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Green River, Utah

The Place for Everyone (roughly everyone, anyway)

story and photos by Chinle Miller

Found in: | Outside | Our Towns |

Driving west into Utah on I-70, I cross mile after mile of Big Empty, the Cisco Desert stretching out behind me like a vast white sea, corralled on one side by the Bookcliffs, held to the west and north by the sinuous velvety lariats of the Colorado and Green rivers.

Finally, I top a small hill. Now, in the distance I see a long sinuous band of white cottonwoods that speaks of water, a tint of spring-green in their branches. Soon an exit sign, and I'm in the first town in what feels like a million miles.

Green River, Utah, a town split in two by the deep, slow-flowing river, the east side of the town once called Little Chicago and filled with bars, while the west side had the churches. Back then, spring snowmelt flooded hearts with the fear that the bridge would wash out and they'd end up on the wrong side.

Like the river, the town is long and narrow, arcing along the base of the Bookcliffs, those intimidating high bluffs where cougars and black bear nap on ramparts of Green River shale, watching farmers irrigate fertile Mancos clays 2,000 feet below. Just a short distance out of town, after having marched on a northward course for nearly 200 miles, these battleship-like cliffs unexpectedly make a nearly perfect 90-degree turn to the east, then continue on another hundred or so miles.

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Empty fruit stands line the highway through town, waiting for the melon harvest. Hot days, cool nights, and a lengthy growing season create one of life's greatest delicacies in the Green River melon, rumored to be a secret subspecies with its very own chemical composition of sugar.

Zipping past Green River, Utah on I-70, you'd say there wasn't much to the town - in fact, it can look downright desolate, especially when a good wind blows the surrounding hundreds of square miles of adobe clays right smack down the center of town. And Green River's coldest winter days can remind you of Wyoming, and its hot summers can put Moab's blistering heat to shame.

But since it's the only service area between Salina and Thompson Springs (a pretty good stretch of desolation) odds are good you'll pull off the freeway into town, cruise the very long main street, and stop at the West Winds Truck Stop ("Your Oasis in the Desert"), where lines of big trucks wait, idling for hours as their drivers eat fried eggs and bacon and then sleep off their cholesterol-fix in their cabs. You may even decide to join them in having a 24-hour breakfast, knowing it's a long stretch to the next bit of civilization.

And so it is with many a freeway traveler - Green River, Utah is simply a place to stop for gas, a meal, or possibly to stay in one of the town's 600 motel rooms, then be on their way to points east or west. Green River was once an old Route 6 town, and occasionally people still cruise that deteriorated highway from Fruita, Colo., bumping along in their '55 Caddies with their memories riding in the back seat.

As you cruise through town (and it seems like it's ten times as long as it is wide, maybe more), you may just happen to notice a little restaurant on the east side of the main drag, about midway, with a sign that reads, "Ray's Tavern - The Place for Everyone."

And if you were to just happen to stop and go in, you'd discover one of the great secrets of southeast Utah, a place that's served charbroiled steaks and burgers since 1951 ("Home of the World-Famous 1/2 lb. Hamburger"), as well as microbrews.

Ray's Tavern, with its long bar, numerous pool tables, and cool 50s neon sign, somehow epitomizes the town of Green River - unpretentious, kind of old and beat-up looking on the outside, but lots going on inside, lots of real character. Green River is the place for everyone, no matter what your taste (mall-shoppers, sushi lovers, and theater critics excluded).

While in Ray's Tavern, you may ov erhear talk of the river, for this town is obviously named after the large body of water that flows through its center, although the town's original name was Blake (for the man who operated the first ferry in 1876). The town was soon after called Greenriver, which was eventually changed to the current spelling of Green River, although the part of town on the east side of the river was called Elgin, and still is today by the locals. Since the county line meandered along with the river (and likewise often changed course), Elgin was once part of Grand County, while the rest of the town belonged to Emery County. A few years ago, Elgin voted to become part of Emery County, much to the chagrin of the Grand County seat of Moab (Elgin has lots of motel rooms and therefore lots of transient room tax revenue).

The river itself has played an important role in the life of local residents, and Green River town is famous in the annals of river history, legend, and lore, serving as a put-in and take-out for many historic river adventures. In fact, the mention of Ray's Tavern to the average river runner brings back fond gastronomical memories (first meal out for those doing Deso-Gray, last meal before running Labyrinth-Stillwater).

Green River town's pride and joy (and rightfully so) is the John Wesley Powell River History Museum, a tasteful building on the banks of the river itself. The focus of the museum is Powell's river trips in 1869 and 1871-72, as well as river history, which includes several companies that have been running the Green for many years. Probably the better known of these are Holiday Expeditions (the Holliday family, since 1966) and Moki Mac (the Quist family, since the early 50s). The town has seen many famous river rats come and go (down the river), including Georgie White and Harry Aleson. And writer Ed Abbey and his well-known friend Ken Sleight once owned a farm here.

The Powell Museum hosts many fascinating and historic exhibits, as well as an impressive statue of the grand old explorer himself, the one-armed Major John Wesley Powell. The museum also often hosts art exhibits.

And though it's no Santa Fe, Green River has a number of resident artists, a few who've practiced their art on the sides of buildings. One funky mural has desert themes (a giant scorpion, cow skull, and snake under a flourishing apple tree by a watermelon). Another artist is the wife of a well-known Green River melon farmer, whose unique oil-on-glass paintings are known far and wide.

How many people do you know who have long-haul truckers from Dayton, Iowa, go to all the trouble of driving their big rigs off the main drag just to buy a "Red Roses in Vase" painting for their wife's anniversary? And the paintings of our melon farmer's wife (who requested to remain anonymous) are amazingly inexpensive for the masterpieces they truly are. Part of the fun is being invited into the couple's trailer, there on the farm, to visit for awhile, just like part of the family (and don't worry that the man of the house is lying there like he's dead on the floor. He has a bad back and is just taking a break from the tractor - oh, and don't forget to take a melon home with you. You know there's nothing like Green River melon - they put Rocky Fords to shame).

And they do. Green River is famous not just for its river history, but also for its delicious melons. Claims that the Green River melon is a subspecies of watermelon seem to hold water during taste tests. In the fall, when the harvest is on, you can stop at any number of melon stands on Green River's main drag, buy a melon (including varieties most of us have never heard of), and take it out camping in the desert. Save it for when you've returned from a long hot hike, crack it open on a rock, and you'll understand how that biblical guy could have sold his birthright and inheritance for something that tastes good.

If you really like melons, come for the town's Melon Days celebration in mid-September and you'll see how unique Green River really is. Glenwood Springs (Colorado) has its Strawberry Days, Palisade has its Peach Days, Cedaredge has its Apple Festival, but only at Green River's Melon Days can you get free watermelon in the park - in the shade (slim as it may be) of a white Athena missile with the letters U.S.A.F. displayed on its side.

Freeway travelers may notice strange-looking bunker-like buildings high on the Mancos shale adobes near the town of Green River, along with assorted strange-looking metal towers and power lines. These are the remnants of the Cold War days of the 1960s when Green River served as an adjunct of the White Sands Missile Range, launching slender and elegant Athena missiles into southern New Mexico. Rumors still circulate in Moab that a stray missile or two can be found nearby in the desert (hopefully unarmed).

The town of Green River was originally founded in 1880 primarily as a railroad town, and it has always had a contingency of stockman, cowboys, and the ever-accompanying rustlers. But the Cold War saw a new group of people come to town - people who were called "longhairs" at Los Alamos, the scientists and engineers that came with various Cold War activities, such as missile testing. Most left when the Athena facility shut down, but a few stayed. According to some Green River residents, this added favorably to the mixing pot of various people that have called Green River home.

The '50s and '60s were also a time of mineral exploration in the area, and one drill hole had an unexpected outcome - a cold water geyser. The drill hole was about seven miles south of town along the river, and the resulting geyser, Crystal Geyser, is now being touted by the town as somewhat of a tourist attraction. Green River Geyser enthusiasts should bring lawn chairs, for the geyser goes off only sporadically, although it's worth the wait to see the sometimes 40-foot-tall spout. A neighboring rancher told me he knows the schedule, but he wouldn't reveal it. Maybe he considers the wait to be part of the fun, which it is, Green River style.

Back to the stockman and cowboys - each Memorial Day weekend, the John Wesley Powell Museum hosts what's called the Cowboy Caucus, a get-together of the cowboys and cowgirls in the region, including those who used to ride the region south of Green River once called Under the Ledge and now called the Maze (now part of Canyonlands National Park). One of these is 91-year-old cowpuncher Ned Chaffin, a legend in these parts and still sharp as a tack. Ned serves as emcee of the Cowboy Caucus, opening the show with, "Anyone want to come up and tell some lies?"

He always has plenty of takers, and the caucus is replete with cowboy poetry, songs, and tall (but pretty much true) tales. Ned first started the event in 1994 as a medium for all the oldtimers to get together - all are welcome for a day of storytelling, followed by a potluck in the park. The day after is spent visiting old stomping grounds, places like the Robber's Roost Ranch.

People come to the Caucus from all over, including Gus Scott of Prescott, Arizona, who came last year and talked about climbing Navajo Mountain when he was a kid and of knowing old-time river runners like Harry Aleson. His story prompted Grand Junction resident Wayne Marks to talk about meeting Joe Baker, historian Pearl Baker's son, late at night on Anderson Bottom on the Green River. "It was the strangest way to meet someone," Wayne commented, "We heard a weird noise coming from the river in the dark. It was Joe banging on the nose of his boat with a flashlight, he couldn't get the engine started. We helped him start it, and he took off back down the river in the dark."

Green River's Frank Tidwell, even though he said he was nervous, gave a marvelous talk about riding with Art and Eddiejo Ekker of the Robber's Roost Ranch. And Betty Smith, of what she calls "El Rancho Not So Grande," read a poem that she adds a line to each year to correspond with her age - "When I was 81, it wasn't much fun . . ." She's now up to 91 and the poem is a highlight that everyone looks forward to.

The Cowboy Caucus is great entertainment for a weekend, but what about the rest of the year? Well, there's the Green River Cruise, where people boat down the river to the confluence of the Colorado and back, camping out on sand bars and having a great time. And there is, of course, that big desert all around you (which we'll come back to).

What do people do at night? Green River night life consists mostly of cruising the town (worth about 10 minutes of entertainment) and checking out the old neon lights, such as the one at Ray's Tavern. Another of my favorite neons is the reclining woman (somewhat risquE9 for Utah) on the sign of the Robber's Roost Motel. I have fond memories of that particular motel, as it once saved me from sure frostbite. I was camping out in the desert south of town one January night when a winter storm came in, and the Robber's Roost was the o nly motel in town that I could afford. It was actually quite pleasant, with old-time knotty-pine paneling. Another place of fond memories was the homey Bookcliff Restaurant, which burned down a few years ago.

Another town entertainment is watching the trains come through town, most of which don't stop. Amtrak does stop twice a day at the old abandoned art deco station. Green River won out over Thompson Springs a few years ago as the region's passenger train stop. At least the train actually stops here (only when it has passengers wanting to board or get off) - in Thompson Springs one had to stand in the middle of the tracks and flag it down.

But back to that desert, that Big Empty that surrounds the town, excepting the side with the towering Bookcliffs (called the "Books" by the locals). Standing in the center of town (if you can find a high spot), one can see the distant La Sal and Henry mountains to the southeast and west, far in the mists. But look north and you'll see what makes, for me at least, Green River one of the best towns in the world.

Standing there, you'll see Mexican Mountain and the outline of the San Rafael Reef, those ramparts that edge the San Rafael Swell, jewel of Utah. And right there on the edge of it all, the closest town to all this, is Green River, Utah, the place for everyone - that is, the place for everyone to get supplies (don't forget the watermelon) and head on out.

Originally from Colorado, Chinle Miller writes from the wildlands of Colorado and Utah, while also working as a part-time archaeologist..