Kayak Kamping on Lake Powell - May 2008

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

Day One or, In a Buoyant Mood

Last September I had so much fun kayaking around on Lake Powell that it must happen again. I'm joining my kayak buddy Ray Zivrbuls and a Kingman friend, Jeff Canto, for a six-day excursion across the mighty Puddle-on-the-Colorado that is Lake Powell. This time we're avoiding the lower lake and all its heavy power boat traffic in favor of Hall's Crossing MarinaGoes to Google Earth far up the lake, where hopefully the boats will be more thinly spread.

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 180 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. The elevation here is about 3500 feet.

Hall's Crossing is unknown to all of us and this will be Jeff's first multi-day trip as well. The weather report calls for record heat the first two days, followed by a sharp temperature drop and likely precipitation. Sounds exciting!

Halls Crossing is one of the few non-cliff-blocked parts of the river along the lake length, replacing the 1880 Hole-in-the-Rock Mormon trail. These days the highways go a bit farther upstream to the Hite Marina bridge crossing, but Halls has matching marinas on either side and a large auto ferry joining them anyway. We won't be taking the ferry but apparently lots of people do. Even long distance bicylists are observed using it for grand tours thru the region.

Anyway, we all meet up at the lake by 5pm, and scoot across the bay to one of the canyons on the other side so we can avoid the public camp an the marina. Things go well on our rocky peninsula, but in the late evening a very distant voice is heard singing. Weird. It sounds exactly like karaoke, fading in and out of audibility, but it's not coming from the direction of the marina. I guess some houseboat is moored farther up in this canyon and someone on it has dangerous access to a sound system.

Oh well, anything for a weird life, right?

Days Two and Three or, Fun in the Sun

We break camp pretty early next day, but not before Ray and I climb up the steep slope behind our camp. Nearby are huge vertical cliffs, but right at this spot we can chug up to the top, 200 feet above. From up there several houseboats are visible up canyon, no doubt the source of the "singing."

Before we even finish packing, two or three power boats have gone by. Well, the marina is just minutes away and perhaps someone wants to "eat out for breakfast."

Now well and truly afloat, paddles working furiously and already sweating like galley slaves, we turn our prows down the lake toward the Unknown. Actually, I've pretty much scoped out every nook and cranny in the lake via the web and Google Earth, but hey, being there is different! It's a lot longer and slower for one thing, oy.

We figure out that our average speed as a group is about two miles an hour, which is pathetic in my book. I bet Ray does much better when not burdened by slowboats, but he insists it's not a problem. Despite this low rate the miles do pile up after a few hours and we find ourselves toward mid-afternoon getting into a new geological area of tilted rock layers, courtesy of the Waterpocket fold.

Apparently a deep fault got activated by the rise of the Rockies, wrinkling the newer layers above it. Now the general erosion has cut down into the folded zone, making a nice visual break from all the tall smooth channel cliffs and horizontal layering we've see so far.

Along about 3pm we reach Slickrock Canyon and enter to visit some Pueblo Indian ruins rumored to be there. However, the low water stops us well short of the ruins and we have to hoof it a goodly distance, only to find a brand new 8ft. chainlink fence w/barbed wire surrounding a portion of land up against a cliff. A sign orders us not to approach because of the fragility of the structures.

We had to pass by a bunch of people cavorting near their houseboat in order to get to the ruins. It's likely the ruins are constantly visited, and we all know how some folks just can't keep their hands off of stuff. I bet there's not a whole lot of ruin left to protect by now anyway, and from outside the fence nothing at all is visible. Oh well, back to the boats and the blessed cool waters, and the sooner the better.

The short hike's baked us pretty good and I'm feeling a little ill from the heat, even on the lake. The others are the same and so we decide to call it a day. We're now 15 miles from Hall's Landing, not too bad I guess. This camp is directly on the bare warm rock, and later on the full moon rises over the high black wall across the channel. Excellent!

The next day is similar to the last, but now the canyon walls are more broken and dramatic. Early on we pass by The Rincon, a massive rocky turret enclosed by an old abandoned meander of the Colorado River. It's the only noticeable rincon on the entire lake, but it's a Biggie! Goes to Google Earth The heat again presses down upon us and the winds are absent. On the plus side, the boat traffic is way down and hours go by without hearing a motor. Neat!

It's difficult to express in words the size of this lake, but just try paddling on it for a few days and my meaning will become clear. It's gigantic, and our two days paddling will cover only about 1/6th of the main channel length, never mind all the side canyons along the way.

By late afternoon we finally reach the Escalante River Goes to Google Earth (lost somewhere under the lake) and explore the area a bit. Turns out the only decent campsites are right at the confluence, where the lowered lake has revealed nice beaches covered with soft dry lake sand. Ray tries his luck fishing and at once hooks a nice fish, so I try it too. In the clear water I actually see a fish tailing my trolling lure but it darts away at the last second, darn it! Oh well.

Another group of a dozen kayakers is camped nearby too, but they paid a ferry boat to shuttle them out to this point rather than spend two days galley-slaving like we did. In a way it makes sense to get far from the power boats right away, but personally I'd feel uncomfortable being carted past such beautiful scenery to get to other beautiful scenery. Besides, what about that boat fee, oy...

The evening brings with it rising winds that swirl around below the cliffs and sweep up clouds of sand in a very annoying way. I go over to chat with the neighbors but at that moment a nasty sand-twister attacks the pretty little beach hollow where they chose to camp. As I watch, one tent is ripped from its soft moorings and becomes a plaything of the elements. Um, perhaps this is not the time...

Back in our camp we attempt to cook but the wind makes things difficult. No one attempts to set up a tent, not with the lingering heat of the day still upon us. Later on the wind drops a bit, but we know a cold front is approaching and tomorrow things could get exciting. Hey, that's why we came, right?

Day Four or, Blazing Paddles!

Next morning we start up Escalante Canyon, into the teeth of a rather sharp headwind. As we progress, the wind rapidly builds until whitecaps begin to appear. The canyon is very twisty and sometimes shields against the wind, but not always, and we fight across several big bays by sheer grit and plunging paddles.

With all the paddle spray and the semi-violent pitching, I'm unable to safely handle the camera. It's a shame; I'd love to have a shot of myself churning up the lake surface and snarling defiance against the gale, the bow slicing heroically thru the foam. It's just as well tho, because anyone close enough to get that shot would also have heard the pathetic cursing I was deeply engaged in at the time.

After a couple of hours we're only 1.5 miles up canyon and opposite Davis Gulch. As we enter the gulch another bunch of kayakers is seen heading in as well. These people all have rental kayaks, unlike the other group which had their own. This area must receive many such kayak groups every week, shuttling in from the marinas and back out again. I smirk with condescension at the thought.

Up in the canyon it gets real narrow and then we beach at the end and hike for a while, viewing beaver dams and meeting other hikers (the kayak group). Turns out they're on an REI  Adventure. Kinda pricey...

The sky's beginning to darken, but there are no big dark patches nearby indicating a strong rain cell. Back in the boats, we've been on the water only five minutes when out of nowhere the wind from behind accelerates to 60 mph, and now the constricted slot canyon looks like the inside of a washing machine set on "heavy-duty." Spray stripped off the two-foot waves flies around the corner ahead, travelling horizontally. Ray and I use our paddles as sails, clipping along at a good rate. Jeff is somewhere behind, out of sight. To heck with him, I gots my own problems.

The situation is a bit disturbing, but since we can't land anywhere we might as well use this little taste of Nature's raw power to make some distance. In a few minutes we're back out near the mouth of the gulch and take shelter from the gust behind a boulder-fall, just as Jeff sails happily by. Ray and I try to talk him back to safety but as we do so the gust is rapidly dying, leaving us looking pretty foolish. I hate it when that happens!

Now out into Escalante Canyon we have a nice tailwind all the way back out to the main channel. It's too early to camp, so we go a few more miles back up the lake before pitching tents for the expected rain tonite. I guess the further reaches downstream will have to wait for another trip, alas.

Now a new problem has arisen. Jeff turned down my offer of a tent on the first day, and now there's a big passel of wet stuff headed our way. Luckily this campsite features a 20-foot boulder with a gap underneath just big enough to slip into. Jeff will spend a few thoughtful hours there, contemplating the rain and pondering what-ifs.

The rain begins as darkness falls and continues on into the night, but I'm snuggled down nicely in my dry, coffin-sized tent. It's the first time I've ever been in a tent during an extended rain, but no biggie. Not even Jeff gets wet, altho the winds must be a bit of a problem under that drafty boulder.

Day Five and Six or, The Retreat

The next day dawns brightly, altho quite a bit cooler. Small waterfalls appear nearby as the rain finds its way to the lake. The clouds are mostly gone, but during the day they come back, painting the sky in stunning patterns over the red canyons.

Now it's more long hours of paddling, sailing back up to The Rincon and beyond to Iceberg Canyon, where we'll camp tonite. The power boats have mostly vanished, leaving the lake almost completely to us. Sweet. The winds are again mild, thank goodness.

As we approach Iceberg Canyon an intriguing arch appears across the wide channel, but it doesn't show up on our maps. Perhaps it's normally covered by the lake? Ray can't see it, but I practically force him to and finally he does. We paddle out of our way to check it out, but as we get closer and closer the illusion fades like a Cheshire smile, leaving just a bunch of rock. D'oh! I could have sworn it was a real arch!

The night passes with just a sprinkle or two and next day it's even colder than before. The clouds and gloom are pervasive but the sun does poke thru sometimes, making the cliffs reflect perfectly off the dead-still water.

Later on in the channel a couple of short showers enliven things but don't really cause trouble. A few power boats do go by, but the folks inside are all bundled up tightly. No wonder too, with actual snow dusting lightly across the high cliff-tops. Snow? Here in the desert?! It's almost June, for Criminy's sake!

During the lunch stop a couple of ladybugs decide to hitch a ride on my kayak, and stay on board for many miles. It's kinda fun watching them perambulate around the boat while I paddle steadily onward. Didn't know ladybugs lived out in this desert, huh. Perhaps the presence of the lake has something to do with it.

Our intention at this point is to get closer to the marina and then decide what to do from there, but Jeff decides not to stop after lunch and we're forced to follow him for hours, only catching up as the marina comes into view. Oh well, with threatening T-storms scattered around the horizon I guess Jeff doesn't want to chance another rainy night without a tent, heh.

The upshot is that we skedaddle off the lake by 4pm and all head home, tired but pleased with another superb week on Lake Powell.

Postscript

On the long drive back home I had to pass thru Flagstaff Arizona, and the highway there tops 7000 feet. Night had fallen and heavy snow was falling as well. It was touch and go but I did manage somehow to drive out and back down to safer elevations without getting stuck in the deepening snow, whew. That was a close one. The storm then proceeded to dump five inches on Flagstaff, but too late, too late!

Big John
September 2007