Friday April
18, 2003
The alarm clock
beeped at 6:30 and I got up and showered by way of a nozzle head that practically
required sitting down to get under. Dave was up letting his dog out when
I awoke. We had a quick breakfast of Karen’s breakfast burritos and
then loaded the car under a clear, blue Colorado sky that provided a magnificnet
backdrop for the snow-shrouded heights of Pike’s Peak. We left Colorado
Springs behind at around 8:30, driving south down I-25 through Pueblo in
light traffic, while the poor tie-wearing commuters sentenced to yet another
work day drove north to the giant congestive hell called Denver. I turned
the car west at Walsenburg, then engaged the cruise control on Hwy 160
for the long haul to Arizona. The mountain terrain, dramatically accented
by snowbanks on the relatively treeless slopes, almost caused our trip
to go no further than La Veta Pass where we both would’ve been pleased
to stop and backpack. We had lunch at Subway in Pagosa Springs, but otherwise
kept on the road. We encountered snow on Wolf Creek Pass, and traffic was
backed up due to an apparent tunnel construction project that had cut the
road down to a single lane. Fortunately, we arrived within a minute or
so of our lane getting to go through, so we really didn’t have to wait
at all. The skies were fairly grey and threatening from then on, and we
encountered some snow on the ground just east of Page, AZ. I'm guessing
that doesn't happen frequently.
Our
destination was Wahweap Lodge and Marina, on the southern edge of Lake
Powell. Outside of Page, we approached Glen Canyon Dam. Some facts
on the dam: 1,560 ft wide at the crest, 710 ft above bedrock and 583 ft
above the orginal Colorado River bed. Concrete for the dam was poured around
the clock for 3 straight years, beginning in 1956. At full pool, the lake
is 560 ft deep at the dam (NPS, 2002). My first sight of the dam was a
significant moment because of all I had read about it, mostly from anti-dam
critics like Edward Abbey, David Brower and Katie Lee. I don’t pretend
to be unbiased, but then again, anyone who does is still just pretending.
I don’t think anyone is unbiased about anything. The images and descriptions
of the wondrous beauty of Glen Canyon before the dam paint the immense
concrete and steel structure in a lurid light for me, and while I appreciate
the amazing utility of such a feature, I would have it not there if given
a choice. A trestle bridge spans the canyon just downstream of the dam.
The area is deliciously rugged and orange, with no plants whatsoever. The
only break in the sea of rock comes in the form of the hundreds of power
line towers and wires stretching every which way and off to the distance
like an occupying army. Nothing could look more out of place than
those steel towers. The canyon is very narrow, as good dam sites are apt
to be, and the walls are straight, tall and stained with a thousand streaks
of metal oxides. Looking at the water level above and below the dam gives
an appreciation for the immense holding capacity it has, especially when
one looks at the map and sees the Colorado River backed up over 100 miles
upstream, and into hundreds of side channels. Imagine the pressure on that
concrete. From what I have read, and heard, no other dam has generated
as much controversy as this one, and it was like confronting the villain
of a dream in living color. In my estimate, backed up by some obvious facts,
the dam has created an unnatural reservoir of cooler and clearer than normal
water in a dry area that benefits, of all animals, only non-native species
of fish, upsetting the entire ecosystem of the area, and flooding thousands
of square miles of fragile canyon riparian areas that took millennia to
develop and stabilize. The recreational activities of the lake are primarily
motor-boat related, an activity which spews toxic emmissions, many times
worse than those from automobiles, into the air and results in thousands
of gallons of spilled motor fuel and oil into the water each year.
Such boaters all too often discard their used comfort items, cups, bottles,
cans, plates, forks, couches, etc., into the lake, so that it has become
the American southwest’s largest garbage dump. The barren, rock buttes
that jut out from the water are completely lifeless, and the entire area
seems sterile. The only touch of green I saw came from invasive tamarisk
patches. I overheard an old southern woman sum it up best on the last day
of our trip by asking her companion, in typical southern ease, "Where’s
all the wildlife?" Good question. Answer? Native wildlife adapted to an
intermittent river flow through sandy canyons, not hundreds of feet of
cold water surrounding stone pillars. There is not much in the way of wildlife
in the immediate area of the lake. It’s all been drowned out. I am saddened
by the destruction wrought by the dam, but I am comforted by the thought
that the Colorado River can play the game longer than the dam, and finally,
inevitably, crush the concrete into dust, whereupon the river will flow
as it always has, the white slime
stains on the cliffs around the lake will be scoured clean, the mountains
of trash that lay at the stinking lake bottom will wash into the ocean
and the birds, lizards, snakes, squirrels and insects will once again have
a home in the maze of sandstone canyons.
After a spell
examining the dam, we drove the car up the road and into the marina area,
paying the $10 Glen Canyon NRA entrance fee and receiving, in return, a
map of Lake Powell. Wahweap Marina straddles the Utah-Arizona border, and
it was here where we planned on staying the first night and picking up
the shuttle the following morning. Turned out that the tent site camping
area was closed, which was, of course, where we planned on camping, so
we had to go up to the RV site. We kept telling ourselves it was only for
a short night, and tried to ignore the gravel surface we had to set up
on, the RV generators switching on and off from all sides, barking dogs,
humming radios and television sets and dozens of security lights. We got
the site, then drove into Page for a quick, cheap Taco Bell dining experience.
While in town, I called the shuttle company and set up a pick up time and
place for the next morning. That set, we drove back to the campground and
went to sleep at dark. |