Wandering in Nevada - March 2022 - Part Three

 

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Please click here to go to - Part Two

 

Bubbas at the Hot Springs

 

It was late afternoon and it was 80°, the heat wave was on. We were settled and comfortable at Tub 1 at Benton and looking forward to a quiet night soaking in restorative hot spring water along with gazing up in awe at a brilliant star filled night sky. I heard the rattle of firewood at the next campsite, tub 11. "80° and someone needs a campfire?", I thought. The rattle was followed by a sharp whack.

"It split!," Bubba yelled. "Look at this, it split! I'm a lumberjack! Did you know I'm a lumberjack? It split. I'm a lumberjack!"

 

The Lady and I instantly broke into quiet song,

"I'm a lumberjack" from Monty Python

 

We had been so quick erupting in song that we missed if Bubba's woman responded to Bubba's proud pronouncement. If she had a response, she followed it with, "We're out of ice."

"You want ice cream sandwiches?" Bubba asked and didn't stop there. "If you want ice cream sandwiches, go to the store and buy some and put them in the freezer. Just buy ice cream sandwiches. We have the freezer. You can put ice cream sandwiches in the freezer. You want ice cream sandwiches? Buy ice cream sandwiches. We can go to Bishop tomorrow and buy ice cream sandwiches. Do you want ice cream sandwiches?"

 

We were not intentionally eavesdropping on the couple. It was impossible not to.

 

The loud inane jabbering from the pair began with their 6 attempts to back their over 26' long travel trailer into the small space that defines Tub 11. Their voices easily carried over the loud diesel rattle of the brand new Ram 2500. How did I know it was new?

 

We did our best to ignore and tolerate the Bubbas. We got a break when Bubba fired up his new truck and drove out. Going for ice? We were sure we'd see Bubba's woman make her escape with this opportunity but, alas, she did not. Bubba was back after 10 minutes or so.

"I talked to the woman," he announced, "She says it's fine."

What did that mean?

 

A few minutes later we watched as another truck with an equally large trailer pull into the camping area.

"Good lord," the Lady and I said to each other. "Is that thing going into tub 2?"

Tub 2 is another small site very close by on the opposite side of our camp. No, was the unfortunate answer.

 

It was another couple, friends of, and staying with the people at tub 11. Where in the world would this trailer fit? They put it in front of tub 11 and partially blocked the way to neighboring sites.

 

"You got a new truck!" the male driver yelled to Bubba.

And Bubba's unending story about how he "stole it right off the lot" began.

 

We had to go for a very long walk.

 

It was a beautiful evening. We walked up to the cemetery and wished for an excavator. It was pure merriment to dream of four quick deep holes and then a peaceful quiet night and that brilliant star filled night sky overhead.

 

 

 

 

 

After wandering the hillside where the cemetery sits, it was far far too soon to return to our tub site. We lingered as we wandered about Benton. Maybe we'd find an excavator with the keys in it.

 

It was a beautiful evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was dark when we returned. Strings of lights hung on everything at tub 11. Tiki lights surrounded the camp. Flickering fake candles were on every flat surface. I stopped, aghast, and not thinking, blurted out, "My god, it's almost April and the christmas lights are still up."

 

There was not a chance they heard me.

"I got up and threatened to leave three times!" Bubba roared. Ah, the buying the new truck story remained the topic of choice at tub 11.

"I almost got to the door before they said, 'wait, wait, wait'"

There was so so much more I'll spare you from, but I will give you the highlight - "I got it for payments of $1750 a month and no down payment!"

Yup, he stole it off the lot. I was nearly in tears with laughter.

"We need to look at this as entertainment," I suggested to the Lady. "Maybe thinking of it that way we'll make it through the night. We should laugh about it. It can't get any worse."

I was so very wrong.

 

Our tub temperature was just right, although there was not a chance of seeing stars overhead with the light pollution next door. We were in the camper, taking off our clothes,  and getting ready to soak when the young Bubbas arrived.

"My god, it is two more long trailers coming in," I said to the Lady as the sweep of headlights blinded me as I looked out the window. It was apparent these people were unfamiliar with the area and did a full "wagon train" circle twice through and around the tub sites sweeping bright headlights across every campsite in their search for their spot - tub 2. Those familiar with Benton will immediately share my question, how in the world is all this going to fit?

 

It was near 10 pm before the backing up, adjusting positions, constant chatter, leveling, idling diesels, headlights trained directly on other campsites, banging of unhitching, whine of electric tongue jacks, all the outside lights on the trailers at maximum intensity, boxes of camping supplies dropped hard on the ground. These people possessed not an ounce of common courtesy. The slide out from trailer number one was within 2 feet of our front bumper. The large, yellow, cheap chinese generator was set 3 feet from our truck and 3 feet from our site's privacy fence making it within 10 feet of our tub.

 

It slowly began to quiet. We were close to sick to our stomachs. The Bubbas in tub 11 turned off their lights at 2:30 am.

 

The Lady and I woke in the precious quiet before dawn and slipped into our hot tub. The coming of first light, and watching a new day's beginnings is forever satisfying. Our only chore was to get out of Benton before anyone else got up. In packing up I did bang against the slide out a few times. Sorry Bubba. You know I now wished for a dozer.

 

And that brings us to the next, far happier, part of our trip -

 

The Canyon Wren and the Dozer Operator

 

A wave of peace washed over us immediately as we turned east out of the campground at Benton Hot Springs. We were headed back into Nevada where we should have never left. Our next destination has also been "on the list" for years. First, I should share some history. Albert A. Bass was said to be “the 35th man to arrive in Tonopah in February of 1901.” He had success with mining ventures and business pursuits in this boom town. The Bass Building still stands in Tonopah and is on the National Register of Historic Places.

In 1906 Bass married his wife Anna in Bishop, California. In 1908 he made a strike “about ten miles west of the old camp of Belleville in Esmeralda county.” From 1908 to 1930, Bass and Anna worked the mine up in the Excelsior Mountains and lived in the unique cabin they built there. Here's more information on Bass - A Biography of Albert A.Bass.

The Bass Cabin is also known as the Cabin Under the Rock. The shortest access is up a canyon draining into Teels Marsh. The road was washed away a few years back but I heard of vehicles able to make the climb up. Our plan was to check the road out, see how far we could make it, and however far that was, we'd hike in from there, even if it meant starting out early the next morning and making it a day long hike.

 

We started up the wash at the foot of the mountain.

"It looks like this has been graded,"The Lady said with surprise.

"I don't see any truck tire tracks," I added. We were both focusing in on the details. "Could it be we are right behind the grader?"

It was easy going - well sort of, it was graded but far from smooth - and we quickly climbed up the canyon. The Lady navigated, keeping us "found" on the map, and pointed out each intersection and turn. We drove up new graded road to our planned parking spot at a broad saddle.

 

 

 

 

 

A dozer was working a high shelf road above us, our route to Bass Cabin.

 

 

 

 

 

The grader was parked just down from the dozer.

 

 

 

 

 

We did not want to disturb the ongoing road work so we headed cross country and straight up to a saddle above where the dozer was working.

 

 

 

 

 

In the above photo, remember the road just above The Lady's head that goes straight up the hillside and then turns to the left and becomes a shelf road. It will come up later. At the saddle we looked to the south. Our road switched back down into a steep valley and then climbed up to another saddle lower than current elevation.

 

 

 

 

 

The dozer had made one pass on the road. It was rough walking on the recently turned up earth. The view down the steep gorge at the bottom - before the climb to the lower saddle - was impressive.

 

 

 

 

 

Down from the final saddle, in a small wash was the Bass Cabin "under the rock."

 

 

 

 

 

Reflect back on the history I shared and think of Albert and Anna working the mine and living here for 22 years. The construction is from milled wood. Where was it purchased? How was it freighted up here? Imagine the effort involved in making a life in this rugged remote setting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their water collection system was amazing. Most of the metal tank is buried, possibly 500 gallons in size.

 

 

 

 

 

Another building was constructed using local timber for upright posts.

 

 

 

 

 

This was such a picturesque setting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wash enters a gorge that drops steeply to the south.

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, that is still Montgomery and Boundary peaks in the distance.

 

There was a large cistern for water collection in the wash below the cabin.

 

 

 

 

 

We had lunch in the shade under the rock and beside the cabin. I contemplated on the construction of the shed across from us as we ate and wondered about all the work that had been accomplished inside this humble building.

 

 

 

 

 

The Lady was putting her ears to work. "That sounds like a canyon wren!" she quietly said. "There must be canyon wrens up here." And then she imitated it's descending note call.

A small bird landed on the top of the metal water tank less than 6 feet from her.

"Hi little wren! How are you? I love your song."

The small bird tilted its head as it watched Julie, hesitated for a moment, and then flew into a pinyon cross the wash. The Lady repeated her whistled call. The bird flew back and looked at the Lady as if to ask, "Yes?"

"I love canyon wrens." the Lady smiled and nodded. The Lady was so happy. It is a simple, wonderful life to take much delight in such encounters and treasure them. The small wren flew off and went about its business.

 

We climbed out of the canyon and looked back at the cabin under the rock. More remains of its clever water capture gutter system is seen on this side.

 

 

 

 

 

One pass with the dozer has left a rough, cut up surface.

 

 

 

 

 

The dozer operator is working at widening the shelf up to the high saddle.

 

 

 

 

 

I expect, initially, there will be complaints about the road maintenance from those who enjoy boasting about making a difficult trek and how "you better have all your skills ready" to get into this spot .

 

Instead of returning cross country to our truck, we walked the road down to look at the work. The dozer was making a pass back uphill. He saw us walking down, stopped, and turned off the machine as we got close.

"Boy, I sure don't see many people out here, especially walking!" he said.

"I expect that you don't" I replied.

He was a one man operation. He had two dozers, the grader, and later we found where his excavator was stashed. BLM has, obviously, come into some money for road maintenance in the Excelsior Mountains.

"We went down to see the cabin!" the Lady reported with a smile.

"Good! I saw you headed up that steep slope earlier."

"We came up the canyon road you just graded," she continued.

"A day ago there was not a sign of a road up that canyon." he explained.

"How do you like working out here?" the Lady asked. The dozer operator gave a big grin and two thumbs up. "I love my office!"

"How's that road up there?" the Lady asked and pointed to the road across that I mentioned earlier. "If there's a flat enough small spot up at the top, I want to camp there. Can we make it up?"

"I think you could make it." The operator scratched his chin.

"They didn't want we doing that road but I took the dozer up yesterday just to look. It's a little tight in the trees over there." He pointed. "You see the spot on the corner?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Its tight there."

"But you took the dozer through?"

"Yup."

"Now that shelf road at the top," he continued. "That might be a bit of pucker that will suck you into your seats."

"We'll take a look." the Lady said.

 

It was a fun talk with the dozer operator. We said our goodbyes and returned to the truck. We started up the road we had discussed. The section that ran straight up the hill was deeply gullied on one side, dropping the right side of the truck a foot deeper than the left. The dozer had not dropped the blade but the tracks had turned up earth. We discovered there was one item the dozer operator had forgotten to mention. At the top of the grade the road turns left and immediately crosses a gully that had been washed out to a depth of 3 or 4 feet. The dozer filled it in with loose soil but not compacted it at all. We would have sunk down to the axles and, if we had spun the tires, dropped sideways into the open steep gully below. With no place to turn around I told the Lady it was time to practice our team work and backing downhill skills. She'd guide me and I would drive. Stay calm and get the job done.

 

I wrote this and you're reading it so you know it went well. Now where to spend the night? We returned to the road in Little Huntoon Valley and climbed upcountry to the south. The road was narrow, rough, with the fresh soft berm on each side, with no opportunities to turn off until we came upon a short spur road that looked like it may offer a flat spot at the mouth of a short canyon. We found a nice - and the only - place to camp out here. After setting up, we explored. The trace of a primitive road led up the narrow canyon and disappeared into the rocky wash. We continued up and discovered a wonderland of granite.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We came upon the ruins of an old mining camp.

 

 

 

 

 

And a very stoutly constructed dug out.

 

 

 

 

 

Corrugated metal sheets were used for the roofing. This would help date the camp.

 

 

 

 

 

I could not get a photo in the dark interior of the dugout. I wanted to because the walls were lined with flat cardboard and then covered with wallpaper, quite a surprise. Was a woman's touch involved out here?

 

The water course cut through the smooth granite and we did an extensive search for bedrock mortars. We did not find any, but further up the canyon we found one flake of obsidian from point making. The place just had the proper feel to it. Something had to be here.

 

Back at camp we took care of chores, relaxed, and enjoyed dinner. We especially celebrated our return to solitudius maximus. We were all alone out here.

 

In the last of the evening light we walked the road up Little Huntoon Valley to the pass before it drops into Huntoon Valley on the south side.  We timed it right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the quiet of the next dawn, with our mugs of coffee, we wandered back up the canyon. We knew our feelings about the place were correct when we discovered this boulder with ancient petroglyphs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering through this granite wonderland with its pinyon and juniper made for a fine morning.

 

 

 

 

 

We packed up and headed out for new destinations and more discoveries as we wandered in Nevada.

 

Our story will continues, please click here for - Part Four.