of time to scout its side canyons. We found a sizable
sandy beach tucked in a little cove along the south side
of Padre Canyon. It would only receive direct sun for a
few hours each day, but it offered excellent protection
from wind and waves. A worthwhile trade-off, I hoped,
after Bennett regaled me with stories of hurricane-force
microbursts and 6- to 8-foot seas in the main channel.
Sure enough, as the Wanderer came in, a gust of wind
tore through the cove. Mike jumped out to help Bennett
dig the 3-foot-deep anchor holes, while Richard stayed at
the helm and kept the twin 115 hp Mercury outboards in
gear to hold the houseboat’s nose in position.
We buried four anchors deep in the sand — one each
from the Wanderer’s four corners — and cut the engines.
Bennett hopped back into his utility boat for the run
back to Wahweap, and we were on our own.
Johanna splashed cheerfully in the brisk water.
Despite the freshening breeze, I decided she had the
right idea and slid one of the paddleboards off the stern.
Around the cove, impenetrable sandstone walls reared
hundreds of feet skyward. The water cast golden reflec-
tions along the stone.
Back at the mothership, I could see the gangway
had left an angry crescent-shaped scar in the sand. The
houseboat was moving too much as the wind strength-
ened. We retrieved one of the anchors and reset it farther
out, which solved the problem. Satisfied, we cooked a
steak dinner and retired to the top deck for the moonrise.WATER, SPORTS
At sunrise, all I could hear was a bird’s cry, the splash of
a fish, and the purling of water along the hull. The wind
had died, leaving a glassy cove. It was a perfect morning
to take the MasterCraft out for adventure.
We opted to play with the water toys, and then explore
a slot canyon in the afternoon. We reached nearby Kane
Creek Canyon, and Kelly and I paddled the SUPs around
several dome-shaped islands before crossing a stretch of
open water to meet the boat at a peninsular white-sand
beach. Johanna tried tubing for the first time, and when
our companions hiked to the distant base of the cliffs, she
joined me on my paddleboard.
There were no other boats, no other campers. Miles
separated us from the nearest road. We might as well
have been the only people on Earth.
After a quick lunch of sandwiches back at the
mothership, we raced across Padre Bay and rounded a
butte-capped point into Face Canyon. The walls nar-
rowed, and conversation dwindled until we were asThe house-
boat had its
own special
appeal,
from enjoy-
ing a great
view from
the helm
to twisting
down the
waterslide.76 | BOATINGMAG.COM | MARCH 2018