Roosevelt Lake: Just for the Fun of It

WHEN UMMER DAWNS AT ROOSEVELT LAKE

WITHOUT RESERVATION I NOW BELIEVE ONE OF THE best places in Arizona for water recreation and downright outdoor fun is Theodore Roosevelt Lake. There's some significance to that because it shows how far I've come: from a Southern California beach kid who thought coyotes and wolves were the same animal and anything that crawled or slithered was inherently deadly. Actually, it's a wonder the first time I visited Roosevelt Lake wasn't the last, especially given the crawl-or-slither phobia. It was 1981, and I went with a zealous fisherman

I hastened home to my condo in nearby Phoenix. Not a promising introduction. But, during the next 14 years, I came to love Roosevelt, and, when we go, it's with joy-ful expectation that we head south down State Route 188 from Jakes Corner and first see that big blue ribbon curling through the gentle green slopes of Tonto Basin.

Roosevelt Lake (PREVIOUS PANEL, PAGES 4 AND 5), seen from Four Peaks in the Mazatzal Mountains, is the oldest reservoir in the state and a mecca for water recreationists.

(FAR LEFT) With a maximum surface of 17,000 acres, the lake extends east and north along the Sierra Anchas range. Four Peaks can be seen near the center on the horizon.

(ABOVE) Spring run-off flows in Reno Creek near Punkin Center.

(LEFT) Tonto National Monument, the site of well-preserved cliff dwellings occupied a thousand years ago by the Salado Indians, lies four miles southeast of Roosevelt Dam.

SUMMER DAWNS AT ROOSEVELT LAKE. SRP: MAKING EVERY DROP COUNT

FEW RECREATIONISTS SPLASHING IN THE COOL WATERS of Theodore Roosevelt Lake stop to think that without the Salt River Project Arizona's largest water supplier and the nation's third-largest public power utility the huge lake wouldn't exist. In fact, if early-day settlers hadn't founded SRP 90 years ago, metropolitan Phoenix might not be here either. In 1903, without adequate water storage and beset by drought and floods, settlers formed the Salt River Valley Water Users' Association, now part of SRP, and obtained a government loan that, among other things, resulted in the construction of Roosevelt Dam. The dam was named for President Theodore Roosevelt, a strong supporter of reclamation. Over time, other dams were built along the Salt and Verde rivers, and electric power generation and distribution were developed. The farmers prospered, and new residents and businesses moved in, ensuring the desert valley's economic growth. The world's highest masonry dam (284 feet) when it was completed in 1911, Roosevelt Dam is getting even larger. A $250 million project is adding 77 feet to its height, greatly increasing storage capacity. Now there's also a bridge spanning the lake.

Particularly endearing to me is the Tonto Basin's rich and enigmatic history. By some accounts, human habitation of the basin can be dated as far back as 5,000 years before Christ. Archeologists believe nomadic tribes traveled through the area on their way to the Pacific Coast or heading back east toward the Great Plains in search of food and fair weather. Thousands of years later, in approximately 200 B.C., the region was inhabited by the Hohokam, the Anasazi, and the Mogollon Indians. Hundreds of years later came the Salado. The Salado were traders and farmers who had vast irrigation systems. Then, suddenly, they were gone, abandoning the area in about A.D. 1400. Why they left is a major puzzlement to archeologists. The most extensive archeological excavations in the country have occurred in the Roosevelt Lake area during the past several years, and scientists have uncovered entire villages from that Salado inhabitation. From the evidence found, archeologists hope to unlock the mystery of the Salado's sudden disappearance.

Once a great grassland fed by rivers and creeks, the basin now centers around the great reservoirs along the Salt River. To the north is the Mogollon Rim and to the west is the crest of the ruggedly beautiful Mazatzal Mountains, where the flora and fauna are as varied as black bears and elderberries.

Usually our trips to Tonto Basin are in the summer because Roosevelt Lake, only two and a half hours from Phoenix, is a fast and relatively cool escape from the city's 110-degree-plus July and August heat. Our most recent trip, however, was last October, when the days were warm, and the nights were near chilly.

We'd never seen Tonto Basin as green as it was that early fall trip. The rainfall during the preceding winter and spring was the heaviest in central Arizona's recorded history, and the low Sonoran Desert area that contains Roosevelt Lake was as lush and emerald green as a Swiss village in the summertime.

Our trip was planned with nine families, six boats, four windsurfers, three sails, 10 water skis, tackle boxes and fishing poles, outdoor sports equipment, more than 20 boxes of food including supplies for two gourmet dinners and breakfasts six camp stoves, beverage coolers, and best of all enough plastic tarps and poles to create a sunshade the size of a one-bedroom apartment ceiling.

We started this trip the same as all the rest: with our traditional stop for a beer in tiny Punkin Center at the Tonto Creek Store. Only this time the store wasn't there. A sign on its former site read: Tonto Creek Store RIP 1992. Here Lives the Heart and Soul of Punkin Center.

We learned that the store was destroyed by a fire of unknown origin in early June, 1992. But there was a new community watering hole: the Punkin Center bar sitting across the one main street.

I've been the instigator of this Punkin

Center tradition because it's always been in this community that I learned from the locals the most interesting - and extraordinary stories about Roosevelt Lake. This trip was no different, except, this time, I had a story to swap.

First, I had to catch up on the legend of the giant catfish.

"So," I said to the bartender, as Alex, my eight-year-old daughter, my husband, and I slid atop three barstools. The bartender was a friendly welcoming woman with shoulder-length red hair. "What do you hear about those 30-foot catfish under Roosevelt Dam? Anybody seen one lately?"

"Well, I'll tell you, I've been hearing a lot about some of those divers who are up there right now working on the dam. The other workers say the divers come up wide-eyed and scared, and they refuse to go down again."

lot about some of those divers who are up there right now working on the dam. The other workers say the divers come up wide-eyed and scared, and they refuse to go down again."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Because they saw 'em: the giant catfish. It's dark down there under the dam, and the divers, they shine their underwater flashlights, and, all of a sudden, they say, they see the giant fish, and they're outta there for good."

I took a swig of my beer and started my story: "You know, Benito Mussolini's plane exploded into flames right out there on Roosevelt Lake, and parts of that darn thing are still under the water."

"Come on," she said. "I never heard that one. You mean the Mussolini from World War II?"

"Yeah, that guy. It was back in 1927, before the war. Il Duce's chief pilot was on a goodwill tour of the United States in Mussolini's new seaplane, and he stopped on the lake to fuel up. He was acting smart and dumping extra fuel out on the lake, and some kid from Phoenix threw his lit cigarette into the slick. Then the plane exploded into flames."

I could see by her sly smile that this was a story she was going to repeat. I finished my beer, and we headed out the door and down the road to Horse Pasture.

SUMMER DAWNS AT ROOSEVELT LAKE

We planned this fall trip believing we'd have the area pretty much to ourselves. But, as we headed toward the lake and caught our first glimpse of the big blue mass, we saw we were way wrong. It was only 1:00 on a Friday afternoon, and, al-ready, the shores by north and south Horse Pasture were crowded with campers and boaters. The place was as jammed as on Labor Day.

Because we were among the first of our party to arrive, we motored along the shore road in search of a site that would accommodate all of us, our boats, our equipment, and our toys.

Once we found a suitable spot, our first challenge was setting up our plastic tarps and poles. This is a tradition that was begun by the menfolk of our camping families. There's a special place in southPhoenix where they buy aluminum poles and 10-foot-by-10-foot bright-blue plastic tarp. When we get all the families and their poles and tarps together, we can create a giant blue-tinted sunscreen.

Next the men figure out if they have to go to nearby Cholla Marina to launch their boats or whether any of them feel gutsy enough to back their vehicles into the lake and launch the boats from the shoreline.

Now during this phase of the trip, the women get out the earplugs and playing cards, and the kids scatter, knowing there's hardly anything on Earth so potentially pathetic as a man with a boat. When his boat works, the man says it doesn't work right.

When it breaks down, hold your ears because you've never heard such cussing.

On that October trip, the mishaps were few. Only one vehicle got stuck in the lake, but, as much as they cuss, this type of situation actually is fun for the men. They can spot a stuck vehicle two miles down the shore, and then they break out in a run toward it. They get out their tools, ropes, and heave-ho, and, the longer it takes and the deeper the vehicle sets, the more the men seem to like their stuck-in-the-lake challenges.

By the time the boats were in, it was late afternoon, just when the usually slight lake wind picks up into a healthy northwestern breeze. My daughter knew what that meant, and she was already riffling through the life jackets on our moored 24-foot Gulfstream to find her pint-size vest. While she was snapping it on, Dad was readying a windsurfer and sail. He guided the rig into the lake. On her stomach, she slid onto the back of the board, and the two of them were off for an hour-and-a-half tandem ride.

Twilight came, and it was time for light jazz and 50's dancing music from a portable CD player, icy mai tais, and din-ner preparation.

My longtime friend Lois McLain, her grown daughters Cindy, Jennie, and Cathy and I pulled out the fixin's for fresh grilled fajitas. While the men marinated and grilled tenderized flank steak, we chopped fresh cilantro, tomatoes, and green onions. Then we prepared salsa cruda and guacamole; dished up mounds of cold sour cream, black beans, and ched-dar and jack cheese; and we unwrapped dozens of warmed flour tortillas.

The next morning, the real fishermen among us Stan and Pat Newman and Pat's son Vinnie were gone. They left at dawn in their bass boat.

While breakfast was cooking and cowboy coffee was brewing, the rest of the campers woke up and got ready for the day's activities, including windsurfing, skiing, more fishing, catching water dogs, playing heated games of Back Alley Bridge, and the one endeavor at which all of us excel: sittin' around, doin' nothin'.

At 3:00 P.M., we automatically knew it was time for all of us to load onto the six boats and dash a few miles southeast down the lake to Roosevelt Dam. Here, we linked up the boats, pulled on our life jackets, and jumped into the cool lagoongreen water. We were shaded from the afternoon sun by the new Roosevelt Bridge and the facelifted dam.

At 5:00 P.M., we climbed into the boats and headed back to get our second dinner under way. That night, it was beef tender-loin shish kabobs, grilled fresh pineapple and sweet onions, curried artichoke and rice salad, fresh cooked green beans with bacon, and deep red cabernet sauvignon.

A few hours later, about 11:00 Р.М., most of the campers were asleep, but Lois and I were still awake, sitting around the campfire waiting for her husband, Will,who had taken a night stroll along theshoreline.

He returned and said he wanted to show us something "unbelievable." We followed him about a half mile from our camp, using a flashlight to find our way. As we walked, we could hear music and see bright lights ahead.

Suddenly, we were standing in front of a giant dance floor bright with masses of twinkle lights, and a huge stage weighted