Lease • Buy • Sell

Call Today

Lake Powell National Park

I awoke early, the desert sun peeking through the window blinds. The boys still asleep in the loft, it was time for my morning cut to wake me from the nights embrace. Years earlier, I had lived in Seville, Spain, where my appreciation for European coffee had developed. When camping, I brewed my morning coffee with a Primula Classic stovetop espresso maker. However, crafting this delicious morning elixir requires a fire or gas stove—something the camper readily provided. Shaking the sleep from my eyes, I unsealed my fresh bag of espresso, carefully disassembling the parts to fill the crafted coffee pot with espresso and water. The brew only took minutes, signaled by the inviting aroma that enveloped the camper. The coffee was thick, a touch of milk, and the morning joy embraced me. A successful first night in the camper.


Waiting for the boys to rouse, I lounged in a camp chair, watching the sun slowly rise above the horizon, its warmth a pleasant contrast to the cool desert night. First Davis, then Connor stumbled from the camper. It was time for breakfast—bacon first, then eggs in the remaining bacon grease, and finally tortillas to craft breakfast burritos. Once fed, we decided to make a second attempt at the lake, this time without our bikes. We loaded up and set out, uncertain of the exact location. We headed to the camp registration, and there we were informed that the beach was a good two-mile walk from our current position. With no other option, we embarked on the journey.

The lake sprawled before us, our determination to swim driving us forward. The road turned to dirt, but still, we had a mile to traverse when a Toyota Tacoma (my favorite auto) pulled up and asked if we needed a lift. The boys and I eagerly hopped into the back for the short drive to the water. Upon arrival, we still had about a hundred feet of beach sand to cross—the sand was hot and adorned with the same pesky stickers that had punctured Davis’s tire. It turned out the stickers in this area were rather intense. Grateful that we had brought shoes, we walked to the cool waters of Lake Powell. The boys plunged into the refreshing blue depths, while I set up the towels. The water was amazing—clear, blue, and precisely what we needed. 

The next few hours spent swimming and lounging made the day, and it was only 11 am. Knowing we needed to hit the road again, it was time to go. We loaded up, now familiar with the drill, waited for the next truck to pass, and asked for a ride. It’s hard to resist two adorable young boys; the friendly couple from New Mexico graciously drove us all the way to our RV. We packed up camp and hit the road.