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- May 5, 2012
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The sticky damp of dawn hung in the air, trapped by fiberglass and plastic. It condensed in fat, gravity-defying droplets on the sagging canvas roof. A single eye cracked, rolling around in its socket to examine the plum hue of the dawn. It saw those icy drops hanging like daggers ready to fall on any bit of exposed skin.
Recoiling, unzipping and rolling carefully out of a sleeping bag, a near naked figure stood barefoot on the boat. Skin prickled under the clammy air as he dressed swift and silent. Taking care not to rouse the others still sleeping, he slithered out a slit between two pieces of the canopy. His bare feet hit the slats of the dock. The couplings between the sections clunked as his weight made them bob on the still predawn waters.
Turning east, he wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes and stretched. Somewhere out in the bay a fish flopped on the black surface, sending out silver-rimmed ripples. Their concentric circles spread without further sound, turning blue, lavender and gold as they reached the cloud-reflected light of the yet-to-rise sun.
Sunrise on Hideout Bay by ashergrey, on Flickr
Days earlier, the clouds had a different agenda. They'd blanketed the interior West, seemingly bringing rain showers from Las Vegas to Laramie. I'd set out from somewhere between. The skies along the Wasatch Front had the look of a summer storm. Waves of water washed over the windshield as I headed east through Echo Canyon. At Evanston a few rays of sun broke through, but the overcast regrouped and shut them out again by Fort Bridger.
Still I rocketed east against the wind. Stopping in Manila, I dropped into the small U.S. Forest Service ranger station to inquire after the status of the Horseshoe Canyon cut. As I'd feared, the summer drought had reduced reservoir levels so much that the cut no longer permitted motorboats to pass. When this happens, the Forest Service removes wakeless restrictions in the canyon.
Plans for gentle paddle through the narrow canyon with its sheer walls seemed less pleasant, not to mention less safe, with motorboats zipping back and forth. Disappointed and grumbling at my bad weather luck, I called home to tell my parents where I instead planned to paddle.
I'd put in at Sheep Creek and make for Campbell Draw.
Storm over Sheep Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
Ominous clouds awaited at the Sheep Creek launch ramp. They seemed to crash against the orange reef of the Flaming Gorge. Hoping for a break, I unloaded the kayak from the roof of my car and situated the gear I'd need for several days solo on the lake.
Launching at Sheep Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
At last the storm gave signs of breaking. Big puffy clouds replaced the flat gray overcast, throwing patchy shadows on the ground. On the water I went.
Floating the Gorge by ashergrey, on Flickr
The break didn't last. Like a door slamming shut the sky closed in once again. Looking back on the launch, I did some mental nail-biting. The Gorge can go from placid to perilous in very short order.
Storm at your Six by ashergrey, on Flickr
Turning back just didn't seem wise given that the worst of the clouds were brewing up behind me now.
Kingfisher Clouds by ashergrey, on Flickr
Sticking close to the shallows along Kingfisher's north side, I pulled hard for the island's boat camp. White-cap waves were breaking over the top of my gear-laden kayak by the time its bow ran aground. With some effort, I hauled the boat up to a safe ledge and waited out the weather.
Landing at Kingfisher by ashergrey, on Flickr
The wind calmed in time. With a good few hours of daylight wasted I launched again and made for Hideout. Osprey wheeled overhead, diving at infrequent intervals to snatch some complacent fish from the shallows.
Perch by ashergrey, on Flickr
Rounding Beehive Point by ashergrey, on Flickr
Hideout Canyon's boat-in campground is a great facility if you're loaded down for watersports. However, I desired something a bit more primitive. Campbell Draw sits across the bay, a narrow inlet with plenty of space for a small camp. Unfortunately, I found its nooks already occupied by motorboats.
Looking back on Hideout by ashergrey, on Flickr
Back across the bay I went, searching the western shores for a suitably private landing. The low water had exposed a lot of additional bare beachfront.
Low-water Landing by ashergrey, on Flickr
Red Canyon Cove by ashergrey, on Flickr
No sooner had a set camp, gathered fire wood and started this warming blaze than the worst weather of the day arrived. I dove into the dark tent and listened to the downpour turn my fire to a sizzling pile of ash.
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge1.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]Rain persisted through the night. The dawn brought sun and its misty touch. Crawling from the tent I at last gave praise to clear blue skies.
Drying Out by ashergrey, on Flickr
Moonrise by ashergrey, on Flickr
With nowhere to be and no timetable when to be there, I took my time with breakfast. Me and my little red boat coasted down the channel into the mouth of Red Canyon in the shadow of Dowd Mountain. It felt much more fleet without the heavy gear.
I landed at Carter Creek amidst a crowd. It's a popular place for fishermen and families. Hoping to evade them, I stowed the boat and started hiking up the creek. While cutting through the brush I nearly stepped on a whip snake. Not much father upstream another snake of unknown species fell from a branch and hit my arm. Shrieking and shuddering like a child, I took the hint and turned around.
Carter Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
There's a great osprey nest right on the water in Red Canyon. I've had great luck shooting fledglings there in the past. Landing a boat made of sticks and cloth on the rocky beach took some work.
Unfortunately, the low water had left the perch exposed. At high water it's an island safe from predators. Not so now. After waiting the better part of an hour for a sighting I headed back to the boat empty handed.
Abandoned Nest by ashergrey, on Flickr
Another gray evening fell with just a splash of pink.
Mouth of Red Canyon by ashergrey, on Flickr
Impoundment Pastels by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge2.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]Monday dawned as Sunday had, bright and clear. The campsite came down to the sound of buzzing bees and hummingbirds in the pollen-heavy weeds surrounding the tent. Only a short paddle awaited — I had only to skip over to the Hideout boat camp where more of my family would be arriving on a ski boat.
Beehive Point to Campbell Draw by ashergrey, on Flickr
Slide by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge3.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]But the weather hadn't finished. Storms came in waves for two days, hitting seemingly every 20 minutes.
We later learned that some of the downpours that interrupted our fun caused washouts to the south around Vernal and elsewhere in the Uinta Basin. In fact, the rainy flow continued for weeks through an incredibly active monsoon system across Utah.
Thankfully, the second-to-last morning on the lake brought an amazing sunrise. I'd not planned on rising early to catch it, having been so disappointed by every other dawn. By a stroke of luck I cracked an eye while sleeping on the boat just in time to see the light cooking on the eastern horizon.
Off the Dock by ashergrey, on Flickr
First Light at Hideout by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge4.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]
Featured image for home page:
Recoiling, unzipping and rolling carefully out of a sleeping bag, a near naked figure stood barefoot on the boat. Skin prickled under the clammy air as he dressed swift and silent. Taking care not to rouse the others still sleeping, he slithered out a slit between two pieces of the canopy. His bare feet hit the slats of the dock. The couplings between the sections clunked as his weight made them bob on the still predawn waters.
Turning east, he wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes and stretched. Somewhere out in the bay a fish flopped on the black surface, sending out silver-rimmed ripples. Their concentric circles spread without further sound, turning blue, lavender and gold as they reached the cloud-reflected light of the yet-to-rise sun.
Sunrise on Hideout Bay by ashergrey, on Flickr
Days earlier, the clouds had a different agenda. They'd blanketed the interior West, seemingly bringing rain showers from Las Vegas to Laramie. I'd set out from somewhere between. The skies along the Wasatch Front had the look of a summer storm. Waves of water washed over the windshield as I headed east through Echo Canyon. At Evanston a few rays of sun broke through, but the overcast regrouped and shut them out again by Fort Bridger.
Still I rocketed east against the wind. Stopping in Manila, I dropped into the small U.S. Forest Service ranger station to inquire after the status of the Horseshoe Canyon cut. As I'd feared, the summer drought had reduced reservoir levels so much that the cut no longer permitted motorboats to pass. When this happens, the Forest Service removes wakeless restrictions in the canyon.
Plans for gentle paddle through the narrow canyon with its sheer walls seemed less pleasant, not to mention less safe, with motorboats zipping back and forth. Disappointed and grumbling at my bad weather luck, I called home to tell my parents where I instead planned to paddle.
I'd put in at Sheep Creek and make for Campbell Draw.
Storm over Sheep Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
Ominous clouds awaited at the Sheep Creek launch ramp. They seemed to crash against the orange reef of the Flaming Gorge. Hoping for a break, I unloaded the kayak from the roof of my car and situated the gear I'd need for several days solo on the lake.
Launching at Sheep Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
At last the storm gave signs of breaking. Big puffy clouds replaced the flat gray overcast, throwing patchy shadows on the ground. On the water I went.
Floating the Gorge by ashergrey, on Flickr
The break didn't last. Like a door slamming shut the sky closed in once again. Looking back on the launch, I did some mental nail-biting. The Gorge can go from placid to perilous in very short order.
Storm at your Six by ashergrey, on Flickr
Turning back just didn't seem wise given that the worst of the clouds were brewing up behind me now.
Kingfisher Clouds by ashergrey, on Flickr
Sticking close to the shallows along Kingfisher's north side, I pulled hard for the island's boat camp. White-cap waves were breaking over the top of my gear-laden kayak by the time its bow ran aground. With some effort, I hauled the boat up to a safe ledge and waited out the weather.
Landing at Kingfisher by ashergrey, on Flickr
The wind calmed in time. With a good few hours of daylight wasted I launched again and made for Hideout. Osprey wheeled overhead, diving at infrequent intervals to snatch some complacent fish from the shallows.
Perch by ashergrey, on Flickr
Rounding Beehive Point by ashergrey, on Flickr
Hideout Canyon's boat-in campground is a great facility if you're loaded down for watersports. However, I desired something a bit more primitive. Campbell Draw sits across the bay, a narrow inlet with plenty of space for a small camp. Unfortunately, I found its nooks already occupied by motorboats.
Looking back on Hideout by ashergrey, on Flickr
Back across the bay I went, searching the western shores for a suitably private landing. The low water had exposed a lot of additional bare beachfront.
Low-water Landing by ashergrey, on Flickr
Red Canyon Cove by ashergrey, on Flickr
No sooner had a set camp, gathered fire wood and started this warming blaze than the worst weather of the day arrived. I dove into the dark tent and listened to the downpour turn my fire to a sizzling pile of ash.
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge1.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]Rain persisted through the night. The dawn brought sun and its misty touch. Crawling from the tent I at last gave praise to clear blue skies.
Drying Out by ashergrey, on Flickr
Moonrise by ashergrey, on Flickr
With nowhere to be and no timetable when to be there, I took my time with breakfast. Me and my little red boat coasted down the channel into the mouth of Red Canyon in the shadow of Dowd Mountain. It felt much more fleet without the heavy gear.
I landed at Carter Creek amidst a crowd. It's a popular place for fishermen and families. Hoping to evade them, I stowed the boat and started hiking up the creek. While cutting through the brush I nearly stepped on a whip snake. Not much father upstream another snake of unknown species fell from a branch and hit my arm. Shrieking and shuddering like a child, I took the hint and turned around.
Carter Creek by ashergrey, on Flickr
There's a great osprey nest right on the water in Red Canyon. I've had great luck shooting fledglings there in the past. Landing a boat made of sticks and cloth on the rocky beach took some work.
Unfortunately, the low water had left the perch exposed. At high water it's an island safe from predators. Not so now. After waiting the better part of an hour for a sighting I headed back to the boat empty handed.
Abandoned Nest by ashergrey, on Flickr
Another gray evening fell with just a splash of pink.
Mouth of Red Canyon by ashergrey, on Flickr
Impoundment Pastels by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge2.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]Monday dawned as Sunday had, bright and clear. The campsite came down to the sound of buzzing bees and hummingbirds in the pollen-heavy weeds surrounding the tent. Only a short paddle awaited — I had only to skip over to the Hideout boat camp where more of my family would be arriving on a ski boat.
Beehive Point to Campbell Draw by ashergrey, on Flickr
Slide by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge3.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]But the weather hadn't finished. Storms came in waves for two days, hitting seemingly every 20 minutes.
We later learned that some of the downpours that interrupted our fun caused washouts to the south around Vernal and elsewhere in the Uinta Basin. In fact, the rainy flow continued for weeks through an incredibly active monsoon system across Utah.
Thankfully, the second-to-last morning on the lake brought an amazing sunrise. I'd not planned on rising early to catch it, having been so disappointed by every other dawn. By a stroke of luck I cracked an eye while sleeping on the boat just in time to see the light cooking on the eastern horizon.
Off the Dock by ashergrey, on Flickr
First Light at Hideout by ashergrey, on Flickr
[PARSEHTML]<iframe src="http://www.mappingsupport.com/p/gmap4.php?q=https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/3847512/GPS/Flaming_Gorge4.kml&t=t4" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" width="800" height="800"></iframe><br><br>[/PARSEHTML]
Featured image for home page:
