Unexplained phenomena and conspiracy theories are not exactly scarce in the America of late 2020, so whatever motivated Utah to get involved in our collective craziness is probably best left unexamined.
Again, like that would stop me.
In case you missed it, as they say in only five letters on the internet, the Red Rock Desert area east-northeast of Salt Lake City became a flashpoint of “worldwide curiosity” over the weekend, and while that’s a patently dubious claim, Utah did take a quick tour of the news cycle before exiting through the gift shop with a CNN mug and a Salt Lake Tribune T-shirt.
What happened was that something turned into nothing, as it will, especially in Utah. No disrespect, but I could go 10 years without thinking about Utah, particularly if it doesn’t come up on “Jeopardy!” for its one-quarter claim on triviality as the only place in the U.S. where you can stand in four states at once.
Look it up if you want to. Spoiler alert: It’s boring.
Anyway, on or about Nov. 18, it was discovered that someone, or something, or some alien force, of course, placed a silver monolith in the high desert between giant red rock formations in one particular outpost of Utah. A narrow, three-sided structure estimated at 10-12 feet in height and made of stainless steel, the monolith was first observed by biologists doing helicopter surveillance of bighorn sheep.
“Strangest thing I’ve come across out there in all my years of flying,” helicopter pilot Bret Hutchings told KSL-TV 5 in Salt Lake City, failing through modesty to mention that Bret Hutchings is a damn fine name for a helicopter pilot. “I’m assuming it’s some new wave artist or something. Or, you know, somebody that was a big ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ fan.’”
Apparently the Utah monolith conjures remembrances of a similarly mysterious structure in the 1968 film by Stanley Kubrick, itself still fairly inexplicable 52 years out.
But none of that accounts for the whole “worldwide curiosity” thing, which didn’t start until the curious structure just flat disappeared as quickly as it arrived. (To be sure, there are internet accounts of the monolith appearing in satellite images back to 2016, but no one saw it on this site until now, and further, Bret Hutchings hadn’t seen it, so end of argument). On Saturday, Utah’s Bureau of Land Management confirmed that the monolith had been removed by “an unknown party.”
The same agency had earlier reported that the monolith had been “illegally installed,” which now casts doubt on the guilt of the “unknown party.” After all, if something is “illegally installed,” it can’t be “illegally removed,” can it?
But you know, you’re right; I don’t care.
They cared enough at the Salt Lake Tribune to send a couple of reporters hiking out there to confirm that it was gone. Believe it or not, I’m familiar with this kind of assignment, the old we’re-sending-you-somewhere-to-report-on-something-that-probably-doesn’t-exist thing — like the Pirates in a playoff race.
But the spontaneous appearance and inexplicable removal of a monolith in Utah sparked the predictable uproar on social media, where theories were as common as Twitter handles for about 48 hours. Most gravitated toward alien motivation — always safe in that the aliens never issue a denial — but plenty of earthly hypotheses made the rounds as well. Utah tourism was thought to be behind it, as was the media monolith in its ever-accelerating quest for clickbait.
Alien motivation always shows more imagination in these matters, it appears, so I’m leaning toward the stainless steel monolith as a metaphor for coronavirus in the Trump era — something that came from somewhere else, likely China, and though it might appear structurally to have some staying power — the virus can last up to three days on stainless steel — it will one day just disappear “like a miracle.” The aliens are buttressing that out-of-this-world narrative.
I’m also attracted to the bighorn sheep metaphor, as it was the sheep who drew our attention in the first place. Known for banging their heads together and never getting anywhere, the placement of the monolith in the midst of the bighorn behemoths is some alien force’s way of letting us know that banging our heads together all the time will only deliver the fate of the species itself, which once dominated the plains west of the Mississippi but are now apparently just dodging helicopters in Utah. Also, bighorn sheep arrived on the Bering Land Bridge from Siberia at some point, so they are obviously Russian assets.
If the Utah monolith goes into history with even one accomplishment, it will be avoiding any linkage to a Rudy Giuliani fever dream. It went away fast enough to avoid being strapped to a flatbed truck and driven by Rudy back to Washington on the suspicion that it was full of Trump ballots. Just not enough.
Then late Monday, Colorado adventure photographer Ross Bernards went on Instagram to display photos he’d taken of the monolith after a six-hour, curiosity-fueled drive. Mr. Bernards explained that on Friday night, “four men arrived as if out of nowhere,” dismantled the structure, and removed it with a caravan of vehicles, leaving no trace.
Oh, OK.
For the moment, it remains missing in inaction, which is not a typo. The San Juan County sheriff’s office is supposedly responsible for investigating its whereabouts, but as of Tuesday was “not dedicating any resources” to the matter. So right, they don’t care either.
Nice try, Utah.
Gene Collier gcollier@post-gazette.com and Twitter @genecollier.
First Published: December 2, 2020, 5:00 a.m.
Updated: December 2, 2020, 1:32 p.m.
