The reporter referred to a bleached white band surrounding the lake. The contrast between the red rock and the white band left no doubt as to where the water levels had previously been. Grant didn't remember ever seeing the lake that low.
"Water allocation, already a problem on the Colorado River, has become more complicated."
The camera angle, obviously shot from a helicopter, showed the upstream side of the Glen Canyon Dam. In one fluid motion the helicopter flew over the crest, allowing viewers to look straight down the face of the six-hundred-foot dam. The next camera angle showed the dam with Lake Powell stretching for miles behind it. The Glen Canyon Bridge, a modern, silver-arched structure just downstream from the dam, stretched across the top of the screen, and framed the view perfectly.
While working at the Bureau for the last eighteen years, Grant had traveled to the Glen Canyon Dam many times. Like every civil engineer, he loved to look at it. However, in spite of his many visits, he had never actually been on the lake. His wife wanted to know where to vacation; maybe Lake Powell was the answer. They could rent a houseboat and get lost on the lake for a week. Of course he didn't have a ski boat or any equipment, but he supposed you could rent all that stuff.
The reporter continued. "Although the Glen Canyon Dam is equipped with eight huge turbines, capable of generating enough power for over a million homes, low water has limited releases from the dam, forcing the Bureau of Reclamation to shut off four of the turbines. This has added to the power shortage in the west, just when households need it the most, during the air conditioning season."
Grant tried to remember the name of the new guy in charge of operations at Glen Canyon. Wasn't he scheduled to be at the symposium in Kenya? Maybe he could take Grant's spot at the Three Gorges discussion. Gee, maybe he could even take Grant's place on the safari.
The TV showed an aerial shot of another huge concrete dam, which Grant immediately recognized. "Similar circumstances exist downstream at Lake Mead and Hoover Dam — water levels and power output are both below normal."
The television showed the reporter in studio. She was a striking blond in a blue business suit worn over a red blouse. Her lipstick matched the blouse. A large flat screen monitor behind the reporter showed a close-up of a three-story houseboat towing two water-ski boats. The exposed part of the second deck carried six personal watercraft, with a large crane to lower them into the water. On the top deck, four bikini-clad women waved to the camera. Grant tried to focus on one, but the reporter's head moved in front of the scene.
The reporter furrowed her brows and looked directly into the camera. "The drought has everyone along the Colorado River nervous, especially the farmers. There are reports of cattle farmers in Utah and Arizona selling out due to lack of water for their herds."
A man's voice spoke, and the camera panned to show another reporter on the woman's right side. "Laura, how much rain do they need?"
She glanced at him for a second, before looking back at the camera. "That's a good question, Jim. The people I talked to at the Bureau of Reclamation say it rarely rains around these dams, that the Colorado River comes mostly from snow pack in the Rocky Mountains, not from rain."
The man turned to the camera. "So this problem isn't likely to get solved anytime soon then, is it?"
The camera zoomed in on the woman again. She shook her head, then stared into the camera. "No, Jim. It will take a wet winter, or more realistically, more than one, to get water levels back to normal on the Colorado."
The camera now moved to the male reporter. "Thanks for the report, Laura. In other news, a neighborhood in Boulder is suing the city for not responding to their complaints about — "
Grant pressed the button on the remote to shut off the TV. He stared blankly at the dark screen. Although he already knew the west was in another drought, he hadn't actually seen pictures of Lake Powell. The low levels had shocked him, especially the one showing the boats passing through the cut next to Castle Rock. Normally that whole area was underwater. He remembered seeing low water before, but only in the fall, never in June. At this rate, by the end of the summer, the Castle Rock channel would be impassable, forcing boats to go the long way around Antelope Island, through the main river channel, an extra sixteen miles around from the marina.
He sat in his chair for a while, thinking. Finally he stood and walked into the kitchen. He took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink. He held it up and looked through it, before taking a drink. Out the window, excess water from his neighbor's sprinklers sprayed into the street. A small rainbow sparkled in the mist. Water ran across the sidewalk and into the gutter. Grant leaned forward and looked up and down the neighborhood. His neighbors all kept their lawns watered and green. He wondered how many of his neighbors were concerned about a water shortage in the west.
It was not unusual for the Colorado River to be in drought conditions. After all, the Colorado and its tributaries watered the bulk of the southwestern states, from Wyoming to California, including Los Angeles, Phoenix, and Las Vegas. Grant knew about the drought even before the reporter said so. But obviously his neighbors either didn't know, or didn't care.
He glanced sideways and saw his wife bent over rearranging stuff in the fridge. With the khaki shorts hiked up her legs, he could see the contrast between the beginnings of her summer tan and the white flesh above. The position emphasized the muscles in her legs.
He went to her and placed his hands on the back of her thighs. She jumped then straightened up. When she was upright he let his hands go under her shirt to her stomach in an embrace from behind. She leaned her head back on his shoulder.
"What happened to mad Grant?" she asked
"He's still here."
She smiled. "Let's try not to wake him up, then."
She turned around and faced him, putting her arms around his neck. Her lips were very close to his. "I'm sorry about your safari."
He pulled back. "It was more than a safari. I would have had a whole week with the Chinese engineers."
She pulled him back. "I'm sorry about everything."
She reached up and kissed him, a tender kiss of compassion. He pulled her close and kissed her back.
"They'll be gone a week, right?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Maybe we can have a safari here."
"What do you mean?"
She smiled mischievously. "You'll see."
CHAPTER 3
Julie Crawford and Erika Sanders paddled their kayak leisurely along a stretch of water next to the cliffs in an isolated rock canyon. The yellow kayak was the sit-on-top variety, and had been purchased specifically for Lake Powell. It was especially fun in the late afternoons when they could paddle next to the cliffs and stay in the shade. Their water-ski boat was resting, tied to the houseboat, which in turn was tied to the rocky shore only a hundred feet away. Their husbands, along with Max and Darlene, were lounging under the shaded deck of the houseboat.
The two women stopped paddling. Julie dipped her hand in the water, and wiped the wetness on her cheeks. "Man, can you imagine being out here before the lake was here, when it was dry?"
Erika nodded. "Yuk. I'd die. I already feel like I'm going to burn up if I don't get in the water every few minutes." She pointed at the others. "I can't believe they're not in here too." She looked over her shoulder at Julie. "By the way, how long will we be out of the water tomorrow while we're hiking?"
The plan for the next day included an excursion to "Hole in the Rock", a spot made famous by a group of pioneers in the 1800s who were looking for a shortcut. They had blasted a trail and transported their oxen and covered wagons down a mile-long grade to the Colorado River. Although the bottom of the original grade was buried under Lake Powell, Hole in the Rock was a popular spot. Hikers who could manage the steep climb were rewarded with a panoramic view, a monument, and a close-up perspective of what it would have been like to move oxen and wagons down the hill. The husbands had hiked to the spot before, but Julie and Erika never had.