Kayak Kamping on Lake Powell - September 2007

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Back to Index Page Written by Big John, dedicated to Larry and Ray

Day One, or "Anchors Aweigh!"

And now for something completely different. My intention this time is to slip into an "economy sized" touring kayak and then peregrinate across the (hopefully calm) waters of enormous Lake Powell Reservoir on the mighty Colorado River for a week or so.

Having backpacked the High Sierra (and again), the Grand Canyon, and then back to that area for Supai, and all in just one year, I feel it's time for a slight change of venue. The long-suffering legs will finally get a rest and the lazy arms will be asked to take up the slack. Mine are rather weak and flabby for a big 200-something pounder, but how hard could it be to glide serenely thru the slack waters of an inland lake? I can do that!

I'm accompanied by two others, Larry LaCroix and Ray Zvirbulis. You may remember Ray from the report of my recent Grand Canyon trip. I met him deep inside that canyon and he mentioned his lengthy experience with kayaks. Well I'm no dummy and I figure the best way to approach a new and unfamiliar sport is to tag along with experts. Larry isn't as experienced as Ray but he's got his own kayak and that has to count for something.

I've got a rented kayak (the S.S. Chiquita) provided by TwinFinn of Page Arizona near the lake. "Chase" is the proprietor and I received excellent service from him as well as a nice discount because of the long rental period. It's still possible to find quality people in this world if you try.

We arrive the night before, and Ray constructs his fold-up Folbot kayak in preparation for the morrow. In the breezy night we throw down sleeping pads and get some sleep in the public campground near the marina. Next morning everything goes smoothly and by 7AM we're all bobbing placidly on the lake. The boat easily supports both me and my gear so no need to fanatically slash the weight allowance like with backpacking. I could even have chosen to bring along some extra "luxury foodstuffs" like Larry with his canned smoked oysters, oy.

Exensive Lake Powell sprawls across the boundary between Utah to the north and Arizona to the south, and its total length at full pool is over 150 miles, plus quite a few major tributary canyons and armloads of smaller ones. The total "length" of this spindly lake is really several hundred miles of lake-covered canyons along with much more dry canyon beyond the end of each lake-arm.

I find that paddling a kayak is odd, but not nearly as difficult as I'd imagined. The recent storm that drenched the area has fully passed, leaving a very calm surface, other than the boat wakes. Did I mention boats? They're everywhere, especially big houseboats trundling to and fro. The purpose of our early start is to clear thru a notorious section of the main channel before the boat traffic turns it into "chop" suey (if you know what I mean).

Before that tho we must pass out of Wahweap Marina and across the big side bay it's located on. The marina's really huge, almost like a big town with hundreds of houseboats looking like apartment blocks. This is no exaggeration; some of those things are monsters! I had no idea houseboats grew that large.

Once across to the other side of the bay, we cruise along the convoluted shore toward the big dam and our left turn up the main river channel. It's about this time that I realize there's a serious speed differential between me and the others. This is not for lack of paddling or skill, it's just a matter of draft. I'm plowing a deeper furrow in the lake despite my oversized kayak, resulting in a lower cruising speed.

What irony! All those big muscles I'm toting serve well on backpack trips but now they're just liabilities. I'd imagined flitting about like a waterbug, but in reality I'm a dredging scow. There's nothing to do but accept it, and also accept that Ray and Larry will always be shrinking dots far ahead. Oh well, they don't mind waiting. Naturally not since it gives 'em lots of long rest breaks. If only my useless legs were detachable...

Now we're far into the infamous "channel" and it's pretty choppy already. I'm told that big ocean swells are no problem in a kayak, but this stuff is much tighter and the bobbing around causes extra fatigue as well as the danger of shipping water into the kayak. About this time one of the fast three-deck tour boats from the marina goes rumbling grandly by and leaves a great rolling wake behind.

I've never really looked at wakes before, but I'm looking now. From a low angle in a low boat, this one appears positively menacing and Ray calls out to take it head-on. The ride over the wake isn't really that bad, but the long thin kayak tends to bury her bow under the second or third roller. After a few more such encounters I decide I prefer to take them at an angle. The S.S. Chiquita has a very broad beam for a kayak and she doesn't roll that much even on the biggest wakes.

Fresh wakes like this are actually kinda fun but in the constricted vertical-walled channel they tend to reflect back and forth for hours, joining and meshing into a chaotic chop that's rather unfun. Happily we exit the worst part of the channel soon and reach the beaches on the south end of Antelope Island. Beaches generally damp down wakes quite well and in this calmer section the authorities have seen fit to construct an additional small marina filled mostly with the largest houseboats we've yet seen, if that's even possible.

After a break on the beach we paddle past the behemoths at anchor and continue on up the channel to the east, passing thru alternating zones of heavy chop and flatter water. We need to go several more miles before reaching the entrance to Navajo Canyon, a semi-major tributary canyon on the south side of the lake. Alone I might have sailed right past it, but Ray knows the way and is waiting near the mouth for my arrival.

Then it's on up long Navajo Canyon. Ray says it'll get less choppy soon but the power boaters are having a fine time in this big vertical-walled gorge and the chop is still active. Still, nearly every boater shows a lot of courtesy to us paddlers, even the wave runners. Somehow I expected to see a bunch of wild teenagers running circles around us and laughing maniacally, but that's not how it is. Ray does mention that before Labor Day the boat traffic is far worse. During the hot months you probably couldn't swing a cat over the lake without hitting another boat, but I have no personal experience of it and I don't ever intend to!

Lunchtime has come and gone while we toil along below mostly vertical rock walls, and altho those walls sometimes slope more gently into the water they still afford no un-slanted point where a questing foot may be placed out of the kayak. De-boating would almost certainly involve ending up in the water, so more miles go by until finally some flattish rocks at water level appear and we can safely get out to stretch and eat lunch. Our kayaks are barely on the rocks and wakes continue to wash against (and sometimes over) mine, occupying the outside position.

It's kinda interesting to dine in such a precarious spot, but soon we've had enough and clamber back into our soggy boats. This far upcanyon the majority of the power boaters have dropped away and the chop is flattening out, but my arms are now doing likewise. Holding them up for paddling is getting difficult, causing me to lightly splash myself fairly often. The extra moisture is no hardship due the exertions and heat of the day, and in fact I've been pouring cooling lake water on my hair for some time already. Did I mention that kayaking is a wet sport?

About an hour later we pass some large beaches but they're occupied by two houseboats and Ray has his mind's eye on a particular campsite far up the canyon. As we pass the beached houseboats it appears there's some intriguing activity taking place. The boaters have set up a long plastic sheet running down the steep beach to the lake and kids are riding down it. Sort of a huge Slip 'n Slide affair I guess, with the houseboat's pump supplying water to the top. Looks like fun! :-)

It's well past mid-afternoon now but Larry and Ray have disappeared far ahead and I'm getting really tired. Are we ever gonna stop? Since they can no longer see me I go into "efficiency mode," paddling for a few seconds to acquire speed then coasting for a while 'til that speed dissipates. It's slower but allows a lot more rest time than continuous paddling, and progress does not stop. Can't do that with a backpack! This technique also comes in very handy during those over-long bicycle rides, oy. In fact, distance kayaking is much like distance bicycling on flat terrain, albeit with different muscles involved.

Finally there's signs of shallowing with murky water and floating debris, not to mention active bubble patches here and there. Must be rotting wood under the surface. Then a glorious sight greets me in the form of Ray standing on a big sand bar to the side. Oh happy day, it's over! Sporting a shaky grin I glide up to a quiet cove and drag my big yellow banana up on shore. This day we've covered an estimated 25+ miles, far more than we could have done on land. Even better, the lake makes it easy to avoid most of the small bends and detours that hiking usually entails so an equivalent hike would have amounted to well over 30 miles. Not bad!

This campsite is quite good, surrounded by high walls and littered with mass quantities of driftwood suitable for burning. A couple of fishermen bob at anchor nearby but they soon take off downcanyon, leaving us in sole possession. Camp is prepared and Ray busies himself trying to burn up all that firewood. Tomorrow we plan to take a day off from paddling and boy do we ever need it. At least Larry and I do, but Ray is a flat-out paddling machine.

From the look of the land we'll find good side-exits from the canyon a bit farther along, but that will have to wait. Right now we're enjoying some quality time far from the bustling outside world. My legs are still fresh (go figure) so I use them to attempt a scaling of the nearby canyon walls. Sadly they're dangerously impassible 'round these parts, so it's back to camp for an idyllic evening as the nearly full moon rises over the big mesa up the canyon. Ahhh. As darkness begins to gather, a cackling bird-call echoes around the canyon and a large dark form skims past across the lake. The others tell me it's a Great Blue Heron, the first I've ever seen. Cool! Good night big bird, see you in the morning.

Day Two, or "The Great Escape"

Next dawn we rise, and after eating we embark and paddle up the canyon. Alas, just around the first bend we're confronted by a large mass of floating wood forming a big plug from shore to shore. It's all pretty loose tho and we could push thru it easily. The lake itself seems to end just ahead but Ray and Larry don't care for the unhealthy atmosphere caused by all the submerged rotting wood and they soon head back to camp, but I'm determined to get out of this stinkin' canyon somewheres. Determinedly I ram on thru the woodpack and quickly find a semi-solid mud flat to land on. Pressed into the mud are some startlingly large bird tracks, no doubt left by that local heron.

From here there's several possible avenues up to the high country and I just happened to bring my boots along for this very occasion. With the knobby footwear installed it's a snap to climb, crawl and claw my way up out of the gorge. Now the view is much better, but away from the water the temperature is noticeably higher too. I can easily see our camp a ways down the lake and send the guys a couple of echoing hoots.

The local geology around the lake is mostly composed of ancient petrified red sand dunes at an altitude of about 3700 feet. The result is a dry and sometimes sandy but only moderately hot desert, with deeply eroded sandstone slot canyons where the watercourses flow. The main Colorado river channel itself is merely a greatly enlarged slot along much of it's lake-length. Huge towering buttes dot the landscape here and there, but they're spaced much farther apart than is the case in the Grand Canyon. All the low areas here are covered by the lake, providing an easy watery avenue to adventure for intrepid explorers like us.

After a 300 foot climb the flat top of the mesa is reached and here the view really expands, stunning me with my first clear look at the local redrock countryside. Several miles away stands a truly huge butte, with wildly contorted redrock filling the gap between. The guys have got to see this! Noon is not far off and the sun is getting hot so it's time to retreat before my drinking water is expended, locating the easiest path as I go.

Back at camp the primary task now is to escape the noon heat. This rock-ribbed sandbar is large enough to support quite a few tamarisk trees, so I excavate a sandy ledge below a healthy specimen and sack out for a few. It's almost cool in the shade and the hours while by as I study the local ecology, observing three species of dragonfly and some tiny blue ground birds. An invisible bug buzzes around in the branches while overhead the occasional crow soars by, cawing loudly. This seemingly barren place is crawling with life!

After a timeless interlude the pace quickens and Larry goes fishing, actually catching a smallmouth bass which we'll share later on. It's obvious that Larry has the angler's bug, judging from his excitement. Sure glad he got his money's worth on that fishing license! After the tumult dies down I "pounce," successfully convincing them to join me up on the big mesa for the evening's entertainment. Off we go thru the floating wood and up the zig-zag scramble to the top. They don't say too much when we get there, but then they don't have to. Silence sometimes speaks volumes and it's the case here as we admire the widespread slickrock all around us, illuminated by the descending sun. Photos just can't properly convey how otherworldly it looks in person.

We can't turn back now with that undulating expanse of solidified sand just begging to feel our footprints, so off we go. Almost at once Ray points out a fist-sized dark rock sitting strangely on the smooth sandstone, explaining that it's really petrified coral. Seems hard to believe, but sure enough other bits are found that clearly show coral-like branchings. As we climb up a smooth dome, more and more coral is found until we discover the motherlode atop the dome. Some pieces are still half-embedded in the sandstone, slowly weathering their way to freedom. Amazing. Without Ray we might have walked past and never given the coral a second glance.

We stroll a while longer, delighting in the easy travelling on the wavy slickrock, but time is getting short so we head reluctantly back to camp. Later, Larry declares this hike to be the best part of his trip, and yet it's but a miniscule portion of what vast Lake Powell has to offer.

Again the heron cruises by on the lookout for fishy food. We relax in the shadows, watching the even fuller moon rise and cooking up Larry's little bass. The sky has been pure blue all day with nary a breeze to mar the stillness. I understand now why Ray made us work so hard getting here on the first day. We sit and watch the moon slowly crossing the sky above, while Larry tells us this is the very first overnight camping trip of his long life. I guess there's nothing like diving straight into the deep end, eh? From the looks of him he's not regretting it one tiny bit!

Day Three, or "Chop Ahoy!"

We rise very early and head on down the canyon toward the main channel, surrounded by red-glowing canyon walls and glassy still water. Now this is what kayaking is all about! After an hour Ray has us approach a narrow slot canyon to the side that he's been in before, but now it's choked with driftwood and impassable, what a shame. He says it wasn't that way in July when he was here last, but then our campsite wasn't covered with wood either. It seems there must have been a major flood, as evidenced by the new wood deposited a full five feet above the lake level at our camp. Given the 200 foot width of the lake at that point, it must have been quite a deluge and quite a current on the normally flat lake!

I'd expected lots of pain after the first day, but the arm muscles are really not that bad, altho there is a bothersome tension knot between my shoulder blades. I'm able to suppress the pain with a large dose of Naproxen Sodium, the Hikers' Friend. This particular pain killer is ideal for the kinds of pain associated with sudden heavy exertions and I recommend it heartily. Later on each day the knot eases by itself, and by the fifth day of the trip it will fade away for good.

Around lunchtime we're approaching the mouth of Navajo Canyon again, where I spot a beautiful white cattle egret perched near the water. If I were in a power boat it would have been spooked but in the kayak I'm able to ease up close. Sweet.

Now back in the main channel, we face really heavy chop from the many houseboats passing along this busy stretch between Wahweap Marina and the greater lake upstream. Before long there's a tiny cove suitable for a quick lunch stop. It's pretty trashy here due to flotsam from the boats, but any port is better than no port and we chow down with relish.

As I'm finishing off a mixed-nut baggie, Larry is getting into his kayak. Suddenly the cry of "help help!" rends the air and we rush to his aid. Ray doesn't even take time to fully secure his clothing (ahem) and I drop my nuts to the ground in the excitement. Poor Larry is sitting in his kayak which is tipped halfway over in the shallow water, with him frantically trying to avoid "turning turtle." Apparently there's a pesky pebble in just the wrong spot under his freshly-launched boat, but before he can go down with the ship our reaching hands arrive, yanking him and his kayak back upright. Larry mumbles "That was embarrassing" and it's all over, except for sponging out the gallon or so that invaded his kayak while it was on the cusp of disaster. Tsk.

The rest of the day is much duller, working up the choppy channel and along an immense curving wall that seems to never end. Far out from land a kayak seems to be almost motionless and I keep glancing at passing bubbles to assure myself it's not true. Close to shore the steady motion is more noticeable and so I tend to stick there, not because it's easier physically, just mentally. It would help if there weren't so many fast boats skipping past all the time, but I guess that's an issue each kayaker must deal with. At least I'm not spending a thousand bucks a day in fuel to move a pontoon palace!

Finally the end of the long wall comes in sight and I spy a figure far ahead on an inviting beach, just where the lake begins to open out. This must be Padre Point, our next campsite! That's just what it is, and what a fine site too. Upon beaching and a short climb up the dune behind, an intense and colorful view reveals itself beyond. Parts of the lake are scattered around lofty bluffs in the distance, and fishing boats bob at anchor here and there. It looks most grand, and many fine sleeping spots are found all around. This excellent beach extends for a long way with firepits dotting its length. I think we're done for the day!

Larry has a minor problem in that his untimely encounter with the lake water has left his sleeping bag just a little damp. Some airing on a bush and his body heat later will dry it out, but in colder weather it could have been serious. This is why water-tight dry bags are essential when touring in a kayak. Fix those punctures, Larry!

At evening I take an easy hike up onto the peninsula top behind the point, meditating on the incredible vistas all around while the Harvest Moon emerges from behind the far-off eastern bluffs. Again the day has been very calm and blue, and now what little wind existed is gone. In the distance I can just hear a pack of coyotes greeting the full moon and the sound gladdens my heart. The travails of the choppy channel are forgotten, washed away by nature's splendor all around. An amazing place, and yet we've explored only a tiny fraction of the lake so far!

Day Four, or "Into the Labyrinth"

From Padre Point the mouth of Labyrinth Canyon is just a couple of miles away, perfect for an easy day's paddling. We start out between the point and an off-shore island and then across a wide bay to the entrance, thus avoiding most of the lake traffic. It's a little tricky to find the right place but my map guides me directly to it and soon the steep walls of this slot canyon close in on both sides.

Then it's just a series of short bends as the sandstone faces gradually draw together. Back and forth, back and forth, and then I catch up with Ray and Larry as they emerge from a short side branch they've been exploring. Now we're together and slowly paddling along on the calm waterway. One or two power boats do come in while we're here but they must go dead slow or risk crashing into the constraining vertical walls all around. Heh. Usually I can't see anything over the wall-tops nearby but when they draw apart in one spot the huge buttes just to the east heave into view, wow.

The lake surface is not much lower than the wall-tops here and maybe there's a place to climb out near the end of the lake-arm. Unfortunately when we arrive at the usual mud flat it's all very tight and unscalable. The mud looks to be quite soft and difficult to walk on and I didn't think to bring any planks for traversing the mud. Too bad because this slot canyon is said to be very twisty and fun to hike. Oh well.

So we turn around (after backing up a bit) and return downcanyon until we find a tiny beach to land on. Then it's onto dry land and again we're walking up curving hills and dales formed of solid rock.

Far above looms Boundary Butte, situated directly athwart the Utah/Arizona state line. Halfway up, we top out onto a terrace with a clear burro trail running along it. Larry finds it hot and unpleasant and so do I, but Ray has already climbed far up the soft debris slope below the base of the butte and it looks like fun so I go up too. Larry goes back, and soon Ray follows, but now I'm all pumped and I have to reach that butte!

Beautiful high cirrus clouds have begun to form and I observe a ring around the sun presaging a change in the weather, but no worries today and probably not tomorrow either. The heat is only about 85F but the bright sun makes it seem much hotter. I press on resolutely tho and eventually reach the base of the butte, skirting along to a high saddle between it and another butte behind. From here I can see much further up the lake as well as many more buttes off on the horizon. It's really neat up here but the sun will soon deplete my two liters of water if I stay long, so it's back to the kayak I go.

There happens to be some old lumber someone left here after a private campfire on this beach, and they used the remaining wood to spell out the word "Free." I guess that means it's mine for the taking. The previous night I had discovered that solid wood is extremely rare close to the lake and any that does occur is quickly burned up, so this haul is most welcome. Moments later the wood is loaded in and on the S.S. Chiquita and I'm off.

A bit later the camp comes into view and I see the boys have rigged a tarp as a sunscreen for their afternoon siesta. It's a harsh life on the lake sometimes, let me tell ya. Both of them are lethargic in the heat but they do help to unload the wood barge with me.

At this time four double kayaks show up, having come direct from the marina. These eight guys set up camp nearby and one of their number turns out to be a professional photographer for Arizona Highways magazine, here to take some landscapes. Well he certainly has come to the right place! Richard is his name, and I can tell his eyes are glowing with the obvious prospects to be had at this location. I'm just about to offer some of the wood to our new neighbors when a fishing boat comes up to the beach and the pilot offers a box of excess firewood, since he's leaving the lake tonight.

We don't happen to need it so they get the lot, the lucky sods. It was hard breaking all that long wood to fit in my kayak! Oh well, we still have twice as much as they do, but in apparent compensation one of 'em quickly catches a large fish right off the beach and they'll have a yummy snack tonight. Later on I try my hand at the lure but no such luck, darn it.

This evening the moon rises a bit after dark and during that short period some houseboaters a half-mile up the beach start mortar-launching professional grade fireworks out over the lake. What a strange thing, and yet it seems to fit the mood. At least it does until I see one of the starburst charges explode at beach level. You would think that might give them pause, but no, the show continues for a bit longer anyway. Crazy kids.

As the moon begins to rise, it's shrouded in thick cirrus clouds that have been gathering all day. The atmosphere remains calm and sultry. Later the icy cirrus high above descends and melts, leaving the moon in a flawless night sky once more. At this camp the guys have agreed with me that tents are for wusses and we all sack out under the stars, needing only a cloth over the eyes to block the moon-glare. Tomorrow it's time to start back, sigh.

Day Five, or "Channel Surfing"

In the dawn we're getting busy, but not as busy as Richard with his big camera setup. The scene is so good he's almost in a lather, and no wonder. Moments like this are his bread and butter. When Richard pauses for breath I manage to get him to take our picture in the pale morning light. Then we paddle off, back down the temporarily calm channel.

Soon enough the houseboats roar into life and the chop increases, but by now we're old hands and take it in stride. We could manage to reach the marina today but it would be a long paddle followed by a hurried return of my rental kayak, and then several more hours of driving back to Ray's house. That'd be a bummer ending to an epic trip, so Ray has suggested we camp on that beach at Antelope Point where we rested the first day.

My arms are finally getting some life back and for a while I manage to keep up with the others. I figure that my relative youth compared to them will let me reach parity in a few more days, but that ain't gonna happen this trip. Still, a gap doesn't develop until we're almost to the target beach. Tomorrow baby, tomorrow.

Now we've arrived and it's only about 1PM! Ah well, here's my chance to explore intriguing Antelope Island. After we set up the sun-tarp I relax a bit in the shade. Then a very cheeky coyote appears just a few feet away, obviously on the prowl for handouts at this popular beach. Get lost you freeloader! Sensing that we're tough customers, he slinks off for greener pastures.

After a nice rest I leave the others and climb the steep 100 feet to the flat top of this very wide "island." Well, it used to be an island before the lake level dropped so much, but now it's connected in the north to the rest of Utah. That's a shame because if the boat traffic could go to the north of the island then the main river channel would be almost empty and much more pleasant for us kayakers.

Up on top the island is really flat, with only very gradual rises and dips off in the distance. What strikes me is how green it looks, because all I can see in the distance are the fresh tops of the scraggly desert bushes. I had planned to walk across to the new neck of land but it's miles and miles, so I just go until Wahweap Marina comes into view and then I plop down in the scrub for some quiet meditation, literally in the middle of nowhere.

Upon my return to the beach, Larry is seen intently watching the passing speed boats. He seems to have a serious "jones" for major waterborne horsepower and our camp is an ideal observation platform for such a person. The nearby mini-marina and the public Antelope Point launch ramp have go-slow bouys that begin close to our camp, insuring lots of sudden heavy-throttling for Larry to observe.

A couple of houseboats come and park a ways down the beach from us but they're filled mostly with little kids, and well behaved ones at that. Lots of happy cries drift to us on the freshening wind, making me smile.

There's still time to take a quick dip in the waning sunshine and I slip down to our semi-private cove to do just that. The wind's begun to pick up ahead of an approaching weather front but it's not too strong and Ray says it will probably calm down tonight. As the sun descends the sky again fills with high cirrus clouds, but this time they're just right and in the sunset they put on an intense display of colors and swirls, almost as if to bid us farewell. As darkness falls I take one more hike up amongst the steep cliffs that tower over our camp. Larry later tells me he could see my light moving around up there and wouldn't do that night-time hike for five thousand dollars.

Tomorrow we need to rise very early and get thru the narrows before the traffic starts, so we go to bed right away. Besides, I've given away the remainder of our wood to Richard and company, and the wind would make a fire problematic anyway. Along about 11PM a drunken Friday Night car party starts up over on the primitive launch ramp across the water, but I'm sheltered behind a low wall and hardly notice the distant noise. Not so with Ray and Larry who are out in the open now that the wind has dropped. Tough tacos guys, I'm staying put right here.

Day Six, or "Beating the Storm"

We rise next day before dawn and hustle to pack up. The wind is still down and the channel is super smooth. As we move into the narrows the sun rises and strikes the high walls, making the wall-tops glow bright red. It's really sublime, particularly compared to our earlier passage thru here.

All too soon we're out of the narrows and onto the big bay where we can see Wahweap Marina off in the distance. The remainder of the paddle is a melancholy one for me, altho I know the storm is coming and we better get off the lake soon. Just before reaching the floating-tire wake suppressor surrounding the marina, the early deep-vee tour boat comes out and its big diesels revv up for the fast trip out to distant Rainbow Bridge. That's where I plan to go next trip, or bust a gut trying.

As we pull our kayaks from the lake, the winds are again rising and whipping the surface into a choppy froth. What great timing! After I drop off the rental we drive on down the lonely highway, remembering where we've been lately and trying not to tense up when the increasingly powerful side gusts rock the car around. Fifty miles down the road we hear a loud bang on the roof, but nothing seems amiss when we look. Later it's discovered that Larry's drum-tight rain cover was ripped clean off his kayak! It must be really nasty on the lake right about now.

Ray says that in all his trips he's never seen the lake have such good weather for so long. We were truly lucky this time, but I bet even in bad weather I would have enjoyed it, especially those fabulous slot canyon waterfalls that erupt everywhere after a rain. Oh well, next time! :-)

Big John
September 2007