Noisy asses in the Whipple Mountain Wilderness

 

We are camping in the Whipple Mountains of California. The road we entered the area on was quite narrow, with steep drop offs on both sides.

 

We drove veeeeerrrry slowly.

We are discovering that these remote BLM Wilderness areas seem to have a reasonably-well maintained road along one side of them for electrical towers. It is along these roads that one is allowed to camp, since vehicles aren't allowed inside the wilderness areas. We had been told that a good spot in these mountains was in the Whipple Wash, so that is where we went. And it truly is a good spot. Quite beautiful, with mountains all around us that rival anything in Zion National Park, for example.

 

One small drawback is that this area seems to be popular with folks who like to ride those noisy little motor powered tricycles. They have four wheels, and not three, but they still look like tricycles to me. OHVs I think they are called. About twice a day a couple of groups of them will pass our spot, which isn't a large number, and is actually fine, of course. The problem is that too many of them then ride their tricycles illegally into the Wilderness area, instead of staying where they are legal, and despite the clear signs (and knowledge) that it is illegal.

At one time there had been a barrier from the road to the main wash into the Wilderness area, but it was intentionally destroyed by people wanting to illegally ride in the Wilderness.

And the evidence of this illegal activity is obvious. These photos are of places clearly inside the Wilderness area, and clearly behind the sign that says that no vehicles of any type are allowed.

 

So, being the good do-be's that we are, we strung the wire and poles across the wash. At least anybody driving up that area would now have to drive over a barrier that was clearly put there to keep them out.

That didn't stop them, though. We observed riders just riding by the posts, and over the wire, and going merrily into the Wilderness. Like they own it.

Now, loyal follower of our blog (all three of you), you may be thinking that these are the noisy asses I am referring to in the title of this blog post, but they aren't. Although those who ride their loud, motorized tricycles in Wilderness areas are, of course, noisy and are asses.

But I'm actually talking about noisy asses.

Noisy donkeys. Noisy burros.

They are all over the place here. And are they ever NOISY in the middle of the night. They will come close to our camper, and all of a sudden do their braying thing. It is really startling when it is otherwise very quiet. Their braying isn't a nice sound. It is more like a out of tune trombone blast than a horse's whinny. Loud and grating.

Last night there was also a huge fracas involving some asses/donkeys/burros and coyotes. We were pulling for the coyotes.

It appears as if there are far too many burros in this area, far more of them than even deer on Whidbey Island, and everyone who lives there is aware of this fact--all you have to do is count the dead ones laying by the side of the road. But burros aren't really even true wild animals, even though they have been allowed to go wild. Attempts are made to control the population, but those attempts are too few and too small. Some animal rights people protest their eradication, but I think that is misguided. These burros crowd out other species that were actually wild animals here--like mountain sheep. So it isn't a matter of caring about animals. Instead it is caring about some animals at the expense of others. A good solid hunting season is what is needed. Burro burgers--yum!

How can a wilderness area sustain such a huge population of voracious eaters like burros? There isn't much to eat here, and these animals are large. And they are all over the place. We see them more frequently than we see deer on Whidbey Island, and from our home there we see deer every day.

Oh, and did I mention that they are NOISY and disrupt our sleep?

 

 

 

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Water needs for weeks of backcountry camping

We can stock enough food for six weeks, or more. We can fill our propane canisters and, unless we use the furnace a lot, get five weeks plus out of them. But water is a different story. We have 36 gallons in the camper's tank. Using two gallons a day (almost all for drinking), it is clear that water is our limiting factor.

So we supplement the water tank with some water bottles. That gets us about eight more gallons.

What about water for washing and bathing? We have a couple of solar power bags that can give us another 10 gallons for washing, but that supply can be exhausted rather rapidly if the weather is hot.

Our cleverness, however, knows no bounds. We wait until it rains and collect rain water from the gutters on the camper:

 

Then we pour it into our solar powered heating bags:

 

On the first warm day, the sun heats the water to about 94 degrees, and we wash either ourselves or our clothes.

 

No water bill. No electrical bill.

 

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Wyatt Earp's home

It is in Vidal, CA, a few miles from the mines he owned in the Whipple Mountains of California. It is the only home he and his wife Josephine (who he was with the last 40+ years of his life) ever owned.

 

It is wonderfully maintained, especially since it is privately owned. And considering that it appears that Vidal only has a half dozen residences. It is almost a ghost town.

Vidal:

 

If it ever comes up for sale, it would be a wonderful gesture from my grateful family to buy it for me for my birthday or something.

 

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The failure of the Bureau of Land Management in the Wee Thump Wilderness (and other areas)

We are in the Wee Thump Wilderness. To camp here we must adhere to a fairly strict set of rules. That makes sense in terms of what a wilderness is:

From the BLM web site:

What is “Wilderness”?
Wilderness is a legal designation designed to provide long-term protection and conservation of Federal public lands. Wilderness is defined by the Wilderness Act of 1964 as “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain…Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man’s work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation;

So what is the issue?

Cattle.

In all wilderness areas cattle are allowed to roam freely, completely obliterating the definition of a wilderness according to the wilderness act. We have seen the effects. Trampled natural grasses, cow pies that take decades to degrade, eating of plants that animals need.

Why is this allowed? And why the glaring exception made for cattle ranchers? They don't pay for the privilege of destroying our natural areas--the amount of money we receive for leasing the land doesn't even cover the administrative costs. It is a form of public welfare. The cattle aren't needed to feed us--only about 2% of cattle raised for market are raised on public land.

It is political. And cowardice by the BLM and our elected officials (no surprise there).

The Wee Thump has one of the few old growth forests of Joshua Trees left anywhere. They only grow about 1/2 inch per year. Some of the trees here are hundreds of years old.

The hypocrisy of creating a big set of rules for hikers like us, along with fines if we don't obey the rules, and allowing cattle ranchers to destroy the land and the Cliven Bundys to go for years amassing fines they don't pay is not lost on us.

It is beautiful and quiet here. We took a wonderful hike into this desert today. Now we'll clean the cow crap off of our feet and fix dinner.

 

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We figure out where we are camping

Sometimes adventures just fall into your lap.

For nine nights we have camped next to what we assumed was an old, small home in the Mojave National Preserve. But the home, abandoned, trashed, didn't seem quite right. There was something about it that was, for lack of a better word, off.

Well, two days ago Vicky figured it all out. It is not an old home. Instead, it was the bathhouse and laundry for a very old trailer park!

See our camper? May need a magnifying glass.

 

By exploring the area we discovered several concrete pads, complete with old electrical and water hookups.

 

 

 

There are perhaps a dozen of them. Plus other spots where there were hookups but no pads.

Then we started looking at the building more closely. What became apparent was that there was a men's and women's bathroom and shower, and spots for four washers and dryers.

 

 

Where the four washers drained.

 

The old fuse box. No circuit breakers, as in modern buildings. The inside box at the right has an address that is pre-1961 because there is no zip code, and Connecticut is abbreviated Conn., instead of CT.

 

View out the women's bathroom.

View out the social room (we made this up):

 

So, what was this place? A trailer park for employees of the Golddome mine? That is our best guess. Our other guess is that it was built in the 1950s.

We have had some wonderful hikes from this camping spot. We have explored the old town of Vanderbilt, where Virgil Earp had his business in the late 1800s. We have walked the old California Eastern Railway, which went out of business in the early 1900s. (I found an old railway spike, and wanted so much to keep it as a souvenir, but it doesn't belong to me, it belongs to everybody, so I hid it in a bush--knowing that some people who would find it would keep it). We found dozens of old mines. And dozens of old homes that were built of stone, probably originally with tin or wood roofs that are long since gone.

A home probably from the late 1800s, in the ghost town of Vanderbilt.

 

The work to get the California Eastern Railway into this area was impressive. Look at this culvert that was built so the train could cross a large wash. These are all along the railway here:

 

Over a hundred years ago a mighty bridge crossed this large wash, from where the photo was taken clear across to the other side. It was probably taken down when the railroad went out of business, and the timbers and other materials were scavenged for mines in the area.

 

At points in history this area was bustling with people, animals, machine, and noise. Now, it is quiet. Really hardly anybody but us. We have hiked 32 miles in these hills, and seen so much.

 

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A visit to Virgil Earp's hotel, hero of the Gunfight at Fly's Photographic Studio

It doesn't look like much now....

 

 

But between 1893 and 1895 Vanderbilt, California, was a boom town with a population of about 400, mostly people related to mining in the area.

Virgil Earp moved here a few years after the famous Gunfight at the OK Corral, which, in the spirit of journalistic honesty, I have to report didn't actually occur at the OK Corral, but instead in an empty lot next to Fly's Photographic Studio. But doesn't that sound wimpy? Gunfight at Fly's Photographic Studio? Who could get into that?

The main "hero" of the Gunfight at Fly's Photographic Studio was, of course, not Virgil Earp, but instead was Kevin Costner, I mean Kurt Russell, I mean Burt Lancaster, I mean Hugh O'Brien, I mean Henry Fonda, I mean Wyatt Earp.

Now, interestingly, Wyatt Earp is a thoroughly modern invention of a person who was not the man who "cleaned up the country, the old Wild West Country, (who) made law and order prevail...." as the 50s TV song went.

Instead, he was a gambler, a saloon owner, a scoundrel, an often lawbreaker, and an occasional assistant lawman. He achieved his modern status because of a book written in 1931, after his death, that fictionalized his life. Nobody in the "old west" had ever heard of him, and when he died, his obituary said nothing about Fry's Photographic Studio, but instead talked about his infamous throwing of a heavy-weight fight, for which he was the referee (can you believe this?), who "saw" a low blow by a fighter who was winning handily, and so who gave the fight to the guy who was being soundly beaten. Everyone howled, and years later the doctor who examined the "injured" fighter admitted to taking money to say the fighter had received a low blow.

But what a story. He was no hero, he didn't "clean up the country, the old Wild West Country." But as John Ford presented so eloquently in his final movie with John Wayne, The Man who Shot Liberty Valence, when it comes to truth or legend, "Print the legend!" So, the legend of Wyatt Earp has lived on.

I have seen all of those movies, and watched the TV show religiously when I was a child in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I also had my Buntline Special (the long barreled 45 that Earp supposedly had), and did my quick draw with my friends religiously. I was good.

Well, so here we are. After the famous gunfight, Morgan Earp was assassinated, and Virgil Earp was subject to an assassination attempt in which he lost an arm. He came to California to recuperate, and one of the things he did was to open this saloon/hotel in Vanderbilt, CA. (Interesting question: how did it get its name?)

It is fascinating to us to experience history like we are doing here, and at other places we have visited. All of the people who, many years ago, had lives like ours in most ways--trying to make a living, trying to find comfort, trying to find meaning, having hopes, having fears, having triumphs, having failures..... And now all that are left are ruins. It feels like we know them in some way, even though we mostly have to make stuff up.

Because most of the time we have no clue who the people were. But this time, we know. Someone who left his mark on history not so much because of what he did but mostly because of circumstances. He was involved in a shoot out over something important at the time, but meaningless now (any lesson there?), where nine men were face to face about six feet apart, and 30 shots were fired in 30 seconds, killing three.

More men died in retribution after the fight than during the fight (any lesson there?). And the story was forgotten until a novelist reawakened it 50 years later, and reconfigured it as a morality lesson. Good versus bad. Men in white hats versus men in black ones. Not in a vacant lot next to a photography studio but in a horse corral.

Yesterday we walked the streets and looked at the sights that Virgil Earp walked and saw 125 years ago, 10 years after the............alright, we'll say it, The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.

We will print the legend.

 

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The planning needed to be able to hear our coyote in the Mojave Desert

Last night the only sound we heard was the unmistakable wailing of a single coyote. Since we arrived at this spot in the Mojave Deseret yesterday around noon, that has been the only sound to disrupt the otherwise complete silence. There has not been a single vehicle on the road 300 yards to our west in almost 24 hours now. There will be some, of course, but the occasional car driving by that far away will not disrupt our private camping spot.

The temperature in the camper last night was a cool 45 degrees, just perfect for sleeping. Outside it dipped to under 40, which is acceptable when you have to make the occasional foray out in the middle of the night. There was a full moon, which we always love, because it provides a view of the desert that is unreal and beautiful. Plus you always feel as if an attack from a bear or a mountain lion is less likely when you are in a "compromised position," although truth be told it is probably just as likely. Just be ready to have a funny obituary and you'll be fine.

We were in Mesa, AZ, for six nights. Most of that time was dedicated to re-provisioning ourselves, although we did manage to take in a New Year's Eve dance and to see a couple of movies on a big screen--Interstellar (see it!), and the third installment of the Hobbit (avoid it unless your thing is watching ugly Orcs getting their heads lopped off and a cheesy Romeo and Juliet in middle earth love story).

To have this freedom and stillness requires a lot of preparation, as we have detailed in other blog entries. But along the way, often in Mesa (a convenient stopping point along the way), we have to do such things as get an oil change, do laundry, restock food, get prescriptions filled, and so on. The "and so on" includes such things as taking showers every day for a few days, a luxury beyond belief when one's showers usually consist of a gallon and a half of solar heated water outside on a borderline warm day.

We also needed a few supplies for the camper, including getting propane and replacing our two thermometers that had been attached to windows on opposite sides of the camper (so at least one was not in the sun and therefore giving an inaccurate reading). We lost both somewhere in the desert when we went too close to a cactus or something and it ripped it off. Our poor pickup is really taking a beating in terms of getting the paint scratched. But, that's what it is for--to get us to these remote and quiet places.

The planning needed to get us where we want to go, and to be able to stay in remote places for weeks on end, is almost endless. A big factor is food. We like food. Eat it all of the time, in fact. But we also eat well. We have real meals, hot meals, with lots of fresh vegetables. This means that when we leave for the desert the entire six cubic feet of our refrigerator/freezer is filled. Packed. And we carry an ice cooler for potatoes and onions. This experience would get old fast if all we ate was cold cereal and peanut butter sandwiches.

Every square inch of space is used in the camper and in the pickup. To be able to do what we want to do, and get to the places we want to get to, means having a small RV. We don't have RV envy--we don't want a larger unit. We can get everything we need for seven months into our unit, only having to replenish food about once a month.

The planning needed, given the small space for storage and the length of time we are living in our camper, isn't stressful or unpleasant. It is fun. It gives us a lot to talk about, and we can see how much we have learned in this now our fourth road trip. We each have gravitated to certain jobs, and that makes things easier. I don't worry about the things Vicky pays most attention to (food, washing), and she lets me deal with the truck, repairing the camper, propane, electronics, and safety.

Vicky also maintains our lists. We have dozens of them. Lists make things easier.

By the time we reach home in mid to late March we will have slept more nights in the camper in the past 3+ years than we will have slept in our home on Whidbey Island. In other words, we will have spent more time in a pickup bed than in our home.

You also need something to do. For us, it is hiking. We love hiking. It takes up about six hours of each day's light. Each hike brings new things to see, to explore, to question, to puzzle over, to photograph, and to discuss. For us, going to a warmer and sunnier climate to just sit and read would lose its appeal quickly.

So here we are. I'm finishing this blog entry in the early evening. We hiked today, about five miles, saw some interesting structures and a road to an area where, in the 1870s, Virgil Earp of OK Corral fame used to have a hotel. Tomorrow we will see if we can find it.

We also took showers using our shower bag, I had a Bloody Mary after the hike, and we had baked chicken, potatoes, and carrots for dinner. I read some, and Vicky knitted. Later tonight we'll finish the movie we started last night.

And the coyote is back, issuing its lonesome wail. I think it likes it here too.

(Above: camped next to an old and abandoned home in the Mojave Deaert. We talk about who might have lived here, but will never know. They would be unhappy, I'm sure, to see how much it has deteriorated).

 

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Discoveries on hikes in Big Bend National Park

From our final camping spot in Big Bend we took several hikes. One was on an established trail, the Pine Canyon Trail. We did this hike the morning after it had snowed, so the trail was beautiful. And all along the way we could tell that we were not the first morning visitors--many small creatures had used it.

The trail winds through desert before hitting the canyon. The last 3/4 mile is pretty steep, which you will realize why I am saying this in a minute. Since we hiked from our camping spot, not the trailhead, we added 2 1/2 miles to the actual route.

 

 

We just had to do this:

The trail ends at a huge cliff. If there has been a lot of rain there would be a waterfall. Instead, today, there were icicles.

 

 

I mentioned that the final 3/4 mile is fairly steep. The reason we know this is because one of us is a ditz and left his camera at the end of the trail, so both this person who shall remain unnamed and his wife had to do it twice. This is in addition to the extra 2 1/2 miles this person and his wife had extra because they were not at the trailhead. Good thing this unnamed person's wife is such a good sport.

The rest of our days In Big Bend we did our more typical explorations. We would identify a place and see if we could make it there. This particular part of Big Bend has a lot of underbrush which made cross country hiking difficult, and it also had wash after wash. These washes were a bit more difficult to scramble across than other washes we have encountered. But still fun.

The cool thing we discovered, out in the middle of nowhere, was three dams that had been built before Big Bend became a park in 1935. One was little more than earth piled up, with big rocks keeping it in place. Seems a bit thrown together, but it is still there, almost completely hidden in the underbrush.

 

What fascinated us was the other side of this dam. It was a large dirt area, cleared of any vegetation, with what looked like to be a small circular track--as if the Javelinas regularly ran races around it. We could come up with no explanation for this curious phenomenon.

 

 

On another of our hikes, out in the middle of nowhere, we came this dam.

 

Can you believe the size and condition of it? A few hundred feet up the wash was another, although smaller, one built in the same style. Who built these?

 

 

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