Stone's Ferry

"Stone's Ferry," a name that now echoes with the hollow sound of things long gone, stands as a testament to the stubborn persistence—or perhaps, sheer folly—of early settlers. It was once a critical, if somewhat ephemeral, settlement established by members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and, more enduringly, a vital ferry crossing over the formidable Colorado River. This particular junction of human ambition and natural barrier linked what is now Nevada and Arizona, specifically situated within the geographical bounds of modern-day Clark County, Nevada, within the United States. [1] A former settlement, mind you, implying that its existence was as fleeting as a desert mirage.

Its precise location, a detail often lost to the shifting sands of time and bureaucratic maps, was not a fixed point, but rather a series of strategic adaptations. Throughout its operational history, Stone's Ferry migrated along the Colorado River from its initial proximity to the mouth of the Virgin River to a point approximately six miles downstream from that confluence. This particular stretch of the river was strategically chosen as it lay directly opposite the Detrital Valley on the Arizona side. The Detrital Valley offered a relatively accessible, if still arduous, route both into and out of the otherwise formidable canyon of the Colorado River from the south. Furthermore, it provided a conduit for travel to and from the north, through the fertile—or at least, less barren—Virgin River and Muddy Valleys, connecting travelers to the nascent settlements in Nevada and Utah. Its final, officially designated location, as recorded by the Geographic Names Information System (GNIS), was established during an 1875 survey, positioning it further upriver, directly across from what is known as Detrital Wash. [1] [2] :97 One might imagine the surveyors, cosmically tired themselves, simply picking a spot and declaring it 'final' for their own sanity.

History

The genesis of Stone's Ferry, like many endeavors born of necessity in the unforgiving American West, was rather unceremonious. Initially, it served as a rudimentary Colorado River crossing, strategically positioned near the mouth of the Virgin River. This location was not arbitrary; it formed a crucial link between the scattered Mormon settlements nestled within the Virgin River and Muddy River valleys of what was then Pah-Ute County, Arizona, and the broader expanse of Arizona Territory. For those venturing south, a rough-hewn road led from the ferry to the burgeoning mining districts at Chloride, Mineral Park, and Cerbat. This route also connected to the more established Hardyville - Prescott Road, a lifeline for commerce and communication across the territory.

In its earliest iteration, the ferry operation was decidedly informal—a collection of boats left for the ad-hoc convenience of travelers, embodying the very essence of frontier self-reliance. This rather haphazard arrangement persisted until at least 1870, a year marked by the significant visit of Brigham Young, the venerable leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to these remote Muddy and Virgin River settlements. [2] :97 One can only imagine the logistical nightmare of such a journey, and the implicit judgment Young must have cast upon the "informal" nature of their river crossing.

Beyond its role in connecting disparate settlements, Stone's Ferry was also a vital landing point for commercial traffic. Specifically, it served as a hub for the barges commanded by Captain L. C. Wilburn. This industrious captain, with a tenacity that seems almost quaint now, navigated his vessels upriver, relying on a combination of poling and sailing, to retrieve precious cargo: salt. This salt, mined by the Mormons themselves from deposits in the Virgin River valley, was not for seasoning supper. It was destined for the mills of El Dorado Canyon, where it played an indispensable role in the processing of silver ore. [3] :35 The raw, unrefined silver ore required salt for the amalgamation process, a chemical method used to extract the valuable metal from its matrix. Without this seemingly mundane mineral, the silver rush, and the fortunes it promised, would have been a far more difficult, if not impossible, endeavor. The desert, it seems, always demands its pound of flesh, or in this case, salt.

A pivotal moment arrived in 1870 when the Mormon colonists, facing the harsh realities of frontier life, the constant struggle with the arid landscape, and perhaps the sheer exhaustion of it all, collectively voted to abandon their settlements in the Muddy and Virgin valleys. A rather dramatic exit, but entirely understandable when faced with such an unyielding environment. However, one individual stood apart: Daniel Bonelli, a resident of St. Thomas. He cast the sole dissenting vote, a testament to either profound stubbornness or a remarkably clear vision for the future. Bonelli chose to remain, a decision that would indelibly link his name to the region's history. [2] :97

With the departure of his fellow colonists, Bonelli seized the opportunity. He relocated his family and, with an entrepreneurial spirit that bordered on audacious, acquired the existing ferry boat. Thus, the informal crossing was transformed into a legitimate, commercial ferry service, an enterprise he established at Stone's Ferry. Initially, this commercial operation was situated approximately six miles downstream from the mouth of the Virgin River. [2] :97 However, recognizing the fluid nature of riverine geography and perhaps seeking a more advantageous position, Bonelli subsequently moved the ferry upriver. This new location placed it about two miles below the Virgin River mouth, directly opposite the mouth of Detrital Wash. [1] This constant adjustment of location speaks volumes about the challenges of operating such a service in a wild, untamed landscape.

The final chapter of "Stone's Ferry" under that specific moniker came in 1876. In that year, Bonelli once again moved his ferry and his family, this time significantly further upriver. Their destination was near the remnants of the old settlement of Junction City, positioned just to the east of the Virgin River's mouth. With this relocation, the ferry shed its original name, becoming known instead as Bonelli's Ferry, a fitting tribute to the man who had breathed commercial life into the crucial crossing. [4] A man who, unlike the others, saw not just hardship, but opportunity in the desolation.

Site today

Today, the very ground where Stone's Ferry once facilitated trade and movement—where prospectors, settlers, and solitary figures once awaited passage across the Colorado River—lies submerged. It rests beneath the tranquil, yet utterly indifferent, waters of the Virgin Basin, a significant arm of Lake Mead. This vast reservoir, a monumental achievement of human engineering born from the construction of the Hoover Dam in the 1930s, irrevocably altered the landscape of the lower Colorado River basin. The creation of Lake Mead was a triumph for water management and power generation, but for historical sites like Stone's Ferry, it marked an eternal submergence. The currents of history, much like the river itself, eventually find a way to erase the temporary marks we leave. What was once a bustling, if rugged, hub of activity is now merely a phantom memory, a whisper beneath the surface, reminding us that even the most determined human endeavors are ultimately subject to the grander designs of nature and progress. Or, perhaps, just progress.