Along the Way

When Revisiting Yesterday, Expect Some Disappointments

Some 75 years ago, Joe V. Prochaska held the post of game warden for Arizona, and upon the formation of a particular small Boy Scout troop, he volunteered to act as scoutmaster. I was a member of that fortunate group of boys. No troop in scouting had ever been more privileged as the game warden was virtually assured of a positive response from the State to any requests for his Boy Scouts. So he requi-sitioned huge four-wheel-drive trucks, troop and supply carri-ers from World War I, to haul us several times to the newly built Gillespie Dam (washed out in 1993 floods), where we pitched WWI-vintage pup tents to practice camping.

The year was 1922, and most of Arizona was wild open country with big game hunters from around the world visiting to try their luck. One focal point for their activities was a hunting lodge on the East Fork of the Black River. It was Diamond Rock Lodge, and it could be reached only on horseback. We were thrilled when Prochaska decided to take the troop there. We abandoned the awkward highway department four-wheel-drive trucks in favor of old Packards and Nashes and a Ford truck and drove off in the direction of the "north country." Taking the Apache Trail and camping at Roosevelt Dam the first day, we explored the nearby cliff dwellings, and the next day, we climbed over the Mogollon Rim.

We reached the top of a high mountain south of today's Alpine and saw below, under a canopy of old spruce and fir, a pleasant valley. The stream of the East Fork dominated its length. There on the mountain's summit, we abandoned our vehicles and dumped our gear into an old wagon.Before we scouts mounted up for our introduction to horseback riding, a path had to be cleared down the mountainside. This was accomplished by attaching a heavy log to the tongue of the old wagon and shoving it down the mountain. Bumping along and smashing everything in its path, it soon forged a trail to the valley floor, where we discovered Diamond Rock Lodge.

Pitching our pup tents on an open meadow near the lodge, we enjoyed a vacation that in those days only the very wealthy could afford. After 10 days of outdoor fun and adventure, we reluctantly abandoned camp, mounted our horses, and returned to civilization with memories of that lodge and camp imprinted forever on our minds.

More than seven decades later, I still remember the solitude and lushness of that special place, with the ranks of conifers marching stiffly down the sides of two mountain slopes to the banks of the East Fork of the Black River. There was spun in that valley a spell of beauty unlike anything I have since experienced. Some time ago, my son Ric and I took to the back roads again, past Hon-Dah, McNary, Sheeps Crossing, Mexican Hay Lake, and Big Lake, through that old primitive area now populated with mobile homes, summer cabins, and bustling communities. We drove the long, narrow trail to the very banks of the East Fork and found that area is now a public campground.

"Where is Diamond Rock Lodge?" we asked.

"It was about half a mile down the road," came the answer. "It's gone now, but there is a big water tank across the stream."

A few charred remnants of the lodge remained. The meadow where we camped was still there, ablaze with wildflowers. The cold stream still gurgled over the rocks. The ranks of soldierly conifers still stood on the mountainsides. But the solitude was gone. All that was left was my memories. But what wonderful memories.