It started as a joke. Honestly, most of the best things in Salt Lake City do. If you’ve spent any time at the intersection of 900 South and 900 East, you’ve seen it—a massive, colorful, slightly confusing humpback whale breaching out of a grassy roundabout. It’s officially named "Out of the Blue," but everyone just calls it the 9th and 9th whale. People dress it up. They leave offerings at its base. During the weirdest flooding season in recent memory, locals unironically prayed to it for the rain to stop.
The whale is huge. We are talking 23 feet of recycled plastic and foam, towering over a neighborhood that used to be known for its quiet bungalows and indie coffee shops. Now, it’s a landmark.
Why is there a whale in the middle of a desert?
This is the question every tourist asks while pulling over their Subaru. It makes zero sense on paper. Salt Lake City is high-altitude, landlocked, and about as far from a breaching humpback's natural habitat as you can get without leaving the continent. Stephen Kesler, the local artist behind the piece, didn't just wake up and decide to confuse the neighborhood for fun. Well, maybe a little. The project was part of a city initiative to bring more art into public spaces, but nobody expected the 9th and 9th whale to become a cult figure.
The sculpture is made from a steel internal structure coated in a high-density foam and finished with a polyurea shell. It looks heavy, but it's relatively light for its size. The colors are what really get you—vibrant blues and purples that shift depending on how the Utah sun hits the roundabout.
People were mad at first. You know how it goes. Whenever a city spends money on "public art," there’s a segment of the population that loses their minds over the budget. "Why a whale?" they asked. "Why not a pioneer or a seagull?" But the absurdity is exactly why it worked. In a city that sometimes takes its history and culture a bit too seriously, a giant plastic whale is a breath of fresh air. It’s a literal fish out of water. Or a mammal out of water. You get the point.
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The Cult of the 9th and 9th Whale
You can't talk about this sculpture without talking about the "Sacred Whale." This isn't just a piece of art; it’s a local deity. Sort of.
In 2023, Salt Lake City faced some pretty intense weather. We had a massive snowpack that threatened to flood the entire valley as it melted. Somehow, a meme started on Reddit and Instagram. People began attributing the lack of catastrophic flooding to the whale. "All Hail the Whale" became the unofficial motto of the 9th and 9th district.
I’ve seen people leave salt packets at the base. I’ve seen it wearing a giant Santa hat. During Pride, it gets decked out in rainbow gear. It has become a community bulletin board that doesn't use words. It’s a vibe.
- The Artist: Stephen Kesler is known for large-scale realistic sculptures (his shop is called T-Rex Studios).
- The Build: The whale features a 40-foot span if you count the splash effects.
- The Neighborhood: 9th and 9th is arguably SLC's hippest corner, home to The Tower Theatre and King’s English Bookshop.
What it means for Salt Lake's identity
For a long time, Salt Lake City struggled with its image. It was seen as stuffy or monochrome. The 9th and 9th whale represents a shift toward the eccentric. It’s part of a broader movement of "placemaking," which is just a fancy urban planning term for "making a spot where people actually want to hang out."
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The roundabout itself was a point of contention for years. Traffic there was a nightmare. When the city installed the circle, they needed a centerpiece. They could have done a fountain or a bronze statue of a historical figure. Instead, they chose something that makes kids scream with joy and adults tilt their heads in confusion. That matters. It creates a "third space" that isn't work and isn't home.
The whale serves as a compass. If you’re lost in the avenues or coming down from the East Bench, you just look for the breaching fluke. It’s a waypoint for the city's bike-friendly corridors.
Addressing the critics
Not everyone is a fan. Some residents find it "gaudy" or "distracting." There was a brief period where people complained about the "whimsical" nature of the art detracting from the historic architecture of the surrounding homes. But if you look at the foot traffic at the nearby shops like Smith’s or Coffee Garden, the whale hasn't hurt business. If anything, it’s a destination. People drive from the suburbs just to take a selfie with it.
The 9th and 9th whale also sparked a conversation about sustainability. Because the outer coating is synthetic, there were questions about its lifespan in the harsh UV rays of Utah’s high-desert climate. So far, the whale is holding up. The city has a maintenance plan, but the community has taken on the role of its unofficial guardians.
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How to visit and what to do nearby
If you’re coming to see the whale, don't just snap a photo and leave. The 9th and 9th area is one of the few places in Salt Lake where you can truly spend a whole afternoon on foot.
Basically, park a few blocks away. The parking right at the intersection is almost always full. Walk toward the whale from 900 South. You’ll pass some of the best gelato in the state at Dolcetti Gelato. Grab a scoop of the sea salt caramel—it feels thematic.
- Check out the murals. The whale isn't the only art. The surrounding alleys are covered in professional street art.
- Visit King’s English Bookshop. It’s a legendary independent bookstore just a block away. It feels like a labyrinth inside.
- Eat at Pago or Hub & Spoke. Both are staples of the local food scene.
The Whale as a symbol of resilience
It’s weird to say a plastic whale is resilient. But think about it. It survived the 2023 "Great Salt Lake" crisis discussions, where locals were terrified the lake would dry up and blow toxic dust into the city. The whale became a symbol of hope for water. It’s a reminder that even in a desert, we are connected to the broader world.
The 9th and 9th whale isn't going anywhere. It has survived windstorms, political bickering, and the occasional prankster. It’s a landmark that defines modern Salt Lake: weird, colorful, and surprisingly deeply loved.
Practical Steps for Enthusiasts
If you're looking to dive deeper into the local art scene or just want to appreciate the whale properly, here is what you should do:
- Follow the local "Whale" accounts: There are several parody accounts on social media that track the whale’s "moods" and community events. It’s the best way to know if there’s a costume change happening.
- Support local public art: The SLC Arts Council is the group that helped bring the whale to life. They often have calls for artists or public meetings about new installations.
- Explore the 9-Line: The whale is situated near the 9-Line trail, a massive urban trail project connecting the east and west sides of the city. Use the whale as your starting point for a long bike ride.
- Respect the roundabout: Don't actually run into the middle of the street to touch the whale. It’s a busy intersection. Stay on the sidewalk; the photos look better from a distance anyway.
The 9th and 9th whale taught Salt Lake City that it’s okay to be a little bit ridiculous. In a world that often feels heavy, sometimes you just need a giant blue mammal to remind you to look up. It’s more than just foam and paint; it’s a shared joke that turned into a shared identity. Go visit it. Bring some salt. Say thank you for the rain. It couldn't hurt.