Lake Powell and The Grand Canyon
My Newfoundland, Priscilla, at Lake Powell.
“Part of her soul ... gloried in the sheer bodacious unnaturalness of it. Putting a great blue-green water park smack down in the red desert complete with cactus, trading posts, genuine Navajo Indians, and five kinds of rattlesnakes was theater of the absurd at its most outrageous.”
― The Rope by Nevada Barr
I had taken the hair-raising shortcut over the 12,000-foot Independence Pass, which, at that time, was unpaved and no guardrails to protect us from the 500-foot drop-offs. We had towed the 16-foot inboard/outboard motorboat all the way to Aspen from Kansas City. It was early fall of 1968 and time to go exploring in the boat except there was only one place to use a boat near Aspen, the newly formed Lake Ruedi, which while picturesque and unspoiled, was ice cold year around and limited in scope for a multiple day adventure.
I had heard there were great adventures to be experienced on the Colorado River and I decided to take my son, Jeff to Utah. But, when Jeff and I arrived at Moab, Utah, we were told that the Colorado was too low to navigate at this time of year although if we went farther west, we could try the newly formed Lake Powell, so west we went.
Arriving at the northernmost boat ramp on the lake we saw that there was a big problem: the water at the bottom of the ramp was crowded with huge floating tree trunks. The challenge was figuring out how to get through this mass of wood to the open water. Since the wind was calm, we were able to launch the boat, push aside logs, and reach open water at last. The water, although murky where we launched, cleared as we motored farther south along the magnificent shoreline. For three days we explored the sandstone cliffs that turn from pink to purple as the sun rises and the narrow slot canyons, going ashore each night to camp. We discovered another launching ramp called Bullfrog, which, on later trips, became our principal launching site, since it was on a more attractive part of the lake and the water was crystal clear.
Although we did a lot of exploring on that first trip, we saw less than a dozen other boats—a far cry from later years when we would see more than that in an hour on popular parts of the lake.
Lake Powell was formed when the Glen Canyon Dam was built across the Colorado River, backing up thousands of acres of water and forming a lake with more shoreline than the western coast of the United States. At some places, the depth is over 500 feet. The exploring was fantastic; there were some areas where you could hike up to caves that had petroglyphs from ancient Indian tribes. There was also an acre-sized area where the ground was littered with large pieces of petrified wood.
This first trip inspired a fascination with Lake Powell that lasted many years. Betty and I really started exploring in earnest when I bought a one fourth interest in what I thought was a perfect Lake Powell boat, The Aspen Four. This boat had a small galley, a table that seated four, which converted to a bed, and, best of all, a huge, cushioned platform in the stern that made for a perfect outdoor sleeping area. We often explored the lake with other couples and would find a sandy spot to nose ashore. Our friends slept in a tent on the beach while Betty and I slept in the boat.
Two particularly memorable experiences come to mind. One was when Tita and Xander Kaspar set up a tent and Tita surrounded their tent with an extremely heavy hemp rope. When asked about this, Tita told me it had kept away the snakes. To which I responded, “Great and it also kept away the elephants!”
The other instance was when we pulled up to a small island where Barbara and Carson Bell set up camp. The wind came up strong enough that we drifted off during the night without waking up. Imagine their shock to wake up in the morning and find themselves on a tiny island without a boat in sight!
After Betty and I were married in Tucson in 1977, we had our reservations and our bags packed for our honeymoon in Hawaii. At the wedding party we learned that several of our guests had chartered a houseboat and were going directly to Lake Powell. We had been having so much fun that they did not have a hard time convincing us to cancel our trip to Hawaii and join them with our boat. It was a fabulous few days, but we felt terrible when, after we got back to Aspen, we learned that our good friend, Chris Hemiter, had planned a huge surprise party for us at his home in Honolulu.
The Friendship Cruise
The Marine Store in Moab told us about The Friendship Cruise, which is a cooperative effort of the Chambers of Commerce of Green River, Utah and Moab, Utah. It is held every spring, covers 184 miles, and makes some of the most remote river areas in the U.S. available for exploration; making a trip that is extremely risky to do on your own into a safe and scenic adventure.
The following year, Jeff and I signed up. We launched our boat at Green River, Utah, and explored the Green River south to its confluence with the Colorado, just a few miles north of where the Colorado begins to form Lake Powell. We then turned north and ran the Colorado upstream to Moab, where our trailer was awaiting us, having been towed from Green River by the Chambers of Commerce. We passed examples of “Navajo Tapestry,” deep purples, burnt red and oranges, and shiny blues on the sandstone walls that had taken centuries to form. It was the river trip of a lifetime.
Although the number of boats on the lake increased exponentially, there were still plenty of remote areas to explore. One of our favorite adventures was going down a new canyon where the sheer walls on both sides were several hundred feet straight up. The channel would get narrower and narrower until both sides of the boat were rubbing against the walls, and you could go no farther. We had to push our way back along the sides of the canyon to a place where it was wide enough to use the engine.
Our Lake Powell adventures ended when we got involved in ocean sailing and it wasn't until several years later that I decided it was time to explore the Colorado River as it roars through the Grand Canyon. I arranged to do it on a powered raft because, being a purist and floating the canyon using only oars called for too many slow days for our young group. I invited Lee Lyon who brought one of his granddaughters, Kim, Sara, Jackson, Jeff and Candy's son, Steven. It was an exciting three-day trip. Our guides would find a wide sandbar each night and we would set up camp while they prepared a delicious dinner. Lee managed to throw a little spice in the mix by introducing the kids to the joys of the bourbon bottle. We caught some fish, sang campfire songs and enjoyed hot, sunny weather. If you are brave, you could cool off with a 42-degree dip in the freezing cold Colorado River.
One afternoon is engraved in my memory forever. There were storm clouds forming so we hiked up under a huge overhang to have our lunch. It rained cats and dogs for about 15 minutes while we ate and then the sun came out again. We returned to the rafts and, as we started back down the river, magnificent waterfalls were plunging off the canyon walls. It was short-lived but unbelievably beautiful. One of those sights you never forget.
The trip ended just before we entered Lake Mead and we were taken out of the canyon by helicopter. This was about as thrilling as anything in the canyon when we zoomed just above ground level between the towering canyon walls.