On May 12, 2025, northern Utah was under a wind advisory. Communities and neighborhoods lost power from the wind. From above the valley, one could look to the west and see the dust blowing in plumes and devils across Great Salt Lake. I grabbed my camera and went to the south shore to see what was happening.

It was windy in town, no doubt about it. But the further west I drove, it became clear that Salt Lake City was not experiencing the same wind and dust that was happening out of town. The dust was blowing off the slag heap across the freeway, blowing in from the west desert, blowing across the playa of Great Salt Lake.

*(I’m not sure that it is actually a legit slag heap, but it’s a giant pile of dirt near the Kennecott smelter that I sometimes see being watered to keep it from blowing dust.)*

I walked out on the lake bed, intending to get to the water. I kept telling myself to just get a little closer, just a little closer to where the dust was flying so I could get better photos.

And then the gusts started. Or rather, I was in the gusts. I was completely enveloped by the wind, battering me as it swept by. I had to fight to remain standing, and during the strongest part of the gust, I could not really see anything other than a pattern on the sand and dust blowing over it. The sound of the wind was like a plane taking off, roaring all around me. The hood I had pulled over my cap kept me well protected, but added its own sound to the orchestration, a constant whipping around my head.

And then it stopped. For a moment I could hear my own breath again. I looked around and saw more dust heading my way. I braced for it, and this time was even more relentless, faster, louder, body slamming into me. Trying to stay upright was my primary goal, though the gust went on for so long that once I realized had my balance, my mind had time to wander. I wondered what would happen if I fell, maybe I should I sit down. Would I become completely submerged in dust? Would I be able to stand back up again? What would happen if I tried to turn around and face it? I turned my head a couple inches over my right shoulder and decided not to try that again. I couldn’t really see much beyond the blowing dirt, but convinced myself to just keep shooting, pretty certain that nothing would be in focus, because how do you focus on blowing dust? I had time to wonder if this was maybe a really bad idea, and wondered how I’d get back to my car if it didn’t stop. And just how fast was this freaking gust anyway?

And then, finally, it slowly began to subside. I could see the sand blasting towards Antelope Island, leaving me behind.

*I should have taken video, but instead please enjoy this low quality GIF.*

Great Salt Lake is a terminal lake. It has no outflow, so anything that flows in stays in. Heavy metals, toxic chemicals from both natural and human activities accumulate in the sediment and potentially become airborne with the wind blowing over the exposed lakebed.

We need to get water to this lake. To keep the dust down, to keep the brine shrimp population, to keep migratory birds well fed, to keep our greatest snow on earth, and honestly, just simply for the lake itself. All I’ve read in the news about this windstorm today is about power outages, and that the dust came from the west desert. Maybe it was just the west desert on the move, but it certainly picked up pieces of the exposed lake bed on its way to our communities. Just last week there was a plume from GSL that affected residents. My fear is that we won’t do enough soon enough, and we’ll end up watering the lake only to keep the dust down. (Like Owens Lake…)

So anyway! Here are some photos of wind blowing dust across the exposed lake bed of a shrunken Great Salt Lake.

Dust. Wind. West Desert. Lakebed. Playa. Coming soon to a town near you.