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Page Ahead

story and photos by Amy Maestas

Found in: | Outside | Travel | Our Towns |

PAGE GOES GREEN Desert living is harsh. Every drop of water wasted sends you on a guilt trip right to the confessional booth. Each threatened species plucked from its native habitat has global consequences, and every costly megawatt of energy dents the pocketbook. But in Page, Ariz., several businesses are taking the lead in employing sustainable green practices, ultimately working toward softening their impact on that fragile environment - all of which, in this town's case, truly does have a trickle-down effect. For some, seeing a sprawling, bright green golf course in an arid climate where rain is scarce portends massive use of water. Unless like the Lake Powell National Golf Course, wasted water is the best kind for its business. When owners Johnny and Debbie Miles took over the golf course a few years ago, they faced a challenging task of returning the course to playable, tidy greens that sit on a mesa overlooking the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell on one side and the Vermillion Cliffs and Navajo Mountain on the other. In the last two years, the Miles' have restored the course to a habitat's paradise. They planted 250 native tree species, bringing the total of native plants on the course to 876. Each tee box is adorned with native wildflowers. And the course is maintained entirely by effluent water, or treated wastewater. Looking out from the challenging Hole 16, Widowmaker, golfers see three azure ponds below. These ponds are collection spots for the effluent water. As the water churns in these ponds, it takes in oxygen as part of its cleansing cycle, and then is treated with a sulfur burner. The course is a big draw for nature. Johnny Miles says they frequently see blue heron, coyote, Great White owls and scads of jackrabbits. "We work hard to be in concert with the environment," Miles says. The course is a member of the Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary System, a national program that helps and rewards golf courses for protecting the environment and preserving the natural heritage of the game. For courses to get this certification, owners must build and maintain the grounds according to a strict management and steward practices. In the case of the Lake Powell course, the result is a stunning, near-pristine reach of land that is aesthetically palatable and an enhancing site for users of Page's 8-mile multi-use Rim Trail, which edges some of the course's most difficult holes. Lake Powell also expects golfers to help the environment by using corn-based golf tees, which take about only a year to degrade (by comparison, their wooden counterparts take about three years to degrade into the soil). The two marinas on Lake Powell also have incorporated extensive green practices into their businesses. Lake Powell Resorts and Marinas at Wahweap recently upgraded many of its guest rooms in its lodge to "Green Leaf EcoRooms." The rooms now use various products that reduce the amount of energy and water used, and are non-toxic or biodegradable. Bathroom floors are made from recycled glass and ceramic, countertops are made from recycled glass terrazzo, carpet uses a combination of post-consumer and post-industrial material, windows are energy efficient and appliances are water-saving. The environment even plays a role in the resort's Rainbow Room restaurant. There, executive chef Brandon Schubert creates his menus based on "sustainable cuisine." In other words, says Steve Ward, public relations director, Schubert uses food products that aren't harmful to the environment. This includes using organic produce, free of pesticides and chemical fertilizers and using seafood that isn't on any threatened species list. (Ward notes that all ARAMARK chefs practice these environmentally friendly guidelines; ARAMARK is the food-service concessionaire that operates Lake Powell resort, as well as several other business, public and private, throughout the country.) Schubert takes his dishes a step further by using locally grown herbs and vegetables, especially those that represent flavors of the Southwest. Together with the local high school, which has a green house, Schubert and students are growing herbs for his use in preparing dishes and the restaurant. The newest marina, Antelope Point, is still in construction phases for some of its buildings, but the processes include green practices and products. The marina's restaurant, slated for completion early next year, will be the largest floating structure of its kind in the United States. Though the restaurant will be open-air on most sides, owners have constructed the building so that it can be cooled by using the cold water from deep down in Lake Powell. The cooling system will draw water from the lake's thermal cline - about 60 feet below the surface - where the water constantly remains a cool 46 degrees. Antelope Point also is making sure that there is low impact on Lake Powell when renters use their fleet of luxury houseboats and speed boats. The custom-made boats have carpet made partially from recycled material, use fluorescent lighting, rely on low-toxic anti-freeze, biodegradable cleaning solutions and spill-proof batteries - all of which will significantly reduce the potential danger to a fragile desert soil and water, according to Chrystal Schoppmann, risk manager at Antelope Point. The marina's boats also use outboard engines that are more fuel-efficient, cut down on the oil usage and on the amount of emissions. - A.M.

A relative newcomer to the Southwest, Page, Arizona, built in 1957 as a worker's community, is building a future as a year-round destination resort.

Superlatives, those pesky journalism professors always told us students, don't have much place in journalism. It's like using swear words in your writing, one curmudgeonly lecturer told me. Don't use 50-cent words when the nickel job will do, said another killjoy. Get rid of the "best" the "most" the "grandiose." Describe the scene without showy promotion.

They must never have been to Page, Arizona. For without superlatives, describing Page and its raison d'EAtre Lake Powell, would be nearly impossible. And grammatically criminal. So for readers (and journalism professors) given to rules, brace yourselves. To write about Page and the lake, I'm about to launch a story with unrestrained use of superlatives.

The most seductive landscape in the West.

The acme of beauty.

The pinnacle of nature.

Endlessly fascinating.

A superlative richness that cannot be compared - or imitated.

This story, of course, could be written with solely a list of adjectives as magnificent as this small northern Arizona town that sits smack dab in the middle of what's known in the Southwest as The Grand Circle. And each adjective would be, arguably, true. But in its nearly 50 years of existence, Page has come into its own, even as it developed because of one of the West's most controversial water projects to date.

New kid on the block

Unlike the land it sits on, Page is a relative newcomer to the Southwest. It didn't even exist before 1957. Given the antiquities of the surrounding region and the dates of pre-existing societies, Page's newness stands out as a lesson for making the best of what it's got.

The town was built when the federal government began a dam that would eventually flood Glen Canyon and create a lake that would back the water up 186 miles into southern Utah. The project was born of an agreement between the Navajo Nation and the Bureau of Reclamation, the government bureau that builds and operates water projects and is the second-largest supplier of wholesale water and hydroelectric power in the West. The Navajo Nation swapped nearly 17 square miles of land on Manson Mesa for land in southeastern Utah.

At the time, it was one of the largest construction projects in the world (today it ranks as the second-highest concrete-arch dam in the United States, second only to the Hoover Dam). Page was a camp for those who worked on building the dam. The town grew as more construction workers moved to the area for promising job opportunities, especially since it took until 1963 to complete Glen Canyon Dam. The construction - from an economic view - was a boon to the area since it provided multitude jobs for Navajo Nation members, whose ancestors worked and lived on the land centuries past. It was a shot in the arm for the reservation, especially since it was a vast swath of land that was somewhat cut-off from the mainstream economy.

It took a few years for the town to reach its largest population of workers. It peaked at 7,500 during the construction years, then dropped dramatically when it was complete. Today the town population has surpassed that high by about 1,000 people.

Its old is our new

The town itself is a remnant of its heady days in the early 1960s. Much of its look and layout is flat-roofed buildings lining a main strip, where small businesses and hotels hold the kitschy allure of its past while simultaneously being functional - The Page Boy, Bashful Bob's, Uncle Bill's and LuLu's Sleep Ezzze motels. Given the town's relative newness, it's easy to snicker at the sign pointing you to the "Old Quarter" - also the "Street of the Little Motels." But the Old Quarter is a testament to the town's roots, and so is what's known as Church Row - the strip on Lake Powell Boulevard that consists of more than a dozen churches of varying denominations side-by-side.

Over the years the town started to sprawl - though not in the way that most tourist traps of the Southwest have. Newer, bigger chain hotels off the main drag act as a service stop for weary recreationists on their way to the lake. The town's growth has remained in check for the most part, says Dwayne Cassidy, tourism coordinator for the Page/Lake Powell Tourism Bureau. Cassidy, a native of northern Arizona, has seen the town transform from a worker's community to a year-round destination resort, where most of the attractions are on the town's periphery - Lake Powell, Glen Canyon Dam, Vermillion Cliffs, Paria Plateau.

The dam and the Navajo Generating Station are two of the town's largest employers, having remained that way for decades. Together, the two provide either water or power - sometimes both - for millions of downstream users in such cities as Las Vegas, Los Angeles and Tucson.

As controversial as the dam and lake have been over the past 50 years, the town has embraced it as a jewel, treating it and the resulting lake as a multi-dimensional: a geographic marvel, a biological sanctuary, an economic engine and a symbol of life.

One-trick pony no more

For many of the decades following Page's creation, the town was operating as kind of a one-trick pony. Page residents relied on the new industries for their livelihoods; tourists relied on Page for launching their fishing boats on Lake Powell. As recreation industries grew, Page began to latch onto the tangential opportunities. Tourists realized that the lake was a perfectly placid place to float for days in their houseboats, pulling all kinds of motorized watercraft behind them to play for the day. In the West, Lake Powell eventually grew to be the destination for house-boating. At the same time, Page natives and Navajo tribesmen developed savvy ideas to show outsider the incomparably fascinating red rock slot canyons. Among them is the world-famous Antelope Canyon.

Antelope Canyon was first discovered in the early 1930s by Navajo Sue Tsosie and others who were herding sheep. The sinuous walls of deep red marked by captivating stratification lure visitors (who don't suffer from claustrophobia) through narrow canyons where light and shadows dance in funky rhythms depending on the time of day. With patience, the walls transform from sunlit sandstone to glowing ethereal cathedrals. Slot canyons - and Antelope in particular - are a photographer's delight. By now the canyon has been photographed and placed on countless calendars, postcards, greeting cards and coffee-table books that it has become an icon of the Southwest desert.

Many Navajo have capitalized on the limitless draws in nature of the surrounding lands of Page. They have opened tour businesses that help visitors both see and appreciate their nation's beauty, but also learn about and understand the Navajo culture and its hard-working and generous members.

Since the discovery of Antelope Canyon, other similar slot canyons have been found and are being explored by tourists. Some are so new, in fact, that they remain nameless. Vance Swartz, a young 30-something bicycle shop owner who grew up in Page, recently opened Slot Canyon Hummer Adventures business to couple the fun of riding in a more upscale version of the original massive Army rock crawlers with the opportunity to hike a slot canyon. This summer Swartz and fellow guide Jathan Truman began taking tourists into Water Holes Canyon, only a few miles outside Page and near the tiny Navajo town of Lechee. Carting tourists in his bright yellow Hummer H2, Swartz takes them to an unnamed slot canyon, which is on Navajo land and for which Swartz has exclusive concessionaire rights. While several other four-wheel adventure companies exist in Page, Swartz decided to take advantage of the latest Hummer craze and add a dimension to Page's tourist industry.

There also is a changing face of Lake Powell marinas. For many years Wahweap Marina was the only one that existed near Page - some 7 miles from town. Wahweap boasts a large lodge, boat slips and the increasingly popular sunset dinner cruises. A few years ago, Antelope Point Marina started construction on an upscale village that, when complete, will cater to a swankier set of house-boating tourists (to wit: valet car and boat parking, custom-built rental boats, chef services). Antelope Point is a docking place for massive houseboats that rival - even surpass - some of the best decorated land-based digs. The marina owners have worked in concert with the Navajo Nation. Together, the entities will build a Navajo cultural center, which will add to the boat slips already in place, a new lodge, and a floating marina village.

The floating village, slated for completion early next year, will be the largest floating structure of its kind in the United States. Weighing in at 2,500 tons, the village was constructed of 33,333 cubic feet of concrete, 247,000 pounds of reinforced steel and 122,000 feet of Styrofoam. The physics are indeed mystifying. But the village does float - and there's nary a ripple under your feet. The building will be part marina store and part restaurant/lounge. Tourists with superior navigation skills also will be able to pull up next to the restaurant for take-out service.

Of course, Lake Powell remains a draw for the bare-bones recreationists, who opt for a strikingly colorful sea kayak and camping gear. Or the daring wakeboarder who spend a day flipping tricks on water and then hunkers down somewhere in Page's Old Quarter. Or the lake could be a thing of admiration from afar, by the golfers teeing off on the Lake Powell National Golf Course. Built in 1995, the course is ringed by Page neighborhoods, the Vermillion Cliffs and the lake.

Nature as engineer

No one knows if the number of people who visited Glen Canyon outdoes or matches the number that flocks to Lake Powell each year. Flooding the canyon by damming the Colorado River has for decades been bittersweet. To some the act was so offensive, so baleful and heart-breaking that they can't bear to return. People who floated the Colorado River and explored the deep canyons experienced a wilderness gem that many generations to come will never understand. Images and stories of Glen Canyon come from books and songs written by those who fell in love with it in the first half of the 20th century. There also are images and stories many people hold in their hearts and minds, untold for personal - and, presumably - spiritual reasons.

Since being dammed, the outcome has been politically divisive. There remains an earnest and swift movement by environmentalists and conservationists to drain the lake. It took 17 years for the lake to fill to its capacity - 26,215,000 acre-feet of water. In the past six years, the lake level has dropped and evidence is obvious by the "bathtub ring" on the surrounding rocks and pinnacles.

Lake Powell is a testament to living. Taking away the judgment about dams and bureaucracies, the lake's existence is lifeblood for Page residents and businesses, and the scores of downstream river dwellers, who siphon a tiny bit from the lake each time they flip their bedroom switches. But the environmental effects of hydroelectric power and the loss of nature required to create it make the Colorado River the most litigated body of water in the United States.

For the most part, Page residents - past and present - have come to terms with the sentiments people have about Lake Powell. Since most residents benefit financially from the lake, mostly through jobs, they often stay out of the political fray. Few, if any, want to talk water politics over a cup of coffee. Instead, they let outsiders come to their own conclusions based on a variety of evidence, just as the famous American painter Norman Rockwell did in the 1960s.

At the Carl Hayden Visitor Center at the dam site, a huge original Rockwell painting hangs on one wall, protected by Plexiglas. Rockwell's image, which he drew from a photograph representing a Navajo family, shows the massive concrete dam in the background. In the foreground stands a Navajo family - mother, father, son and their dog - their backs facing viewers, while an eagle circles overhead.

Historical interpreters at the center are uncertain of Rockwell's message. Loss or gain? Instead of devising an explanation, they leave it up to viewers, as Rockwell intended. After all, politics - and, it can be said, nature - is personal.

Amy Maestas is a freelance writer who lives in Durango and has recently placed her college diploma in a safe-deposit box for fear of having it taken away by her alma mater after using so many superlatives in one story.