Alt.burningman

Burning Man is at the top of the list of Labor Day activities, but we chose quieter, less peopley adventures. We just didn't realize how un-peopley it would be.

Photos by Sue Cauhape (sorry that first one is so fuzzy)

As my husband, Jeff, and I ran down the list of things we could do over our three-day Labor Day weekend, I said, "Let's go see the horses!" Jeff readily agreed. Neither of us wanted to deal with crowds or traffic, so a jaunt in the hills was exactly what we wanted.

We hadn't put the Jeep Wrangler through its back road paces since June when we drove to the Pine Nut Mountains to see the super-bloom. Our drought-buster winter brought out buckwheat, paintbrush, and lots of other wildflowers that hadn't broken ground in years.

Packing a couple of granola bars, water, and jackets, we ignored the possibility of rain showers and headed out Fish Spring Rd. to the big meadow where the bands congregate to drink. According to what I'd seen on the Pine Nut Wild Horse Advocates Facebook page, there's a lot of drama during these meetups. And I wanted to get a glimpse of the newest foal, Butterscotch, if possible.

Bumping along the rocky road through the hills, we came to the meadow. Not a single equine to be seen. Even the large water tanks that the Advocates usually maintain to keep the horses out of neighborhood gardens were gone. What's more. There were no people, even on this Labor Day Saturday. Weird.

We ventured up the steep hillside where a picnic table sat on a high vista spot. Two people were already there scanning with binoculars. Waving as we passed, we felt our way down a track so filled with sharp and loose rocks we hoped we wouldn't slide clear to the pond at the bottom. Slow and easy all the way down.

Some random scat and a huge stallion pile of manure next told us the horses had been there that day, but already they had scattered to the far back hills. Usually we see a couple of horses, but not yet today.

We marveled at how green everything was. Recent monsoons, complements of Hurricane Hilary, revived the grasses that had dried to wildfire threat status. While the super-bloom had faded into history, the desert remained vibrant and beautiful, taking on a moody aspect on this partly cloudy afternoon.

When we came to the familiar crossroad, we decided to continue, seeing the PL10 sign to marker the state road we were on. Soon, the terrain didn't look familiar anymore. We managed to ford a couple of very steep-sided dry washes without planting the Jeep's nose in the sand. Through one stretch, the sides banked upward like to moto-cross track. The road looked well-traveled by four-by-fours and dirt bikers, but today not one vehicle met us. It was pleasant not to have traffic buzzing around as it did last time we were out here, but it felt a little odd.

The sky was partly cloudy with a small threat of showers. Rain had already dampened the track, keeping the dust down. We were grateful there were no mud wallows to swallow us or washes running with flood waters. Flash floods happen quickly, though, and come out of nowhere. So far, so good.

What made us uneasy was the silence. No people. No horses. No birds. At all. Usually there's at least one Meadow Lark that will pierce the air with its lilting melody. A tad unnerving.

We knew roughly where we were, sort of. I figured if we kept following PL10, we would eventually reach the main road that served residences deep in the Pine Nuts. Jeff wasn't so sure about my reckoning. Furthermore, could we even get a radio signal to the repeater out of this deep valley? There were dead zones out here, radio AND cell phone, even though civilization was just over the hill. And the eerie silence made us both feel like we'd entered another dimension.

At last, we saw a couple of buildings in the distance. Then more appeared among the trees. Pretty soon, it became a "metropolis," and PL10 merged with a well-graded gravel road. We had made the connection and returned to Fish Springs where we started. Just as we had hoped, we spent a pleasant couple of hours exploring the wilderness close to home without crowds or traffic, even if that did feel just a little bit spooky.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Next day, we got out early to visit our favorite hamburger joint, Middlegate Station. It's about a 2.5-hour drive from our house, a day trip we've taken several times just for the burgers and people watching.

We also wanted to explore a valley tucked way off Hwy 50 we had come upon a couple of years ago. On that day, cows grazed free-range along the road and looked at us as if we were aliens from outer space. I guess we weren't the humans they were used to seeing. We turned back after seeing a vast space ringed with mountains that had intrigued us, but there wasn't time to check it out.

Today, heavy rain was predicted. Burning Man had been washed out and attendees were told to conserve water and food. That's emergency management speak for "leave if you can, but the party's over." After the previous day's successful foray into wildness, we felt confident the rains wouldn't ruin our party. The brunt of the storm clouds headed northeast of where we were headed.

As with yesterday, the track was damp, but relatively firm and puddle-free. There were signs of flooding on the road maybe yesterday, but the Wrangler bumped over those spots with ease. Again, we were impressed with how much greener the range looked after all the rain this summer. June was soggy. Hurricane Hilary blessed us with another good monsoon. The storm that drenched the Burners  gave the desert another good drink. Everything looked so healthy for the first time in years. The drought was broken.

Most of the land was covered with brown grass and flix weed mixed in with prickly tumble weeds that still showed a tinge of deep mauve blooms. This year, there were no cows. Again, the range was empty of animal life. It was still early. Had the cowboys gathered the herd in lieu of winter already? Still we wanted to see where this dirt road went and why. What was at the end?

Suddenly, a bank of tall purple-pink wildflowers banked both sides of the road. Sphinx moths, bees, and white butterflies searched for nectar. The breeze made this difficult for the moths as they hovered over the dancing blossoms. Immature seed pods hung from the stems. Oh, such a temptation to pick a few to add to our rewilding efforts back home; but the flowers weren't giving up their seeds just yet. (I tried to find out what this plant was so that we could order it … maybe, but to no avail. If any of you know what it is, please let me know in the comments.)

There was quite a strip of them where we first saw them, but many more lined the road, as if they fell of a truck and didn't spread much further away than the track. At the end of the summer like this, it was fun to see there were still flowers blooming. I was surprised, though, that the rabbit brush was holding back. Usually it turns the desert golden from mid-August to mid-October. Great swaths of the stuff all over the place. When was it going to emerge? And did this cold front coming through Nevada mean a stormy early winter was making an entrance?

Suddenly, as we turned a corner, the rabbit brush burst into full color. Why here and nowhere else? The desert was so verdant this year, but it held its little mysteries. Terrestrial life was just as intermittent as the bands of clouds that hit the earth with rain over here but not over there. Such is the weather in the Great Basin.

This was a perfect day. Beautiful cool weather with clouds that cast a moody light on everything. The colors of the desert pop when moist and overcast. This road was a mystery, though. After a rocky, rugged beginning, it smoothed out as if it were paved. What a relief after yesterday's neck-bending ride. Then we saw the reason. The "pavement" stopped at a fenced yard with a cinder-block cube and a couple of antennas.

Jeff covered his mouth and mumbled, "secret government installation." It's a running joke between us whenever we see things like this in the outback. And there are lots of things like this in the outback! The federal government "owns" about 80% over the state of Nevada. Jeff thought this was a fiber optic cable booster station, but it was smaller than others. Also, there were no power lines to the place and a strange, square raised area that suggested to us that perhaps there was an underground bunker. Oh, the silly suppositions we had!

The road continued in a much more dilapidated state, but we continued onward until we saw this flooded spot. Apparently it was a persistent flood zone because there were tracks leading around it that looked as if it had been used several times in the past. Surely there is or was a ranch somewhere in this Shangri-La, but this is where we turned around.

We enjoyed our exploration of this beautiful valley back of beyond. We won't tell exactly where it is to protect it. There are hundreds of places like this in the Great Basin, however.

Back on Hwy 50, we made our way to Middlegate. It was jammed. We managed to snag the last table, a two-seater next to the drink machine. When I visited the restroom, the large party sitting next to the door were talking with great disgruntlement. "I can't believe they told us they were out of electricity and water."

Were they Burners who managed to wade their way off the playa? They were dressed so conventionally and they were clean. RV showers? Other customers traipsed in from who-knows-where. None looked like the type to be dancing naked in the playa dust, but they weren't dressed in the same manner of most of the recreationists we'd seen at Middlegate. Some subtle difference separated them from the usual folks who were find their way to this desert outpost.

Tables were premium real estate, but nobody was getting uppity. Maybe they WERE Burners, having practiced a calmer and friendlier attitude before the Heavens washed out their bacchanal.

The three staff members efficiently went about their business of serving everyone. The wait was long, but the food was worth it as usual. We left just as the rain started in earnest. Just before we got to Fallon, a super-cell dumped on us so fast, the full-speed wipers couldn't keep up. At Fox Peak Station, the clerk told us the cell was the size of Fermley, which is a fairly wide spread. I wondered why every car, truck, and RV we passed on the highway was shiny and clean. Not a speck of dust or mud to be seen. The storm also had washed the bit of mud on our Jeep by the time we got home.

Peaceful, albeit rainy, times in the desert. What a blessing!

Please feel free to check out the Ring Around the Basin archive.