The following morning, we secured our anchor lines to a marker buoy, headed out into the main channel, hoisted sail and made for the Escalante River, Ribbon Canyon (arguably one of the most beautiful estuaries on the lake) and Hole-in-the-Rock, a crack where the early Mormons chain-locked their wagons and drove them 1,000 feet to the valley below. An occasional gust rippled the lake with mischievous bursts that plunged down the Navajo's ridge to the south. We tacked at the entrance to the Escalante, then as we passed the two stone spires standing sentinel at the entrance to Ribbon Canyon, the clouds started to build, the sky darkened and the wind started to pipe 15 to 20 knots. It was no time to be caught in open water, and we scurried back to the cove and the comfort of our private sacristy. Jeanine grabbed the anchor lines with the gaff, and just as I finished securing them, one of Lake Powell's infamous desert storms barreled out of the south and pummeled the main channel with 4-foot cresting waves and spindrifts that rebounded from the canyon walls and churned past our cove with incredible ferocity. While our little cove was secure enough, Lady Jeanine occasionally lurched and strained against her mooring lines, and her mast and stays shuddered with the stronger gusts.