes as being an exercise piece of equipment,” said club co-founder Darren Medeiros. “These canoes have spirits of their own, and we use the canoes to perpetuate our culture.”
Founded in 2007 and named with a nod to legendary surfer Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, the club became all but extinct after COVID-19 forced it to shutter its operations for two years. Co-founder Ben Au said lower water levels at the lake and the cost of maintaining the canoes made reestablishing the club seem impossible. The club stands alone as the only Hawaiian outrigger organization in Utah, and losing it means the loss of an important cultural touchpoint for Pasifika people across the Salt Lake valley, Au said.
"The canoe club is about … teaching people and kids how to paddle, how to steer, the purpose of the canoes, what it means to our culture,” he said. “The other thing is that it is a social event – we all get together."
Over the years, more than 60 people became club members or volunteers, coming from Logan to Provo, Au said. They would paddle from April to October, sometimes even into November, before the lake got too cold.
Rigging of Hui Paoakalani’s Hawaiian outrigger sailing canoe assisted by Mark Ellis, Hokulea captain and master navigator from Honolulu (center) alongside Ben Au, Kehau Ellis, and Tom Parker (L-R) at the Great Salt Lake Marina. (Photo courtesy of Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Canoe Club).
Au said paddlers would take the canoes nearly eight miles from the marina to Antelope Island.
“We would go once, maybe twice a summer, and it would usually take about an hour to an hour and a half,” he said.
The club, called simply “the Hui” by its members, offered more than canoes and a launching point to the water. It was also a cultural hub with hula classes, shaved ice, lau lau, music and dancing, Au said.
Whether on the islands or in landlocked Utah, Medeiros said, Hawaiians have found ways to bring their culture wherever they live.
"Hawaiian culture never leaves the Hawaiian people,” he said. “The club was a way to rally them and bring them together to connect with the culture.”
Mederios said this emphasis on connection and belonging makes the club a cultural institution, fostering a sense of identity and heritage among its members.
The decline of Great Salt Lake in recent years has made it more difficult for these canoes to get back into the water.
"The Great Salt Lake has been dropping,” Au said, “and it has dropped to such a level that it is hard to get out to a safe area to paddle because what used to be … underwater is now above water."
Little reefs, rocks and stalagmites are now visible above the surface, Au said, which makes canoeing more challenging and dangerous.
The challenges, Medeiros said, require a solid team of paddlers to navigate. When conditions are right and water levels are higher, however, he said there’s no better place for paddling in the state.
"The Great Salt Lake is perfect for outrigger canoe paddling because of the high altitude, winds and glass-like water," he said.
But Mederios said it wasn’t enough. When the club tried to restart after the height of the pandemic, recruiting people to come back and securing donations and funding was difficult.
“That’s when things started to slow down,” he said. “These canoes are a lot of upkeep, and it is not cheap to keep the canoes in the marina.”
Another co-founder, Butch Porter, said he’s surprised Utah’s Hawaiian community does not take advantage of the club. Like the canoes, Great Salt Lake has its own culture and does so much for our environment and community, he said, but more people need to be aware of it.
Steersman Butch Porter (back of boat) and Darren Medeiros (front) teach a group teenagers how to paddle a Hawaiian outrigger canoe at Great Salt Lake Marina. (Photo courtesy of Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Canoe Club).
Au, Medeiros and Porter all said they wish they had taken the opportunity to come up with a succession plan. Many of the club members and founders are in their 50s, 60s and 70s, Medeiros said, and teaching the younger generations how to take over may have helped save the club.
About 1.2% of Utah’s population is made up of Native Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders, according to 2023 Census data. Many of them are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which Au said places a similar importance on genealogy and understanding family history.
"It is important for everyone to know where they are from,” Au said. “Knowing your genealogy helps you figure out what you want in life.”
At its height, Medeiros said, club members would invite high school football teams from Salt Lake’s west side communities – which included many Pasifika players – to the marina. Already familiar with teamwork, Porter said the club took that connection to the water and introduced the players to parts of their culture they may not have experienced before.
"Many people of Hawaiian or Polynesian descent have lived in Utah their whole lives and can struggle to connect to their roots, and the canoe club offers that,” Au said.
Now that it’s gone, he said, so are opportunities to connect with other members of Utah’s Pasifika communities on the waters of the lake. He hopes efforts to revitalize the cultural tradition of paddling – reminiscent of taking the canoes between the Pacific’s islands – can one day return to Utah.
“The Great Salt Lake has its own culture and spirit,” Au said. “You can feel it when you are out on the water.”
Camille Lee, a student at the University of Utah, wrote this story as part of a College of Humanities journalism course in partnership with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative and Amplify Utah. The collaborative is a solutions journalism initiative that partners news, education and media organizations to help inform people about the plight of the Great Salt Lake – and what can be done to make a difference before it is too late. Read all of our stories at greatsaltlakenews.org.
