Sailing  |  Christopher Cross


Lake Powell Remembrances

Larry J. Gordon

 July 2005



Living in the arid Southwest, we not only anticipate each and every outing on beautiful, 196-mile long Lake Powell,
but we continue to day dream about certain memorable boating experiences of past years. 

Each trip provides plentiful material for a story.

I vividly remember the Lake when it was so still the towering sandstone walls blended effortlessly into the water,
making it difficult to separate the real from the images;

I recall the Lake by bright moonlight with the numerous buttes casting long shadows into the surrounding bays;

I recollect the still of the night being broken by the splashing of ravenous bass in pursuit of their prey;

I dream about the many miles I have skied or towed a skier over the placid waters of some remote side canyon;

I am again relaxed thinking of boat camping by a pristine lagoon so isolated that mechanical problems were to be feared;

I am again enthralled by the thought of observing two teen-agers swimming the 196-mile length of the main channel
with their meager supplies lashed to a tube pushed by each;

I am rudely awakened from reverie thinking of a lunker breaking the leader
by swimming under my boat and around the propeller;

I am again hungered by the thought of enjoying charcoaled steaks on a flat rock with our boat tethered nearby;

I am excited again by the thought of late afternoon winds scattering our canopy and camping equipment;

I am retrospective about the afternoons spent tied in the shade of a cliff
waiting for the blistering sun to dip beneath the horizon;

I am stimulated by the thought of diving from my sleeping bag into the still, waiting waters on warm summer mornings;

I am again enraptured by the memories of awesome Rainbow Bridge;

I agonize thinking of the ones that got away and the trips that never afforded a fish;

Retrospection makes the miles of smooth cruising seem like yesterday;

I hunger for another steak like the ones I charcoaled beneath a small camp table in a rainstorm,
and subsequently consumed under the boat canopy by flashlight;

I am still frustrated about the time the engine fan belt broke leaving us dead in the water for hours
until a new belt could be delivered 50 miles from the Wahweap Marina;

I am again angered by those few thoughtless boaters who disregarded boating safety rules
thus endangering themselves well as others;

I retain the image of hundreds of small fish darting for food scraps around our boat
while resting in some cool water amphitheater;

I am again scared witless remembering a storm so severe that our propeller frequently whirled in the air; and,

In early spring, late spring, summer and fall my idle thoughts are these,
and my yearnings are for more boating excursions atop the clear, blue, deep waters of Lake Powell.



  click photo to enlarge  �