Memories

Lake Powell

I remember summers with my dad and brother, visiting Lake Powell on the Arizona/Utah border. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

If you've never been there, or seen pictures, it's a little like the Grand Canyon, half-filled with water. Etched in my memories are the unbelievable hues of red rock, in cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the deep blue water.

Our first visit there was with my grandparents for an evening dinner cruise. It was enough to make us want more.

So the following year, we went for three days and nights, renting a houseboat (which is the way to do it). Actually, if you have the money, it would help to also have a smaller boat to go ahead to scout for good beaches to dock the boat overnight. Cruising the lake in the day, anchoring in the evenings in a canyon, and just enjoying all the beauty Lake Powell has to offer, remains my favorite vacations of all time.

I was sixteen on the first trip, and Dad took us there for Stuart's graduation present. It was awesome. But it was our second trip, for my graduation present that I remember the most.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Without him, I would have been fat and lazy, and never wanted to do anything. In fact, I probably would have just enjoyed the lake from the deck of our boat. Instead, Stuart "dragged me along" on some adventures. On a couple of occasions we went hiking up the sandstone hills in one of the canyons we overnighted in.

On one of the hikes, as we began the climb, we found a brand new, unopened package of nylon rope. Obviously someone had dropped it, so we left it there, thinking someone might come back looking for it. I'm not sure how high we had climbed, but Stu (being the more adventurous one), went into an area I wasn't sure I wanted to try. I saw him climb over a steep area, and just sat, enjoying the view. Maybe two hundred feet below us, our houseboat looked like a toy. I'm sure dad was inside, enjoying some peace and quiet, which would be lost a little later. But more on that in a bit.

After a few minutes, Stuart called me, telling me he thought he was stuck. Not much I could do about it from where I was. If he had gotten stuck, there was no way I could have helped him out. He said below him was a 150 drop, and ahead of him was more than a 90 degree slope, with no way to climb. Somehow, he had made his way into a little bowl of sorts, and couldn't get out.

Thank you, God, for leaving a brand new package of rope for us to use. I climbed back down, found the rope, and headed back up. It's a miracle of sorts that I found him, also. The hills were red sandstone, and very little difference between one spot and the next. I marked nothing on the way down, and my ability to find my way around wasn't the keenest in the world. But I managed to get close enough for us to yell to each other as a way of finding out where he was, and where I needed to be.

I found a spot above him, and found a little alcove where I could tie the rope around my waist, and wedge myself in as an anchor. Tossing the other end of the rope blindly down the hill, it came close enough for him to grab. After a few moments of minor rope burn, he had climbed his way out, and we were ready to head back to the houseboat for dinner. Without the miracle rope, there's no telling what would have happened.

"Wow...what a coincidence."

I think not.

On our way back down to the boat, we discovered what had been a minor nuisance was now a major issue. A huge yacht came down the channel, causing quite a large wake. Our cute little houseboat, which we had anchored to rock, was being slammed against the rocks with the waves. From what had to be close to 100 feet up, we could hear dad yelling inside the houseboat.

I've never tried to fix a spaghetti dinner on a storm in the high seas, but that's what it must have felt like to Dad. By the time we got there, most of it was cleaned up, and the steam coming off his angry forehead was beginning to subside. (Hence the suggestion of having another boat along to scout for better overnight areas).

The next night, Stu suggested we (he and I, not Dad), sleep up on the top of the houseboat. What an awesome idea! So we grabbed our sleeping bags, and went up top at dusk. We were 200 feet or so below the top of one of the cliffs, and at one point, Stuart thought he saw something. He always had excellent eyesight, and I knew I didn't, but after a few times of, "Right there," I thought I saw something, too.

"Maybe it's a mountain lion," he offered.

Okay, because that's not going to make me worry at all. Unfounded? Maybe. But it was enough for me to think about an hungry cougar, deciding we were an easy meal. And here we both were, lying on top of the houseboat, with nothing between us and the angry cat but our sleeping bags.

After a few more minutes, something swooped by Stu's head. It was getting fairly dark, but we knew it had to be birds, coming for the bugs that were flying around. But it was coming within a foot or so. We wrapped ourselves in our bags, with just our faces sticking out so we could talk to each other.  Soon there were two of the small birds..then three..four...

As I peeked out from my sleeping bag, I caught the silhouette of one in the moonlight, and discovered they weren't birds at all. So I calmly informed my brother of my discovery.

"THOSE ARE BATS!!"

We decided it might be a better idea if we slept inside for the night.

I was always thankful for Stuart's leadership and protection. As long as he was with me, I felt safe. I knew he would protect me. So in his wonderful, protective leadership, he looked at me.

"You first."

So I reasoned that bats use their echolocation to avoid running into obstacles. It made sense that if I just jumped up, and made a bunch of racket, they wouldn't bother me. So that's exactly what I did.

I'm not sure if you heard it or not, but I'm guessing campers in canyons miles away heard what happened next.

I jumped up, and began waving my arms, making as much movement and noise as I possibly could. Stu did likewise.

From inside the houseboat, Dad, whose nerves had already been tested that evening, gave a war cry that no doubt sent shivers down the remains of Attila’s spine.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!"

We calmly replied, "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY BATS!!"

I'm not sure how he answered, but I'm don't think he quite understand the gravity of the situation. Then again, we weren't thinking of what it might sound like to have two teenage boys jumping on the aluminum ceiling right above where you're trying to sleep.

I've never been kicked out of a lake before, but I would bet if there were park officials around, we would have been escorted off the premises.

That's the last time I've been there. I would love to have a "for old time's sake" trip with Dad and Stu, but I'm not sure Dad's up for it again. I always said I would go back with my son. I've often told my wife I want to take her there so she can appreciate it. But maybe it's just that...memories to look back on.

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I was actually disappointed. I had heard so much about it, I don't think there is any way it could have lived up to the expectation.

If I never see it again, Powell will forever live with me, and remind me of wonderful times, set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, spent with two people who could never be replaced. Thank you, Nana and Daddad, for introducing us to Lake Powell. Thank you, Dad for putting up so much money to give us memories that will never die. Thank you, Stuart, for helping make the memories extra special.