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: 1993_0903-05_HaydenGorge.htm)
By Perry Scott and Alan Silverstein
Walk Like Anasazi, Part 2 -- "We came, we saw, we hiked, we got stuck a lot." -- at Lake Powell, Utah
Alan needs to pick up Kent Fletcher at Grand Junction International, so he leaves at oh-dark-thirty Saturday morning (Fort Collins to DeVries Fruit Market in under five hours, wow). The trip is fast but there's lots to do, like buying fruit. He finds Kent, who he's never met, around noon, 20 minutes late, without having to resort to blue "Walk Like Anasazi" visor and outrageous nudity. Both proceed to buy engine oil in Grand Junction and final fresh fruit and veggies at a market in Fruita. Iron Maiden, the Subaru, is now fully loaded with food, supplies, and a sailboat on the roof. As usual, things fall out when doors are opened.
Where's Perry? Plan A is to meet in GJ for conjugal afternoon Utah sightseeing. He should be on the 820 repeater by now. Perry left behind Important Personal Effects and had to drive back 30 miles to home to recover them, so he's several parsecs away. Perry, not knowing the subaudible tone for the Glenwood link, glides through Glenwood Canyon listening to Alan's autopatch call to Mikey's Garage. Another ham reveals the magic frequency (107.5 instead of the Front Range's customary 100.0). Perry, out of the canyon by now, punches the right buttons and briefly talks to Alan before he disappears into Utah. They agree to activate plan B: Meet at Green River State Park that night.
Alan and Kent take the scenic back road to Moab. Enroute they admire Fisher Towers up close and personal, after negotiating a path through a flotilla of Hollywood trucks filming "City Slickers 2" on the obscure dirt track to Fisher Towers. "Are you the guys what needed a sailboat delivered?" They admire Hollywood's ability to turn any location into a sound stage, and then into a bizarrely modified replica of itself.
Meanwhile back in Boulder, Bob Jenk and Paula Gray, amidst manifold water toys, meet John Yockey after CU's loss to Miami. John is somber. (Although it's hard to tell since he's so quiet anyway.)
Perry spends the afternoon at Mikey's (Mike Berry's) Garage in Grand Junction. Mikey's Garage is not connected to commercial power and many systems are still incomplete -- it's like camping out at home. Mike demonstrates one of the advantages of the Garage -- target practice from one's living room. Numerous .22 shell casings are still being found in Perry's truck bed. Perry, Mike, and Kim (Mike's SO) watch the season premier of "Star Trek -- The Next Generation" with the help of a 12 to 120 volt inverter.
Even as Perry absorbs the 24th Century, Alan and Kent absorb Subway sandwiches and sunset at Delicate Arch. Alan gets his speeding ticket out of the way early, enroute the trailhead in Arches pushing the celestial deadline. A federal citation this time, for doing 40 in a 25 on stretch of road that wasn't even paved until this spring. But it's a gorgeous evening anyway.
Perry, Alan, and Kent meet at Green River and sleep on the grass under the stars.
Alan needs last-minute houseboat supplies (OK, toilet parts) at Bullfrog Marina. He departs Green River while Kent and Perry consume a leisurely breakfast in a local restaurant. Later, Bob, Paula, and John are located by radio in the Defiance House Lodge parking lot, victims of a mobile all-nighter, at Bullfrog Marina at Lake Powell. Great! We almost have a quorum. Now where's Joe Armstrong, and how does he find us? A note is left at the Marina Store.
Meanwhile Bob and company unload astonishing water toys at Hobie Cat Bay and finally launch his ski boat, the Connie L (don't ask what the hell the "L" stands for; but the engine is named Phil L, if that helps). After 1/2 ton of goods are piled on the beach, Alan and Perry are ferried to the houseboat which is moored at the buoy. Fortunately the Captain has a brief checklist which persuades an excitable First Mate to ensure Wildwind's seaworthiness before putting fire in the hole. Both engines start without incident. Wildwind rams the beach at Hobie Bay, Joe arrives, and provisions are loaded. It's 1:30 and we might make it out of here in record time yet, despite the Captain's orientation talk...
Bob tests a new prop. The new propeller doesn't. While reswapping the prop, the Second Mate loses a shoulder washer in 3' of cloudy water. Mass search ensues. ("Everybody into the lake barefoot!") Second Mate is threatened with keel-haul but purchases new $20 part at the Marina. Wildwind, Connie, crew, and manifold water toys leave Hobie Cat Bay without incident (at 3:30, sigh), charting a southerly direction.
The Captain makes minor repairs to a gooped ignitor and we have two working refrigerators. What a luxury. For the first time ever we need no more ice runs to a marina during the week. The Captain installs two new fresh water taps in the heads and they work too. Eventually so does the broken toilet. All the comforts of home...
Wildwind cruises southerly until nightfall. We stop once for our first of several "evaporation breaks". Naked down the rooftop water slide into the lake! Alan discovers to his astonishment that Paula does not swim and, regrettably, won't be using the water slide.
Does the sun really go down at 7 pm this time of year? We run out of daylight at The Slope near Iceberg Canyon and find mooring there.
After supper, Captain Alan spontaneously announces his intent to sleep onshore for the first time -- way, way onshore. [2023: And the only time I ever did that!] The target is "Camera Butte". (Perry just invented that name, but it's as good as any, and it's easier to say than, "the white bump next to the big red rock with the black spot on top of the Waterpocket Fold across from the Rincon and you still don't know what I'm talking about do you?"). It's a sandstone bump about 100' high on top of the Waterpocket Fold, about 1500' above the lake. Getting there requires a moonlight saunter up a slickrock hill punctuated by sheer-walled gulches, snakes (none sighted), and the occasional cactus.
The First mate is dubious. Later the crew shows their concern by turning out the lights and the radio and going to bed, leaving the Captain all alone marching in the eerie moonlight.
The Captain makes a comfy camp on the top rocks, relaxes, and lets some of the natural nocturnal fear fade. But just before bedtime, he chats with a ham in Page who mentions to beware the Navajo skin walkers -- evil spirits that roam the slickrock taking on any shape they wish. Suddenly the enormous, impressive silver-gray lunar landscape is full of whispered threats. The Captain doesn't sleep well that night...
Captain's Log, 930926: "I spent the first night 1500' above the lake, alone in the moonlight... Very comfortable, but lunar and eerie, and I was afraid of the Navajo "skin walker" spirits getting me... Watching the orange moonset around 3 am was almost frightening because (a) it was a moving thing in a still world, and (b) it got dark afterward."
Before sunrise Joe says "good morning" to the Captain by radio, scampers off, and joins him at the top around 8:30. Meanwhile, John works the fish off the swim deck and Perry works the coffee pot off propane. After a leisurely breakfast, John and Perry take off for the summit, leaving Paula and Kent on the boat. Bob is still asleep, as is his custom. Kent is on vacation and can't be bothered.
John walks at a slightly slower pace while Perry scampers upward. After several encounters with the aforementioned sheer-walled gulches, Perry begins to understand: John conserves energy by not being the scout. Perry lags behind John for the rest of the trip.
Alan and Joe find more Anasazi stone relics at the base of Camera Butte. Later all four meet at "Boulder in the Sky" further north. (Radioactivity has its benefits.) Joe demonstrates remarkable comfort on steep rock. Perry once again overcomes his acrophobia. All hikers admire the incredible view and head down to recover their packs.
Captain Alan continues on to new territory, the next slickrock bump to the north. The First Mate observes that in this country one bump looks just like the rest, and goes down. Joe and John defer and join him. Joe insists on carrying down Alan's sleeping bag so he can't stay out another night. (Thanks, Joe.)
Alan makes it to the next high point as the three others arrive at the boat. When he calls by radio all that is heard is a loud slurping noise. Unfortunately, cold beverage cannot be transmitted with present RF technology, regardless of antenna gain. Rather than wait for the 24th century to arrive, Alan must make his way home before sucking down his quantum of carbonated fluid.
Alan is actually far enough north that "Not Annys Canyon" is a reasonable egress. The First Mate observes that the Second Mate is absent along with the ski boat and the rest of the crew. It's a little early for a mutiny, and knowing the Second Mate's penchant for water sports, Perry advises the Captain to chart a direct course back to Wildwind since the transporters aren't online. Alan finds an "interesting" return route.
Later we learn that the Second Mate took Paula and Kent in Connie to visit "Dougs Cathedral" in Iceberg Canyon. They are suitably impressed by the hanging gardens and "altar rock". (No sacrifices or rituals are reported.) Meanwhile all hikers safely return from Up Yonder by 2:30. The Captain is out nearly 17 hours with just two liters of water, but arrives undehydrated and in high spirits. Let's head south!
The scouting party, being a committee, takes a long time to locate an ideal spot. It turns out nice enough, so wonderful in fact that it's a place we've moored before -- but 30' lower. Coincidentally it's convenient for the "Walking Rock Canyon" hike. It's also convenient for practicing beached-whale de-anchoring the next day.
The Captain shows the crew impressive photos of an enormous boulder standing on three pillar-like legs high above the lake. Most of the crew is inspired to brave the elements to go see this natural wonder. The "Walking Rock" is eventually sighted high on the slickrock wall of a glen canyon, but is discovered to be only about a foot tall. Slickrock is like that. The crew abandons the fantasy of standing beneath the rock, but exposes much silver oxide anyway. "Let your fingers do the walking..."
Back at the boat we notice that as usual we've really smegged up the water and it's time to take our leave. Next stop, the "Sandy Beach" a mile upstream and across from the mouth of the San Juan River. Oops, first stop, right here, while we figure out how to yank Wildwind off the shore with a ski boat. "I just don't get it Captain, we should be moving like a bat out of hell."
Unfortunately the solid anchoring job preferred by the Captain includes wiggling the boat's rear end with both engines full forward, hard ashore, to take the slack out of the anchor lines. Step 1 is to wiggle the rear end back out. It doesn't. Step 2 is to have all crew members get out and push the boat afloat. They do, it doesn't. "What's the longest you've ever been stuck?", innocently asks a first-time Powell person. Step 3 is to have all crew members stand on the back deck. They do, nothing changes. Step 4 is to break one or more tow lines and/or foul one or more props by yanking on the houseboat with the ski boat. Although this is tedious, it is usually effective (and definitely good for amusing uninvolved bystanders). It's a Good Thing this works because step 5 involves the Captain digging out the pontoons by hand. This usually kills the Captain through drowning, bleeding, or embarrassment. This time we break a tow line but we don't foul a prop, and we're outta here.
Enroute the San Juan, four intrepid explorers are dropped and recovered by ski boat at the Hole in the Rock hike. They record a less than record time, which means it's lots of fun. Meanwhile the Captain drags around the insatiable Second Mate on his air chair. Wildwind drifts abandoned in the bay in sight of the ski boat; winds continue calm.
At the top of Hole in the Rock, all the hikers read various plaques and sign the guest register. One is impressed by the Mormon settlers' engineering. But you can still hear the Indians' laughter echoing off the canyon walls as they observed the operation. Yes, you can cross the river here, but only with great effort (or nowadays, a ski boat).
While overlooking the lake, Joe freaks out Perry by standing on a slickrock precipice that eventually drops away to certain death. Joe points out a small safety shelf below but Perry is still freaked. Perry begins his descent expecting arms, legs, and rock to come showering down at any moment. All descend safely and are reunited with Connie L. None of the hikers takes a swim before coming aboard...
Various ski boat explorations are made of the Cottonwood Canyon area. Four nice camp sites are pinpointed and numbered before we stop counting. But wanderlust prevails; Wildwind passes them by and goes on down south to the "Sandy Beach".
The scouting party miraculously locates the one deep channel along the beach. Wildwind finds safe harbor after dodging shallow rocks. Later we admire the gallant but futile efforts of two other houseboats to beach nearby. Their pontoons just don't quite get them into gangplank distance of the shallow shore. Gee, we have it all to ourselves. Too bad.
That evening Bob, John, and Perry go water skiing. After seven attempts, Bob offers some advice to Perry: "Maybe you're too tired from hiking." Perry succeeds on the 8th attempt knowing that he's now having entirely too much fun. He vows to hike less and ski more.
In the morning there's finally some breeze so the Captain rigs his toy sailboat and takes a test spin. Others play too until the wind dies.
Most of the crew eventually gathers energy to ascend the long, continuous slickrock slope up and to the right from the beach. What a kick. Passing deeply incised frog ponds including a live rattlesnake, the Captain briefly considers freeing the apparently trapped reptile. The First Mate observes ample tadpoles and other snake food. The First Mate is also reticent about rendering first aid with a dull spoon should the snake reward the Captain for his efforts. The snake remains in the trap until the next gully washer.
The hikers eventually top out on the balconies above the cliffs above the Wildwind. It's nice enough to hang out for an hour. Alan leaves voicemail for Jer/ back at HP via Window Rock marine telephone. Since HP voicemail is a 1-800 number, the call is free! "Having a wonderful time, wish you were here, bring pizza."
Later that same afternoon everyone simultaneously reaches a pleasant state of clutch slippage. Joe plays more flute in various caves. The Captain gives Paula a swimming lesson. It gets late. It gets dark. We stay two nights in one spot. Ski boat and Wildwind engines suffice to stir up the water a bit, giving the illusion no houseboat has been here a while. (It must be noted here that houseboat effluent, gray water only, drains directly into the lake, which fortunately is very very big.)
Time to make an early departure for a change. It's 8:15 and we're yanking the well-entrenched Wildwind off the beach again (*^@$#!@). Now it's 8:45 and we're cruising the waves, dodging tour boat wakes. Decision time; let's spend one night in the San Juan River and one in the Escalante River. Sounds like a plan. Onwards.
The San Juan goosenecks eat an incredible amount of time. (Not really, it just feels that way if you're driving.) Two miles by crow and six by river, or something like that, distances are uncertain here on Riverworld.
Send out the scouting party. Lessee -- we want a sloping beach for Bob and Paula to sleep on, but deep water off the back for swimming. We want clear water for swimming, but weeds for the fishermen. We want a sheltered place for the night, but wind for the sailboat and sailboard. We want a sandy beach on which we can't get stuck. The First Mate concludes the solution is the empty set, and orders the Wildwind to ram a sandhill in Cha Canyon. Meanwhile the Captain is preoccupied with replacing a marine radio antenna (Acme Swimsuit Engineering and Wrecking at work) and can't be bothered.
Full moon occurs uneventfully at about 1:10 pm. Alan sails, Bob sailboards, Kent, Joe, and John read books. Perry finds the Navajo repeater via several miles of rock with his 9db beam. Paula declines another swimming lesson. Perhaps she's afraid that if she improves enough we'll all want her to use the water slide naked.
Captain's Log: "The group was great, but I found an excuse to leave 'em alone for 4.5 hours, heh heh. Sailed across the big unnamed bay, swam in the warm green and golden waters on the far shore, and then sailed in the downstream direction over a mile in shifting winds to moor at a phenomenal pinnacle on the inside of a hairpin turn in the river. Scrambled up 200' of steep loose debris from a relatively recent ridge collapse to admire the sheer size of and bottomless cleft next to the remaining tower. The tumbled rocks plunged deep into the clear waters beneath my toy boat. Time to go home, winds still challenging but usable. Wildwind sent out a ski boat to check on me at some point, but they couldn't locate me... I had the radio off... Ah, solitude..."
That night, the insatiable John again demands high speed towage across water with planks strapped to his feet. Perry tries same and is treated to max-RPM dropoff at the swim deck. Unfortunately he is not wearing corrective eyewear. Seeing a looming red blob (Wildwind) approaching, he executes a panic stop several hundred feet short of target. It's a long swim home. Later, Perry treats Bob to the same max-RPM dropoff. Bob wants to do it again.
Next morning it's time to do the hike deferred from the evening before. Half an hour up Cha Canyon the crew seeks and finds numerous examples of Anasazi and Navajo art etched into the south faces of boulders near the fork in the stream. It is the consensus of the party that the Anasazi did not execute the houseboat petroglyph. The First Mate steps down hard on a sharp rock, bruising his foot. Good thing it's Friday.
Return to Wildwind, cast off, wiggle off the shoals (again, sigh), launch downstream. One more night out away from Bullfrog Marina, and we wanna see the Escalante again.
Earlier measurements indicated the houseboat goes 3/4 as fast on one engine as on both. Apparently two engines are sufficient to push to hull speed. So while the houseboat limps north on the main channel on one engine to save fuel, most of us race south in Connie to visit Music Temple Canyon, Twilight Canyon and its unnamed arch, and Rainbow Bridge.
Captain's Log: "Bob flew Connie up the six or so switchbacks in Twilight Canyon to the arch in 90 impressive seconds. No other thrill is quite like warp 9 in a narrow canyon in a ski boat. We passed Connie through the small arch (hole in a wall really) whose floor was just flooded, and whose roof was only 10' overhead. Color, intensity, sunlight reflecting, green water, red rock, hard to describe..."
Later we relieve the poor First Mate who was left aboard to drive Wildwind north. There is now a short delay while the houseboat pretends to be a floating gas station. We sell ten gallons of precious engine-bodily fluids to a damsel in distress and her children on a rental boat. Without further procrastination it's time to enter the halls of the Escalante River. We discover again that getting lost in the Escalante is a natural process.
The scouting party finds "Dougs Sound Cave" occupied, but then discovers mooring in Davis Gulch just below LaGorce Arch -- sheer vertical walls, a sinuous route, and a sound cave that will cover the entire houseboat. No onshore sleeping for Bob, but he defers. Perry waits at the Arch while Bob and John go back out to the Escalante River to contact Wildwind by radio.
An hour passes. Perry grows concerned. Can Alan pilot his 61' of boat around all the twists and turns? Sure, Twilight was worse last year. Maybe they hit the wall and capsized? No, Wildwind has separate pontoons. The starboard engine had gone down during the day -- maybe Alan gave up in disgust? These are the things you contemplate while sitting all alone on the talus slope of a sound cave.
A crow flies from the canyon rim through the arch saying, "Don't worry, be happy." Perry hears the crow, but doesn't notice three "hi, Perry" horn blasts from Wildwind.
Soon a mighty roar rings off the walls -- Alan is still three turns away, but sound carries a long distance in this canyon. Maybe the obnoxious jet ski that passed will meet 20 tons of houseboat and not pester us again.
The nearby pre-present V-hull cabin cruiser lake campers are dismayed as they watch the Wildwind approach. Then they are not amused by our back-and-fill operations in the narrow turns. (They don't like our Mozart either, echoing off the arch's surrounding walls... Next morning, they are gone before we cast off. We didn't even need Ozzy Osbourne.)
It's after sunset but we get moored in time. The Captain observes the depth off the rear of the boat to be 72', which is more than the sum of the depths on all previous nights this week. "The water slide is open. Watch for bubbles in your blood when you come up."
We make a sacrificial onshore offering of leftover rigatoni to the resident sound cave mouse in exchange for safe passage around hantavirus. Bob briefly considers hauling a mattress up to a flat spot just under the arch, then sleeps on the boat. That evening Joe plays his flute. The acoustics are magical at LaGorce Arch.
Captain's Log: "Sailing in the dark... Floating on warm water with moonlight pouring through a small arch (huge really) in a huge wall (really really huge) high above you (50' just up to the base of the arch, we think), under the roof of a 'sound cave' that includes the arch... And on the other side an enormous U-shaped roof edge with stars beyond it... Saying 'ooommm' to hear the reflections... Sailing back around to the houseboat moored on the other side... Bringing back Joe and his flute and holding position in the moonlight while he serenades the Great Spirit..."
It is late in the trip. Death would only cheat the dying party out of one more day of frolic. Hence three brave crew members take the famous plunge into the lake from the upstream side of the arch. Two leap from the lowest point about 35' up, and one, whose name would be forever enshrined in the halls of heroism if it included such foolish acts, launches his mortal coil from nearly 50' above the water. All bodies, still breathing, are quickly recovered by Alan and Joe in Connie L. The worst injuries of the escapade are sustained by Joe, an innocent photographer, when Alan guns the engine and nearly pitches him overboard.
Perry demonstrates that driving Wildwind back out of Davis Gulch isn't nearly as difficult as Alan made it look. That is, after he is humbled by his first high-speed back-and-fill.
Upon reaching the main channel of the Escalante, it materializes that all seven members of the crew are inclined to hike the incline up and out to overlook "Dougs Sound Cave". This would be no problem if there were a place to moor and abandon Wildwind at the foot of the ramp. But alas, the higher water level leaves only bare slickrock exposed. Various logistical debates and noble sacrifices ensue, whereupon eventually around noontime the order is given, "Launch the hikers!"
Bob and Alan motor off in Connie L to play in the Escalante and to eventually recover the hikers, while Perry drives Wildwind single-handed (dunno what he does with his other hand), on one engine to save fuel, out to the Colorado River and several miles upstream to boot. He is getting good at this. Maybe we should pay him for doing it... Nah, just get him to go hiking without sunscreen so he gets toasted, and then he's happy to stay indoors and play water-trucker.
Bob and Alan find it's possible to hike a ways up past water's end in Clear Creek Canyon, above the submerged Cathedral in the Desert. That is, once they get past a passel of ski boats and a sinuous slippery slickrock slot. Later they swim and sun at the foot of "Dougs Sound Cave" while chatting by radio with the hikers on a balcony a computed 484' overhead. This distance is based on the impressive 5.5 seconds it takes a tossed-in rock to hit the water.
As the hikers descend, Connie L makes a run up to Dow Canyon and the huge sound cave in Willow Creek Canyon. It returns at just the right time to recover the hot and sweaty slickrock warriors. This time they are encouraged to jump naked into the lake before coming aboard. Male members acquiesce; female member settles for getting her clothing wet.
Somewhat later Connie L regains Wildwind in the main channel. It's kinda like driving up to your house except the house is moving away from you or floating around in circles and you're not sure where it is and you have to match speeds and avoid falling in the lake as you step up to your back door. I guess it's really not the same at all. Never mind.
We proceed apace up toward our last night's homesite near Halls Crossing Marina. Most crew members except the Captain take turns out on Connie playing various water sports. The hard-working ski boat drives from Davis Gulch to Halls Crossing Marina that day and then some. Approaching "civilization", the Captain wonders why are there so many mosquitos, uh, V-hull cabin cruisers, out on the lake. Don't they know it's October? This is not a good sign.
It's getting toward sunset. Alan leads a scouting party and quickly locates a very nice sandy beach in an unexpected place, between Halls Creek Bay and Bullfrog Bay across from Halls Crossing Marina. Bob would rather push on to islands previously visited nearer Bullfrog, but they're over the sunset event horizon, so we take what's in range. Moonrise during our second steak dinner of the week is phenomenal.
Captain's Log: "The last night I sailed silently by moonlight into Halls Crossing Marina, normally a zoo, almost deserted at night, moored in a slip and checked my voice mail 10' away on the floating dock, wearing a speedo and a T shirt. Sailed back to join the group at a campfire on the beach. I must remember to do this more often."
The Captain demonstrates his growing aplomb by not rushing to head to the marina. Finally it's almost 9 am and time to depart. Being we're once again well and solidly aground, it takes another half hour to get moving other than merely side-to-side. The Captain nearly must execute the dreaded Step 5.
At Halls Crossing Marina there's an unusual long line for the sewage dock. No sweat, let's fill gas and propane first. This is uneventful and not even too expensive. Back to the sewage dock. Still a line. The pump is down. Oh no.
We head for Bullfrog Marina five miles away. Growing concern, well founded. The sewage dock at Bullfrog is eventually located and we are only about number 5 in line, but it takes 20 minutes a boat. It's a zoo. We wait for almost an hour. Fortunately the sewage dock services two boats at a time. Unfortunately the crew is nearly done cleaning and packing and the hour is growing late. Fortunately there is little breeze and station-keeping is easy. Unfortunately there is little breeze and the holding tank really stinks. Fortunately no one is expecting to get the boat from us at noon sharp.
Sewage sucking finally goes without a hitch. But fresh water intake nearly blows out the tank when the backflow valve doesn't. The Captain swears once again that the Wildwind is haunted. John drives Wildwind into Hobie Cat Bay for disembarkation and finds solid gravel on which to perch the boat, oops, 30' from shore. Well let's unload and maybe it will float off... uh huh.
Finally about 1 pm the first vehicle launches for home, leaving behind Perry's gear bag. It's buried in Bob's half ton of water toys on the beach looking to have suitcase sex with an air chair. Suddenly the crew is no longer a lucky number and bad things happen fast. Suffice it to say that in the course of yanking Wildwind free, the Captain manages to for the first time ever foul a prop... In fact both of them, in separate events. No harm is done but it's a maniac laugher.
Rather later Alan and Kent secure Wildwind to the buoy and sail back to shore, just for fun. Oops, no wind. Take 2: Alan and Kent paddle back to the boat ramp, 20 sweaty bouncy minutes away. Alan runs to get his car, the one with the broken tail-light thanks to an anonymous parking lot incident sometime during the week. Joe and Kent head for Hanksville while Alan loads his sailboat on the roof and takes a last swim. Meanwhile Bob is dodging a citation from the Park Service for hauling out Connie at Hobie Cat Bay His lewd and lasvicious rubber thingie gets confiscated, but that's another story.
Alan admires the hour and a half line of vehicles waiting to use the boat ramp and is glad his water toy lives on the roof instead of a trailer. (Later Alan marvels at the Park Service's efficiency in enforcing the "no boat ramp here" regulation at the worst possible time.) Apparently it's a Utah school holiday weekend. Hmm, one more thing to avoid in future. The last crew member departs the lake at a record late time of 3:45 pm.
Cruising through the delightful desert, Alan notices Connie L aground in her trailer on the highway shoulder. Bob is elbow deep in air conditioning parts. Alan hangs around awhile offering help. "Hey Paula, pretty lady, want a ride out of this dump?"
The unlucky number 5 remaining crewfolk dine together at the world-famous Stan's in Hanksville and finally leave after 6 pm. Meanwhile Perry and John drive home with nary a dinner stop. Alan bags it in Grand Junction and shares a motel room with Kent, to see him off to Hawaii at the airport the next morning. Acme Wrecking and Delivery Service returns Perry's lost gear bag to him in the HP parking lot at 1 pm Monday and the adventure is officially over. Nothing left but paperwork and photographs and peeling scabs.
It was a great trip. No drunks, no whiners, and everybody did their share of the chores. The food was good and copious, the weather was sweet, and it didn't even cost much.
(Next trip report: 1993_1023-1108_STS58_QSO.htm)