DESERET THIRST and REVENGE OF THE RIVER FROG

    George Taylor, a.k.a. "George Terrance Taylor, the Terrible Termite" for short, was an adventurous friend. He was an avid hiker, runner and adventure seeker. He had run the Colorado River with the famous explorer, John Cross. Now George was recruiting friends to do it again. This would be the last summer before Lake Powell would cover that part of the Colorado River forever.

Colorado River.

    Dave Beck, Dave Clark and I signed on. The scenery was incredible, each bend in the river revealed a new view of burnt red, sandstone cliffs towering hundreds of feet above us. It was a 10-day trip and John Cross insisted we row downstream. George was at the back of the rubber raft directing us away from dangerous rocks and currents with the rudder. The sights were great, but the heat reflecting off the water was greater. 120 degrees at least it seemed, and no shade to protect us.

    Don't drink river water. Don't pee in the river. Don't stand up. Don't splash. Keep your toilet paper wrapped up in plastic at the top of your duffle and row, row, row! We slowly paddled along, occasionally stopping to examine petroglyphs, old Indian dwellings, outlaw grottoes, and pioneer crossings. 

    One of the highlights on the expedition was Rainbow Bridge. We pulled ashore about sunset, laid out our sleeping bags and tore the plastic off our toilet paper. We would leave the next morning to make the 5 or 6 mile hike to Rainbow Bridge. The fresh water we carried in the boat was running low. "Don't fill your canteens. There is a spring about halfway. You can fill them there," instructed John Cross.

Floating along on the Colorado River

    In the morning, while shaking out my sleeping bag, a dead scorpion fell out. We had spent the night together! I must have rolled over him during the night. With empty canteens strapped on we were off, hiking the desert sandstone and sandy washes uphill toward Rainbow Bridge.

    The sun rose higher in the sky and the temperature rose with it! We hiked on, looking forward to the cool water gushing from the desert spring. Time dragged on, the lack of water and the heat was dehydrating us. Hours passed. With dry tongues and parched throats we welcomed the cry, "The spring is up around the next bend." Like race horses bolting from the gate, we were off. The race was on to see who would be first to splash into the cool water and quench their thirst!

    What spring? What cool water? This must not be the right spot! There stood the mighty explorer, John Cross, scratching his head in puzzlement in the middle of the waterless, sandy remains of our desert oasis. "There must have been a drought out this way," he reluctantly announced. He searched the banks for the source of the now dry spring. He found it. From the downward tip of a desert plant water was slowly drip, drip, dripping from the now defunct spring. Drip, drip, drip.

    We lined up with our canteen lids in hand, captured our ten drops, swallowed, and went to the back of the line. Repeating this process for over an hour, our thirst somewhat satisfied, we set out for Rainbow Bridge. I have never appreciated water so much! If it sold for $100 per canteen, I would have gladly paid it.

Rainbow Bridge

    Hours later we finally reached Rainbow Bridge. It was fantastic -- all it was cracked up to be! We spent some time just soaking in the beauty of this natural wonder. The quiet peace that surrounded us was inspiring! This was a sacred place.  Very few people had enjoyed this desert gem in person. It was just too difficult to reach. Today you don't have to make the hike. You can float very close to it by boat on Lake Powell.

    In hopes for finding water, John Cross decided to take a different trail back. We were going downhill. Maybe we could make it back to camp without water. But we did find water! Pools of it, captured in bathtub sized holes in the hard sandstone. Most likely these had been filled by desert thunder storms. We frolicked in the pools until we had our fill. Then we were off again. Back at camp we slept like babies, dreaming of gushing desert springs and cool water. 

    The next morning we loaded the rubber rafts, picked up our oars and were soon stroking our way to the famous pioneer crossing, Hole in the Rock. 

Hole in the Rock Pioneer Crossing

    The closer we got to Hole in the Rock, the more my stomach began to gurgle. I knew what that meant. There must have been something in that spring water! It was horrible trying to hold off the need to go for hours on the river. My sphincters were ready to blow! There was a reason we kept our toilet paper dry and at the top of our duffle bags. I began eyeing the duffles trying to spot my bag. Just my luck it was buried under the pile. A desperate plan began to take form. Dave Beck's bag was right next to me and he was rowing away, two places ahead of me. I discreetly unlatched his duffle and snatched his dry fluffy roll, quickly stashed it under my shirt, and relatched his bag.

    After what seemed like an eternity we finally reached the shore. I was off like a shot, safely behind bushes before the others could even locate their duffles. Having satisfied my urge, I made my way back towards camp. Just then, there on the side of the trail, half covered by brush, I spotted the largest frog I'd ever seen. It just sat there. It wasn't trying to get away so I carefully picked it up thinking, "I'll give it to Dave as a peace offering."

    As I entered camp, there was Beck frantically tearing through his bag. "What's the problem?" I chirped. "I can't find my toilet paper. I know I put it right at the top of my bag!" he squawked in desperation. Extending my hands with the giant frog I said, "Look what I found for you!" No sooner did I get the words out of my mouth when the beast cut loose, spraying a quart of stinking yellow liquid all over Beck and his duffle bag. Rapidly shrinking to half its original size the frog leaped away. "What the heck?" Beck croaked. Pulling his roll of toilet paper from under my shirt I said, "Would you like to borrow this?"

    One more night at Hole in the Rock and we would be on our last float. Bobbing along on the river the next day we made our final landing. After dragging our rafts ashore we waved goodbye to a six foot long dead carp floating by. A fitting ending to our 10-day saga! The best part of the trip was savoring ice cold watermelon at the closest café to the river. What an adventure, thanks to "George Terrance Taylor the Terrible Termite!"

CHRISTMAS GREED

    All kids love Christmas. Lights, music, presents under the tree. Santa always showed up at our house, and always ate the cookies set out for him. I never could figure out, though, why Santa gave Dave Beck bigger and better gifts than the rest of us Ash Avenue boys. I knew for a fact he wasn't any nicer.

    Now that I was in Junior High it was time for me to start buying some of my own clothes. Not that the combat boots Mom had gotten on sale were that bad. I told my mocking friends I was a trendsetter! With five siblings, I knew my parents couldn't afford many of the fashionable clothes my pals were wearing. You know, like Gant shirts with the small loop atop the back pleat.

    I had a paper route and saved up for a clothes buying binge. It was Christmas time and everyone was catching the spirit. Clark's clothing store had carolers and hot chestnuts.

Hoover's and Levin's lured us in with Elsha and other spicy colognes, guaranteed to turn pretty heads. "Would you like that wrapped?" Why not! The fancy Christmas paper made each purchase look expensive. After all, the wrapping was free!

    I didn't buy that many clothes, but having each item wrapped separately made quite an attractive stack. At first I put no tags on them. I just let them sparkle like the silver icicles hanging on the tree. My brothers and sisters insisted on knowing whose presents were piled so high next to the tree. Being continually pestered I finally relented and tagged them, "TO FRANCIS FROM SKOSH." "What? All those presents are to you from your stupid dog?" they screamed. "I can't help it. Skosh loves me!" I replied with a smirk.

    I wasn't greedy. I would have presents for them as well. They just weren't out yet. I thought my presents were so beautifully wrapped that they would add to the Christmas feeling! It was a Christmas never to be forgotten. To this day, my brothers and sisters share this holiday memory with joking contempt.

  

TERROR OUT OF THE MIST

    Getting up at 5:00 a.m. on a Sunday mornings to deliver newspapers was not my idea of fun, especially in the winter with temperatures dropping into the low teens. The worst part was alarm anticipation. I had a windup alarm clock that ticked loudly and could wake a hibernating grizzly. Sometimes I'd stay awake half the night trying to beat the obnoxious sound of the alarm and turn it off before it rang. Coat, scarf, hat and gloves. I was off, pumping my Schwinn the two miles to the Daily Herald office and loading up the heavy Sunday papers. At least I had my little Border Collie, Skosh, to keep me company.

Francis and Skosh, the Border Collie.

    The route was quiet, eerily quiet as I pumped along. It must have been the thick fog hovering close to the ground. I got off my bike to adjust the heavy canvas bag holding the newspapers. That's when I heard it. Something big was running toward us. I could hear its claws clacking on the pavement. The sound grew faster and closer. Suddenly leaping out of

the mist was the largest Boxer I had ever seen.

A monster of a dog! Without warning it attacked my little dog, locking its strong jaws tightly on the ruff of her neck and shaking her wildly.  It was killing my dog!

    I began kicking the boxer as hard as I could. I kicked its sides, I kicked its legs. I kicked between its legs. It didn't seem to notice. In desperation I grabbed its spiked collar and pulled with all my might. The beast dropped my dog and turned on me, sinking its sharp canines into my gloved hand. Then just as quickly it was bounding off through the fog looking for its next victim.

    It was quiet again except for the occasional whimper from Skosh as she gently licked my wounded hand. Despite my fears she seemed to be ok. In the dim light of an apartment building I removed the glove to examine my damaged hand. Blood poured out. One of the viscious dog's sharp teeth had penetrated through the leather glove, through the back of my hand, and exited my palm. It could have been worse, much worse! After the required shots, Skosh and I both recovered physically, but we were left with a bad case of Crazed Dog Contempt.  

SKOSH THE WONDER DOG

Francis and Skosh in Ash Avenue backyard.

    At age twelve I was lucky enough to snag a Daily Herald paper route right next to my school, BY Junior High. It was so convenient. I could leave school, pick up my papers a couple of blocks away at the Daily Herald Office, do my route, and be home in time to enjoy the rest of the day. Even better, I earned enough money to feel independent. I could buy my own clothes, and not be surprised by nerdy fashion items like the combat boots Mom had found on sale.

       Each day while pumping my bike around the paper route, I would stop at a particular apartment to help comfort a young puppy named Skosh. You see, Skosh had a bulky cast on her back leg from being struck by a car. As the months went by her leg healed and she began following me on my route. One morning while loading up for school, there she was, sitting on our front porch. I returned her to her owner, but each time she was let loose she bolted and ran the two miles to my house.

    Returning Skosh after each escape was a painful experience. It was sad to watch the young couple's disappointment. It was obvious Skosh wanted to be with me. It broke my heart to watch Skosh being led into their apartment against her will. I'm sure it had nothing to do with her owner being a mailman! For the next few weeks Skosh was chained to a clothesline and couldn't follow me. I would try to ignore her whining and whimpering when I rode by.

    One night our doorbell rang and there stood the mailman and Skosh. He asked my Dad and me if we would like to have Skosh for keeps. He and his wife had talked it over and decided that since she was expecting a baby soon maybe Skosh should be my dog. I waited until he had left, then scream, "YES!"

Our family at Bear Lake: Kay, Mom holding Karalee, Paul, Skosh, Francis, Russ and Joel.

    Skosh was like a member of the family. Even Mom bought into the idea. She went everywhere we went, even swimming in Bear Lake when we were on vacation. She became so protective of me that she would bear her teeth and growl when Dad was sent to dish out some well-deserved punishment!

Francis and Skosh.

    She was a great friend to me over the next few years, especially when I broke my arm playing baseball. It seems she knew what it was like to have a broken limb with a bulky cast.