The water lapped at my feet. It was an amazing place to be: the sun was about to set, just hanging over the hills in the distance. A cool breeze blew past, a great ending to a very hot day.

Once I dove into the water, the outside world disappeared. It was just me and the waters of Lake Powell, Utah. Swimming around, I felt the crisp cold but not freezing water swish around my body. It was a splendid feeling, as if the weights and stresses of the world had vanished.

A motorboat drove past in the distance, casting a wake that disturbed the calm waters. The wake slowly peeled apart, spreading into the ends of the lake. When the wake had passed and the water calmed again, the reflection of the sun was once again revealed.

I dipped my head under the surface of the water, closing my eyes. The water drenched my hair, and as I stood up straight again, it started dripping in long thin lines down to the water. I lifted my head so it would dribble into my mouth.

“All right,” I said to my dad as I swallowed the water, so clean and pollution-free. “The water isn’t very cold,” I said, beckoning him in.

My dad slowly stepped into the water. He lathered the water over his body, and then dove in. Standing beside me, we watched as the vivid sunset reflected in the water.

A cool breeze rushed over the surface, and it rippled the surface as if someone had distorted a mirror. The almost-perfect reflections of the mountains broke into thousands of pieces.

As I swam around in our own corner of this large and stunning lake, I was reminded of what had happened in the afternoon: my quest to jet-ski on Lake Powell.

–

We had arrived at noon into the Page, Arizona area where Lake Powell was located, and I had explained to my dad as many times as I could that I wanted to go jet-skiing on Lake Powell. My dad and his classmate (traveling with us) had agreed exasperatingly.

I was certain that on this day, I was going to have a bundle of fun. I pictured myself riding around on the waves, jumping the wakes of other boats, and turning a corner at forty five miles per hour.

“Life is goooood,” I thought to myself with a grin as I waltzed into the rental office of the Lake Powell Marina where jet-skis could be rented.

On our way to the marina, we had called them and asked them if there were any jet-skis available for rent. They had told us that they had only one more jet-ski left. Perfect, I thought to myself, how lucky were we?

Very unlucky, as it turned out.

I opened the door for my dad to come in. Inside, a large curved window displayed a wide and expansive view of Lake Powell. The marina, only a small square on the large lake, was dotted with hundreds of boats.

We stood in line and waited for the next employee to be available. I flipped through a few photography books showing pictures of Lake Powell.

“And there you are, sir,” I heard an employee say to a customer in front of us. My heart jumped. “Your jet-ski for the half day, rented until 4 PM, all right?” I heard him say again.

Wait a minute, I thought, your JET-SKI?!?

“Um, Dad?” I said, poking my dad, but as I looked at him, he was already eyeing that customer. He too had overheard the conversation. My dad ran over to the customer.

“Did you just rent a jet-ski?” my dad asked him.

“Of course I did,” said the man in a Russian accent. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. “The very last one, I might add. I was very lucky to snag it up. Very lucky indeed!”

The man had a huge smile on his face, apparently very happy he had just “snagged” what we were going to rent.

“Oh, no!” my dad said, trying to peel his face into a kind smile but failing. “We were going to rent that one.”

“Were you really?” the Russian man said, looking at my dad. “I’m really quite terribly sorry, but you know, first come, first serve, right?” He chuckled.

I sighed and walked away, sitting down on a chair near the large window, watching the view. Boats, only tiny dots, drove around the lake. A few jet-skis engaged in tight turns, but I wasn’t going to be on one of them.

Behind me, my dad and the man bargained.

“No no no,” the Russian man said, “I cannot possibly allow you to use two hours of my four hour period. I know you are willing to split the pay, but I, my friend” (he patted my dad on the shoulder) “am the one who is signing the waiver, am I not? Plus, I originally wanted two jet-skis for my wife and my kids to play as well. We already need to switch off. You taking my jet-ski would just make it worse.”

He chuckled again, but I didn’t think it was quite so funny this time. All I was thinking about was the document he was clutching in his sweaty hand: the document that would let him onto the docks and give him the jet-ski.

–

“Oh,” my dad said, stirring the noodles, “Don’t worry. The lady said to check back at two o’clock, because that’s when half-day customers come back. Maybe we’ll get to rent it for two hours or so.”

I was sitting at a picnic table, sulking. My dad was now pouring soy sauce into the pot with noodles. He was making a delicious lunch of noodles, a salad, and soup, but I had lost my appetite.

“Cheer up,” my dad’s classmate said, “There’s always going to be something to do. Don’t worry! Besides, they said that they would call us if they had any jet-skis. I’m sure the phone would ring any moment now!” He rubbed me on my head. I wasn’t so sure.

From the place we had our little picnic, Lake Powell could be seen, large and expansive. The water was blue, like a large sapphire, and the dark red rocks around intensified this blue color.

It was scorching hot outside that stepping into the sunlight was like entering five saunas at once. We had found a small pavilion and as I sat there, I watched as boats drove around. I saw a small dinghy being pulled by a speedboat.

But there was more to this lake than just what people had created: the jet-skis, the boats, and all the other things I wanted to play. It’s true that Lake Powell was formed when Glen Canyon Dam was built, flooding the valley. But there was more than that. Regardless of what it seemed like, it was still nature’s work. Without nature, the valley would still just be… a valley.

Watching the water surface ripple, I thought to myself, maybe it will turn out all right. Maybe.

–

I walked into the rental office for the second time in one day. After waiting an excruciating hour where I had watched the phone and having absolutely nothing happen, we decided to check back one last time.

The line had two people already standing in it, and the three employees were hard at work, servicing customers.

An employee, one we had met earlier in the afternoon during our first visit, smiled at us. “We have jet-skis!” she said to my dad, smiling.

Then why didn’t you call us? I thought angrily.

The person in front of us stepped up to a counter. My heart jumped to my throat again.

“I’d like a speedboat.” My heart settled back into my chest, relieved.

One down, one to go.

“I’d like a speedboat.” The man in front of us said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir! We’re all out of speedboats,” the employee said apologetically.

“What? The person in front of me just rented a speedboat?” the man said through his huge beard.

“Yes, sir, that was the last one.”

The man sighed.

I knew how he felt.

“All right then, can I have a jet-ski?” he asked.

“Surely, sir.” The employee answered. My heart almost ripped in half as it began thumping furiously. My dad was also eyeing the man.

I could only watch as the employee passed over the documentation and forms. The man signed them all, then walked away to the marina dock.

“Next, please.”

My dad ran up to the lady and blurted out what I had been thinking. “Was that the last jet-ski?”

“Of course” (my eyes widened) “not!”

“W-what?” I asked.

“Of course not!” she repeated, “That was not the last jet-ski. The one you’re renting is the last one!”

–

If there was anything thrilling on our trip, it would be jet-skiing on Lake Powell. True, it lacked the grandeur of Grand Canyon, it might have lacked the view from Angel’s Landing, or the canyons of Antelope Canyon or the Narrows, but all is forgiven.

I thought that looking at the lake from the marina office would be beautiful, but looking at it while riding the waves on a jet-ski at fifty miles per hour? Now that’s fun.

My dad, who had some prior experience as his friend had invited him to ride on his jet-ski in Galveston (the seaside city near Houston), told me we were going to try something new. Of course, we were already trying something new.

The waters in Galveston were of a murky and brown color, as if someone had decided that Galveston shouldn’t deserve the same respect as Cancun. As a result, jet-skiing in Galveston only has oil refineries and docks as scenery.

Here, the red rock, so contrasting with the blue of the water, made the speed of a jet-ski feel even more fun. We went around large pillars standing in the water, huge and awing. The sheer size made people seem small.

“Did you hear me?” my dad repeated, “We’re going to try something fun!”

We hit fifty miles per hour on the speedometer. I started grabbing onto my dad tightly.

“I’m going to make a tight U-turn to the left now!” he yelled over the howling wind, threatening to rip away my hands grabbing onto my dad’s body.

“Dooooon’t do it!” I could only yell as my dad suddenly turned the handlebars. I felt my cheeks and whole body ripple as I was pulled towards the right, my whole body threatening to fly apart.

Amazingly, I was still alive after the turn. More than that, but I loved it! We made turns for several times in a row at fifty miles an hour. I felt like I was flying. I felt like I was lighter than air. Each time, I grabbed onto my dad tightly, yelling in enjoyment.

A few men from a nearby speedboat watched us and smiled as my dad executed another turn, almost creating a whirlpool. Normally, I would be angry at these strangers smiling at me, but today, I could only yell at them…

“You have GOT to try this!”