Death Near Davidson Peak (#22)

Davidson Peak has been on my radar for a while now. For one thing, when driving north on I-15, north of Vegas, it protrudes from the desert like a jagged pyramid. Although often overlooked by its more impressive cousin, Moapa Peak, Davidson Peak is still spectacular in its own regard. Every time I drive past I study it and ascertain which distant slanting slope might be the best to reach the summit.

But that's not the only reason why it's been on my radar.

Some time ago I learned the story of the Davidson family, a trio of hardy pioneers in the 1860's who all perished while crossing the desert on their way to Utah. It was a sad ordeal. I don't know when they named the peak after the deceased family, but most motorists on I-15 who see the formidable rocky bulk have no idea the name of the mountain, let alone the story behind the naming.

I spent the night sleeping in the back of my vehicle a few miles north of Mesquite, just off the freeway. I arrived right at dusk and was able to see the silhouette of Joshua trees against the sunset. In the distance, Moapa and Davidson peaks loomed on the horizon.

I sat in my camping chair, enjoying a Subway sandwich and watching the red and white lights stream along the freeway. A warm breeze blew across the arid ground. The evening felt perfect.

Sunset in the Mojave Desert.

Early night sky.  Moapa Peak in background.

But I knew this was far from how it gets during summer. Due to its location on the edge of the Mojave and Great Basin Deserts, the climate on Mormon Mesa during summer months can become brutally hot. When the Davidson's were traveling in June, the temperature likely neared 110º Fahrenheit. And beyond the Muddy and Virgin Rivers, there was little water to be had anywhere.

The next morning, as I began my eight-mile drive to my starting point, I was reminded of this brutal landscape. Although the road was graveled, it was a lot rockier than I would have preferred. I stayed at ten miles per hour along the serrated path. With each passing minute the craggy slopes of Davidson Peak came closer into view.

Approaching Davidson Peak.

At last I arrived at my destination and found a small turnout where I was able to park. The Davidson's would have passed right by this location. By this point it was unlikely they were admiring the majesty of the mountain or the beauty of the Joshua trees. They were likely in a panic, desperately searching for water. By this time, Death was already creeping in.

I parked and began my hike across a little valley that separated the main bulk of East Mormon Mountain with a smaller group of hills. Two sets of power lines stretched across the valley with accompanying service roads. In addition to these there were scattered Joshua trees, creosote bushes and a dry wash that emerged from the mountain. The weather was ideal, but I knew it would get hotter. The forecast predicted it would be 97º in Mesquite.

Beginning the hike.  Davidson Peak in background.

There are no trails that ascend to the summit. I determined my route by studying a topographical map and guessing which slopes were less likely to have insurmountable cliffs. I chose to enter a gulley on the east side that would gradually take me to a ridge that I could follow westward to the peak.

Let me give some background on the Davidson family.

The parents, James and Maria, were both born in the first decade of the nineteenth century near the east coast of Scotland, just twenty miles from each other. In 1828 they married in Glasgow.

While in Scotland they became converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, also known as the Mormons. As with most of the converts at that time, there was a desire to “come to Zion” and join the bulk of the Saints in Utah. James and Maria were able to come in 1866. Their daughter, Diana, previously immigrated in 1855.

When the Mormon pioneers first arrived in 1847, Brigham Young went to work sending them to various locations throughout modern-day Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Nevada, Arizona and into California. It was a wild frontier. They had to build cities from the ground up using tools that would be considered primitive by today's standards. They had to become completely self-sustaining, which meant if a crop didn't do well, they wouldn't have enough to eat. They also relied on each other. There were stone masons, blacksmiths, cabinet makers, millers, cobblers, and many other occupations.

The Davidson's were weavers, a trade they learned in Scotland. When they arrived in the Salt Lake Valley they obtained employment at Woolen Mills. When the mill received a special order for fine work, Maria would supervise and inspect it.

At two miles into my hike, it was time make a turn to the west and head up the ridge. This is where it started to get steep. With the exception of one small cliff, the trek up this first steep slope wasn't difficult. I dodged cactus and strained my legs. The view improved with each step. Now I could see more rocky and dry mountains to the north, as well as the expanse of desert to the east. A hill just to our east had a road leading to a communications tower.

Beginning the climb, looking back south.

Utah century plant on the hill, looking north.

One reason I chose to hike this peak during April was because of a nearby hike I did last April when the desert wildflowers were all in full bloom. It was beautiful and I hoped for a repeat this year. That didn't happen. But the flora on this dry mountain was still impressive. Joshua trees continued to grow on these higher slopes, as well as California barrel cactus, a Utah century plant, an occasional cholla, as well as several other varieties of cactus.

The Joshua tree fits perfectly with this story because it was named by Mormon pioneers. There's a story that the tree was named by Elisha Hunt who led a caravan of Mormons to settle San Bernadino, California in 1851. The sight of these uniquely desert trees reminded these pioneers of Joshua in the bible, and how he stretched out the spear in his hand.

Joshua trees.

Once I arrived at the top of that first steep incline I gave myself reprieve. The slope was now relatively flat and my legs suspended their rebellion. It was here that I found a very steep cliff and ravine dropping off to the north. Embedded in this cliff, on the same side where I stood, was a large cave or alcove. It could be a fun place to explore, but getting down there from my location appeared either impossible or miserable. It wasn't in the cards today.

I could also feel the temperature creeping up, along with my exertion. Salty sweat began to form on my neck and forehead. I stopped from time to time to drink water. I brought three liters and would have to space them out to make them last. I was acutely aware that no water in this environment would be sure death. My mind constantly flashed back to the Davidson family situation with no water and temperatures 10 to 15 degrees warmer than today.

Looking toward summit of Davidson Peak.

Here's the rest of the story.

James, Maria and their twelve year old son, Joseph, went to St. Thomas, Nevada to visit their daughter, Maggie Davidson Paddock. There are different versions of the story, but one says that Maggie wanted her parents to live there, so they came to check it out. St. Thomas is now a ghost town, covered by Lake Mead.

On June 9, 1869 they began their return to Salt lake via St. George. They had only traveled a few miles when a tire came off their wagon. Their son-in-law helped them fix the tire. They were supposed to meet up with a group that included Lorenzo Snow and travel with them to St. George, but that group had already left. They waited another day before they decided to make the trip alone.

In those days there were two paths to travel across the desert. One followed the Virgin River, which had plenty of water, but involved many river crossings and possible quicksand. The other route led the traveler ten miles north of the river. Here there was no water, but at least the ground was solid.

The latter route was no problem for the experienced frontiersman, but these novice pioneers were just three years from living in Scotland, and the unforgiving Mojave Desert was like nothing they had ever experienced.

The exact movements of their travels are lost to time, but they must have traveled across Mormon Mesa and along the southern edge of the East Mormon Mountains, just as I did. It is unclear whether they ran out of water first or broke another tire. Whichever the case, their spring wagon made it no further than the eastern edge of the mountains, and before a great expanse of nothingness.

They sent twelve-year-old Joseph out on a horse to look for help and water. On the evening of June 12th the horse showed up at a camp near Beaver Dam, roughly fifteen miles away. The horse was fraught with thirst and near dead himself. Knowing this wasn't a good sign, one of the men from the camp rode up the road on his horse and found the boy Joseph dead with his face on the ground trying to drink water from a hole he had dug. There was an empty canteen and keg near him. He dug a grave for the boy and buried him.

Six days later Lorenzo Young was traveling to “The Muddy” when he came across the bodies of James and Maria. They sat beneath the meager shade of a Joshua tree with a blanket over them to block the sun. The parents were buried where they were found and later their son was exhumed and buried with them.

Cactus in bloom.

Thoughts of this poor family stayed with me during my entire trek up the mountain. I thought of those original pioneers who sacrificed everything to live in peace and practice their religion without disturbance.

I also knew I didn't want to perish from thirst either, so I continued to drink my water in a measured fashion. By now I had finished off one liter and had begun drinking the second.

I was also making good progress up the mountain. It was slow and tedious, but I stayed the course. Most of my route involved steep upward slopes with intermittent (relatively) flat sections.

One highlight came when I was over half way up the mountain. I heard a faint noise to the left on the rocks. I looked over and saw a bighorn sheep non-nonchalantly walking across the hillside. He paused to look at me, but didn't seem at all startled. His horns curled into a semicircle above his head. I looked toward the ravine from which he emerged to see if there were others to follow, but this ram appeared to be solo.

Bighorn sheep.

As we stared at each other I withdrew my camera to take a few pictures. He didn't seem to mind and continued his amble. In a calm tone I continued also, but angled toward his direction. Only once did he move with a small trot.

He worked his way over to the side of the hill, at the edge of a deep canyon. For a couple minutes he stood boldly silhouetted on the horizon before disappearing on the other side.

Bighorn sheep about to disappear. 

California barrel cactus.

I was near the top, but had two more steep sections left. All they required was a little grit. There were two nubs at the top, and I wasn't sure which was the true peak. It turned out that the first nub, which is labeled as the peak on Google Maps, isn't the true peak. The second nub is about 40 feet higher.

It took 3½ hours to reach the peak, climbing 2,622 feet in elevation.

From the summit of Davidson Peak it is truly a spectacular sight. The most obvious spectacle of all is Moapa Peak, which from this angle appears like a bottle-shaped monolith. The hike to the summit of Moapa Peak requires a class 3 climb with lots of exposure.

To the east and northeast are Virgin Peak and Mount Bangs with their accompanying mountain ranges. To the northwest of Davidson Peak the ground drops at a precipice that would kill human and animal alike. I kept my distance. Beyond the cliff on the other side of a valley are the Mormon Mountains, an isolated range that is rarely explored.

On the peak was an ammunition box tucked between the rocks. Inside the box was a Tupperware container, and inside that a notebook with a climber's log. I flipped through the leaves and learned that the last person to reach the peak was about a month ago. It was a Mihai Giurgiulesco from Romania.

From the summit looking at Moapa Peak and Rainbow Pass Road.

Mormon Mountains and Rainbow Pass Road.

Looking east from the peak.

As much as I loved the view from the top, I was anxious to get down. The heat was ramping up and I wanted to ensure I would have enough water. I also hoped to visit the Davidson family gravesite.

The hike down was much easier, although I only shaved half an hour off my time. I saw no bighorn sheep, but I did see a baby snake that was red and black. By the hair of my chin I was able to stretch out my third and final bottle of water.―I had an ice-cold Gatorade waiting for me in the vehicle.

Cave near the peak.

Finally in the comfort of my vehicle, I drove another mile down the road, then turned off onto a side-track, passing creosote bushes which seemed as tall as I was. Within a few minutes I was at my destination, a lone burial in the desert with a Scottish flag flapping from a pole.

There's just a little bit more to this story that I haven't told.

After James and Maria were buried in 1869, the location of their burial site was all but forgotten. Interestingly, none of the immediate family knew of the exact location. They had at least four living children.

Nearly 70 years later, around 1939, a prospector stumbled upon the grave. He reported it to the Sheriff, who came out to investigate. Initially he believed it to be a more recent death, but when the bodies were exhumed he learned they were much older. The locals in Bunkerville knew it was the Davidson's. The Sheriff removed a wedding ring from Maria so he could confirm it with the family. The bodies were then re-interred. According to one account they had been buried in their wagon box. A year later a grandson, George A. Reid, learned of the finding and came in possession of the ring. It is unclear whether he ever went to the grave.

Scottish flag and Davidson family grave.

In the early 1970's the Reid family decided they needed to find the location of the grave. One of them traveled to Bunkerville and was led by locals to the location of the grave. In November of 1973, one hundred and four years after their deaths, a proper monument was erected for the Davidson family.

So here I was in the middle of nowhere in the Mojave Desert paying homage to a family I never knew. It was a humbling experience. We have it so much easier than they did. They paid the ultimate price trying to build the kingdom they so sincerely believed in.

As I stated earlier, a flagpole with a light-blue banner with a white “X” flapped with the wind. At the foot of the pole was a flat headstone adorned with coins and plastic flowers. Engraved in the stone were the names and dates of the Davidson family.

As I drove away from the burial site on that spring afternoon, I had a greater appreciation for the sacrifice the Davidson's made as well as other pioneers from that era. I also left with a greater understanding of the brutal harshness of such an arid, yet beautiful landscape. ♠

Davidson family grave.