I thought the owner of the hostel in Flagstaff was an Irish alcoholic. I mean an Irishman. When we said goodbye, he said a few words in German. Excuse me? I see. A native of northern Bavaria from Hof. The world is shrinking again. I have to move on to make it bigger.
Heading north across the Arizona steppe. With the top down, I’m amused by Boss Hoss, Jesus built my hotrod. The side canyons of the big one look much better. Crazy colours and much better light today. Constant police checks annoy me. Probably 10 times more often than in Germany.
The Grand Canyon is divided into two altitudes west of Flagstaff. A wide upper valley and a deep gorge in the centre. In the Grand Canyon National Park you can only drive to the edge of the upper wide valley. At Lees Ferry, you can drive to more than just the upper rim. For 700 miles, it is the only place in the Grand Canyon where you can drive right up to the river. Discovered by chance, found out later.
A Navajo hitchhiker guides me to my new hostel. I’m the only guest. Stuff in, Frank out. I drive along Lake Powell. So more around the outside. Along a small stretch. The lake is 300 km long and there is only a tarmac road every 100 km. The rest can only be reached by jeep. The colours are crazy. The lower Grand Canyon is red sandstone. At Lake Powell, the rocks gleam white in the sun.
Lake Powell is a National Recreation Area. Nasty term, nasty realisation. Firstly, $15 entrance fee, covered by my annual pass. Secondly, the American idea of “recreation”: eating fat and drinking, unpacking jet skis, motorboats and ATVs. Then make as much noise as the accelerator pedal will allow. If you’re too fat to walk, you ride an ATV through the dunes. If you’re too stupid to swim, play “mating T-Rex” with your motorboat. The resulting waves are considerable. Real “sportsmen” go jet skiing.
I go for a swim and briefly consider whether I should overcome my aversion to this type of “recreation”. No wind for kitesurfing, but a board behind a jet ski…? The radio interrupts the programme for a storm warning. Everything stands still. Could be. I drive back to Glen Canyon Dam and reserve a place on the free guided tour. Sorry Olli, had to be. Call back tomorrow.
The tour is quite interesting and funny. Airport-like controls. Back of the ticket: If you make bomb jokes, you’ll be sent packing. Anyone who stands on the sidelines will be expelled. I ask why the tour is free. Evasive answers. So that the world knows: Glen Canyon Dam only has good effects on the Grand Canyon. Not bad. After eight years of drought, Lake Powell is half empty anyway. Eight more, and there will be one more nuclear power plant in America :-)
The thunderstorms arrive in the evening. The setting sun makes the rocks glow. Between the supercells: Rays of sunlight. I don’t even know which direction I should photograph. How am I supposed to keep it all? Oh, a rainbow… Hunger finally drives me to a Mexican restaurant. The same thing again: stupidly eaten halfway through. I arrive at the hostel just in time for the downpour and lightning every second. Even the thunderstorms are huge here.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.