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Please click here for – Part Two
Ghosts
We finished up at the Visitors Center Tuesday morning, stopped in at the Oasis General Store for a jalapeno chocolate bar to spice up our evenings, climbed into the truck, and turned south. After our encounter with the tarp people, we wanted to find a place with more solitude. With the northern section of West Side Road still closed due to flood damage, we made the long drive south and circled back to make the drive up Johnson Canyon Road. We have a spot we like up there and were thrilled to find we had it all to ourselves.
The evening vistas were amazing down into Death Valley. The recent north winds had moved Lake Manley to the south of Badwater.
We planned for three to four nights up here with a full quota of exploration on foot. But that was not to be. We were within 300 yards of where we wanted to camp when I stopped the truck. A new sound had immediately caught my attention. Upon inspection we found the left rear tire was flat. I told the Lady we’d move the truck to the side to be out on anyone’s way. She said, “No.” And explained the truck was level, we had room to move around, and we’d seen no one in the area. This spot would work fine, thank you very much.
After the fact she confessed her first thought, upon seeing the flat tire, was, “Oh, I’m glad I’m a girl. You get to change the tire!” As we got underway with the chore, she insisted on cranking up the jack – “I want to know I can do it and raise the truck.” And she insisted on lowering the spare. Note: we’ve practiced all this at home in the driveway and in the field. This was a good field test and reminder and she jumped right in. The spare was on and the flat in its place. We were soon set up in our camp.
After relaxing, we decided to check out the damaged tire and do a field repair, if possible. We pulled out our small air compressor and tire plug kit. The tire had a nasty looking gash in the sidewall, but the gash did not leak air as we pressurized the tire. The hole was in the middle of the tread, most likely caused by a very sharp rock. The Lady was the leak detector, both with her ears and a cup of water.
“It’s still leaking. Put in another plug!”
The ARB plug kit comes with fairly large plugs. It took 6 plugs to stop the leak. We brought the tire up to pressure and set it under the truck. We would check it in the morning.
What a handy device the InReach satellite communicator is. We contacted a friend who confirmed there was a Cooper Tire dealer in Pahrump, Nevada. With the damage, I did not think the tire could be dependably repaired. We both agreed it was wise to head out the next morning and get this taken care of.
Early the next morning, just as dawn arrived, we both heard something next to the truck. “I’ve got to pee. I’ll check it out,” the lady announced as she started her descent from the bunk. She closed the door of the camper and I heard, “Well, how are you little fella? You sure are pretty. Are you checking us out?”
I rolled over to look out the window. A small coyote was
moving about, sniffing, investigating. It was in great shape with a very light colored coat. It looked like a ghost moving in the dim light. It circled the
truck once more after the Lady climbed back into the camper and then moved down
the road. “It looked healthy, alert, and not aggressive. It did immediately
check out where I peed," the Lady reported.
The morning was glorious. There was not a cloud in the sky. First light from the rising sun highlighted how green this desert landscape was, a result of all the recent rains.
What followed was one of the most magical moments of this trip when, as I was composing a photo, I noticed a petroglyph of the sun on a nearby rock highlighted by the rising sun.
The repaired tire’s pressure had held overnight. This was promising. We decided to put it back on the truck, run with it, and keep the spare in reserve in case we had other issues.
The Lady announced, “I want to see that I can break the lug nuts free. And I’m going to change the tire. I want to be sure I can do it.”
I went over how to use the Gorilla wrench and to make sure the six-sided socket was deeply seated onto the lug nut. Then it would be safer for her to climb out onto the end of the extended wrench and put her 115 lbs. to work with leverage. With a couple of bounces up and down, she slowly rode the wrench down as the lug nut loosened.
We buttoned everything up after changing the tire and headed out. At the intersection with West Side Road we stopped and checked the tire. All was well and we turned south. We both noticed the tracks almost immediately.
“Those were not on the road yesterday when we drove in, were they?” the Lady asked.
“No. They look like skinny road bike tires but they’re side by side and not a bike.”
We followed the tracks. The skinny tires were separated by about 2 feet and the parallel tracks weaved from side to side down the road.
“Occasionally it looks like footprints too,” the Lady observed as we continued. “I hope we catch up to whatever this is. This I want to see!”
“There it is!” the Lady exclaimed as we rounded a corner. “But what is it?”
A portly fellow was ahead of us moving in the same direction. He wore a red t-shirt, pants, socks and Teva sandals. He carried an old backpack. Attached to the pack’s hip belt was a homemade harness with electrical conduit poles attached to the homemade two-wheeled cart he was pulling. We slowly approached and pulled aside him and kept pace. His head was down as he walked. He had ear buds in his ears. He could not hear a thing around him. The Lady looked over at me. I smiled and said, “Good rule of thumb is when you see something like this in Death Valley, you stop and talk with the fellow.”
Finally, he looked over and stopped with a start. The Lady’s window was down. “Sorry, we didn’t want to scare you.”
“Oh, I was in my own world. I started at six this morning and I’ve done over eight miles this morning. I’m going to take a four-hour nap when I reach Warm Springs Road. Do you have an idea how far?”
We pointed out Warm Springs Road. It was visible to the west as it snaked down the bajada toward its intersection with West Side Road.
“It’s about a mile further on.” I answered.
“Where you coming from?” the Lady asked. He had a prodigious belly, a round face adorned with a gray beard and bright eyes. He was not the picture of an athlete but he was, indeed, a jovial fellow.
“This is mile 127. I started at the north end of the Park and will finish at the south end. I’m self-supported and I set up water caches along my route. I’m towing 150 pounds when I load up again at one of my caches. I’m having fun but NEVER AGAIN!”
He shook his head. “Thanks for stopping and talking with me. I appreciate it.”
“You should be aware there’s about a half mile section of deep sand on the road just before the Warm Springs Road intersection.” I offered.
“Bullshit!” he exclaimed.
“Why bullshit?” the Lady asked.
Oh, I’m sorry about the language but, did you see those three trucks with the stupid bright lights going north last night?”
“Yes, we saw them from our spot way up on Johnson Canyon Road and prayed they wouldn’t come up our way with the stupid blinding lights. We watched them and they continued north,” the Lady answered.
“Well, they talked with me this morning and told me about the sand. I told them bullshit! They said they were spinning their tires, weaving from side to side, and did not think they’d make it through. I told them bullshit! Now you’re telling me the same thing about sand. How deep is it?”
I held my two hands apart. “Four to six inches on the right side. A lot deeper on the other side. Stay on the right side.”
“You could, maybe, get out of the road and get off to the side. It might be easier.” The Lady suggested.
“Oh no, I won’t do that again. I have to stay on the road. I went off it once and had to rebuild both my bike tires. I don’t want to do that again!”
We chatted for awhile longer, wished him well, and bid farewell to this curious wayfaring stranger.
We inspected the repaired tire again when we reached pavement. It was doing well and up to pressure. We turned toward Pahrump, Nevada.
We reached the tire shop early afternoon and, as expected, the tire was not repairable. We had another patched tire on the truck so a new set of tires was the best decision. They would have four new tires for us at eight the next morning. We walked back out to the truck and made a phone call to our friends, Steve and Diana from Fort Sagebrush outside Baker City, Oregon. They had left us a voice message we retrieved when we hit cell service in Pahrump.
Now here was a surprise. They were traveling with their Oliver Trailer and were a half hour outside Pahrump where they were spending the night. What an amazing coincidence! We drove over to the RV campground and asked about a space near our friend’s spot.
“What kind of RV do you have?” the no nonsense boss woman inquired.
“We have a small pop-up camper on our Ford Ranger pickup.”
“What year?”
“It’s a 2003 truck. It turned 21 last September.”
“We have a nothing older than 10 years policy here. I have to see it. Where is it?”
I pointed to a distant parking space about 200 yards away.
“Well, you get in line behind the rigs I’m checking in and when you’re in front here, you come in and tell me.”
I took my place in line behind two motorhomes the size of Montana, complete with tow vehicles. This was a new experience for me – Julie was out walking as I took care of getting a spot, she wanted to do laundry at the campground facilities and could not sit still with her excitement – so I decided I would savor it. I finally pulled up in front. Our rig was tiny but I walked proud as I made my way back inside.
“Ma’am, I’m reporting for inspection.”
The boss woman looked up and asked, “Where is it?”
“It’s right out front. You might have to look close.”
The woman leaned forward and squinted. “Oh, you’re fine. Let’s see if I can find you a space close to your friends. What did you say their name was?”
We had an absolutely wonderful time reconnecting with Steve and Diana. Steve again grilled hamburgers for us and the girls shared ingredients for a large salad. And, of course, the girls dove into a game of scramble. It was a head-to-head, determined contest. They had so much fun. Thanks you two for your friendship and hospitality!
We were at the tire shop at 0730 the following morning. The tires were there and they got to work. They also swapped out our spare with one of the best from our current set. We went for a walk and waited for the text that the job was complete.
As we were settling up with the bill, the service tech said, “I should tell you that everyone here loves your truck. And that camper, that had to made for that truck, it fits so well.” The other two at the counter nodded in agreement.
It felt so good to be heading out of town. For us vagabonds it had been culture shock. There are traffic signal lights in Pahrump.
We headed back toward Death Valley and turned off of 190 onto Furnace Creek Wash Road, the access to Greenwater Valley. We hoped to hook up with another pop up camper owner and meet them for the first time. Unfortunately, the Lady misread their text on where they’d be and we missed them. I believe she was still giddy about laundry and the new tires. She likes deep new tread. Julie has and handles the smartphone. I do not have one of those things.
We settled into a high spot above the historic Greenwater townsite.
After setting up camp, the first order of business was to climb the high point above camp and get oriented.
When I sent our “Camped here for the night” InReach message, I commented to the Lady, “We are going to get a message back from the Sagebrush Reconnoiterer. He pays attention to where we are and he knows Greenwater.”
Dave, the Sagebrush Reconnoiterer, is a historian and writer. He’s done extensive research and helped numerous other authors with their projects and getting out to rugged areas for site visits. He also had one of the first 4x4 and backcountry road guides for the eastern Sierra and Great Basin on the Internet. To round that all off, he’s a great guy.
It was only a few minutes before the InReach device chirped with an incoming message.
“You are a short distance west of the Greenwater cemetery. It’s in the 190 right turn downhill from you. In ‘02 it took sharp eyes to see anything.”
“We have to go find the cemetery!” the Lady was more than insistent.
“It will be near dark when we get there,” I pointed out. “We can go in the morning.”
“Oh, we’ll go in the morning too but we’re finding it tonight.”
I added, “You are not afraid of ghosts, poking around an old cemetery at night? The moon is nearly full.”
“Of course not. There are only happy ghosts around here.”
It was a nice evening walk but not a very successful search.
The morning was much better.
We returned to the cemetery. Except that it’s location was confirmed by our 7.5 USGS topo map, we found no real evidence on the ground that indicated this was an old cemetery.
We asked Dave what he’d found –
“Looking at my notes, I see that I found some depressions, mounds and one large stone setting in the fashion as a headstone, about 1/2 size as typical headstone.”
He also mentioned that badgers seem to congregate at old cemetery sites. If badger holes were a clue, we hit pay dirt. There were lots of badger holes.
Thanks Sagebrush Reconnoiterer for the history lesson and fun!
The Lady still had coffee in her mug and there was a nearby high point. Our morning walk continued.
We also found wildflowers
Frémont's phacelia (Phacelia fremontii)
Bristly Fiddleneck (Amsinckia tessellata)
Our plan this today was to hike down Greenwater Canyon. The old road to reach Greenwater Townsite back in the early 1900’s followed the wash up the canyon. It was closed decades ago and very little evidence of a road remains.
Water sculpted rock is fun to find in one of the driest places on earth.
We continued down canyon. Its character seemed to change around every bend.
Greenwater Canyon is also a haunted place, a place of sanctuary and ghosts. It the early 1860’s U.S. soldiers from Fort Independence in the Owens Valley rounded up the native population and force marched them across the Mojave Desert to the Fort Tejon area north of Los Angeles. Some managed to avoid capture and took refuge here. Looking back now it is hard to fathom the cruelty and heartbreak.
We explored a few nooks and crannies that caught our eye.
This steep side canyon had tinajas (or tanks) that held water from the recent rains.
The weather was changing. A front was approaching. A strong wind was blowing down canyon as we turned around and hiked back, directly into the wind. We could barely talk with each other. This was a nice 14 mile round trip hike. It was late afternoon when we reached the truck so we decided to return to our spot near the cemetery. As the Lady said, they were all happy ghosts up there.
The wind rocked the camper all night long. Sleep was fitful. We still had breakfast outside the next morning, using the truck as a windbreak. It was Saturday morning and time to head toward home, especially since the Tub Whisperer had scored once again. Wind and a bit of rain as we headed north on 395. We picked up a mule kick sandwich in Bishop to share as a simple dinner at the restorative healing waters.
Storm was building that assured an interesting drive home the next day with snow and wind. But this last night of our trip, we relaxed, soaked away all our cares, and took in the amazing views.
