My first view of the lake was upon our arrival at Bullfrog Marina, one of the two marinas at the northern half of the lake. What can only be described as a white bathtub ring was clearly evident along the sprawling reddish cliff walls that extended from horizon to horizon. My first thought: What kind of marring effect this 'ring' would have on the beauty of Glen Canyon? A couple of hours later as we motored up the channel to visit Defiance House, one of the many Ancestral Puebloan cliff dwelling ruins, I realized that this ring is just another blip on the timeclock of geologic history and could easily be scoured off by the relentless forces of wind and rain that originally shaped this paradise. Give it another 40 years and you wouldn't recognize it again.

The average depth of the lake is approximately 200', so doing some quick math at 50% full, that means the 'bathtub ring' is sitting 100 feet above your boat as you slide past the grand sandstone walls. It's one of the few times you really get a sense of scale in a desert canyon. Your sense of distance can be easily fooled from a picture or even just standing and looking at a scene some distance away from you. From afar, the bathtub ring looks like it's just a tiny fraction of the lake's depth. As our boat slid down the lake, and I was next to one of these walls, I realized that the top of the ring is 10 stories above my head, and that's just about 1/3 to 1/4 the height of the wall I could see. Suddenly, I feel very, very small and hope that I don't drop anything out of the boat. It's a long dive to the bottom.

But this ring is just an indicator that the Lady of the Lake is now allowing us to view her house, someplace she's hidden from us for the past 4 decades. My excitement grows as we approach the side canyon that leads us to Defiance House. We reach an abrupt end when the beach comes around a sharp bend that has 4 other boats already moored for the afternoon, possibly even the night. Clearly, we're not alone.

Jumping off on the beach, I encounter my first zebra mussel infestation. These parasitic creatures came from some boat long ago that had but a single drop of water containing their embryotic cysts, just waiting for reemergence in a vast new body of water. They are more visible now that the water levels are plummeting. I can only guess to what extent they have colonized the lake--this beach is covered with these small black-and-white striped clams. And they add a not-so-wonderful fishy smell to the beach that should otherwise reek of wet sand. Signs warn of these critters at every marina boat ramp and now I can see why. Too bad the damage has already been done.

Walking up the canyon and across the mud flat to venture towards our first goal, Defiance House, the real impact of Glen Canyon's flooding is now apparent. Massive cottonwoods, dead for over 30 years, now mere skeletons of their former existence, stand as reminders that the canyon was not always a lake. Now a garden graveyard, these giants stand with odd bits of fishing line, rope, bags and other trash dangling from their bare branches, like some remnant from a bad horror movie. Walking past them is surreal. The floor of the canyon, covered with fresh silt during the water's recession, provides a fertile bed for the tamarisk that now lines the bottom. It's an odd contrast of life and death. A small creek trickles down the middle searching for the end of its journey to the lake.

Farther up the canyon, we see that vegetation has reclaimed more ground--a tribute to Nature's tenacity. The bottoms are now teeming with life. A process that has been repeated for millenia is happening once again. And finally, the ruin is in sight. Midway up the cliff wall, nested safely into a south-facing crook, several stone structures were built by a bustling small community. Approximately 800 years old and long since abandoned, restored by Park Service work, Defiance House provides an excellent example of classic Ancestral Puebloan living. Consisting of a kiva, a small house, and perhaps some grain storage areas, the ruin is thought to support a family of about 12-20. Like most ruins in the Four Corners area, the reasons for abandonment of this sanctuary are unknown. Famine, war, drought--all possibilities but the exact reasons remain a mystery. Standing here and gazing up and down this lovely place, I can see that whatever drove them out, it certainly wasn't an easy decision to leave. The water level used to permit a boat to approach within a few hundred yards of the ruin. Now, a one mile hike is required. I'm sure Ed Abbey would have preferred it that way.

We return to camp that night and fall asleep to the sounds of fish jumping in the lagoon where our boat is beached. Those fish certainly can't be thrilled at the prospect of losing more than 50% of their habitat. Tonight, the fish seem oblivious to their plight, happily jumping at all the mosquitoes and gnats swarming near the surface.