Lake Powell - Day 3

Day 3 - 15 miles
I spent the morning slaving away over the camp stove making French toast and omelets for breakfast- I was tired of carrying the eggs. When Carla came back from filtering water because she slept on the valve of her camel back and all her water drained out over the night, I showed her my perfect omelet, and then promptly dropped in the sand. It was still delicious.

Another glassy smooth water with no wind. We paddled effortlessly up the lake, so effortlessly that we missed Reflection Canyon by a mile and had to backtrack. Thank god we did. Reflection coils back and forth on itself so many times and each bend rises up into a spectacular amphitheater that echoes back operatic versions of Patsy Cline country music punctuated with whoops and yodels

We wound our way up the northern arm of the canyon into Cottonwood Gulch. We beached our boards on the silt and much and post holed our way through the sand to sturdier ground. We followed the creek up as it flowed over bedrock and carved it's way into deep, narrow clefts in the sandstone.

When the heat of the day was starting to make us care less and less about finding the cliff dwellings ahead, we stumbled upon an algae covered rock slide leading to sun warmed plunge pools full of sparking water. We were dogs to peanut butter, ripping off our clothes, we jumped into the sweet coolness of the sandy bottom pools and it was heavenly.

After being thoroughly refreshed, we donned our clothes and headed up the creek to find the ruins. In a short time we crossed a grassy meadow and high up in the cleft of a shady alcove we found them. In order to reach the ruins you had to climb up Moki steps about 20 feet just to reach the ledge. The Moki steps were tiny chiseled niches in the rocks that had become sloped sandy dishes over time. We were content to just hike up to the base and wonder at the people who lived here long ago.

 

When left Reflection the water was calmer then we had ever seen it and the canyon truly lived up to it's name. With our hair in wild tangles, and sand stuck in our ears we paddled up the lake to find a camping spot. Long after the sun set we beached out boards on a slickrock slope at the mouth of Llewelyn Canyon. While we were cooking dinner the moon rose up perfectly centered in a notch on the canyon wall. If I had seen this image in a painting I would have scoffed at the artist for making it too cheesy. Instead we toasted the moon with flasks of whisky chocolate bars.