Lone woman paddles around Lone Rock, finds biceps.
Yep. There they are. Not only can I see them, I can feel them. Just call me River Mouse…
As I stuffed items in my daypack, I tried to review everything Janice had taught me. Chubs for the sunglasses. Sandals for the feet. Tie ons for the hat. Tethers for just about everything essential. A little dry sack for the phone. The phone? Last time I left my phone at home. Back then my phone was a phone and I had a little camera. Back then was three years ago; wait! Has it been three years or seven years? Back then I made makeshift ties to keep my flip-flops on my feet. Back then Janice loaned me a dry sack for my lunch and essentials. Janice also loaned me a kayak. Yesterday, I rented.
These days I am more comfortable on the water and more comfortable in my own skin and more comfortable alone. Nevertheless, when you rent, you have to read and sign three pages of paper; paper that says you are responsible for anything that happens to you. Back then, Janice and I and the other women we kayaked with knew we were responsible for everything that happened – including the poison ivy – but that is Janice’s story.
One of the pages you sign says that you were given an opportunity to inspect the vessel before embarking. The young rental attendant walked ahead of me on the floating dock, turned left on an extension where three kayaks were moored, grabbed one by the rope, chose a different one, “This one,” she said. “Get in, I hand your things.” Fortunately, I had just taken time to snap on my PFD.
Stepping in to a low kayak from a dock feels much less secure than shoving off from a beach with all items organized and secured ahead of time. I plopped on the seat back and had barely achieved balance when she passed me my backpack and the oar. My experiences with Janice were on the Gunnison and Colorado Rivers. This is the first time I have ever stepped into a kayak bobbing in 20 feet of water. Let me tell you, I felt much more secure stepping into the shallows of the Colorado River, though if I were to believe my mother, “The Colorado River is treacherous with undertows, stay away from the river, people have drowned there!” Suffice it to say, I have not stayed away from the river. I paddled a portion of the Gunnison, which joins the Colorado in Grand Junction. I paddled a portion of the Colorado from Palisade toward Grand Junction. I drive down Highway 128 as often as possible. I have hiked to the confluence of the Green and the Colorado, I have been swimming in Bullfrog. I swim often at Wahweap; and last weekend I rented a kayak two days in a row and paddled around Wahweap Bay in Lake Powell.
Lake Powell, you will ask, what has that to do with the Colorado River? Everything. Every drop of water in Lake Powell is merely stored water of the Colorado River and its tributaries.
My brother doesn’t think the lake should exist, doesn’t think the dam should have been built. Be that as it may, that water, that Colorado and Utah and Wyoming snow melt, cannot help the fact that it is dammed up. I have followed the river and it is unlikely I will stop following it anytime soon. There are people I love that are dammed up – anal – and I still make the effort to visit them out of love and respect. And, dammed or not, I will still visit the river as often as possible.
