Valley of Fire & Central Nevada - January 2019

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Final Chapter of Our Winter Break Trip

Who's Splitting Firewood?

That was the question I asked myself as I returned from a hurried predawn walk to the restroom at Valley of Fire's Atlatl Campground Friday morning.. There was probably someone else up at this hour and, with this cold snap, they may want a fire. But, to bang that hard with a spitting maul was a bit bold, I felt, and not neighborly this early in the morning. 

"Someone's making a hell of a racket spitting wood," I reported to the Lady. "And how's the coffee coming?" I asked with a smile.

"Why don't you go for a short walk down the road?" she asked. "Here's the camera."

I got about half way to Atlatl Rock when I saw the three rams approaching. They were unconcerned. The old guy was leading. Two followed. The third in line stuck his nose in ram two's butt. The fight was on as number two wheeled around and slammed his horns into three's face. BANG! I guess someone was not spitting firewood after all. I walked back to the camper, opened the door, and quietly said, "Your boys are back and they are banging heads."

I walked back to the boys and awaited the Lady's arrival with our coffee. The old guy walked quietly up the road past me.

Number two and three approached with more caution and then broke into a run through the campground. A couple walked over from their large travel trailer (K-Mart sized).

"Did you get a picture of them butting heads," the woman quickly asked.

"No", I answered. "It happened too fast and was unexpected."

"They woke us up banging heads behind our trailer!" the man excited added.

They were thrilled and I heard the retelling of their story two or three times.

"They were up on their hind legs and came down and hit heads!!! BANG!!!!"

"Yes, I heard the bangs." I added.

They were on a roll and happy. I was pleased to indulge them and listen. Their story turned to how long they've had the trailer, they are from British Columbia, the last two years they have wintered in the Yuma, Arizona area, and the weather.

"By god it was cold!" the man started.

The woman took over, "We drove 28 hours straight without stopping. It was too cold to stop and camp!"

The man grabbed the reins, "Northern and central Nevada were the worst. Too damn cold to stop until we got here and it's still damn cold!"

I resisted the temptation to ask if he had a brother from Montana.

I enjoyed the conversation with these two and their joy in watching the rams.

The Lady walked up with our coffee. "I saw them run through camp. Let's go find the boys!"

The group of three climbed into a side canyon above the campground. A larger group was further up. We climbed to a highpoint and watched both the rams and the coming sunrise.

We left Valley of Fire after breakfast. The traffic on US 93 was quieter. We felt much more relaxed with a feeling of returning home to a place with only a few other vehicles on the road, especially when we turned onto 375, the Extraterrestrial Highway. We did not see a single Cruse America RV.

"They are probably already all in Quartzsite," the Lady answered my unasked question.

We stopped for a lunch break at Warm Springs.

Warm Springs started back in the 1860's as a freighting and stage stop. The abandoned Bar & Cafe and bath house and pool date from the 1970's. As we wandered, we heard women's voices. Then we noticed a Subaru Outback hidden behind the Bar & Cafe building.

Suspecting that the women were enjoying a private and somewhat secretive soak, we did not intrude and continued on our way.

Where to spend our last night out? That was the question, and a spot close enough to home to make a short drive and maybe squeaking home before the incoming storm hit.

We knew of a spot in the volcanic hills south of Hawthorne, Nevada.

The sun set behind the White Mountains as we set up camp. We showered quickly and made dinner. We followed that up with a long walk in the dark. It, of course, was cold. We braved the cold for awhile for star gazing.

"This is why it feels so cold!" the Lady said as she climbed back up into the bunk after a predawn bathroom trip outside. "The thermometer says 22°!"

The storm was already building when we awoke the next morning.

Chain controls were going up as we went over the passes. Snow was just beginning. Sunday morning we woke to snow here and cleared with Lil' Red, the little diesel tractor with a 50" front mount snowblower. We were home. 

So that's it, the story is completed.......................until we take off once again. Quartzsite? Not a chance.