White Mountains - August 2021

 

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She's Back!

 

If we took the time to name it, we'd name 2021 "The Summer of Lady Knees." Thus far all has worked out with scheduling, right knee recovery and rehab, Covid-19 crisis not canceling the next surgery, and so many other little things. The left total knee replacement surgery - as I write this - is tomorrow, August 27th.

 

So, there were no long trips for us this summer. We attended to the needs of the knees. Physical therapy was twice a week for the right knee rehab, dropping to once a week for the last couple of weeks. Mid August a week's break in therapy came and we had the opportunity for a six night trip! We took it, and here is the story.

 

The Dixie Fire, the Tamarack Fire, and so many others have been pumping wildfire smoke across the West. Satellite photos and forecasts told us our best luck to maybe escape smoke was to the south. We left home around noon on Tuesday and in the afternoon we were back up on the lateral moraine flanking the north side of Virginia Creek near Dunderberg Peak. It's a favorite camp spot for us. Smoke was tolerable but gone were crisp, clear, brilliant vistas.

 

 

 

 

 

The area was near empty of other campers so we enjoyed long quiet rambles as night came.

 

 

 

 

 

This was a trip with no plans. This adventure was just a chance to get away. Every evening ended with asking the question, "What should we do tomorrow?"

 

The following dawn the diffuse morning sunlight highlighted the smoke from the opposite direction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The answer to the question for Wednesday was to head back over to the White Mountains and continue the search in Wyman Canyon for an ancient rock art site. We had begun our efforts to find this site in July of 2021.

 

Wyman Canyon is a rugged, hard place. We were exceedingly careful and paid attention for possible issues with the Lady's new right knee. On the other hand it was also a good test of her new mobility and pain free motion. Wyman is a vegetation choked desert canyon. In many places it was easiest to be in the water.

 

 

 

 

 

The air temperature was 95° - so it was nice to be in the cold water. This area is a grazing allotment on the Inyo National Forest and cow pies, as shown in a following photo, were everywhere. We had one encounter with a docile, but massive, Hereford bull.

 

 

 

 

 

We found the skull and antlers of a large atypical three point mule deer. Maybe it died from cow pie poisoning.

 

 

 

 

 

Our search for the rock art was unsuccessful - except that we did learn lots of places where it was not at. Ending the search, we drove up country and found a nice high spot on the crest of the White Mountains to spend the night. It was dark and cloudy, and dropped a rain shower on us.

 

 

 

 

 

No luck with viewing the Perseid Meteor Shower due to the clouds.

 

After addressing the question, "What should we do tomorrow?" we turned in and slept well as we always do.

 

It was decided I got to pick what to do on Thursday and I suggested driving down the rough narrow Crooked Creek road and visiting Deep Springs Cow Camp. We did so and the result was that we both fell in love with cowgirls.

 

Founded in 1917, Deep Springs College is a tiny and unique institution  of higher learning. The main campus is in Deep Springs Valley. The students also tend and work a high summer cow camp in the White Mountains.

 

We enjoyed the slow bumpy drive down the canyon. The terrain was fairly mid until we reached the granite badlands. The gate was unlocked and we drove into the cow camp. We were greeting by two women, one on horseback and the other on foot. We introduced ourselves and apologized for the intrusion. The Lady was very impressed with their cautious demeanor's. They were pleasant, direct, but offered no additional information. The woman on horseback was the boss. Tall, lean with champs and a dirty plaid long sleeve shirt, she was completely at home in the saddle. The smaller woman did not talk but her bright eyes and grin from ear to ear blazed forth from a sun hardened completion. Long thick braids draped from both sides of her round face. It was plain as day these two young women knew hard work in a demanding landscape. The Lady and I instantly fell in love with the cowgirls.

 

I asked if I could take a couple photos of the two small primitive buildings.

 

 

 

 

 

We chatted and I asked if they knew anything about the rock art site we sought in Wyman Canyon. They did not and it piqued their interest. We told them we'd be camping a mile or so below them. "I was down that way earlier," It was the first the small woman spoke. "There's a couple spots and they're empty. Not many people come down here."

 

The rough 4x4 road was now nearly impassable as we drove and wound our way through the granite. We found a nice camp spot and were quickly set up. A Mountain Mahogany tree at the base of a boulder provided a welcome shady spot. The temperature was in the upper eighties. The elevation here is 9400 feet above sea level.

 

 

 

 

 

We packed up water and hiked further down Crooked Creek to explore this complicated terrain.

 

"Let's just head down this gully," the Lady said and led the way.

 

 

 

 

 

With this I knew she was back, she's back! No hesitation and confident, the total knee replacement was a great success.

 

We passed a closed gate that signaled a grazing allotment boundary. Down in the meadow area we found four cows.

 

 

 

 

 

I broke into song, "Mommas don't let your babies grow up to be strip steaks." The Lady did not think it was near as funny as I did.

 

Mountain Bluebirds kept track of our travels. And, their song was so much better.

 

 

 

 

 

We took our time and explored. The Lady, with her see mores, watched a lone mule deer doe on a ridge that was equally interested in us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Storm clouds built as we made dinner. The cowgirls stopped and announced they'd be moving cattle.

"We move them twice a day," the boss cowgirl explained. "That keeps them from overusing the creek area."

"We saw four cows beyond the gate," the Lady noted.

"How many? Down where below the gate?"

I gave the details.

"We'll go down and move them up. They got a spot they squeeze between a rock and the fence."

The Lady changed the subject and asked, "Would you two like a bag of fresh peaches?"

"Fresh peaches!" Their faces lit up. "Really? You bet!"

"Yup, we've got trees at home and we picked right when we left. We've been living on peaches. They are soooo good. We brought an extra bag for friends we thought we might run into but we missed them."

"Can we stop by later and get them?" the boss asked. "We got to move the cows now and peaches will get banged up in the saddlebags."

"Of course," the Lady answered.

"And, we'd love to see your camper," the young woman added. "It looks just perfect for places like this."

 

The cowgirls returned to their work and we finished up dinner and enjoyed the cooling evening air.

 

The boss cowgirl returned as we started our evening walk. She was on a different horse. "Who's this?" the Lady asked.

"He's Poncho," the woman answered as she popped down out of the saddle and then continued. "We've got eight horses and we rotate through them so they get equal work. We've got 115 head of cattle up in this area so we all get plenty of work. Can I see your camper?"

 

I offered to take Poncho's reins, "I'm comfortable around stock."

"No," the woman said, "He's a bit green, I need to be in control. That's best."

 

After the camper tour for her and Poncho, we loading them up with fresh peaches and they headed back to the camp.

 

 

We walked until dark through the granite outcrops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

115 cows mooed us to sleep and we slept like babies.

 

The morning light was again filtered through smoke but was still dramatic. I sat up on the ridge surveying the country. The Lady was in the camper fussing, making coffee, and doing her first round of knee exercises. She did not know the cow and calf right outside were curious as the dickens about what in the world was going on inside the white box.

 

 

 

 

 

We moved out of the way on our morning coffee walk as the cowgirls were already up, in the saddle, and moving cows.

 

The granite all around us was a visual treat.

 

 

 

 

 

We waved to the cowhands one last time as we began the long slow drive up Crooked Creek.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today was Friday and it was the Lady's turn to pick, "What should we do?" The night before we brought out the topo maps and I pointed out several options for hikes. One option was finding a "stone corral" marked on the 7.5" USGS topo. The corral was located about a mile, cross country, beyond the Barcroft Research Station past the gated end of the White Mountain Road. It would be a six mile round trip hike with most of it above 12,500 feet in elevation, high above tree line. "I want to find the Stone Corral!" the Lady said and the decision was made.

 

White Mountain Road is one of our favorite drives. There were only a few vehicles parked at road's end - also the trailhead for the hike to the summit of White Mountain Peak, California's third highest mountain.

 

Boots and packs were on and we were ready to go.

 

 

 

 

 

The Owens Valley below to the west and the Sierra Nevada crest beyond were invisible due to the dense wildfire smoke.

 

 

 

 

 

After a quick two miles we passed the research station.

 

 

 

 

 

A storm was sneaking up behind us from the south.

 

 

 

 

 

Wind, rain, and hail were on us as we reached the observatory on the ridge above the research station. The storm was joining a larger storm now visible towering above White Mountain Peak. The weather had changed dramatically in only a short period of time. It was time to turn around. Our camera was stashed inside my pack so there are no additional photos. The mountains around the trailhead were white with hail upon our return. The road had standing water as we drove out. It had been a quick, cold, and heavy downpour.

"We are coming back and finding the stone corral," the Lady said over the roar of the heater fan in the truck. "You know that, right?"

Yes, I do.

 

We returned to one of our favorite dispersed campsites lower down on the crest of the Whites.

 

 

 

 

 

For months now, due to the extreme fire conditions, all our public land has been under fire restrictions. Signs like this are posted everywhere.

 

 

 

 

 

We showered, made dinner, and relaxed before our evening walk. The clouds continued to move across the sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Lady wanted to walk over to another dispersed camping area we've used in the past. We found it a busy Friday night with each possible spot occupied.

 

We climbed to the top of the hill. The Lady scanned with her see mores. Grandview Campground was to the southwest. We turned back toward our camp and returned down the steep dirt road. I paused as we passed one campsite. A small tear drop trailer was shoehorned into a spot behind a large new Ram 2500 pickup tow vehicle.

"Hold up," I said to the Lady.

"You're going to say something, aren't you," the Lady replied.

"Yup"

I had seen a woman scurry out of sight beyond the tear drop.

"Ma'am," I called. No response.

I continued, "Hello! Excuse me! Anyone?"

Finally, I exploded with a "Hello!" at full volume. It woke the dead.

A woman came around the small tear drop. Her right hand was wrapped around the collar of a sixty pound pit bull bulldog mix. The dog pulled, huffed, and slobbered mightily. "My dog's friendly. Don't worry." The woman said in greeting.

I was not worried. The woman outweighed the dog by at least five times, maybe even six times.

I was calm, polite, but direct. "Ma'am, I am so sorry to disturb your evening but we could not miss your several bundles of store bought fire wood. We're under fire restrictions and no campfires."

"Oh, yeah," the woman said and waved her left hand. "That. I know how to control a fire and we have a fire extinguisher. It will be okay."

"Ma'am, it is illegal to have a fire." I continued. "The fine is up to five thousand dollars and/or six months in jail."

"Yeah, so?" the woman answered as her near twin - except with dark hair - walked around the tear drop to join us.

It instantly occurred to me there was no way in the world the daughters of Jabba the Hutt could chase down an escaping fire and put it out. It also occurred to me I still have an ounce of kindness left inside me because I chose not to bring that fact into our conversation.

I continued. "Ma'am, the forest order reads, 'building, maintaining, attending, or using a campfire,' this means every member of your group could be fined up to $5000 and/or six months in jail."

The woman stared at me.

"Ma'am are you aware if your fire escapes you can be held responsible for all damages and all suppression costs?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah! I know all that!" she spat out.

"Okay." I lowered my head and took a deep breath. "There is one illegal fire going over in Grandview Campground now......." The woman's head snapped over in the direction of the campground and then returned to us. "It is already time for someone to be making phone calls, don't you agree, ma'am?" I asked.

"So, are you some kind of ranger, or what?"

I answered, "Ma'am, I am retired. Please have a nice night." The encounter was over.

 

It was almost dark as we slowly walked back to our camp.

 

 

 

 

 

The Lady snuggled close as we walked. "So what do you want to do tomorrow?" she asked.

"I want to be as far from other people as we can get." I answered.

 

In the morning we returned to Wyman Canyon. We resumed our search for the rock art site and we knew, although a Saturday, we would be alone. We had noted on our map the area that remained for us to search. From up canyon we dropped into a narrow gorge. It was rough going. Most the time we were in water up to our knees. It made the 99° air temperature tolerable.

 

 

 

 

 

When the going gets tough the Lady smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

At one spot, it was evident even to us, that it was foolish to continue. We backed off and climbed back up canyon to our truck. Undeterred, we drove around and down to our starting point for last Wednesday's search. We were here, we should make good use of the day. We'd search higher than our ending point on Wednesday.

 

 

 

 

 

From all our experience with placement of rock art sites, we finally concluded there was slim chance the rock art site would be in this difficult to reach area. Our future continuing search will be in a different spot. 

 

In our previous post about Wyman Canyon, I mentioned the historic power lines across the White Mountains and this article - Feasting on Power.

 

This sentence from the article stuck in my head -

" And right on their heels was the pole-line construction crew, carrying their portable sawmill with them, ready to build the poles with native timber...Bristlecone pine."

 

We were thrilled to find one of these original bristlecone pine power poles from 1905.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We also discovered a old inscribed number marking the power line.

 

 

 

 

 

We encountered many beautiful things as we explored this canyon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We were damn hot and tired as we returned to the truck, but we were happy. It had been a good day.

 

 

 

 

 

We did not want to drive far so we tucked away in the shade in the canyon above White Mountain City. An up canyon breeze tempered the heat somewhat, as did the shade.

 

 

 

 

 

It was 85° when we crawled up into the bunk for sleep well after dark. With all the windows and door open we lay naked atop our bedding. Sometime in the night we were awaken by storm. Gusts of wind plummeted the truck and the mist of cool rain moved across us from the windows. It was wonderful. We woke the next morning to a low of 74°. More smoke had moved into the area and it only got worse. We took one last look up canyon at the power lines.

 

 

 

 

 

What was the answer to the nightly question? "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Let's find the 'Bloody Hands' pictograph site!" The Lady happily answered.

 

We crossed over Westgaard Pass and dropped into the Owens Valley. The smoke was oppressive. The Sierra Nevada were gone from sight as were the White Mountains. We topped off with gas in Bishop, and headed north.

 

I found mention of this rock art site - "bloody hands" - in only one place - research notes from field work done in 1959. To decipher the location from the notes, it was necessary to go back to 1959. I contacted our friend, The Sagebrush Reconnoiterer, a local historian. He provided valuable suggestions.

 

The Lady navigated - I had turns and landmarks noted on our map - as we approached the search area. A cliff of volcanic welded tuff soared above. The Lady began scanning with her see mores as I pointed and said, "They're right there."

"We found them!" the Lady cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DStretch false color helps bring the faded pigment to life.

 

 

 

 

What intrigued us about this site was in the field notes -

 

"The paintings are about equally faded, evidencing a common time of origin. In all discernible instances except one, the right hand was chosen to be modeled. Several factors suggest that individuals covered their right hands with wet pigment and pressed them against the wall. First, it is noted that the slant of the handprints extends from upper right to lower left-the position a right hand would naturally assume in pressing it forward from waist to shoulder height. Also, the one handprint

which slants slightly the other way shows the thumb on the opposite side. In addition, the light-to-absent pigmentation in the palm areas might occur by this form of printing. Finally, the artistry of the handprints is more faithful in detail and proportion than that of the pawprints. The adherence to this degree of realism is observed nowhere else in Owens Valley pictography."

 

It was a surprise that the notes did not mention the size of the handprints. They must have been made by the hands of children!

 

 

 

 

DStretch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We believe this makes this a very special archeological site. The Lady changed the site's name - at least for us - to "The Little Red Hands." Thanks Sagebrush Reconnoiterer for the help!

 

We celebrated our success by moving north in an attempt to escape the smoke. No luck with that. It was Sunday afternoon and we had one more night to spend out. We drove up into Green Creek in the Bridgeport area and were pleasantly surprised to find it mostly empty. Our favorite "big rock" dispersed campsite was ours. We spent most the evening on top of this remnant massive chunk of Granite. We saw no stars this night due to the thick smoke.

 

 

 

 

 

The smoke was far worse the next morning.

 

 

 

 

 

It was time to break camp and make the short drive home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We arrived home Monday in the early afternoon. The wildfire smoke was unbelievable the entire drive. We soon learned of the new Caldor Fire growing to the south of us. Tuesday morning we were ordered to evacuate, and we did. As I finish up this trip story, we've been out of our home for twelve days. We have no idea if (chances are good, cross your fingers) and when we'll be able to return. We hope the firefighters have been eating lots and lots of fresh tree ripen peaches.

 

Yesterday Julie had her second total knee replacement surgery. After spending a night in the hospital - standard procedure - she is back with me at our evacuation refuge in Roseville, California. All went very well and we're both ready to tackle another round of recovery and rehab.

 

As I mentioned earlier, and I'm sure you'll agree, the Lady did amazingly well with her recovery with the right knee replacement. Indeed, she's back! Now give her three months working with the new left knee and she'll be back all over again.