If we drain Lake Powell, what will happen to the hot people and dads?
For a while now, there have been murmurs about a group of conservationists who want to drain Lake Powell to save the Colorado River.
It’s not a plan that anyone with actual governing power has taken seriously thus far, but as water conditions in the West worsen, it’s a conversation that seems to be rising to the surface more frequently.
If this someday becomes a real plan — and to be clear, that’s still a very big IF — there will be a number of repercussions we ought to consider.
The local economy around Bullfrog — Lake Powell’s main launch point in Utah — is sure to suffer as the hospitality industry dries up, along with the economies of many small towns in the area. Beyond that, are we really ready to find what horrors lie on the lake’s floor? Are we prepared to deal with whatever we find down there?
But personally, I’m most worried about two vulnerable populations should Lake Powell become Empty Basin Powell: Utah’s hot people, and dads. (Dads can be hot, sure, but the Venn diagram overlap is not large.)
Hot people and Lake Powell are like peanut butter and jelly. Pizza and ranch. A Crunchwrap Supreme and fire sauce. They belong together.
Open Instagram anytime between May and October, and you’re sure to find at least a few photos of beautiful people posing in front of Lake Powell’s famous rusty rock and sparkling waters. “I guess my invite got lost in the mail,” you’ll think as you scroll past the beautiful people to a video of a gerbil wearing a hat.
It’s not that Lake Powell is exclusively for the hotties. But they do seem to be there quite often. Just like not all dogs are terriers but all terriers are dogs, not everyone who goes to Lake Powell is hot, but all hot people go to Lake Powell. If you get an out-of-office email reply from a hot person in Utah, you can bet $1 million that person is in Lake Powell and that the next time you see them they will be very tan (hot people don’t sunburn).
I don’t have the exact numbers in front of me, but I believe the great hot exodus to the lake for one-third of the year is what keeps Utah’s population under control. If these people have nowhere to go during the summer, our streets will be overrun with attractive humans.
Related
But I’m even more concerned about all the Utah dads whose main personality trait is driving a boat. Not just a speedboat. A whole houseboat.
Stop anyone on the street, any street in Utah, and ask them about their most harrowing Lake Powell experience. They will have to choose from at least three because every trip to Lake Powell includes at least one near-disaster usually related to navigating a giant motorized vessel through a body of water with unknowable and varying depths, then parking said vessel with little to no training.
You don’t really know a person, or the breadth of their expletive vocabulary until you’ve witnessed them trying to plant a giant boat on a small stretch of shore. In my experience, that person is usually a dad.
This dad has to be able to bark orders, tie knots, and know what to do if (when) the houseboat becomes high-centered on a surprise patch of red rock. They need to know how to work the pumps at the marina and shift gears. It’s a stressful job, but one that builds a lot of character.
Once a dad has steered enough houseboats, narrowly averted enough aquatic disaster, and mastered the art of the anchor, he develops a wisened look in his eyes. He becomes houseboat. Houseboat becomes him.
So what will happen to the dads’ identities if we take Lake Powell away? We don’t have any other lakes or rivers or puddles large enough to fit multiple dads driving houseboats at once (though that would be fun to watch). How will they develop their sense of self?
Are we prepared for a time when our hot people overrun the streets and our dads wander aimlessly in search of an enormous boat to drive?
I don’t think we are. We need a contingency plan.
