28 was my loneliest birthday. I spent the summer searching for my partner Ian in the mountains who was classified as a missing person until September. After his memorial, I took home a black cylinder of his remains to our house in the desert that we moved to only a few days before he went missing.

I didn’t want to turn 28- the age Ian died. All the happy birthday texts made me sick. I spent the day alone, and a few days later I backpacked into a remote canyon in Utah to spread his remains. 

29 was a better year. My new partner and old friend, Jaden, and I went camping in the saguaros together with my dog Mallow. We made birthday tacos and swam in the Salt River. Still, celebrating my birthday felt awkward. Sometimes grief made me believe that happiness and joy was shameful- like maybe I should be depressed forever after losing such a love. 

My brain labeled this appropriately as unnecessary suffering, not grief. What is the point of suffering under an infinite galaxy with shooting stars and birthday candles in tacos? 

I will turn 30 this month, and my perspective on birthdays has shifted so much. I want to get older. I want to live a long life. Each passing year feels like a gift to live.

So I wanted to do something special for myself. Not throw a party like I did for most of my 20’s. I wanted to bring back the birthday challenge. When I turned 23, I wrote 23 pages in 23 hours and continued the tradition up to my 27th birthday. 

I completely forgot about the challenge for my 28th and didn’t have the energy for it on my 29th. This year- I will paddle for 30 days in a row to celebrate turning the big 3-0.

---

Day 1/30

Jaden and I pump air into our packrafts on the boat ramp by Lake Powell, but instead of the concrete ramp touching the shimmering blue water, it meets red dirt. The dirt spreads a good 100 yards out to a rocky cliff where the water laps against the sand nearly ten feet below the cliff.

I am grateful to only have to carry a light packraft down and up this cliff rather than a clunky canoe. For two years, we’ve been able to park at the ramp and slide the canoe directly into the water from the concrete. 

Lake Powell is receding, fast. 

Out in Wahweap Bay is an island of rock I’ve never seen before. An island of rock I’ve paddled and driven our motor boat over several times without knowing it was under me.

We paddle toward it past floating empty houseboats attached to buoys. Soon the houseboats will touch the exposed island if the lake continues to drop, and it will. Many months stand in between us and the next spring runoff.

Our paddles stroke the water gently. We are in no hurry. We left the dogs at home since it is midday and nearly 90 degrees Fahrenheit. 

We reach the exposed island of cobblestone and much of it is covered in the invasive quagga mussels that are sharp and will cut your toes. We find a sandy incline to dock our boats. It is not windy so we do not feel the need to tie them down.

Our feet crunch on dried soil and rock. We find a buoy laying on its side. White with orange stripes and an orange diamond warning boaters in big letters DANGER ROCK. Useless now that the rock is exposed, it lies here like a discarded inflatable tube man that you see outside of car dealerships, lifeless without any air. 

I pick it up and it is surprisingly light and tall. Towering over me, I imagine eight more feet of water that was here to keep this buoy afloat. 

We wonder how many more rocks, spires, islands, and fins lay beneath us in the reservoir. We wonder what else might be revealed this winter. 

This is when I state that I want to paddle every day for the next 30 days. For my birthday yes, but also for the end of summer and to witness as much change on Lake Powell as possible. 

When we return to the boat ramp, we see a figure moving along the rocks.

“Look,” Jaden whisper-shouts.

“A fox!” I say. “Or a coyote?”

From a distance, the creature looks small. But in reality that cliff band is huge. The coyote trots along from rock to rock, not seeming to care about us. We lift our paddles out of the water and float toward him, watching and grinning.

Coyotes are kind of me and Jaden’s thing. When it became clear that our friendship had turned into something more, I was very scared to enter another relationship after Ian died. I thought I ought to be alone for at least 5 years before I date again. 

Then, not randomly, coyotes started to visit me. And I have not seen coyotes much in my life before this. 

While walking with Mallow, I said out loud that Jaden was coming to visit us in Page and we might consider letting him into our pack. Then bam! Two coyotes appeared. Mallow chased them up a slickrock bubble and at the top, the two coyotes turned around and waited. It appeared as though the three had counsel, standing in a triangle all looking at each other. Bodies not stiff or threatening. Then just like that, all three took off in different directions. Mallow came bounding back to me, smiling. 

Later that night, Jaden drove into Page and the song Home by Pixie and the Partygrass Boys came on at the same time as a coyote crossed in front of his car, looking him in the eye.

Later when we were deciding if he would move in with me, we were hiking in a canyon when a coyote let out a long howl. Mallow did not chase or run after her, which was unusual. She sat next to me in the sand, and the three of us looked up and on the rim of the canyon. Perfectly outlined in the sunset was the coyote throwing her head back and howling again, over and over again. 

We have taken coyotes to be good signs for us. Obvious, loud signs that shouldn’t be ignored. Coyotes, to us, are catalysts for change. Their presence has told us that we are on the right path, keep going, and maybe lighten the fuck up and play. These coyote sightings have not felt like tricks, but wise messages from Spirit.

So when we saw the coyote trotting along the shore, my 30 days in a row birthday challenge felt like it was already in motion. Not just an idea or flippant oh we should do this remark. 

Coyotes have been associated with chaos in many stories, myths and legends. Lake Powell is receding into tumult as it approaches dangerous levels for human power and water consumption.

But Glen Canyon is emerging.

Wahweap’s drowned creek is returning. The Colorado River still snakes under still reservoir water. The future of this place is revealing itself and we are so excited to witness the changes.

Following along for the next month of paddling adventures!

---