Mike accepts a tow from motorboaters to reach the dock - and fresh beer supplies - at Dangling Rope Marina on Lake Powell.

Oasis on the water
Dangling Rope Marina, Lake Powell,
Oct. 14, day #50

Lake Powell boaters flock to Dangling Rope Marina like moths to a flame. Mike is so eager to reach this oasis of trashy souvenirs and junk food that he accepts a tow to the dock from a motorboat and glides past us with a smile as wide as Bullfrog Bay.

Once docked, everyone disembarks and makes a mad dash for the modern restroom facilities as if we have all been denied flush toilets and running water our whole lives. In reality, most of us have gone but a few hours without such luxuries.

For all their convenience, the ladies room is without soap, and has been that way since yesterday, one woman informs me as I pump the dispensers in vain. This means that she has already been here two days in a row, unable to resist the lure of retail during her undoubtedly short vacation from the comforts of home. Josh later informs me that the men's bathroom is also lacking soap.

And so, without washing our hands, we all rush straight to the tiny store where we horde overpriced beer, cans of preprocessed food and some of the crappiest trinkets on the market today. Most feature the same Lake Powell logo emblazoned across t-shirts, shot glasses, coffee mugs and key rings. Ironically, the store also offers a book selection that includes Edward Abbey's "Desert Solitaire" – a tirade against the prostitution of the desert through the national park system - and at least two other books that decry the damming of the Colorado River and the flooding of Glen Canyon to create this reservoir we now float upon.

Our visit to the marina comes courtesy of waning beer supplies. We have just three beers remaining and have spent the last several days on strict rations – six beers per day, per person. Aramark, the corporation that operates all the facilities on Lake Powell, is happy to oblige our thirst with 12 packs of 3.2 percent alcohol Busch that cost $11.69 each. We clean out their beer cooler, which amounts to six 12 packs, and pile our purchases at the register.

But, like everyone else who stops here, we cannot resist this rare opportunity to keep the American economy afloat and start snatching items off the shelves in a frenzy. Before we are done, we've amassed a pile that includes a Lake Powell baseball cap, a loaf of Wonder white bread, a book titled "The Glen Canyon Reader" (edited by a University of Montana graduate), a bag of Nutter Butter cookies, two Pepsis, three packs of batteries, six candy bars and four bags of ice.

Aramark appears to have lured all of the young women in Jamaica to the middle of Utah to staff their concessions for the season. The woman working this register wears a nametag informing us that she is from Montega Bay. She rings us up, proudly singing aloud all the words to the Ricky Martin song blaring over the stereo system, and only acknowledges our existence to inform us of our total. We walk out of the store with wallets $92 lighter and shuffle back to our boats, arms full of items we don't really need.

We then take advantage of the rare opportunity to eat at a picnic table and make tuna sandwiches on the nutritionally devoid bread that we just paid $4 for. Unnaturally large carp and striped bass loiter like street gangs at each corner of the floating marina, rising to the surface as they beg for handouts. I discover they are cannibals and will happily devour the chunks of tuna that I drop into the lake. A few minutes later, I stop to read a sign about the marina that concludes with the line, "… and for goodness sake, don't feed the fish!"

We were told earlier on this trip that Dangling Rope Marina distributes more gasoline than any other fueling station in the state of Utah. Located in the middle of Lake Powell it is 50 miles from the other marinas and reachable only by water, it is a must-stop for motorboaters who are making the obligatory journey up and down the lake. "When boating on Lake Powell, never pass this marina without topping off your fuel tanks!," warns one Powell web site.

Being mid-October, the pumps are relatively quiet today, but we talk to a steady stream of boaters who are all amazed to see two rubber boats docked alongside their fuel-guzzling crafts. They are all friendly, inquisitive about our journey, and, on average, about 20 pounds overweight. None can resist the store's offerings, some making multiple trips to purchase additional unnecessary items.

I can't fight the urge either, and return to the store in search of potato chips. But standing there staring at the aisle of Doritos and Pringles I realize I don't really want chips, I just feel compelled to spend money. I return empty handed and we relaunch on the reservoir two hours after arriving, our quickest marina visit yet, largely because they have no Wi-Fi.