Great Salt Lake vs. The Dead Sea

As someone who has spent years wandering the shores of GreatSalt Lake, documenting its unique beauty and ever-changing landscape, I’ve always felt a deep connection to this vast expanse of salty water nestled against the Wasatch Mountains. Great Salt Lake is a part of me—a place whereI’ve watched the sunsets paint the sky in hues of gold and pink, observed flocks of pelicans gliding over the briny surface, and felt the crunch of salt crystals beneath my feet.

But recently, I found myself standing on the shores of another salty wonder: the Dead Sea. I had heard tales of its legendary buoyancy, its therapeutic mud, and its storied history for years. The Dead Sea is smaller than Great Salt Lake, covering about 234 square miles compared to the sometimes sprawling 1,700 square miles of my beloved Utah landmark. Yet, standing there, I felt a profound sense of awe.Unlike Great Salt Lake, which changes with the seasons and the whims of drought, the Dead Sea seemed timeless—a body of water that has been drawing visitors for thousands of years with its mysterious allure.

One of the first things I noticed was how much saltier theDead Sea is. I had always thought the Great Salt Lake was salty—at times, reaching salinity levels that range from 5% to 27%, making it far saltier than any ocean. But the Dead Sea takes this to another level, with salinity hovering around 34%. I thought Great Salt Lake had higher salinity but I was wrong.

The Dead Sea’s shores were also unlike Great Salt Lake. I had lunch at a 5-start hotel and  found clusters of other resorts and spas—luxurious havens that promise visitors rejuvenation with their mineral-rich mud treatments and salt baths. The Dead Sea is an oasis of wellness; its very name evokes a sense of ancient healing, and people from all over the world come to experience its therapeutic properties.

Back home, Great Salt Lake offers nothing like this. Despite its own mineral-rich waters, we have no resorts or spa facilities lining our shores. Instead, the Great Salt Lake has a rugged, almost raw beauty—an untamed feel. There’s no line of sunbathers relaxing on its beaches, no bustling resorts promising rejuvenation. The lake is quieter, more solitary. It’s a place for introspection, for watching the migratory birds that rely on its waters, or for marveling at the wide-open spaces that stretch out toward the horizon. And perhaps, that’s what makes it special. Great Salt Lake hasn’t been tamed or turned into a playground for wellness seekers; it remains a sanctuary for wildlife and a place for those who appreciate its stark, sometimes austere charm.

And yet, I wonder. What would it be like if we had something similar around Great Salt Lake? Could there be a way to develop it thoughtfully, to allow more people to connect with its beauty without compromising its fragile ecosystem? Or is it better left as it is—a bit wild, a bit mysterious, much like the Great Basin itself?

What struck me most about the Dead Sea was not just its striking difference from Great Salt Lake but also the similarities in their challenges. The Dead Sea is shrinking—retreating year by year due to water diversion and climate change. Its future is uncertain, even as its waters continue to offer their strange, salty embrace to visitors from around the globe. And back in Utah, Great Salt Lake faces its own existential threats.Water diversions, drought, and rising temperatures are causing it to shrink too, exposing lakebed dust that threatens local communities and wildlife alike.

In both places, the water levels are falling, and the consequences could be devastating. It was a stark reminder that these two saltwater lakes, so far apart in geography and culture, are connected by a shared story of vulnerability. Standing on the shores of the Dead Sea, I felt a deepened sense of urgency. Great Salt Lake has always been a part of me, but seeing its distant cousin in Jordan made me realize how much is at stake.

Both lakes are more than just bodies of water. They are living entities with their own stories, their own challenges, and their own kinds of beauty. The Dead Sea, with its spas and ancient reputation, and GreatSalt Lake, with its wide skies and quiet solitude, each offer something unique.And both need our care, our attention, and our respect.

I left Jordan with a sense of wonder at having seen the Dead Sea up close, but also with a renewed commitment to Great Salt Lake—a determination to continue documenting its beauty, advocating for its preservation, and sharing its story with anyone who will listen. Because whether it’s here in Utah or across the world in Jordan, these salty wonders deserve to be cherished and protected for generations to come.

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