Today, our travels will take us from our northern most spot, down to the Escalante Arm, with a well-timed stop for gas at our starting point, Halls Crossing. We make it back to the marina, but our boat's top speed is a mere 8 miles per hour. An old motor is the culprit and I secretly hope that we won't be needing the paddles for more push offs at the marina and shore. However, the slow rate of travel gives me time to absorb the vastness of the walls--the sheer enormity of the cliffs. I relieve some monotony by volunteering to drive the boat as I observe the ancient sandstone and marvel in my insignificance.

The Escalante arm is the one of the largest river inlets of the lake. And by far one of the more spectacular side trips so far. High canyon walls with spiraling pinnacles, nooks, and crannies meet our eyes at every direction. Moving up the canyon, the walls slowly close in on us from both sides. The feeling is almost claustrophobic but our depth gauge indicates that these channels are still almost a hundred feet deep. We are essentially floating in a very large slot canyon.

The Cathedral in the Desert is our destination for mid-morning. We navigate down the various side canyons marked with buoys until we are idling through a very tight slot canyon, just barely wider than our boat. We kill the engine and the three of us push the boat along the channel using the paddles against the walls. The echos of the paddle connecting with stone are intermixed with random obscenities as we scrape the boat at times. Mostly we're just silent, looking at the reflected light from the water on the walls and amazed at every turn we make down this narrow slot. We come to a dead end and fire up the engine to bring the boat to a halt.

Cathedral in the Desert is a rare treat. While most slot canyons offer something of a unique experience being able to touch both sides of a towering canyon with walls over 100 feet tall at the same time, Cathedral in the Desert is like a small church carved out of the middle of a long hall of sandstone. Named for the echos that sound like you're in the middle of an Old World gothic cathedral, this grotto was flooded in the mid 60s so access was only possible from an overland route that required several miles of hard hiking. Even then, the actual Cathedral itself is totally inaccessible from the top, so this water level recession offers a rare insight into the original feel of the grotto.

As we approach the wall, a crack where a tiny spring pours off just above the boat, we spy a small rope that has knots in it. It is not until we return home that I realize this small waterfall is the famous waterfall of the Cathedral itself. Mistakenly, we believe that we need to climb up and over to experience the Cathedral. The echos in the massive room attempt to tell us we have found what we sought. But we pull the boat over to the side and unknowingly grasp the cord, which looks as if someone placed it there for easier access up to another grotto. However, the seep has given rise to a myriad of moss and algae, which has rendered the crack almost unclimbable. Well, not really unclimbable, but the likelihood of falling into the water has increased tenfold. Between the narrow diameter of the rope and the 25 pounds of water- intolerant camera gear we'd need to climb with, we eye the ascent with suspicion. After a few minutes of debate, we sadly agree that our success in climbing would be low and so we begin the return down the slot. Only after we come home and I am writing this story do I realize that the Cathedral itself will finally be free of water the following spring. Our goal had been achieved, but we were too blind to realize it.

Late in the afternoon, we pass something of a famous spot--Hole in the Rock. From my vantage point in the boat, it looks more like "Crack in the Rock". This particular spot was the location where some very determined Mormon pioneers, mostly out of desperation, were trying to find their way past Glen Canyon. This particular spot happened to be the only one they could find that would accomodate a reasonable descent into the canyon. What consitutes reasonable? Well, apparently in Canyon Country when your options are few and it's likely your water supply is running low, a small crack, big enough for a single horse at a time, down a 45 degree slope of questionable, broken sandstone seems awfully reasonable. These brave folks managed to disassemble an entire wagon train and bring it down to the canyon bottom, horses and all, through this route. Looking through the binoculars, I still can't picture all of this in my mind, but I am awed by the determination of the human spirit.

Our rate of travel only manages to get us about half way down from the Escalante arm before the sun starts its nightly descent, so we find the nearest island that looks safe. There are published maps of the Lake Powell shorelines and they are excellent navigation tools. However with the current water levels, they are almost useless in locating decent camping spots. No marked camping beach from the map even exists right now, so you're on your own. Fortunately, there are many untold wonders of the canyon that are exposed and we find a nice island that happens to have some convenient cliffs to photograph for sunset. A calm evening brings the water to near-stillness and the deafening silence falls with the darkness.