Nightglow Window

Monday, April 09, 2007

Spring Break 2007 – Day 2 – 176 Miles To Page, Arizona

This is a beautiful place.

The forested sandstone canyon walls rise up 1,000 feet above my head as I eat my oatmeal, drink my coffee, and wait for the girls to wake. It’s cold here at 6:00 a.m. and 5,500 feet. My fleece pants and sweatshirt don't stop the occasional shiver. It’s not your typical fun-in-the-sun spring bacchanal, but that suits just fine.

As the sun begins to climb, Sydney and I climb up to a fallen log on the hillside above camp and watch as sun patches race across the far canyon wall. But there's too much to see and do today, so we don’t dawdle too long.

We’re still trained from our 23-day road trip in 2005 and each of us knows our roles as we break down camp. The Thule car-top carrier is filled with sleeping bags, chairs, tent, Therm-a-rests, backpacks, and beach towels. Everything fits – barely.

By 8:30 we’re packed up and heading back down canyon a few miles to Slide Rock. We’ve wanted to pay this former apple orchard a visit ever since Sunset Magazine wrote about it a few years ago. It’s empty this morning – quite a change from the mad house we saw yesterday.

The apple orchard is in bloom as we walk down to the creek and the stretch of slippery red rock waterfalls that give the park its name and reputation. These would be incredibly fun to slide down on a hot 104˚ Arizona day. It's even tempting today. It’s warming up and I dare Sydney to give it a go. The watercourse is green and slick as snot as it passes through chest deep plunge pools. Sydney, probably wisely, passes.

I risk an indecent exposure charge as I change in the picnic area, stripping off pants and jackets for shorts and a T-shirt. Then we drive up into Flagstaff. Humphrey’s Peak is covered in fresh snow and the wind begins to howl as we head north into the Navajo Nation.

Highway 89 is a wide open road and Big Red is a sail in this type of crosswind. The girls all sleep as I fight the steering wheel. It’s like windsurfing. After a while I settle into the rhythm of the gusts and we generally hold a straight line.

Down we head into the heart of the Painted Desert. We hum along the base of Echo Cliff for 50 miles before breeching this red palisade just south of Page. Out to the north is the vertical world of Glen Canyon. Somewhere down there, hidden out of sight beneath the Vermillion Cliffs, is Lee’s Ferry and Navajo Bridge -- one of just four crossings in a stretch of more than 500 Colorado River miles.

We stop and look at Water Hole Canyon, which supposedly has some nice slot canyons along its course. I talk to the driver of the only other car in the small turnout – he's a young, fit-looking guy who just did the technical and difficult stretch of canyon down to the river. He plays with a carabiner as we talk and I start to jones for the type of adventure a hike like that would offer.

But with two young girls, it’s pretty much out of the question. But all is not lost. Just a few miles up the highway is the half-mile walk to the Horseshoe Bend Overlook, which looks pretty stellar.

The day has warmed to the low 80s and we load up with water and begin the sandy hike over to the rim. Christy and Hannah get a bit ahead and I see them immediately crouch down onto their bellies as they reach the canyon rim. “Must be pretty good,” I laugh to Sydney.

It’s better than pretty good, it takes your breath away and makes you fear for your children’s lives. The Empire State Building is 1,250 feet tall – just a few feet taller than the sheer cliff that greets us at the rim. The pull of the void is palpable, it crawls up into the primitive core of your brain and makes you feel woozy. Just a few steps this way ...

Hannah is silly and we snap at her, telling her to "calm down." But that's just not possible -- for any of us.

More than 1,100 feet below, the Colorado swings by in an 180˚ curve. Fully loaded power boats, packed with tourists, look like white fly specks, the noise of their outboard motors the gentlest hum from this height. We linger for a few minutes, but I have to admit that my stomach is happy when we start the walk back to the car, buzzing from adrenaline.

The wind picks up as we head into Page, cross the Damn Glen Canyon Dam (Edward Abbey’s old nemesis), and into the large houseboat holding pen of the Wahweap Marina. We would love to rent a powerboat tomorrow and make a preliminary reconnaissance of Lake Powell, a destination we’ve wanted to explore for years. The rental fee is a bit steep – 180 bucks for a half-day – but you only go around once, right? We make plans to hit the lake early tomorrow morning.

But blast this wind. When we drive north to the Bullfrog campground, we find it beyond depressing – a barren expanse of dirt plagued by dust devils and blowing sand. A single forlorn car is parked by the one tree – a pitiful cottonwood on its last legs. The nearby tent contorts in the wind.

I look over to Christy and I see her glance at me. A subtle nod. We head back into Page and check in at the Marriott. We’re filthy from the hike and Sydney braves the cold pool water. The wind has now risen to gale force and the decision to splurge on a hotel seems downright wise.

We drink a nice Pinot Noir and take long, hot showers.