Dads.

They teach their kids to read books, ride bikes and drive cars.

But they also show them how to raise tents, down deer and hook rainbows.

We asked five Utahns with ties to the outdoors to share memories of their fathers — and how these men in their lives passed along a love for the woods and the wilds, the peaks and the deserts, the rivers and the reservoirs.

—

Terry Tempest Williams, Utah author and environmentalist

On this particular day, I miss my father. I miss him terribly. It is the longest we have been out of range geographically.

And my father, John Henry Tempest III, is all about geography: Utah; the American West; laying pipe; walking the trenches; hiking the trails. The great outdoors are a mirror for his greatness of spirit. In his safe-deposit box, he has one treasure: the videotapes of "Lonesome Dove."

Wherever there is a view, my father will find it. Whatever is wild, my father will seek it. My father is all about work. Our family business, The Tempest Co., with its fleet of red trucks, is his greatest pride. And he will tell you stories, emotional stories of the dignity of men with a fidelity to dirt, men who understand the bedrock truth of labor that they carry on their backs. For my father, papers are what you read in the morning, not something you push during the day.

My father is a man of his word. His word is his integrity. He is honest. He is blunt. You don't have to wonder what's on his mind. My father believes in helping people. You will find him on your doorstep when you need him most. There he is — present, standing tall, proud in his boots, loyal, perceptive, with a rugged intelligence and wisdom.

As a child, he taught me how to read books and how to read the landscape. He taught me how to hunt and how to box with gloves. It didn't matter if I was a girl. For my brothers and me, John Tempest was our action hero. Just when I had given up on a particular trail in the Tetons as the terrain of grizzlies, my father forged the way. Grand View Point was our destination. Once on top, he found a log, moved it and we sat and watched the scenery before us. No bears in sight. He is the man to follow into the heart of beauty or battle or both.

But what I love most about my father is his capacity to grow and evolve. In his later years, he is tender. He is the center of our family. My father is a man of his word and, as his daughter, I have always known my father's word is love.

Michael Styler, executive director of the Utah Department of Natural Resources

My love for the outdoors was instilled in me by my dad. Russel Styler was a farmer who raised his three boys and daughter in Oasis, Utah. He knew as a teenager that he wanted to farm and he never deviated from that passion.

To spend time with Dad, we had to be outdoors — whether tending livestock, harvesting crops, mending fences or irrigating fields.

My favorite times, however, were camping, hunting or fishing.

The entire family gathered together on the first day of the Utah pheasant hunt. The Delta area had plentiful numbers of birds in those days and we loved laughing, joking and teasing one another as we walked all day in search of ringnecks. The next day, Sunday dinner would always be centered around the wonderful aroma of pheasant that Mom had prepared for dinner.

My most excited and sleepless night of the year was always the night before the deer hunt. We would usually get up and leave around 4 a.m. because we always had to be at "our rock" at the mountaintop by daylight. We could look down through the valley and Dad would point out each neighbor sitting on "their rock" waiting to see their buck. Most years we were successful in the hunt with Dad's old lever action 30-30. The more important thing was just to be there enjoying Dad's company.

I now equate time in the outdoors with "family." I have tried to spend as much time as possible with my kids camping and fishing. They are passing that on to their kids. There is nothing like the sticky, smiling face of a grandchild after her second s'more.

Nothing interferes with true togetherness when you are outdoors together.

Heidi McIntosh, associate director of the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance

In the 1970s, fathers bonded with their daughters while fishing; where you could enjoy quality time together, but the demand for quiet thankfully gave you an excuse to avoid talking much — just the way teenagers like it.

Jim McIntosh's camper always housed fishing poles, line and a tackle box with a colorful jumble of lures, bobbers, flies, last year's salmon eggs and rubbery worms.

We sat patiently along the lush Niobrara or the braided North Platte in his native Nebraska, or on Hawley, Parker or Roosevelt lakes in our adopted Arizona, waiting for the fish to rise. On Thanksgivings, we would cast lures into the surf on remote Mexican beaches, deep into the homeland of the Seri Indians who traded with us for smooth ironwood carvings.

Sometimes my dad would ditch the pole, don a mask and snorkel and spear a few fish, deliciously grilled within minutes of being snatched from the water. At night, a new moon could pull the tide out a mile, and we searched the tide pools to the hiss of an old Coleman lantern.

I loved the peaceful beauty in those times. And in those quiet moments when nothing was happening, with the water slapping the aluminum hull of the boat and the sun beating down, I got to know my dad in a way that would not have been possible on the couch at home with the TV going.

Decades later, we took our daughter camping on the Colorado River. Although it had been years since I'd held a fishing pole in my hands, I impetuously grabbed my nephew's pole and winged a lure into the current. The zing of the pole and the whir of the line were exhilarating. I ran to get my daughter, to sit with her quietly by the water, waiting for the fish to rise.

Mike Dutton, father of 11-year-old twins Jacob and Anna, also known as skiing's PowderTwins

Many of my fondest memories of my dad, Larry, are as my soccer coach. Virtually every Saturday would consist of two soccer games — one for me and one for my sister, Krista — pizza afterward and then swimming in the pool of our Southern California home. Even now, when I go outside on a warm summer morning, there is something about the smell of fresh cut grass that reminds me of soccer games with my dad.

While he was not a big fan of the sport, he was a huge "fan" of my sister and me and he genuinely loved spending time with us. Many lessons of life were taught while driving in a station wagon to and from soccer practices.

As I became a father, I wanted to develop my own version of this tradition with my kids. Skiing has become our family passion, and every winter Saturday is spent together in the mountains. This season my 11-year-old twins, Jacob and Anna, set a goal to ski every resort in Utah, and they wrote a blog about their experience on skiutah.com.

This adventure took us to 14 resorts from Brain Head to Beaver Mountain and gave us countless memorable and funny family moments. As a father, it also gave me hundreds of hours on a ski lift talking to my pre-teens about whatever was on their minds …. and in scenery that was much more inspiring than the station wagon of my youth.

Robin Watson-Christianson, volunteer and friends coordinator for Utah State Parks

My dad, known to many as Fisherman Bob or Box Canyon Bob, loved the outdoors and instilled in me my own love that has impacted many aspects of my life.

My first camping trip was to Island Park, Idaho, on Memorial Day weekend, for the opening of the Idaho fishing season, when I was only 3 weeks old. While I was growing up, we went camping and fishing almost every weekend chasing trout, salmon and steelhead.

Every October my mom, dad and I would head to the North Fork of the Salmon River to fish for steelhead. We camped and fished with five or so other families for a week and had many wonderful times. Although many of the original gang and my dad have passed away, I still make the annual trip. Now, their children and grandchildren meet on the river making new memories and remembering the old.

When fishing season ended, we would go hunting. My dad never shot anything and years later he told me it was probably because I wouldn't stop talking and had the habit of picking up sticks and breaking them. Obviously, hunting was the sport for me — I couldn't be quiet!

Eventually, my family started camping closer to home at Rockport State Park. My dad became friends with the rangers at Rockport and even became a camp host. His friends transferred to Antelope Island State Park and shortly after I was offered a job on the island. Thirty years later, I'm still with state parks, but work as the volunteer and friends coordinator. My favorite state park is Antelope Island and I visit whenever I can.

Thinking back, even my choice of husband was influenced by my dad. My first husband loved to fish, camp, hike and hunt. We were married in Island Park at the Big Springs Boat Launch. He died from cancer a few years ago.

My second husband is also an avid outdoorsman and loves to fish. Our eldest grandchild is 2 years old and we plan to take him fishing and hopefully instill in him a love and respect for the outdoors.