One of many
trip reports under the
SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie
Grow.
Email me at
ajs@frii.com.
Last update: July 26, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1990_0814-19_CanoeGreenRiver.htm)
I participated in various misadventures aboard houseboat Wildwind in the summer of 1989... See my previous trip report and reprise. Regardless, I liked Lake Powell so much, "I bought the company." Well more precisely, Mike Berry and I bought Doug Baskins' share of the boat in August 1990, just in time to use one of his two September weeks.
Rounding up co-adventurers was tough on short notice. But six of us we did gather, and we had a wonderful time at the lake, on a floating RV spacious enough for twice as many. Except I dislocated my left shoulder on Thursday -- ouch -- all that and more, to follow.
See also co-owner Mike Berry's humorous retelling of the same trip.
Friday, Sep 7: Bill Vodall and I departed HP Fort Collins at 1630 after a stressful work week, with my sailboat upside down on the roof of my Datsun. We made Glenwood Springs in time for a swim before closing, then pushed on to Green River SP in Utah at 0220.
Saturday, Sep 8: After a short night's sleep on green grass, we finished the looong drive to Bullfrog Marina in southeast Utah. Thanks to the magic of ham radio, we quickly located the other two vehicles containing Perry and Val Scott, Mike Berry, and Gwen Roe. Whee! Now to put Mike's speedboat in the lake, find Wildwind out on its buoy ("Fire in the Hole!"), beach that monster someplace ("gee the lake is low this year"), load her up, and get Out There.
Several hot, dusty hours later with loading and orientation complete, we were underway from around mile marker 104 (a floating pontoon) to Annies Canyon (84) for Saturday night. Once we left Bullfrog the low lake level was hardly noticeable. Lake Powell is big! We found a nice cove on the left side of Annies.
(Directions at Lake Powell were very tricky. Everything was relative to "the pink rock with the black spot.") It was a mellow, moonlit night; hot, clear, and lovely.
We had four ham radio operators aboard -- what a kick. Throughout the week we kept in touch with each other on handi-talkies (HTs). We chatted with people as far away as Australia using a 25 watt rig and various makeshift antennas, like our "broomstick dipole".
Sunday, Sep 9: Out to the main channel. With a crew of only six we couldn't afford a lot of boat driving (but we sure ate well...). So -- we cut the engines and drift down-canyon with the wind. We did a lot of that on this trip, and it was mighty nice and mellow. I rigged my toy sailboat, and we took turns playing in the decent but unsteady wind. Especially neat orange rocks plunged into the emerald green water on the north side around marker 82.
Slick Rock Canyon was small this year due to the low water, and quite crowded... Forget that. We moored in the left branch of a small unnamed finger on the north side of the main channel, around mile 81. That evening Bill and I took a splendid magical mystery tour up and completely out of the canyon, ~1800-2100. Part of the magic is that we started an hour apart, but still arrived at the same spot. The cliffs were so tall and everpresent below Bullfrog that we never expected to find an exit from the depths. So we didn't bring very full packs... nor flashlights.
Surprise, the sandy trail wound high above the narrowing water, through a wonderful echo chamber across from a tall wall that doubled every sound, to an apparent dead end below a small cliff band. Down and across a technicolor wash, there continued a path up broken rock to reach a higher layer of marvelous slickrock fantasy shapes, rounded and sensual. It was part of the Waterpocket Fold -- a couple miles northeast of Doug's "Slope Hike".
I friction climbed to the spectacular narrow top of a sandstone bump. What a view! There I waited for Bill to arrive behind me. (Remember the radios? I knew where he was all the time even though we were usually out of shouting range. Well, at least I knew he was near a black rock with a pink spot...) Eventually he joined me to see the last colors of sunset, and with little delay we started back. Before reaching Wildwind again we did some stumbling through the darkness, carefully watching for hidden cliffs.
Monday, Sep 10: We left late but "drove" the distance to the mouth of the Escalante River at around marker 68B. We parked across from it on a sand bar peninsula, a wide open spot near some tall cliffs. I toured Iceberg Canyon with Mike and Gwen in his speedboat. (If you get the impression that we each had our own strand in a rather braided week-long adventure, that's how it was, and usually is.)
That night the moonrise out of a curve in the distant rock was sublime and unforgettable, as the boat rocked gently in the darkness. Alas, the others had already fallen asleep on the top deck, and they missed it.
Tuesday, Sep 11: The morning was windy, a good time to sail around the wide bay. Later we moored in a sound cave about five miles up the Escalante River, just "below" a beautiful narrow side canyon with a hanging garden amphitheater at its head. Two major curves up, around a tight left, on the right. Got it? ("If you're lost, you must be in the Escalante.") Spectacular. "Dougs Sound Cave" in this canyon was unusable because the water was too low.
Mike took four of us to the Hole in the Rock hike. Again this year I speed-climbed it for the exercise and challenge, 1612:00-1629:30. Seventeen and a half minutes with a full daypack, wow. Then with Bill along the left (downstream) wall to an even more spectacular viewpoint than last year, on the other side of the V-shaped cliffs. Long, late-day shadows. Back down at 1820; and later, we paddled the sailboat like a canoe, over to the hanging garden. Another warm night under stars and rock.
Wednesday, Sep 12:
Let's go to Dangling Rope Marina for an ice cream cone! Everyone but Bill piled into Mike's boat. We set off downstream early in the morning, another beautiful day on the lake. Pretty bouncy, 26 miles down to marker 42, where there's a major marina -- and no roads to it. The pay phone was out of order. The sign on it said it would be fixed in several days. I learned it had been broken been for several years... A local joke.
The marina was on Arizona time. The ice cream stand didn't open for an hour. Oh well never mind, we had our other supplies. On the way back we detoured into Rainbow Bridge, featuring the world's largest freestanding arch, and probably one of its larger tourboat piers too. It was nice to hike away from the smelly floating pit toilets, and awesome to stand beneath the delicate behemoth arch. The overwhelming span crosses a creek on the north foot of Navajo Mountain, a local landmark.
Later that day Mike and Gwen dropped me at the Three Roof Ruin, a restored Anasazi cliff dwelling up the Escalante River, still some distance above Lake Powell's waterline. I burned my bare feet climbing the moki steps in the roasty heat. That night we moved Wildwind back to the edge of The Slope, a massive plane of colorful rock rising 1500' from the water on the southeast flank of the Waterpocket Fold.
Thursday, Sep 13: This morning I woke early and started up the Slope alone in the dark under stars and a crescent moon at 0415. It was so hot that after a while I peeled off my T shirt to hike in shorts, boots, and a headlamp I only occasionally needed. I was sleepy. The magical hillside full of gullies and ridges went on and on. Again this year I went too far right and didn't find the cliff, at least not in the dark. So after the terrain flattened out I made my way up a rounded rocky bump to top out at 0610.
I enjoyed a lovely, quiet sunrise all alone (clothing optional). From up there, lying on a warm rock, I could see to the edge of the earth over the rolling desert surrounding Glen Canyon. The Rincon, an old cut-off loop of the river, looked remarkably like a crater with a huge central peak. The sun rose around 0700 into a clear sky. Ah, desert solitude...
Finally I could see the long cliff to the southwest . I climbed down and strolled over to it. Wow! Quite expansive, a huge drop, incomprehensible. Just for fun I joined a morning ham net in Page and Flagstaff through the repeater on Navajo Mountain. A while later I retraced back past my sunrise bump to some higher white-rock knobs I had failed to summit last year. To my surprise I found a relatively easy route up the south side, through broken boulders and on soft dirt, to a neat, chaotic ridge leading to a high, small flat perch. What a view. I arrived about 0830 and stayed for about three hours(!)
Some of the others slept in until a sane time, then hiked a ways up the Slope. Bill eventually joined me on top. I guided him up by radio while experimenting with using a signal mirror to flash Perry on the Wildwind -- a tiny dot down at the lake shore.
Later we made radio contact with Doug Baskins. He was heading for Powell after a two week trip down the Grand Canyon. Bill and I started down the Slope southeast. Hot and running short on water, we reached our "campsite" soon after Wildwind departed upstream; Mike picked us up in his boat.
Doug had befriended a pair of German bicyclists. It was too hot for them to pedal. With them in his truck he headed for Halls Crossing Marina. From there Mike later gave them a ride to join us for a couple of nights.
While stopped for an "evaporation break" in mid-channel around marker 72, I dislocated my left shoulder for the first time [and by 2023, fortunately still the only time] -- diving off the top deck -- believe it or not, all I hit was water. What a painful injury! Horsing around is how it happened. Bill was waiting to soak me with a bucket of water when I went down the slide on the roof. I considering jumping on the bottom of it in a hurry, to catch him off guard. Nah, "too dangerous". Then I got a bright idea (right...). "Hey Bill, what's that over there? By the pink rock with the black spot?" Son of a gun, he looked. Quick, dive in!
As I'm upside down in mid-air, I hear Perry yell, "Look out, he's jumping!" I guess I glanced at Bill under my left shoulder... and hit the water weird. Immediately I knew what had happened. I looked up at a light green circle surrounded by dark green. Some unknown distance to daylight. I found the energy to kick to the surface and yell. Funny how the guys didn't understand or believe me for a moment. Then they started throwing in floatables. They just got in my way as I swam one-armed to the back deck.
Well to make the rest of the story short, I got helped over to the ladder where a passing boat swell relocated my humerus. Apparently I was lucky it went in so fast and easy.
I rigged up a sling, hurt like hell, took lots of aspirin, suffered with numbness and tingling due to nerve damage, finished the trip as best I could, and stopped at an emergency room in Grand Junction two days later on the way home, essentially for nothing more than a better sling. Ten physical therapy sessions did wonders. The moral is, follow the prime rule of Lake Powell: "Don't be stupid."
[2023 retrospective: I made the sling using a lost-and-found narrow but long swath of cotton fabric that was perfect for the job. A "gift from the lake" -- and in 20+ more years, I never came across anything like that again! Lost towels, boat parts, a 12' nylon rope with brass coupler, you name it; but not that.]
With Doug, Ulf, and Johannes finally aboard, racing the onset of darkness, we moored Thursday evening in a crummy spot in Bullfrog Bay.
Friday, Sep 14: This morning we took care of water and sewage at Halls, then proceeded upstream to Moki Canyon for a night in a "sound cave". Doug led a roasty hot afternoon hike up a branch canyon, past humongous sand dunes, to Anasazi ruins perched just between the cliffs above and the talus below. Yes, I climbed up to them, with great care... The hike was about two miles each way from the low waterline, several hours round trip.
Saturday, Sep 15: Back to Bullfrog this morning, housecleaning enroute, to gas up and unwind. It was slow and disorganized. We turned over the boat to the next week's owner around noon. Bill and I started the no-rush drive home around 1430. We enjoyed Melon Days at the city park in Green River, and camped on grass at Island Acres State Park off I-70 east of Grand Junction.
Sunday, Sep 16: We played radio over Loveland Pass, and played pizza at Beau Jos in Idaho Springs.
[I wrote at the time:] Just like the year before, despite the unexpected, I wanna go back again. "Once more, with feeling." And next time, no disasters! [The next trip, someone got a little injured, but I forget the details. Years later my daughter broke a small bone in her foot. Beyond that I don't recall any major disasters over a total of 45 houseboat vacation trips I ran, until the very last one.]
(Next trip report: 1990_0908-16_LakePowell_Mike.htm)