Dry Summer

No rain had come all spring and summer. No moisture since the last snow storm in March. There were very few ponds built as yet and none large enough to hold water for long periods of time. The cattle on the open range were choking to death. After the mother cows died, the young calves wandered alone forlornly for a day or two until they too perished from thirst. Dad was hard put to find water for his livestock and good culinary water was especially hard to find. Cole Spring was located 5 or 6 miles south of Bundyville on the west face of Trumble Mountain, beyond the south end of the Hurricane Fault (rim) where it blends into the mountain. Our wagon rattled along as the horses trotted down the wheel track road. We were after drinking water for the cabin. Dad, Mom, Marie, Me, Grant and Keith were all riding together on this trip. Sort of a family outing. It was a fun time for us kids but we were sad to see the poor thirsty cattle along the way, gaunt little calves standing by a dead mama, the flanks drawn up from thirst and hunger.

The sun wasn't to the quarter point when the road began climbing up through the malapie rocks, maybe a quarter mile to the water troughs. The temperature was hot and the old dog's tongue hung out a foot. He's been traveling all morning without a drink. He smells the water and runs on ahead. By the time we arrived he had drank so much that he was in great misery. Dad pulled him out of the trough and it wasn't long till he flopped around as if he would die.

The wagon was pulled under a tree and Dad unhitched the team of horses and watered them. Many cattle trailed into this spring for water and drank it up as fast as it came out. After we had our lunch Dad hitched the team up and pulled the wagon over by a closed headbox where he was able to get a barrel or so of clean water. Old dog had recovered by now and was able to follow along as we headed back down the road.

On the way back home we saw several little doggie calves that would soon die and Dad said we ought to take them home to feed, but then we'd be taking other peoples property, so can't remember what we did. The stockmen tried trailing the cattle north to the Virgin River but that was 60 or 70 miles distance and many died before they reached the water. In those days cattle were trailed on the hoof to the railroad. Trucks weren't sufficiently developed to haul large numbers. The nearest railroad was at Modena, Utah, 150 miles to the north.

Times have changed since then, reservoirs have been constructed that will hold water for 2 or 3 years. Trucks haul water to the cattle on the range where needed, so when the rains don't come and the grass don't grow the stockmen hauls his cattle to the auction and sells them for half what he ought to get.