Pearce Ferry
Kingman, Arizona: Nothing like scattered snow showers to bring the scenery to life. It was bright and sunny when we pulled out this morning, but within ten minutes dark clouds surrounded us. It was a small storm, but it spit every form of precipitation ever witnessed by man at our little 2-wheel-drive Ranger as we slogged through the slush.
Our destination today: the Pearce Ferry area, where the Grand Canyon ends and the Colorado River dumps into Lake Mead, or so we thought. Our course: northward along the Hualapai Valley and Grapevine Mesa.
Hualapai Valley is always beautiful, regardless of season or weather. It is 60 miles of flatland 10 miles wide that hasn’t decided if it wants to be desert or high plains when it grows up. Prime cattle grazing, Mojave-like desert conditions, Joshua tree forests, and a large (normally) dry lake can all be found here. Along the entire eastern edge, a wall of rock known as the Music mountains jumps abruptly for the sky like something out of a Tolkien novel. The Cerbat mountains – a menacing tumble of impassably razor sharp rock – guard the west and the south, doing their part to ensure this valley’s sheltered life continues undisturbed.
After one final climb, we conquered the little flurry and broke through to the sunny top of Grapevine Mesa. The small (though much larger than I expected) village of Meadview rests here, enjoying panoramic views of the Grand Wash cliffs above, Lake Mead, and the many valleys below the mesa. If you’ve got some money to burn, the Grand Canyon Skywalk is just over the ridge.
Near the north end of the mesa we wandered up a dirt road in search of a good lunch spot. The road was short, but our curiosity was rewarded with the perfect spot at the edge, yet another amazing view of the Grand Wash cilffs, and our first glimpse at a huge valley of mud that was once the eastern-most arm of Lake Mead. Through the middle of that valley snakes the Colorado, where it has already carved a new canyon for itself down into the recently exposed earth.
After lunch we made our way down to the water’s edge. A new gravel road has been built up across the mud so boats can be pulled out (or put in) before the restored rapids down stream. A quick glance at the map puts us a mile off-shore, underneath tons of water as we pull up to the edge of the mighty Colorado river. It flows swift and loud here, as if to celebrate the retreat of a lake now more than a dozen miles away.
Back at a deserted beach camp we explored the ruins of support buildings left behind by the Civilian Conservation Corps back in the 1930s. An old generator house sits atop a hill with a spectacular view of the surrounding country. I can’t help but think this would be a great spot to set up camp for the next quail season.
Next we headed over the hill to South Cove, where a large parking lot overlooks 500 feet of launch ramp that more closely resembles an airport’s runway. A small road leads around the jetty and down to the shoreline now 100 feet below the lowest rocks. At the bottom, a broken dock sits half way in the water having collapsed when the lake fell another 30 feet from the new low-water line, a not-so-subtle reminder that the drought continues. Even so, crystal clear water stands calm and blue as ever. As inviting as it looks on camera, I’m reminded that it is winter and the water temperature is still in the low 40s. The ducks don’t seem to mind…
