During the night, a curious event--a boat passed by in the middle of the night. Not exactly what you might call a fishing expedition. We theorize about the origin of our nocturnal travelers and agree that whatever the journey, it was not likely for legitimate purposes. Running the canyon in the dark is not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for the wise. Without proper gear, your boat could easily be torn apart in a crash with some hidden underwater hazard. Unfortunately, reporting it will be futile. Park funding has cut most of the ranger staff down to a bare minimum, and they spend the majority of the time around the marinas where the real action is--drunken boaters, lost tourists, and traffic cop duty to deal with the crowds. It's a shame that no one will be able to follow up on this happening. We press farther south towards our goal for the morning, Dangling Rope Marina.

We arrive at the canyon mouth and motor our way into the marina. Dangling Rope Marina is named after the discovery of a woven fiber rope that was used by the Ancestral Puebloans to access this particular canyon during their time in the area. Today this canyon is the home to the only non-land-accessible marina on the lake. And when you imagine the traffic coming here during the peak months, it's an impressive operation. Garbage barges shipping out the waste of dozens of boats, floating pontoons to support mobile docks, and a photovoltaic array that supplies the local power. Small wonder that everything costs a fortune, too. At $3 a gallon and the only game in town, we fill up our boat and prepare to move on our way farther south.

Our next stop is Face Canyon, the farthest southern point of our journey this trip. The lake widens at this point, numerous side canyons-turned-inlets show themselves along the sides, presenting infinite possibilities for side trips. We, however, are on a mission. The maps note an arch near here, and we're determined to find it. However, the maps don't really tell us how far we can get with the fallen water level, so we're at a loss as to how far we need to hike to find it. Moreover, there are several slots up which we can travel to find our destination trailhead, so we're going to play it by ear.

Our first attempt lands us up a narrow slot--so narrow, in fact, we shut the motor off to navigate using the walls and oars to push ourselves in a controlled manner up the channel. The depth indicator of the boat still claims we have an average of 30-60 feet of water beneath us. I can only imagine what wonderful sights would emerge below us in a drained lake--rich, curved sandstone walls, gently carved from years of trickling water down their faces. The cool shade of the slot is a welcome relief to the burning heat surrounding us. Reaching the end of the slot, we realize that we face two problems: the slot ended in a nearly vertical wall, with no visible or safe method to climb out, and it's not enough room to turn the 18' boat around. We must backtrack manually with the boat facing in an awkward direction to navigate.

On the way out, we spy a sandstone fin slanting down towards the water at an angle that might be conducive to climbing. There are several bushes growing along the crevice separating the fin from the wall behind it--an indicator of something solid and wide enough to climb up! We stop the boat and assess our chances of making it up the fin. Somehow, I stupidly volunteer to check it out. Stepping off the boat and up the fin, I realize that getting back into the boat will have a non-zero chance of allowing me to slip and fall into the water if I'm not careful. Fortunately, the day is hot and the thought of a short, quick swim is not unwelcome. I continue bushwhacking up the fin.

Desert flora is not without its own safety precautions. Looking up the fin, I see what appears to be simple tumbleweed. From my home state, I figure this will be an easy climb over the brush. I forget that Mother Nature protects her desert kin with special weapons to discourage all but the most tenacious of plant-eaters. As I step into my first pile, I realize that I've put my legs into the plant equivalent of a barbed-wire bush-- not at all what I expected. The pain is minimal and I keep going. Reaching the top, I am covered with tiny scratches from my mid-thigh down. And I have no choice but to return the way I came...Not the swiftest move I've made today.

My search at the top doesn't yield any obvious clues to the whereabouts of the arch. No landmarks exist that show what should be a tall rock formation sticking up, at least from my vantage point. I call back to my companions below and begin the treacherous descent. Somehow, I manage to make it to the boat, slightly more scratched, but no worse for the wear. We begin our push back out of the channel to explore another finger of this sandstone maze.

Our second choice of canyon yields another narrow passage, but with a more promising end. As we approach the end, the water quickly becomes shallow and we spy a pile of sand on a shore about 10' wide. We approach cautiously and check our beach for solidity. As we feared, part of it is quicksand. But just past the point where the oar can reach, it feels fairly solid and stable. We push back, wedge the oars on the walls as hard as we can, pushing with all our might and make a mighty rush to the bank, hoping we'll beach just high enough to disembark safely. Our plan succeeds, and we're off on a short hike in the punishing sun to see if we are any closer to finding our arch.

Emerging from the coolness of the canyon and after a couple of interesting climbs through narrow passages, the slot opens up at the bottom of a long sandstone hill. Our choices are go back or up. We begin slogging up the slickrock for a better view of our surroundings. We are greeted as we climb by various blooming plants--desert evening primrose, globe mallow and the bright fuschia flowers of some hedgehog cacti. It's a good excuse to stop, catch my breath and take in the unspoiled views of this beautiful land. I notice just how accustomed to the cooling effect of the lake I've become in such a short time. My hour-long departure from it has me sweating up a storm. Between the sun and the reflected heat of the rocks, it must easily be 100 degrees where I'm standing. I remind myself how lucky we are to have water nearby under these circumstances.

Ascending the hill, we spy some sort of formation near the top of a saddle that could be our arch. We see little alternative and walk up that direction to check out our only lead. The sun beats down heavily upon us and I'm already thinking about returning to our beach where the temperatures are easily 15-20 degrees cooler. Circling around what appears to be a steep, unclimbable slope, we find that indeed, our arch is reachable! The angle of approach did not reveal our pinnacle as an arch initially. We climb up and observe the strange geologic interaction between fire, sand, and iron, leaving an odd mixture of darkened stone shaped like a ring carved for a titan. It's quite a sight, and well worth the radiant, oven-like heat that now surrounds from the mid-afternoon sun. We agree that a morning shot would be best for light on this noble feature and return to the boat for our journey out.

An uneventful exit from the canyon is filled with peaceful, late-day light on the canyon walls, adding a magical glow to our departure. The reflections on the calm water in the deep slots are pensive and evocative, keeping our conversation to a minimum as we proceed across the lake to locate our camp for the night.