We embarked on a guided overnight kayak trip on Lake Powell yesterday. I correctly assumed that I wouldn’t have an opportunity to write a blog entry last night, and it would have been a little silly to pack my laptop along, so I’ll catch you up now.
We left the yurt yesterday morning by 8 a.m., descended the mountainside and ducked into the campground to retrieve the Teardrop. To our surprise, someone had left four unopened cans of Modelo beer on the fender. Was this an offering from some fellow travelers who were charmed by our cute little trailer? Or did the campground guests throw a raging party at our site and forget some of their booze as they stumbled back to their tents in the wee hours? We don’t know, but we accepted the gift, anyway, and tucked the cans into our cooler.
It took us about three hours to get to Page, AZ, and we found our way to the Antelope Bay Marina, where we unloaded our stuff. The night before, we had tried to pare down our gear into just a couple of bags containing a change of clothes, beach towels, sunscreen and water bottles, but we ended up lugging all of our pillows along, too, and one of our coolers, and all of this was way more than we needed. If we had shown up in just our swim suits, we would have been just fine.
The marina is big and bustling operation — definitely not what I expected. There’s a huge unloading zone where folks were unpacking suitcases, coolers, food and bags and bags of ice. To schlep all of this, Gators zipped up and down from the parking lot to the docks via a loooong ramp, designed that way to adjust to the dramatically fluctuating levels of Lake Powell. Moored at the docks were a couple hundred houseboats — from your standard 40-footer to shopping mall-sized vessels with garages for their Waver Runners and powerboats, and helipads up top.
The cart service dropped us off at the Hidden Canyon Kayaks skiff where our guides, Nick and Joe, and another family, the McGregors, from Edinburgh, Scotland, were already waiting for us. As soon as we loaded our things onto the boat, we were off.
We motored for about an hour through Lake Powell — covering only a tiny fraction of the 187-mile-long lake — and wound our way into Face Canyon, where Joe found a campsite and tied up the boat. We all helped unload the gear, then Nick and Joe set up the camp kitchen and prepared lunch while the rest of us spread out across the site, set up our cots and explored the area.
This otherworldly landscape blew me away: the cool, green waters of Lake Powell surrounded by red cliffs and curvaceous rock formations that look like dollops of butterscotch sliding off a sundae.
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| One of our guides, Joe, sets up the camp kitchen. |
After lunch, we set out in the kayaks, found a swimming spot and splashed around until clouds gathered and we heard a crash of thunder. Then we all piled back in our kayaks and battled a brisk wind on our way back to the campsite. We ended up with only a few drops of rain, and after the weather cleared, we went out in the kayaks again, returning in time for a steak and potatoes dinner that Joe had prepared on the grill.
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| Charlie borrowed a rod from our guides and threw out a few casts from shore. He caught a smallmouth bass... |
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| ... which Joe dressed up with garlic and lemon and served for dinner. |
After dinner, we sat around the campsite chatting and laughing and getting to know our new Scottish friends — Charles, Nicki, who are lovely and warm, and their three teenage children — Daniel, Lucy and Adam — who were quiet and shy around us, even as they constantly engaged each other in playful and raucous banter.
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| Our camp at sunset |
Then we all retired to our cots. Overcast skies covered the stars from our view, but at some point in the middle of the night, the clouds broke up and the full moon shone down so blindingly and cast such distinct shadows in the brush that it was as if someone had parked a car nearby and switched the headlights on.
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| Our bedroom last night -- Clare and Natalie are still sleeping. |
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| I found this guy next to my cot. |
In the morning, Keith and I swam across the bay and back before joining the others for hot coffee, pancakes and sausage. Then we packed up camp, piled into the kayaks and paddled off to explore a nearby slot canyon. There are hundreds of them that branch out from 96 major canyons that in turn branch out from the main reservoir, which was formed after the Glen Canyon Dam was built across the Colorado River in 1963. A map of Lake Powell looks like a diagram of the human circulatory system —a network of veins and arteries forking off into hundreds venules, which in turn split off into tiny capillaries. At full capacity, the shoreline of Lake Powell is 1,960 miles — longer than the U.S. west coast.
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| Breakfast with the McGregors |
Nick found a good spot for cliff jumping, and the kids each jumped about 25 feet into the water while Keith and I thoroughly freaked out. Noticing our anxiety, Nick pointed out a taller (100-foot) cliff directly across the lake and noted that someone died jumping into the late from that spot just last year. In fact, someone dies jumping into the lake from ridiculous heights every year. All of this was by way of saying that the comparatively tiny cliff we were on was like the bunny hill; perfectly safe. Um, thanks, Nick.
Joe motored the skiff to another swimming beach, and we met him there, took a dip in the water and had lunch before we headed back to the marina, unloaded our gear, repacked the van and took off for Colorado. Truly, those 30 hours on Lake Powell with Hidden Canyon Kayaks and our new Scottish friends were extraordinary and unforgettable.
It was almost 3 by the time we left the marina. We decided to drive straight to Mesa Verde National Park, in Colorado — about a four- or five-hour drive. About halfway through the trip, clouds gathered, the skies darkened, and we white-knuckled it through a thunderstorm. It wouldn’t have been so terrifying if I hadn’t had to steer the car through washed-out sections of road. The land here is too parched to absorb any of the rainwater, which gushes in torrents down the hills and across the highway.
By the time the weather cleared, we were close to the Four Corners monument — it's only, like, 100 yards off the road. We paid $5 per person to enter the site, stayed for a total of two and a half minutes and quickly got back on the road.
We had reservations at the Morefield campground at Mesa Verde, but by the time we cleared the National Park gate, it was after 8 p.m., and, from the lighting streaking through the skies in all directions, we could tell more bad weather was closing in. Rather than putting ourselves through the stress of setting up camp at dusk just before a thunderstorm, we opted to spend the night at the Far View Lodge, inside Mesa Verde National Park, about a 30 minute drive beyond the campground.
The dark clouds made the sky even darker as we wound our way up the park road. Shortly after we passed the park gate, we spotted a sign announcing, “No trailers allowed beyond this point.” There is even a lot near the entrance, where non-campers are supposed to unhitch their trailers before continuing up the road.
But it was dark, a storm was coming, and Keith was impatient to get to the lodge, so he seemed to view the decree as optional. I pleaded with him to please let me turn around and take the trailer back to the lot. My worst-case-scenario mom mind imagined a narrow road and a trailer toppling over the edge of a sheer cliff. But Keith was convinced that the “no trailers” signs were posted just to warn drivers about limited parking at the end of the road, so he urged me to press on.
We found our way to the Far View Lodge, checked in, and apologized to the desk staff for disobeying posted signs and towing a trailer all the way up to the lodge. The clerk shrugged us off and seemed to think it was no big deal. Then we squeezed ourselves into our small room; with the roll-away bed set up, there’s barely room to stand, but there is a balcony where we can step out and imagine — since it’s after 10 p.m. and is completely dark outside — panoramic views from the top of the mesa.
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