It was hay hauling time, sweating and sticky dust and

hay leaves, and itchy fox tail grass seed working into socks,

pants and shirts. I can't remember the year, but it must

have been around 1934. I remember it was hot.

 

We boys had a swimming hole down river from Virgin.

The upper end of the hole was two to three feet deep and

placid. The lower end was four to five feet deep, and

there, the water flowed up against a limestone wall. There

was a tunnel, approximately two feet in circumference,

carved through the limestone wall a few feet below the

surface. Much of the river water flowed through the

tunnel the rest created somewhat of a maelstrom as it

buffeted up against the wall and flowed over and around it.

It was a thrill to dive, swim through the murky water,

find the tunnel, pass through it, come up and fight the

rough rapids on the other side. Of all of the swimming

holes in the Virgin River, that was our favorite.

 

One day, after hauling hay, about eight of us were out

riding horses. The sun was bearing down, so we decided to

cool off with a little skinny dipping. As we came up over

the sand hill to the north of the river, we saw all of the

town girls, our age, cavorting in the nude in our hole.

 

With whoops and hollers, we charged off the hill, and

galloped our horses right out into the water. There were

nude girls running everywhere. Some of them ran for their

clothes. Others made for the shrubbery between the river

and the hill, and all of them screamed.

 

But, there was one girl, my favorite, the light of my

life at that time, who just sat down in the water. The

water came up to her chin, and as I brought my horse to a

stop and looked down at her, she gazed up at me with

those big blue eyes, and said, "LaVarr, I'll tell my Daddy."

All of a sudden, the escapade was no longer fun. Her

father was the bishop.