Our Home, At Home



Launch: Wahweap Marina, not far from Page, AZ

Nearby campsites: Park service camp just above the marina.

Comments: This is some of the most outstanding cruising in deep canyons in the US. Spring and fall are less crowded seasons. A month is not too long for cruising and exploring the secret recesses of this recreation area.


-----The Northwest Pacific coast gets wet and cool in winter, so we trailered our new home down to Page, AZ to explore Lake Powell in November. We found spectacular scenery, few boats, and cold temperatures - perfect cruising grounds, and a great test for our stove/heater in the 20° nights.

-----We were "anchored" to the shore one evening, with our bow on the sand and two stern lines tied to rocks. We had a visitor board us that night. I was out in the cockpit looking at the panorama of stars over our canyon home. It was incredible - never knew there were so many stars. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. Startled, I turned and saw a little brown mouse on the thwart. It had squinty little eyes and a turned up nose - cocky little fellow, if I must say. I tossed him a mean look and he skittered off forward and disappeared in the darkness. Cheeky little fellow must have tight-roped the anchor line from our anchor fixed into the sand, ashore. He came for a little visit. Well, I felt a little badly at being such a poor host - and in such a cold, dark, lonely canyon - but it was too late to make amends.

-----So, I retreated to the toasty warm cabin and mentioned our guest to El. She was a little doubtful about the existence of a guest - maybe she thought nine days out was starting to addle my brain a little, or some such. But, I swear, I kept seeing bright beady little eyes peeking surreptitiously through the windscreen - they even seemed to be a little tearful, and maybe even quivering a little from the shivering cold. I'd toss them a smile, if El wasn't looking. Soon, we turned in and were sound asleep, snuggled warm and comfy in the V-berth. And then, in the blackness of the moonless night, deep in the canyons of Davis Gulch (where a young man named Reuss went missing in 1938), perfidy!

-----We knew nothing at the time. But, on awakening with the dawn, there was evidence of a nighttime bacchanal! Someone (you guessed it!) had entered our tightly secured cabin (through the bilge pump recess, I suspect). He/she had quietly nibbled into the Wheatena box and stuffed his/her little belly full.

-----"It's a wonder he could get back out through such a small entrance space with a full tummy," El mused.

-----"Gads!" I said. "Maybe he didn't - maybe he's still aboard, back in a warm corner of my clothes bag, burping and pooping."

-----We looked, and all we found was a string of momentos atop our food box. "Marking his territory," I guessed.

-----"Letting you know his feelings about your abilities as a host," El said.

-----Fortunately, the critter thoughtfully chose the Wheatena box that was 98% gone - so El pitched the last bit to the fish. We had brekkie from a fresh box. "The little bugger was probably saving it for tonight," El said.

-----Ah, sad for him, we upped anchor that morning, and moved the party elsewhere. However, somewhere deep in the canyons of the Escalante, in a high-pitched squeaky voice, there is a legend being repeated down the generations - about the night that Grandpa Mouse found Heaven docked at the beach.

Alternate Housing                                                    Fisherman's Paradise
Tight Canyons and Open Vistas

La Gorce Arch                                                 Rainbow Bridge


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