The scene is Lake Powell, Reflection Canyon to be more
specific. Our 60 ft houseboat is anchored up against a red-rock beach with some
sand. How it works is that you pull the boat up against the shore with four
anchors stretching out from the bow and stern: two lines on either side, two
lines on both the bow and the stern each. The lines are attached to anchors
which are buried in the sandy shore or, in our case, wrapped around and pivoted
against large boulders. Over the course of our two weeks of previous experience
from summers past on Powell, we have found our preferred method is to rely on
the shear inertial force of a boulder instead of the compacted frictional force
of sand.
What we didn’t know is that as an evening front blew in from
across the desert that evening, we would have to rely on far more than just the
boulders to hold us to the shore.
Certainly the distant skyline looked ominous, but the desert
will do that often and the canyon we were parked in, with two hundred-foot
cliffs towering over us, seemed very sheltered. But in came the wind, and the
canyon did nothing but funnel the gale-force gusts. The wind began to pick up,
and two minutes after the first 35-mph, full-frontal gust with sustained 25 mph
winds to follow, it was game time. Either we were going to hold strong to this
shore, or the wind was going to take us like kite and smash us into the rocks
and crush the power boat we had attached to the side of our house boat. To give
you a hint, the men on that boat are pretty competitive: we weren’t going to
lose this high-stakes battle.
Into action we flew. My dad whipped out a wench and Geoff
(my friend) and I ran an extra anchor line from the up-wind side of the bow
onto the shore. The engines were started and we rammed ourselves up against the
shore with all hundreds of horsepower worth of two prop engines. With the boat
firmly up against the shore, anchors were heaved in to their tightest point and
tied off securely. Finally, an extra line on the center bow of the boat was
added with a small wench to keep the boat as far on the shore as possible. We
were ready.
I could describe the calm before the storm and how the
clouds seemed to grow darker as the wind got heavier. I could describe the 45
mph gusts that slammed the side of the boat. There was creaking of anchors,
shifting of sand, scrambling, high-pitched screaming, and satisfaction after we
sustained an engineer-estimated 2300 Lbs of force on the side of my boat.
I could try to, in
vain, to describe the awesome experience of braving a storm that shook not only
the boat but the inside of my soul. But there is something incredibly humbling
and yet empowering to hold strong through the storm. To ride out the wind. To
withstand the current. It is just freaking cool. I can only pray that I withstand
the power that is the ever-changing currents of the unsteady world. When the
earth tilts so often and gravity brings everything down with it, how are we
supposed to stand our ground? Certainly not on our own: but on the strength of
our anchors we have planted. It may be hard. Your hands might be burned from
pulling rope tight. But it will be worth it when the sun breaks through the
clouds.
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