The Water Tower

By Randy Haglund

On those lazy summer days of childhood, I would dream of adventure.

I had lots of friends in the neighborhood in northwest Spokane. We spent many a day playing hide and seek, tag, cowboys and Indians, or red light/green light. We would sometimes go down to Westview playground to play ball or soccer.

It wasn’t unusual for a bunch of friends to come over and gather under our backyard patio cover to play board games like Sorry!, Go to the Head of the Class, or Parchesi (which was just another version of Sorry!) Card games such as War, Crazy Eights, Spoons and Authors were popular too.

But now that I was about to be a fourth grader, I looked to do something that would be an all-day adventure. I longed to explore somewhere I’d never been before.

A few of my friends had parents that wouldn’t let their precious child disappear for an entire day. I could never ask Kevin, for example, to come with me on an all-day outing. His mom would never hear of it. Those kinds of parents would be considered normal today. But back in the sixties, most of my pals and I were pretty much clear for takeoff on a summer day.

And I knew where I wanted to go.

The Water Tower.

I could see it from my house on E Street. Half-way up the side of Five Mile Prairie on our northern horizon. It drew me like a magnet. Pulling at my heart and legs. I wanted to go there.

So I packed a lunch and was about to go out the front door.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

My dad worked nights frequently so was home during the day most of the time. He was a day sleeper, but I must’ve woken him.

“Me and Ron are going for a hike.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “Somewhere around here.”

My dad squinted at me and took a deep breath. “Okay, but don’t go too far.”

I liked that. “Too far” is a relative term. I think we could both agree that the Canadian border was too far. But the Water Tower wasn’t. You could actually see it from here. But it was kind of an unwritten rule that I couldn’t cross the busy arterial of Francis Avenue. Not that that had ever stopped me. I had gone to the bicycle trails at Indian Trail Elementary a few times already. But the water tower was farther than I’d ever gone on my own.

“I won’t.” Go too far, that is. I preferred my interpretation of “too far.”

So I picked up Ron, who had had a similar conversation with his mom, and we were off. There were no cell phones back then so we were truly on free agents. Explorers, not knowing what marvels and dangers lay ahead, like Lewis and Clark.

We headed north, crossing the forbidden line of Francis Avenue into a neighborhood that was unfamiliar to us. And we pressed on — past homes that were bigger and nicer than our cracker box houses. But we were not satisfied with exploring civilization. We were looking for uncharted territory. Wild and free.

Our destiny loomed larger as we got closer. We gawked at the big green tank, looming larger now and towering over the houses around us. It stood like a sentry guarding the steep cliff along the Southwest corner of the prairie. Less than a mile from home we came to the place where human dwellings ended and wild frontier lay ahead. A steep trail covered in pine needles led through basaltic rocks, honeysuckle and Ponderosa pines to our final frontier. Like Sir Edmund Hillary, geared up with our lunch sacks, we began our assault.

Everywhere we turned, everything was new. No one had been here before us.

Well, except the guys who put that tower up there.

But that was beside the point. We were adventurers. Nothing could stop us from traversing this primitive terrain.

And then, there it was! Standing tall and formidable. It almost took my breath away. To be right there, next to it. For years I had seen it from afar, but now I could actually touch it.

Once we arrived at our objective, there was only one thing left to do. Throw rocks at it! And there was a bounty of ordnance there, apparently for just such a purpose. Rocks of all sizes and shapes; we took turns trying to make the loudest noise.

“Listen to this one!” “Oh, yeah? What about this?”

And we competed against each other for the highest rock thrown as well. Not just because we wanted to show off our strength, but to make different sounds come from the tank. The higher you hit the tower, the higher the pitch resonating from it.

Soon, we got tired of that game, and it was getting hot. But there is no place cooler on a scorching summer day, than to lean your back up against the shady side of a water tower. We peeled off our tee shirts and broke out the peanut butter sandwiches and the canteen. No explorer worth his salt would go on an expedition without a canteen.

Red tail hawks soared in the blue sky overhead, while we savored our fare. Chickadees fluttered around in the milkweed nearby. Could life be better?

Yes it could. Because we were only half-way to the top of the ridge. A 120-foot vertical cliff was all that kept us from reaching the rim of Five Mile Prairie.

A very crumbly cliff.

No matter. Why some overprotective parents would worry about what their kid might be doing all day was beyond me. We were courageous explorers. Nothing could stop us from climbing to the top so that we could claim this new territory for…ourselves!

Somehow, despite causing numerous small avalanches, sliding back down and having to re-start from several different points, we made it to the top and pumped our fists in the air in victory. We did it! Another notch in our belts. And only a few minor scrapes and bruises hardly worth mentioning.

Now the only other problem was…getting down.