Contents ( 49)
- Contents
- Editor’s Note
- I
- Ned: The Early Years
- 1927–37: Stump Creek, West Virginia
- Hallelujah on the Bum
- How It Was
- Drunk in the Afternoon
- Journal IV
- II
- Ed: The Early Years
- From The Fool’s Progress
- From The Brave Cowboy
- Manhattan Twilight, Hoboken Night
- Author’s Introduction to Desert Solitaire
- The First Morning
- The Serpents of Paradise
- Polemic: Industrial Tourism and the National Parks
- Tukuhnikivats, the Island in the Desert
- Appalachian Pictures
- Appalachia, Good-bye
- My Life as a P.I.G., or The True Adventures of Smokey the Cop
- III
- Ed Moves On
- From Black Sun
- 1971–77: Henry in Love—An Interlude
- The Wooden Shoe Conspiracy
- The Raid at Comb Wash
- Death Valley Junk
- Meeting the Bear
- Aravaipa Canyon
- IV
- Postlude
- A Colorado River Journal
- From Good News
- Desert Images
- The Damnation of a Canyon
- Gather at the River
- River Solitaire
- Free Speech
- Theory of Anarchy
- Eco-Defense
- A Writer’s Credo
- Immigration and Liberal Taboos
- Abbey The Fool’s Progress
- Postlude
- A Few Words in Memory of Edward Abbey
- A Selected Bibliography of Works by Edward Abbey
- Acknowledgments
Hite Marina, at the mouth of Narrow Canyon, will probably have to be abandoned within twenty or thirty years. After that it will be the turn of Bullfrog Marina. And then Rainbow Bridge Marina. And eventually, inevitably, whether it takes ten centuries or only one, Wahweap. Lake Powell, like Lake Mead, is foredoomed sooner or later to become a solid mass of mud, and its dam a waterfall. Assuming, of course, that either one stands that long.
Second, the question of costs. It is often stated that the dam and its reservoir have opened up to the many what was formerly restricted to the few, implying in this case that what was once expensive has now been made cheap. Exactly the opposite is true.
Before the dam, a float trip down the river through Glen Canyon would cost you a minimum of seven days’ time, well within anyone’s vacation allotment, and a capital outlay of about forty dollars—the prevailing price of a two-man rubber boat with oars, available at any army-navy surplus store. A life jacket might be useful but not required, for there were no dangerous rapids in the 150 miles of Glen Canyon. As the name implies, this stretch of the river was in fact so easy and gentle that the trip could be and was made by all sorts of amateurs: by Boy Scouts, Camp Fire Girls, stenographers, schoolteachers, students, little old ladies in inner tubes. Guides, professional boatmen, giant pontoons, outboard motors, radios, rescue equipment were not needed. The Glen Canyon float trip was an adventure anyone could enjoy, on his own, for a cost less than that of spending two days and nights in a Page motel. Even food was there, in the water: the channel catfish were easier to catch and a lot better eating than the striped bass and rainbow trout dumped by the ton into the reservoir these days. And one other thing: at the end of the float trip you still owned your boat, usable for many more such casual and carefree expeditions.
What is the situation now? Float trips are no longer possible. The only way left for the exploration of the reservoir and what remains of Glen Canyon demands the use of a powerboat. Here you have three options: (1) buy your own boat and engine, the necessary auxiliary equipment, the fuel to keep it moving, the parts and repairs to keep it running, the permits and licenses required for legal operation, the trailer to transport it; (2) rent a boat; or (3) go on a commercial excursion boat, packed in with other sightseers, following a preplanned itinerary. This kind of play is only for the affluent.
The inescapable conclusion is that no matter how one attempts to calculate the cost in dollars and cents, a float trip down Glen Canyon was much cheaper than a powerboat tour of the reservoir. Being less expensive, as well as safer and easier, the float trip was an adventure open to far more people than will ever be able to afford motorboat excursions in the area now.