Beaver Dam Wash

Beaver Dam Wash lays along the south west boundary of Utah where it adjoins Nevada. A stream of water rises and sinks along its course to its juncture with the Virgin River. When Cathy was 10 or 11 years old we loaded the jeep with food and camp gear and drove west up through Gunlock and over on top of the west range of mountains. Milt Holt had told me of a dugway that he had cut into the canyon side so that a 4-wheel drive outfit could get down to the creek bottom.. A side road took us west off the top of that mountain ridge down into a canyon then on west and northerly.

The big Beaver Dam Canyon was visible 3 or 4 miles farther on west running in a north, south direction. We watched for vehicle tracks forking to the left and followed some that fortunately took us to Milt's dugway. The WW II vintage jeep with its 4 cylinder engine was able to negotiate its way to the creek bed easily. Here the bottom was wide with a gentle grade where a nice little creek wound its way southward. Big cottonwood trees grew here and there with wide spreading limbs that provided ideal camping places with lots of campfire wood.

While I set up camp, Clay and Linda checked for fish as Cathy got the poles ready. A thick carpet of crinkely cottonwood leaves provided a soft mat on which to lay our beds. I started a campfire in a safe place about 50 feet from the edge of the creek. The water was clear and clean and handy for camp use. I helped dig for angleworms and we soon had sufficient to catch quite a few trout, if they would bite.

There was a grub box mounted on the back of the jeep with a swing-down door that made a good table to work on or eat from. Next to the grub box on the right side we carried a 10 gallon can of water and on the left side, 5 gallons of gas. We could, and often did, camp wherever night time found us.

By 6:30 or 7PM the fishermen had enough fish for a good fry and after cleaning them we filled up on those good mountain trout. Since I had cleaned the trout and done the cooking the girls washed the dishes and put things away. Clay piled up a stack of cottonwood limbs for the evening campfire. Then they ran around playing while I sat there enjoying this wonderful place of solitude and quiet, away from the noisy town life, thankful to my Heavenly Father for His many blessings. We always gave thanks for our food and had a bedtime prayer asking for His protection and He did bless us as never did we have an serious accident or sickness.

Ol' Jeff, the kid's dog, a cross between Irish Setter and Cocker Spaniel, was our valiant protector. He loved those three kids but was not too fond of me for I was ornery and stern with them. When we were traveling on the road he laid on a pad atop the spare tire which was mounted above the cupboard. This high perch gave him visibility over the wind shield and he was the first thing that could be seen of our approach. He really felt that he was "king of Bunker Hill" and all our friends could tell who was coming down the road..

We usually sat around the campfire after dark and talked, the kids coaxing me to tell stories, which I did occasionally. I always got up about daylight to make a fire. When breakfast was well on its way I'd holler and the kids would start stirring around. We usually had hot cakes and eggs with Brigham tea, or toast and bacon and eggs with Brigham tea or milk if we were fresh out from town. We always used whole wheat flour for the bread and hot cakes, none of that white flour stuff for us. Sometimes we'd have fish for breakfast if we had some on had or maybe meat from town or a rabbit I'd shoot.

After we ate, we fished downstream forenoon and had fair success, but there were no holes where the fish congregated. Angleworms and grasshoppers were our bait. At dinner it was some more good trout with toast and Brigham tea, also tomato and onion sandwiches if someone wanted it, which Cathy did, that was one of her favorites.

Along toward evening the kids caught another half dozen fish for breakfast next morning. The weather was good and the temperature just right for outdoor camping. The next morning after we got camp chores completed we headed downstream to where the canyon narrowed, hoping to find some big water pockets that would let us sit on the bank and fish. About one half mile down the creek the banks narrowed to where the water spilled between two big rocks. On the lower side was a big pool teeming with fish about as thick as those in a fish hatchery. Boy!! did that look good to us fishermen. Some were big ones and those were the ones we aimed to catch. We all dropped our baited hooks into the pool and began pulling them out.

Linda walked around a big rock and a large rattlesnake gave out its warning buzz, but by the time I got there it was crawling out of sight. We kept a closer watch after that but encountered no more. It didn't take long to catch all the fish we could use so we headed back for camp. On the way up the creek we met Milt Holt driving down the flat bottom with his wife. He had driven over from Gunlock to see if we had found our way down into the canyon all right. After we visited for awhile he went on down to the big water pocket to catch a mess of fish. A day or two later I had to go back to St. George to earn some more money so I could pay the bills. We hated to leave that peaceful place.

About 10 years later or maybe longer, I revisited that place again. The same old jeep hauled us down but the kids and dog were different ones. The dog was Reno, a German Shepherd. This time it was Mike, Randy and Liberty. She was less than 5 years old. It was the same wonderfid place with those ageless cottonwood trees that looked the same and the fishing was still good. I got some what melancholy but we had a joyous time and filled our bellies with good trout and slept under the trees on a thick mat of leaves.

After 3 or 4 days we had to leave again to go back to work. On the climb up the mountain side the clutch on the jeep slipped a lot but we finally made it to the top. It worked fine downhill and on level roads but it wasn't long after that I traded it to Keith and have never returned to the Beaver Dam Wash.