Cottonwood Cove, a respite from the heat in Nevada

Entrance to Cottonwood Cove via the town of Searchlight, Nevada

One of the most memorable aspects of traveling is not the places visited, though that has a lot to do with the traveling, but the people you meet along the way.

I’ve been fortunate to meet famous folks, ordinary folks, and sometimes some unsavory folks along the byways. But all were wonderful in their own right.

Laureen, my lovely wife, and I decided recently to boat up to Cottonwood Cove Resort and Marina on Lake Mohave, approximately 35 miles north of Davis Dam on the Nevada side of the lake. We would leisurely cruise the blue waters of the Colorado River and spend the night at the Cottonwood Cove Motel along the shores of the marina.

Beautiful view of Lake Mohave from Cottonwood Cove

A wonderful way to spend a weekend. Sun, fun, and burning through a whole lot of fuel which made my wallet feel a lot lighter when we docked at the marina gas station.

“I bet we’re still a buck cheaper than Katherine Landing,” a young man said while pumping fuel into the tank on our boat.

“Yes, you are,” I replied not feeling any more chipper as I handed him a hundred and received no change back.

“Did you bring snacks?” I asked Laureen. “I don’t think we can afford the cafe for dinner.”

The winds had picked up about halfway along the trip and the lake often looked like a churning clothes washer. But we were out in the fresh air, tunes blasting away on the pontoon, and getting splashed by cold lake water was just part of the adventure.

Even with some pretty rough water, we made Cottonwood Cover in a little less than two hours and decided to chug further north to Nelson’s Landing on the Nevada side of the lake.

And this is where we encountered two young men who were in desperate need of help.

I wrote about the tragedy that had taken place on September 14th, 1974 when a monsoon west of the landing created a sudden flood which led to a 40-foot wave of water roaring through Nelson’s Landing, killing nine people.

Nelson Landing along the Colorado River

We had only seen the beach from the land and decided to take a gander at the site from the water's edge.

As we slowly pulled into the cove, which was packed with swimmers, Laureen noticed a young man frantically waving a white Frisbee at us.

I waved back.

“I believe he wants to talk to us,” Laureen said, with a slight shaking of her head in my direction.

Turns out two of their friends had paddled across the lake to the Arizona side, about a mile or more in distance, and had not returned. The choice of craft for the adventurers to cross some pretty rough water was a small inflatable raft with two short plastic paddles.

“It’s an orange raft and we lost sight of them,” the Frisbee-waving twenty-something yelled out to us from his perch on a high cliff.

A young woman beside him asked if we would mind going and looking for them. And off we went across the lake in search of a small orange raft.

Fast forward to the end.  We did locate the two boys on the Arizona side - Gavin and Westin - hefted the raft and them aboard our boat and drove them back across the lake to their very relieved friends on shore.

“I think I underestimated the river,” Gavin stated.

“Lots of folks do,” I replied, while Laureen draped a towel over Westin’s shivering shoulders. It may have been early May and the sun beaming from above but the water temperature is still in the mid-60s, which is pretty chilly when a person has been hanging onto the side of a flimsy raft for hours. 

We dropped the guys off and waved goodbye. Laureen laughed and asked if I had seen the t-shirt the girl had been wearing.

A white t-shirt with an arrow pointing to the left with the words, ‘I’m with stupid.’

“Probably should have made it plural,” I replied. Oh, the irony.

Actually, the two young men were just inexperienced. They were also very nice and appreciative. They wanted to know how they could repay us for saving them. Simple I advised, if they were ever out boating, return the favor and help someone else in need.

Good Karma is needed when on the water.

Nelson Landing, packed with sun worshipers

After doing our good deed for the day, we returned to Cottonwood Cove, tied off at a courtesy dock, and went to the store to see about a guest boat slip for the night.

And this is where we met a woman with an incredible sense of humor, by the name of Hope Full. “Yes, that’s my name.”

“Well, in that case, we are hopeful that a slip is available,” I replied.

“Never heard that one before,” Hope said, rolling her eyes just a bit. “Yes, Lisa called us this morning from Boulder Beach and reserved one for you.”

At this time, the manager came over and introduced himself. “I’m Mark Anthony, we exchanged emails about your trip here.”

Laureen turned her back to me. “Don’t say it.”

I smiled, “Is Cleopatra around?”

“Never heard that one before,” Mark said.

Mark is the manager at the resort and we did share some emails about Laureen’s and my plans for the weekend. He was awesome, as well as the entire team at Cottonwood Cove - helping us with anything we needed.

But this was not just a mini-vacation destination, there is a truly interesting history of this place.

Once long ago there, was a rather large island in the middle of the Colorado River named Cottonwood Island. This was before dams were built on the Colorado, forming Lake Mead, Lake Mohave, and Lake Havasu when steamboats navigated the wide river for nearly 500 miles. 

According to the-wandering.com, the island measured nearly ten miles long and three miles wide with a huge concentration of cottonwood trees. The river flowed around the island making access to it rather easy from either shore - Nevada or Arizona.

The Mohave people used the island for agriculture. Then mining began in the 1860s, and the cottonwood trees were felled to sell to the steamboats for fuel making their way to the local mining areas, bringing supplies and retrieving the ore for the smelters down south.

In 1867, the military placed a small outpost on the island to raise cattle, but in the same year, a flood wiped the camp out and drowned all the cattle. That experiment was not tried again, though miners would still graze their cattle from time to time on the island.

Eventually, with the construction of Davis Dam and the creation of Lake Mohave in 1951, the island disappeared for good under the blue waters. Nothing can be seen of this once popular and historic land mass.

We wandered a bit before our motel room was ready and saw families with and without boats enjoying the warm afternoon weather while taking dips in the cool waters along the two swimming areas near the marina.

The Cottonwood Cove Motel, plenty of room for guests

This resort within the Lake Mead National Recreation Area has something for everyone - though I still get confused with the name of the place, since we were on Lake Mohave. A large campground is available for those coming east from Searchlight, a cafe, general store, motel, houseboat rentals for long and short term, hiking trails galore and so much more.

Gorgeous beaches gazing over at the marinas

Cottonwood Cove was part of the Mission 66 project which was started by the National Park Service in 1955 as a way to enhance visitors' outdoor experience and originally followed Route 66 when more and more people hit the roads in their own jalopies. 

After checking into our room, we opted for an early dinner at the cafe, and as I sat looking out across the sandy beach, the softly blowing tall palm trees, the sparkling blue waters I knew what I was going to order.

“What are you having?” Laureen asked.

“No choice but to follow Jimmy Buffet’s advice,” I said. “A cheeseburger in paradise.”

And I did.

For more information: https://cottonwoodcoveresort.com/

Laughlin, Nevada

 In 1964, Don Laughlin flew in a small plane over the Colorado River near the area where the Nevada, Arizona, and California borders met.

He liked what he saw.

“Hey,” Laughlin may have suggested, “let’s skim across the blue waters of the river and scare the heck out of those fishermen in their boats.”

The other passengers in the plane laughed. It was a great idea, and what fun that would be.

“We’ll buzz ‘em really good,” he said. “Maybe somebody can throw an apple at them as we fly by.”

No apples went flying out of the low flying plane that day, but a high-flying idea did get stuck in Laughlin’s mind.

Being a very successful business owner from Las Vegas, Laughlin saw great potential for a new venture along the coastline of the Colorado River.

A gambling mecca.

But let’s step back in time a bit. South Pointe was a small town located near the most southern tip of the state of Nevada developed in the 1940s. There was not much there. A motel, bar, and a whole lot of brown desert sitting astride the crystal-clear blue waters of the mighty Colorado River.

It was the location where many miners working the nearby gold and silver mines would meet up on Saturday nights for a really good time.

“Whatcha going to do with all that gold you done found?” one miner probably asked another miner. 

“Well, heck,” the miner replied. “I’m a gonna go to South Pointe and spend it all in the bar.”

“Fine idee, I’ll be joining you.”

During the 1940s, hordes of construction workers started building the Davis Dam, just north of present-day Bullhead City, and stayed in a locale called Davis Camp – which is still present and used as a campground for river lovers.

On their time off, which there was not much of, they too wandered into South Pointe for some adult entertainment.

One of the early casinos available for fun

The tiny burg prospered.

But in 1951, the dam was completed, and the construction workers left. Rumor has it that many of the miners who had frequented South Pointe also stopped going to the bar since their spouses decided saving the gold and silver nuggets was wiser than drinking the family profits.

As dedicated as I am as a researcher, I could not locate any solid evidence to back up my assumption why the miners stopped frequenting South Pointe.

The town, like a dried-up Joshua Tree, started to just languish in the desert sun.

And that is when Don Laughlin flew his famous jaunt over Lake Mohave, the reservoir which Davis Dam created, and down along the Colorado River over South Pointe.

He purchased the land, built the Riverside Resort motel and casino, and business was once again booming. Though the resort only had twelve slot machines and two live gaming tables, life was once more breathing in this southern section of Nevada.

A post office was soon needed due to the number of employees and guest arriving. At first, Laughlin wanted the town to be known as Riverside and Casino.

The postmaster shook his head. “Nope, let’s call it Laughlin. That is a good Irish name.”

And since the postmaster was also Irish, both men agreed to the new name of the town.

“That would be a fine name, me laddie,” Laughlin may have said to the postmaster.

John R Beyer standing next to statue of Don Laughlin

A bit of Irish history here – I did do research on this.

The family name Laughlin was first used in County Clare, on the west coast of Ireland in the thirteenth century.

So, South Pointe officially became Laughlin, Nevada in 1964.

And soon, other casinos opened. The Bobcat Club, which is where the current Golden Nugget is currently located, and the Monte Carlo soon followed in 1968.

People who loved to fish, water ski, boat, or just enjoyed sitting beside sandy beaches or hotel pools in the sun found Laughlin the place to be.

“You know,” one guest was overheard saying in 1972, “I love the fact, I can fish in the early morning, water ski in the afternoon, eat at inexpensive buffets, and then gamble into the wee hours of the night.”

Laughlin was a mecca, but there was a little problem of turning the mecca into a megapolis.

Bullhead City sat directly across the Colorado River from Laughlin and had grown due to the construction of the Davis Dam, but instead of drying up like South Pointe had, it continued to grow. The town had direct access to the water playground of Lake Mohave, the water activities of the Colorado River, dirt trails leading everywhere, including the very much alive ghost town of Oatman, and so much more. It was also on Highway 95 and near Route 66 which brought more and more visitors on a yearly basis. 

At this time there was no direct route from Bullhead City to Laughlin across the river, and Don Laughlin knew there was a lot of business he was missing out from all those residents and tourists visiting Bullhead City.

Don Laughlin was one smart cookie. He purchased a huge parking lot across the river from his Riverside Resort in Bullhead City and started free boat shuttles to his resort.

He stated, “If I offer it, they will come.”

This was ingenious. What person does not like a free boat ride? No one. Trust me, I know a lot of folks that enjoy our boat without a wallet ever being opened.

But I digress.

Business in Laughlin skyrocketed. Instead of having to drive a long distance, tourists could plop themselves on a free pontoon ride across a short distance of river and in a flash, be at the Riverside Resort.

During the 1980s, the town was so popular that other investors came a-calling, resulting in the building of the Colorado Hotel – now the Pioneer, Harrah’s Del Rio, the Tropicana Resort. And more came in later, the Aquarius Casino Resort, the Edgewater Casino Resort, and the list goes on and on.

One of the most iconic establishments was the Colorado Belle, a hotel and casino built to look like an old-fashioned Mississippi river boat. 

In all transparency, Laureen and I used to spend some time in Laughlin with our girls. Sun, fun and the water was all it took to make a weekend memorable. We stayed here and there but one place that we truly loved was the Colorado Belle. 

Wandering the decks of this make-believe paddle wheeler was just fun. We would walk here and there looking at this and that and imagine being here or there along a long river trip.

My family has vivid imaginations when it comes to traveling – real or not.

I remember us visiting Pompeii once and . . . but I digress.

Sadly, as of 2020 the Colorado Belle may be closed permanently. COVID and other financial issues are said to be the culprits, but who knows. A river boat knows the sculpture of the rivers it maneuvers and perhaps there will be a moment when some investor looks at this building and knows there is a whole lot more life to this ship than what appears now.

Of course, that could also be my hopeful imagination in the works.

In 1987, Laughlin decided a bridge should be built just slightly north of his resort crossing the Colorado River from Bullhead City.

This entrepreneur knew the traffic from Arizona to Nevada would pass his resort first, so, he put up three and half million dollars of his own money to build the Laughlin Bridge.

Both the state of Arizona and Nevada jumped at the idea.

“Use your money to build a bridge that we should build?” a Nevada official may have remarked. “What a marvelous idea. Can it be a toll road for whichever state the traveler is driving into.”

“No,” Laughlin may have replied.

It was built, and today nearly thirty thousand cars cross it each day.

The bridge that Don Laughlin built

The city of Laughlin receives over two million tourists every year. That is a lot of people looking for fun ways to spend their hard-earned money. And the town does not disappoint.

Laughlin is not just a just a bunch of gambling destinations – no, it is a family destination.

Laughlin all lit up for the evening

Not long ago, Laureen and I attended a Rod Stewart concert at the Laughlin Event Center. 

It rocked.

There are venues all about Laughlin, with acts for all ages – music, comedy, theatre, and the like.

This city has something for everyone – and that is not just rhetoric.

Exclusive hotels, upscale dining, RV parks, simple camping, boating, hiking, gambling, international restaurants, guided desert tours, native American sites, museums, and so much more that is awaiting any visitor.

Laughlin’s dream of building a gambling mecca was realized, but what he actually built was a place family and friends could come and enjoy just being family and friends.

And perhaps, that is what he wanted after all.

Use a Brain while camping

 

According to the 2017 American Camper Report, nearly 41 million Americans went camping in 2016. That’s about fourteen percent of the population venturing out into nature, having a great time – the other eighty-six percent didn’t have any good times in 2016.

Anyone who has spent time enjoying the great outdoors camping and staring up into the endless, inky dark night sky, knows what I am writing about.

It’s awesome. Being out in nature, which is one of the few pleasures we can indulge in at this time, is a wonderful experience. Fresh air. Sunshine or moonshine (I mean looking up at the moon – not the stuff my uncle used to make in his bathtub). Time with family and friends. Just an overall quiet, good time.

And obviously, with the numbers reported by the American Camper Report, a lot of people enjoy camping on their time off.

We do, and we did recently. Never having spent much time in the Hualapai Mountains, just outside of the city of Kingman, Arizona – we decided to do some rough camping. Rough camping is defined as, not having room service, or any service at all for creature comforts.

No calling down for a bottle of cold bubbly at ten in the evening. No sheets turned down with a little mint waiting on the pillow. No tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion that seem to disappear at check-out time.

Nope, simply a tent, sleeping bags, propane stove, foldable chairs, and your own personal toiletries. That’s rough camping, baby!

The mountain range in Mohave County, was named after the Hualapai people who once lived there. Their name actually means, people of the tall pines – and there is an abundance of tall pines in these mountains.

If one wants to be an expert, the Hualapai Mountains in the Mohave language is – Amat ‘Avii Kahuwaaly (pronounced as it is spelled). These mountains have five tall peaks which overlook the valley to the north of the city of Kingman.

“You know, the mountains are going to be chilly in the evening,” Laureen noted, as I packed up our vehicle for the trek.

“I’ll build a fire.”

The look, only she can give, had me rethink that last comment. “It’ll be a propane fire.”

In this year, 2020 – yeah, the one we’d like to forget – has seen, according to the National Interagency Fire Center, over 47,277 wild fires in ten states. Arizona alone, had seen more than 1,600 itself as of November 1^st.

With a quick call to the Mohave County Parks Department, I spoke with a very informative person who informed me that no fires of any type were allowed.

“So, my thought of a log fire the size of Kentucky is a no-go,” I mentioned.

 “That would be a no.”

“Understood, how about a self-contained propane fire – a small one?”

“That’s the only type allowed.”

We chit-chatted for a few minutes on how destructive the forest fires have been in Arizona and the rest of the Southwest, as well as the Northwest.

“People-made or nature produced?” I wanted to know.

I knew that in Northern California in August, a rare dry lightning storm had caused over one thousand separate ground fires. I hadn’t heard of any event of that magnitude in the state of Arizona, but was curious.

“People caused.”

“Dumb people?” I asked.

“Who else would start fires when the forest is as dry as it is?”

So, we packed up and drove off to the Hualapais for a little rough camping. I did bring some little mints for the sleeping bags though. That’s just the thoughtful kind of guy I am. I hope my wife appreciates how lucky she is. Maybe one of my readers will write in and tell her how good she’s got it. But I digress.

Hualapai Mountain Park, where the campground is located, was actually constructed in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps for the crews working on the Davis Dam, located near the town of Bullhead City, Arizona.

                                                  Beautiful area to spend some time

It seemed that while the huge construction project was under way, the workers felt a little overwhelmed, after sweltering in summer temperatures that rivaled that of the surface of the sun.

“It’s really hot, boss.”

“Hey, it’s not that hot. Only my nose melted off today, not my whole face. Now get back to work!”

So, the camp was built in the Hualapai Mountains, where the summer average temperature is quite cool compared to where the dam was being built, perhaps by thirty degrees. Here, the workers could cool off in the mountain air, while listening to the soft breezes whistling through the tall pines, instead of the constant cacophony of construction equipment.

It was a peaceful setting, and only about 45 miles from the construction site. The park still has rock cabins from those days, that visitors can rent by the day, the week, or the month. Right near the campsite we stayed, there is a rock bridge over a creek built by those same workers who constructed the Davis Dam.

                                           John standing on original 1930's rock bridge

History permeates the park. It is truly fascinating, and shows the determination of those who built the dam, to make a nice, comfortable, and soothing place to escape when not working in the heat of the desert by the Colorado River.

We pitched camp around two in the afternoon and just sat in a couple of chairs, enjoying the coolness of the mountains.

“This is lovely,” Laureen observed.

“I can’t hear you over the soft breeze through the pine trees,” I replied.

                               Laureen, enjoying a warm dinner, cold wine and propane fire

At that moment, a Park Ranger’s truck pulled up in front of our campsite. Ranger Gino stepped out and advised us that no wood fires were allowed.

“Got the propane one ready,” I replied.

He was, as many people I meet along the byways – a fount of knowledge. It was actually he, who informed us of how the campground was created back in the 1930s. Ranger Gino was just a guy who loved his job and stopped by each campsite explaining the do’s and don’ts that would be accepted on his turf.

“You know, where you’re camped is the highway for our elk.”

He then explained that all sorts of wildlife visit the campground, depending on the season. There were the elk, he had mentioned, as well as bear, mountain lions, deer, and other animals. “Just don’t feed them.”

“I only brought enough food for the two of us,” I reassured Ranger Gino.

It seems, like many parks through-out the nation have witnessed, visitors believe it’s kind to feed the wildlife, which then don’t behave like wildlife. The animals become dependent on hand-outs from human visitors, and when they don’t receive a freebie snack, they often become demanding and aggressive.

“We’re all actually trying to retrain guests how to interact with the wildlife. They are, after all, wild animals.”

Ranger Gino left and fifteen minutes later a six-foot-tall elk walked by our camp. It stopped, looked at us and then moseyed on her way into the forest to bed down for the evening.

It was a beautifully majestic sight within a few feet of us.

Then it happened.

New campers came and started to set up camp two spots down from us. I say, started to since within minutes of being there, one of the campers decided that starting a huge bonfire was a great idea in a dry forest.

Ranger Gino, arrived like a superhero with radar, and leaped from his truck.

“Oh, no – no – no,” he yelled, as the female fire starter looked at him in surprise.

“You can’t have an open fire,” he stated. “There’re signs everywhere forbidding it.”

“It’s not an open fire; it’s on the ground,” she responded.

Ranger Gino looked a bit perplexed at that statement.

I smiled at Laureen, “She is a dumb human, I think.”

She was, and our big ears picked up that she and her friends were being booted from camping here for the remainder of the year. Ranger Gino didn’t even issue a fine as he could have – gave them a break. What a nice guy!

Other than that, the camping was wonderful and peaceful – but one thing to remember is to always follow the rules when out in the great outdoors.

And don’t be dumb. It’s embarrassing for the rest of us who have to share this Earth.