A March across Powell, 21

July 26, 2016  •  Leave a Comment

March 21, 2014; Friday

All night I slept soundly to the babble of the waterfall trickling down the rock and gently splashing in the pool next to me. The Cathedral, which seemed excessively cold all afternoon, was pleasantly cool all night.

This morning I remembered a few of my dreams, which is unusual for me.

In one scene I was driving through 12" of new snow around a building complex and I bumped over a pile of trash made up of old carpet and padding. I got out of the car to restack it when a younger man walked by.

In another scene I was traveling and passed by a winery so I stopped and went in. The lobby was octagonal with eight nearly identical doors in each wall. One or two were slightly larger. One was marked 'Private Residence, No Girl Scout Cookies'. I rang a buzzer on one door but no one ever answered. I couldn't figure out where the exit was.

In the cool of the morning I paddle up the Escalante and then up Davis Gulch hoping to see an arch.  I got all the way to the end of the water at the back of the  Gulch without seeing it. Maybe the lake is so low that it's further up the canyon. I sit in the kayak for a few minutes thinking about hiking but the shoreline is extremely soft and the first 100 yards look like hip-deep quicksand. I opt to forgo the slog through the muck and turn around and head back.

The hours of sitting in the boat each day are taking their toll on me; my back, butt and legs are getting stiff and numb. I'm having to stop hourly to get out and stretch, walk and work feeling back into my bottom half.

As I leave Davis Gulch it's dead calm, not a ripple, not a swell, not a sound but the rhythm of my paddle as it sweeps through the water. I stopped paddling for a time to listen to the lack of sound, hushed silence, magical.

In the calm I glide past a soon-to-be-fish-food lady bug doing the back stroke in the water. I lift it out of the water and onto the top of the kayak where it rides along for a while until it's dried out, without so much as a 'thank you' it flies off.

NOAA is forecasting a 20% chance of rain tomorrow. Maybe I'll get to use my tent again.

Right Arrow, Glen Canyon NRA, UTRight Arrow, Glen Canyon NRA, UTAn arbitrary rock feature reflected in the surface of Lake Powell creates a familiar symbol.

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