Here's some pics from the family album (it's actually kind of a shoe box rather than an album).
My grandparents had a weekend cabin out in the Mohave desert that they worked on for years. There was a loose-knit community of "Desert Rats" that got together for card games and dinners. None of the cabins had a well, so water had to be hauled up from the only well in existence for miles around which sold water to accounts metered separately. The Desert Rats held a common account, and shared the use of an old ex-army Power Wagon ambulance that was used to haul water in a 250 gallon tank.
Here's a photo of the well station:
The cabin is near the top of the hills in the background, kind of behind the transformers on the utility pole.
In the beginning the water tank was hauled behind the "Water Wagon" in a trailer. It was a several hour trip to get a load of water, driving to the well, waiting for the tank to fill, then hauling the water back up the hill.
Here my father, Scotty, leans against the filling trailer while I scramble around at the front. This was 1959, according to the mark on the photo.
Hauling the water up the hill was always an excruciatingly slow process for a kid. The grade was steep, and the unpaved road very rutted and washboard. The Water Wagon crept along in low gears at only a few miles per hour. In the colder months, it would be freezing inside as it had no heater, and in the summer the floor boards would be too hot to touch.
Eventually, the cabin would be reached and the water then pumped via gasoline powered pump into the water tower. Here's a view of that, with some community gathering thrown in for good measure:
From left to right, we see Rae Bixler, and her husband, Jack, who had the next cabin down the hill and shared the water tower with my grandparents. I'm just emerging from the back of the Water Wagon, and it looks like my Grandmother, Eliza, is getting some solar radiation. Dad contemplates the next trip to the well, wearing his straw hat.
Gawd, I just realized, my grandmother in this photo was only a year older than I am now!
After a time, using the trailer must have gotten old because the tank was put inside the body of the ambulance. This made getting to the fill hole in the top of the tank difficult so having a kid along to unscrew the bung and put the hose in was always a plus.
There was a lot of friendly kidding in the community about who was wasting water and flooding the Water Wagon by overfilling the tank. I helped solve this mystery by taking the following photo in 1960:
The next time the subject came up at one of the card games, I was ready with my photographic evidence!
The old Dodge had to carry the entire 2,000 pounds of water on single tires, no duals! I have vivid memories of the overload springs on the Dodge creaking as the water filled the tank, the frame and body of the truck settling. Eventually, the body was cut off the Water Wagon and it was turned into a flatbed, with a cut out sheet of plywood for a cab rear wall. The rear differential went out, so the gears from the front differential were moved to the rear and the front axle closed up with more plywood. (!)
Bonus photos:
Here's an overview of the site, showing the water tower with it's 1,000 gallon galvanized tank and my grandfather's Chevy pickup and Dad's Chevy panel van:
As a kid, I was allowed to climb the water tower. Apparently, the adults didn't think it was too hazardous, but for a child, it was thrilling. There was a transition from the rungs on the tower leg to a ladder that led to the platform that the tank sat on. This was always a very difficult (and probably dangerous) place for me to negotiate, as it meant letting go of the tower and twisting around to grasp the ladder. The spacing of the change was large, and I always had to depend on being able to pull myself up enough to get my feet onto the ladder.
Here I am as a young teen in 1964, recording my height for posterity.