Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (6 page)

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

6:00 p.m. -
Lake Powell
,
Utah

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.

"I think Greg said it was about an hour to the top."

Erika considered the information. "So an hour up and an hour down. That's two hours out of the water. What if I die?"

Julie laughed. "Going down shouldn't take as long as hiking up. Although, I guess if we rest for a while at the top, we might still be out of the water for two hours."

Erika rolled her eyes.

Julie pointed toward the houseboat. "That's why Greg's making us leave so early in the morning. We'll get up there and hike it before it gets too hot, and be back by noon."

"I think Darlene has the right idea," Erika said.

"There will be plenty of time during the week to sit around and read," Julie argued.

Max and Darlene had elected to stay behind the next morning. Darlene said she was too fat to climb the hill. The other two couples had argued with them, but to no avail. Darlene could stand to lose a few pounds and the hike was just what she needed. It would do her good. Greg had even suggested they modify the plan to go someplace less strenuous, like some of the rock cathedrals up the Escalante Branch of the lake, but both Max and Darlene had declined, insisting that the two younger couples needed some time together. Julie suspected that Darlene was already absorbed in her book, a romance novel.

"And we're stopping at Rainbow after?" Erica asked.

Julie shook her head.
"No, before.
On the way."

Since the trip to Hole in the Rock ran right past
Rainbow
Bridge
, they planned on a quick stop to see the huge rock arch as part of the next morning's activities. Rainbow was by far the most famous attraction at
Lake
Powell
, and was visited by almost two hundred thousand tourists every year.

"Wouldn't the hike be cooler if we did it first, before Rainbow?"

Julie had wondered the same thing.
"Yeah.
I agree. But Greg says if we try to stop on the way back, the tour boats will already be there and it'll be too crowded. Plus we would be all sweaty."

In the summer, large boats from Wahweap and Bullfrog Marinas arrived at
Rainbow
Bridge
by 10 a.m., spilling tourists out and changing the serene atmosphere to one more like
Disneyland
. Julie had been there at the same time as the big boats before and agreed that it ruined the experience.

Erika nodded as if that made sense. "Are we going to ski on the way?"

"We could, but it would take longer. Ya
know,
all the stops and everything. Besides, it's no fun to ski in the main channel. It's too rough."

Erika flicked some hair off her face. "I remember Rainbow being huge. How tall is it?"

"I don't remember the exact dimensions; I think around three hundred feet high. They say you could fly a 747 through it."

Erika reached down in the water then ran her fingers through her hair. "Isn't it one of the seven natural wonders of the world?"

"I don't know about that, but I read that before
Glen
Canyon
was flooded, only a couple thousand people ever saw it, not counting the Navajos. It was so remote. The hike down to it was over twenty miles in burning heat. Many of them rode mules. When environmentalists protested the flooding of
Glen
Canyon
, the government pointed out that most of the protesters had never even seen the arch. The environmentalists couldn't even argue. Now, supposedly, over a hundred thousand people see it every year."

"Not as remote as it used to be, huh?" Erika said.

Julie slid over and let herself drop off the kayak into the water. Erika followed. While Erika held on, Julie dove underwater to wet her hair.

Julie swam back and draped her arms over the kayak like Erika. "You'd think the environmentalists would be happy that the area is more accessible. I mean, I understand they covered up some stuff with the water, but at least now, people can get there."

Erika cocked her head. "That's not the way they think. They don't want people to see it, or enjoy it. Didn't you hear? They want to eliminate cars from Yosemite, and snowmobiles from
Yellowstone
. They want to ban motorcycles from the desert. They use words like undisturbed, and pristine. They think that only they should be able to see it. The rest of us should be satisfied with pictures."

Julie smiled. "Wow, I didn't know you felt so strong about it."

Erika continued, "You know why it pisses me off?
Because I consider myself an environmentalist.
I'm against big businesses dumping garbage into the rivers, air pollution, and all that other stuff. But the environmentalists in the news are over the top.
Shutting down logging over an owl, sleeping in trees, lying in front of bulldozers and trains.
They're nuts. They believe we should pretend there aren't millions of people in
America
. Environmentalists are giving environmentalism a bad name."

Julie laughed. "Ya know
,
I never looked at it like that. But, when it comes down to it, I feel the same way. I don't litter. I recycle. Aren't I an environmentalist?"

Erika laughed. "Not in their minds. You're a heathen. You drive a car; actually, worse - a pickup. You live in a neighborhood." She gasped and cupped her hand over her mouth. "You eat meat, you sicko. And worst of all, you take hot showers with soap and scented shampoos, every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Don't you know that to be a true environmentalist you have to wear one of those dyed tee-shirts with weird colors, use a blue bandana to tie up your unwashed, uncombed hair, and let the hair grow out in your armpits and on your legs?" Erika wagged her finger. "No. You are not, and never will be, a true environmentalist."

Julie held up her arm and looked at her cleanly shaved armpit. "No, I guess not."

* * *

6:30 p.m. -
Hoover
Dam, outside
Las Vegas
,
Nevada

Fred Grainger stood behind the computer technician in the control room at Hoover Dam. The control room was located on the downstream side of the dam just above river level. Fred, the site supervisor, had worked there for twenty-two years. At 53, he was the oldest guy at
Hoover
. Actually, that was only true if you counted the people who took care of the dam and were employed by the Bureau of Reclamation. There were many others, guides and even a few security guards that were older than Fred. But Fred considered them another group.

Jeremy Rottingham, the technician in front of Fred, stopped typing and turned around.
"Just got a down request from California Edison.
Want me to turn down
Arizona
or
Nevada
?"

Fred's group was responsible for monitoring power needs from locations throughout the western
United States
and adjusting electricity generation accordingly. Basically, all major dam controls at
Hoover
were his responsibility. There were two generation plants, one on the
Nevada
side of the river, and one on the
Arizona
side, hence Jeremy's question of which plant to throttle down.

"Which one is hotter?"

"
Nevada
, but not by much."

"Let's take it out of
Arizona
, then; she carried the load yesterday."

Jeremy made the necessary adjustments with the keyboard. The computer handled the rest of the job. Most of the controls at
Hoover
had been automated. The technicians set the amount of power that they wanted from each plant and the computer did the rest. The rest entailed adjusting water flow through the penstocks to each generator to determine power output. Penstocks were the huge tubes that carried water to each generator. At
Hoover
, each penstock was thirteen feet in diameter. Nine generators were housed in the
Arizona
plant and eight in the
Nevada
plant. Each generator
rose
over seven stories high and was capable of powering 100,000 homes. With all seventeen generators running,
Hoover
could power a respectable portion of the West.