Barging Down the Nile

Parts of Arizona greatly resemble Egypt. Correspondingly, parts of the Colorado River bear likeness to the River Nile. Thus, continuant to that theme, we called our boat Thalameyos II. After Cleopatra's barge Thalameyos.

The modern use of "barge" suggests a wide, low-sided, flat-bottomed boat that transports coal, ore, and garbage. Cleopatra's was probably flat-bottomed, but the similarity ends there. Thalameyos was a luxury yacht, measuring 300-feet long and 45-feet wide. Rich carvings of cedar and cypress decorated it. The Queen had Caesar's bed-chamber adorned with a frieze, scenes from the Iliad. Linen awnings shaded passengers from the hot African sun. Egypt's most skilled cooks tended every royal cruise, along with slaves, dancing girls, and comic and tragic actors. Thalameyos even had a small garden.

On Thalameyos II a few things were missing. No cedar or cypress carvings, no friezes, no linen awnings, no slaves, no garden. We were not followed by a few thousand legionnaires in 400 boats as we did not expect an Arab attack. There was, however, a belly-dancer student aboard, my wife, and a couple of male friends who might qualify as comic and tragic actors. Also two good cooks, a six-year-old girl, and a breed of dog probably not even dreamed of in Cleo's time: a Brittany spaniel. Thalameyos II was also considerably smaller than its namesake. Being 46feet overall and about 13-feet wide. But it contained a few things that even Cleopatra would have appreciated. The decks, inside and out, were lushly carpeted. Four-fifths of the craft was enclosed and air conditioned. It boasted a flush toilet and shower, cooking heat at the touch of a dial, and purified water at the twist of a handle. We were, of course, on a houseboat and though we referred to it as ours, it was a rental.

Our reasons for houseboating were multi. To explore, to have comfortable access to wilderness landscapes that only wildlife know well, to have watery fun, re-create, to get away from Big City for awhile. Our portion of Arizona's Nile, like Egypt's river, had undergone changes. Man has manipulated it. Controls it. Possesses it. A remote comparison might be between Aswan and Davis, both dams. Aswan on the Nile and impounding Lake Nasser; and Davis on the Colorado doing the same to Lake Mohave. We had chosen Mohave simply because it was one of the few Arizona areas we had not yet explored. Lake Mohave stretches 67 miles long and in the main it still smacks more of river than lake, particularly from the Chalk Cliffs northward to Hoover Dam.

Being critical for a moment, it is not a lake at all, but a reservoir. No matter. There was once a true lake here. Prehistoric. About 2 million years ago. Today they refer to it as Lake Chemehuevi. Then there was no one around to call it anything. At about 8 a.m., we had cast off moorings at the Lake Mohave Resort at Katherine Landing. Departure had been planned for daylight, but problems encountered by friends delayed it. We had slept aboard last night and it had stormed. Hot winds had blown down from the Katherine hills, carrying dust painted orange by the setting sun. Behind it was a strange rainbow, almost monochromatic. Silent lightning then moved our way. Rain slashed in sheets, at sharp angles. Exciting. Wild. Then the downpour became steady.Now, the morning skies were bare blue. Not a cloud. The harbor was pond still. And the main channel little different. Here it is called, and it came as a delightful surprise, "Pyramid Canyon." "How-about-that" came from the map reader. A warm breeze slipped through the open bow door and mixed mesquite scent with the smell of bacon and eggs. Breakfast underway. The skipper would be served last. Ah, well. With him it's routine to get in a little serious nature appreciation at mealtime, and the best always seems to be before breakfast.

In Pyramid Canyon steep bluffs formed facades. Beyond, on the Arizona side, backlight brushed the Black Mountains, which are not necessarily all black. Layers of color varied from bluish to deep purples. One-hundredand-eighty-degrees to the west, on the Nevada side, the Newberry Mountains were victims of frontlight and robbed of details. Their turn for inspiration would be in the evenings.

As Thalameyos II sailed on, the panorama changed. A desert plain slopes upward, away from the channel. Dark upthrusts cannot be mistaken for anything else other than formations that had their beginnings in fire and molten rock. Volcanos. It was hard to believe that once the climate here was cool and moist. That permanent streams flowed in the valleys and there was seasonal snow. Even though they didn't get this far south, glaciers caused it. That was back when there was a Lake Chemehuevi. Water-skiers, runabouts, and other houseboats plied the reservoirbut the land beyond the shores appeared empty. The bigness dwarfed life. Running midstream compounded the problem. The skipper cranked the boat a couple of degrees to starboard then ranparallel to the shore a few dozen yards out.

The summer sun had browned much of the desert flora. But at lakeside plants grew and glowed vibrant green. Thickets of mesquite, catclaw, and paloverde marched up the lower reaches of washes, rooting down to hidden moisture. Rock fingers splayed out and watery hallways ran between them. We picked one and nosed Thalameyos II into shore. As previously instructed, we drove iron stakes into the ground 10feet forward and to the left and right of the hull. Bow and stern lines were looped over them. This keeps the boat from swinging about, damaging the prop, and perhaps the hull. And subsequently suffering through the embarrassment of rescue. By midmorning temperatures suggested bathing suits as the most practical wear. The cool water was super. The beach was empty. At least you thought it was. But two sets of eyes were staring at you. They were attached to a pair of wild burros feral, tamegone-wild animals released by earlyday miners who prospected here. At that time the Colorado River was the highway to the outside world and paddlewheelers the mode of transportation. One of the most famous was the "Searchlight." It had a reputation for carrying unsavory characters who ripped off the pokes of the hardworking miners. In 1906 the boat disappeared. Completely. No one seems to know what happened to it.

The burros studied us for about ten minutes, then clattered up a talus slope. Mysteriously, a coyote appeared and, matching their speed, trotted after them much like a pet dog following the family steed. Friendship? If so, a strange and unnatural one. Later we would see the scene repeated in a locale too far away to be acted out by the same players.

Thalameyos II, after an hour's practice, became easy to pilot. You just make all turns slowly and throttle-back more than you think necessary for beachings and tie-ups. Everyone wanted to steer the boat and everyone except the Brittany got a crack at it. The six year old's turn came in midstream and under intent parental guidance.

The skies began growing white patches. The summer storm pattern was on. Nearly every day for about six weeks, the blue emptiness would give way to thunderstorms in afternoon and evening. The skipper had already picked a J-shaped cove that would protect Thalameyos II from the wind, no matter from which direction it blew.

To the east an anvil cloud rose tens of thousands of feet. But there was time for another exploratory venture. A scimitar beach with pastel waters looked perfect. Leading away from it was another wash. When the boat's bow touched gravel, a covey of quail - perhaps 50 of them, beat into the sky. They settled to the ground again quickly, a couple of hundred yards distant. The Brittany his business is pointing birds snapped to attention. He walked the shore with perked ears. He sniffed for revealing odors. The hot air passed him nothing. But a few yards down the beach, a black-tailed jackrabbit leaped from its shade and stood with nose quivering. Everyone howled with laughter when the bird-pointer became a jackrabbit-pointer. The rabbit broke and so did the dog. There was a short race in which the latter was left in the dust, confused.

The anvil cloud darkened. We pulled the stakes out quickly and stowed the lines aboard. The skipper shoved the throttle past the best-mileage mark. By the time we reached our safe anchorage, winds were making control of the boat difficult.

The night was perfect. Except for a few close booms, thunder and lightning stayed distant. A cooling rain moved in. For a few minutes it was gusty, then turned into a straight-fall. We sat on the covered bow, good friends and family recalling old times. We sippedcold drinks and soaked up the balminess. It was better than television. A lot better. The child was fascinated. A coyote choir reached for high notes and she tightly hugged my neck. "Those wolves scare me," she said. Next came comfort and explanation.

Dinner was elaborate. Cleopatra was not Egyptian, but Greek-Macedonian, and she hobnobbed a great deal with Romans. Italians. Could her tastes have been influenced? Regardless, she would have loved the lasagna. No more peacock tongues.

Sleep came quickly. The skipper got up three times during the night, twice to see if the lines were secure and once to reassure the child that the yodelers were probably the same practicing earlier. And that she was safe.

Dawn was a mixture of clouds and sprinkles. After breakfast we throttled Thalameyos II southerly. The overcast

stayed. Several times it thinned, though, and bathed the world in pink light. Wreaths of fog hung about the shoul-ders of the high places. It was all out of the ordinary. Our music-minded companion said if the scenes were set to score, a philharmonic orchestra would be necessary to do it justice. A cloudy day can be more enchanting than one of sunshine.

The inclement weather reduced lake traffic. The skipper passed the helm to other, and eager, members of the crew. He propped his feet on the bow rail, leaned back in his lounge chair, and sipped coffee. We would take our time getting back to Katherine Landing. More coves would be explored, and there would be more burros, coyotes and rabbits, hundreds of quail, dozens of doves and some other wildlife species. The child so bent on fishing, even though no fish struck, would be tickled because bluegills followed her lure. And the Brittany would get to point some more.

Thalameyos II had been the gateway to genuine enjoyment. Giving up was hard to do. But pleasures remembered will keep us high for a long, long time.