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Skinwalkers And Rock Shops: Secrets Of A Ranch N. Reiter Goin' To Utah In early July of 2009, as one stop along the way on a "Blue Highways" summer vacation road trip to the western US, my spouse and I tracked down and visited the site of the infamous "Sherman Ranch" aka Skinwalker Ranch, in northeastern Utah. For those not familiar with the story of this property, I would encourage you to visit the following links to become aquainted: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skinwalker_Ranch The Wiki listing appears to fairly consolidate most of the accounts and resources I am personally aware of. Other more obscure stories may be found in Alien Dave's extensive files, although as with all on-line archives, caveat emptor. Nevertheless, the story of the Skinwalker Ranch has become since the early 1990s a classic in UFO and Fortean lore, and as typically happens, has generated an ongoing Mythos. And as sometimes appears to be the unique case in UFOlogy, forces and people at the core of a matter can be the primary catalysts for mythical evolution, of a curiously intentional and engineered flavor. The book "Hunt for the Skinwalker" by Kelleher and Knapp (2005) portrays the activity of the property during the years when it was owned and staffed semi-continuously by the National Institute for Discovery Science, "NIDS". At present, the predominant story goes that it is still owned by NIDS, but not staffed or occupied due to lack of project funding. This book itself is a well written and engaging read, even if some of the scenarios and strategies described therein did not sit well with me. However in my own opinion, it also tends to lead the reader into a particular view of the Sherman Ranch property that I now would say does not match the reality of the site either. As early as spring of 2008, I had entertained the idea of making a stop at the property a feature on a proposed western road trip. The rumor through the mill was that NIDS still owned the property, however in hyper-secretive fashion, denied all requests from non-NIDS researchers for access or visitation privileges. Even the correct location of the ranch was conjectural. The family vacation trip for 2008 ended up heading off to the Atlantic coast due to gas prices. However as 2009 came around, it seemed like the dollars per gallon ratio might actually be amenable to an old fashioned "Griswald" style westward-ho road trip, minus the 61 Rambler wagon and dogs. In May and June of 2009, I began gathering resources as I could find them, in such spare time as I had to do net-mining. Despite the layers of re-posted fluff on assorted UFO discussion groups, I distilled down what truly appeared to be the correct geographical coordinates of the property. I then reviewed the most recent information I could find about the ranch and activity there. What really was or is known? The consensus was:
At any rate, my policy for snooping out strange locales has always been to go as far as public property will take me, and use binoculars from there. If I am going to step across a line and trespass, do you think I would be telling you about it? So despite the exhorting on some discussion groups, I had no moral bad feelings about getting as close to the NIDS property as I could. I doubted if I would see anything, but I could haul out with pit-stop style timing a variety of meters and instruments, and get a lot of photos! I wrote an e-mail request to both George Knapp and Colm Kelleher, expressing my desire to know what screening procedures or legitimate applications I could go through to obtain permission for a full visit. I tried dropping as many names as I could among those that might ring bells or get a foot in the door. I was willing to make this a serious and discrete project. I received no answer from either party. It wasn't as though I didn't have a few other secret mission stops along my diaspora. If things didn't work out, and I couldn’t find the Skinwalker Ranch, so be it. This would be a good time to mention another confession... I HAVE been to the Skinwalker Ranch before. At least in the form of an astral projection and remote viewing experiment. In 2007, it came up on a list of potential targets of interest a colleague of min and I had put together. The notes from that experiment are extensive, but in short, what I viewed was quite removed from my conscious expectations, and implied an illusory or deceptive element to the entire story and location. So off we went... Quest 2009. Deb rolled her eyes and accommodated her frenzied spouse, and maintained her usual obliging demeanor, as long as historical stops and shopping opportunities presented themselves.
Photo grab courtesy of Google Earth. Please also note that the markers showing the ranch and ranch gate have apparently been removed, or at least were gone as of 17 July 2009. (click pic to enlarge) The road directions were easy enough to follow, mainly gleaned from Google Earth and Google Maps... west from Vernal on US 40 for about 18 miles, then south on 7500 / Fort Duchesne Road. Go about 1.2 miles past Fort Duchesne, and turn off to the right at a slight angle on a local road called (or said to be called) 2250. One would follow the little road for about 1 mile, and come to the infamous locked gate. Being There That evening, July 2nd, we pulled into Vernal about 5:30PM, after crossing the 150 miles or so of beautiful nothing between the last of the western slopes of the Rockies and the rocky landscape of Mordor... er... Utah. While a night time run to Fort Duchesne would have been total thrill, I decided it might be wisest to go exploring in the area before dusk arrived. We followed US 40 out of Vernal, marveling at the increasingly Martian aspect of the landscape. Then without warning, over a rise, one can see the Uintah River valley stretch out, with some low-land wet enough to support grassy fields, corn, and cottonwood trees. This is the country of the Ute Nation, and despite the poverty and humble appearance of the homes, the people of that region hold proudly to the old spirit of their ancestors, and what it means to be Ute. Overall, this is really one of the more populated regions of the state some still call Deseret. As we turned south onto Fort Duchesne Road, I spied a big summer pow-wow going on at a rodeo grounds there at the intersection. Past Fort Duchesne, I rounded the bend where the small road 2250 should be, bearing off to my right. The road was there, but was oddly marked with a sign as 2750! I drove up to the intersection with Fort Duchesne-Randlett Road and turned around, desiring to make sure I did not miss the right turn somehow. Upon heading back north, I decided to trust the aerial photos, not the road signs, and followed 2750. All around me conformed to the aerials provided by Google Earth. Crossing a little culvert and dam, the road turned to gravel. Suddenly, from one of the small Indian homes, a very large yellowish dog – a beautiful fellow looking to be a Rottweiler mix of some sort – shot out to the road and threw himself at the van. Deb shrieked, but I minded my speed so as not to harm the big guy, who seemed to be a trained tire-biter. Last thing I would want to do would be to run over someone’s dog. Big Yellow put a dent in the van door. I kept the window rolled down, and tried to talk to him as we rolled along, telling him that it was ok, stand down please. Almost on cue, Big Yellow suddenly stopped about 300 feet beyond the house. He sat in the middle of the road and watched as we finally came to a stop about a quarter mile later... at the Skinwalker Ranch gate. There it was, just as it had looked in some of the furtively taken visitor photos, in a little grove of scrub and cottonwood. Beyond the gate, I could see some outbuildings or a small house further up around another slight bend. But this was as far as we could go. Let me make a point here. The property as far as I can tell is indeed mostly on Ute land, and obviously should be respected as one would respect anyone’s property lines. However, there are NO signs to tell the visitor that they cannot travel up TO the gate. It’s a county road. Sorry, NIDS, that part is still public access, even if you hired Big Yellow to scare the bejibbers out of visiting folk. Shame on you, if that was your intent. I stopped the van, and got out. Big Yellow sat motionless in the road, back by the Indian house. I figured that if ol’ B.Y. decided to launch, I would have about 50 seconds to get back in the van. So with one eye on the dog, I unpacked some of my survey instruments, and began to take some readings around the gate area, as well as many photos as I could squeeze off, with both digital and film cameras. I had with me my Geiger counter, Hall magnetometer, electroscope, ion counter, and Fitzroy Glass. Sad to report, no unusual levels or vectors were noted by anything, although the ion counter seemed to peak out with positive ions above 2000/cc which seemed a bit high. As far as I can tell, likewise, no unusual images showed up on any photos.
Subjectively speaking, though, I felt unworldly. From the moment I had stepped wholly out of the van, to when I got back in, I felt as if I was half out of my body – light headed, slightly vertigous. Maybe it was the thrill of the moment, maybe I was subconsciously associating and projecting due to my remote viewing experiments from a couple years before. (click pic to enlarge) Before leaving, I made a face at the cottonwood tree just in case some video feed was running, and a security console somewhere was lighting up with my ugly mug. Shame on you guys, you need to behave like the scientists and Promethians you profess to be... not fuel the Mythos and oblige Archonic shenanigans. Sorry for the soapbox moment there. We headed back up 2250-2750-whatever road, and Big Yellow did his thing. This time he was on Deb's side, and she rolled her window up and squeezed her eyes closed as the dude thudded against the van door. Turning again onto Fort Duchesne Road, I was struck with a couple of deep realizations. First of all, the perception that at least I had obtained from the reports, media, and the book on the topic was that the Skinwalker Ranch was oh-so remote – miles from anywhere, difficult to get to, rugged terrain. It’s not. There are scores of neighbors and village folk living within a mile radius of the property, which is also said to be a vast 480 acres. To a city kid, that is a big spread I suppose, but most any farmer or rancher would say that at best it’s a mini-ranch, and a modest little farm. Most parts of Paulding County, Ohio have a lower population density than that neighborhood. The Fort Duchesne Ute Nation police and the BIA and BLM station are less than a mile as the crow flies from the Ranch as well.
To me, that means that UFO phenomena, light displays, and creatures if they exist, would have to assume a far greater local profile, and be seen by not a few, but rather by many people over time in an area like that. Unless the Phenomenon obliges property lines as tightly as a nervous door to door salesman. And the police are right there – holy mackerel, they would HAVE to have an enormous log of stories… if there WERE any stories. (click pic to enlarge) I also found it interesting that a large power grid main crosses the property. Can’t lock yourself off too completely from the world if Utah Edison or whoever needs to access their equipment and transmission components. (click pic to enlarge)
And that was about it. As we passed back through Fort Duchesne, we drove past a little house where a raffle winner – maybe someone from the big pow-wow and rodeo – was getting an award check in their yard! Like an Ed McMahon moment, Indian style. I smiled. The residents of Fort Duchesne, Randlett, and the little villages in between with no name, lived their lives much as they have for a long, long time. Neighbors laughing, little kids running about squealing. Not much money, but joy takes root anywhere people can live, somehow. I shook my head. Fuck UFOs and Skinwalkers and pompous assed people who play themselves up to be seekers of knowledge, like both me and NIDS. Someone just got a big honkin’ check for $4,000, and pow-wow days were in full swing. Grins and laughs and fellowship were in the early evening air, mingling with the smell of fry bread. Deb and I went back to Vernal, and got some chicken wings at a diner. Rock Shop Stories The next morning, we made a trip back east from Vernal, to visit the headquarters at Dinosaur National Monument. We discovered that the primary excavation wall there has been closed since 2006, however the morning was cool, and I talked Deb into walking a bunny hiking trail for a couple of miles, up into the rocks. The path took me past some intriguing Ute petroglyphs, and an enigmatic little cave altar site that the National Park people saw fit to simply make up a "do not go here" sign for, rather than any explanation. We headed back west, this time to continue on past Vernal and head for Provo. A couple miles before Vernal, though, I yipped and swung the van off the road into the parking lot of an old shack-like shop... Rockshop! Rockshop! Rockshop! So many rockshops, so little time. Deb sighed heavily and pulled out her Harry Potter book to read, anticipating that it would be a good long while before I returned from the bowels of the establishment. The shop was perfect – the quintessence of what a roadside Utah Rock and Mineral shop should be. Old wooden bins, dirty local minerals, a few gem quality and finished pieces in a display case, and some gaudy tumbled fun-stones for the wee ones. The proprietor, one Harold Schmidt, came in from a rear door, that apparently opened into the mobile home where he and his wife lived. Harold is a patriarch of the desert. Which meant – as he and I joked – that he was as old as the damned dirt. A big round faced sunburned guy, with piercing blue eyes, a keen intimate knowledge of every known mineral in Utah, and recollection of every bit of local gossip going back a half century. In cases like that, you work into conversation like a courtship dance. Look over the snowflake obsidian, the Apache Tears, the selenite first. Let the wooden tray talk go into other areas. I knew this would be perfect – I had to ask Harold about the Skinwalker Ranch... Mr. Schmidt set up his rock shop about 35 years ago, when he was partially retiring from driving oil trucks across the Four Corners states. He was born in Kansas, moved to Colorado as a kid, and has lived in the Vernal, Utah area for almost 50 years. I brought up UFOs, and noted that he didn’t smirk, but actually beamed a bit. Then the Skinwalker Ranch. He grinned, and we talked, as I brought my selections up to the old mechanical scale. For weighing. Harold was aware of the Ranch and the stories in general. He had heard of the book by Kelleher and Knapp. When I told hom that my wife and I had been there the night before, he expressed amazement we had returned intact. "Y, know, those cops on Ute land are pretty serious. They’re big tough guys, and I’m surprised they didn’t follow your van out there and hassle you. Not about UFOs, just a strange van period, driving around slowly. They would think it was a drug drop!" I offered that with the pow-wow going on, they may have just been looking elsewhere. So I jumped on it and I asked the core question, "so is it true that for decades, that property was the site of strange events – UFOs, monsters, weird lights?" Harold’s opinion was no. He shook his head and smiled slightly, "In all my years here – and I know exactly the property we’re talking about – nobody ever had stories that came out of that area. Not until the 1990s, when the publicity began." He did feel something fishy was going on there, but whether it was a hoax, a real estate ploy, some clandestine project... or maybe it was only a decoy ranch, with the REAL one somewhere else… he couldn’t say. It wasn’t because he was a pathological skeptic or naysayer either. Quite to the contrary, as I discovered. Harold was a firm believer in UFOs, and proceeded to describe a couple of his own sightings from over the decades. "Driving truck out in the country by night, you see some things..." Harold told of a red spherical light he had seen come down east of Vernal one evening, in the 1970s. Also from that time period, he reminesced about driving an oil truck one night near Dinosaur National Monument, and seeing a set of four pure white lights resting on top of a bluff. He called the matter in to his dispatcher "Puss", who told him to forget about it, it was just helicopters. However, a hundred miles to the east, as Harold was approaching his terminal in Colorado, he saw off to the south the same set of lights, hovering over a small dome hill. Something very strange had followed him across the midnight miles. But as for Fort Duchesne being any more of a UFO or paranormal junction than any other part of the Four Corners states... in his opinion, no. Not until someone bought the property and began to tell stories and write books. Harold and I went back to talking about rocks, and the woes of getting old for a little while more. I wished him well and thanked him for the stories. In all ages of humanity, the gift of the elder is his stories, and as Stephen Donaldson wrote, "Joy is in the ears that hear." I took my cache of treasures and departed with Deb, heading for Provo. Other mysteries of a different and more arcane sort awaited me. What is the truth about the Skinwalker Ranch? I don’t know, but then again, I really didn’t expect to find out when I went there. I went only to see what I could see, much like the bear that went over the mountain. The word being that not much happens there now is unfortunate of course, and some of a suspicious mind would say too convenient. Between ownership by an organization perennially intent on perpetuating its own MIB’ish mystique, and the placement of the land on the Ute Nation - who doubtlessly finds itself in the wearying position of endless intrusions by Whites - neither the Rancher or the Indians are talking, or are liable to, anytime soon. Certainly can’t fault the native folk though... or Big Yellow the dog, fierce and honorable guardian of his own secrets. Maybe someday we will know. All I can say is this. Whatever is there at the Sherman-Gorman-Skinwalker Ranch, it is not as it seems. |
