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The Fall
After a week back home and with chores completed, it was again time to
leave. Our first overnight was at a hidden away campsite we enjoy deep in
the Volcanic Tablelands. The next morning, we were off on a search for yet another
rock art site.
Our destination was 1.5 miles cross country from where
we parked the truck. Although this area appears flat, it is bisected by long
cliff bands of Bishop Tuff.
It was a cold, beautiful winter morning. Storm clouds
shrouded the soaring wall of the Sierra Nevada to the west. I followed the Lady
down a cleft in a cliff band. Suddenly I was falling to my left.
It was instant. I had no idea of the cause but suspected a rock rolled
underfoot. I looked where I would land and pulled my left arm quickly into my
side. I do not break arms by sticking one out to break a fall. I hit on my arm
and left side on a downward sloping pile of rubble. My left ankle dropped in
between rocks. Rabbit brush hid the fall from the Lady’s view, but she knew I
went down.
“Are you okay?” she called as she hurried back up to me.
“I don’t know yet. I am doing inventory.”
“Well, you’re alive and have an open airway. You are
talking.”
“Yup. No head injuries. I took the fall on my left side, arm
and ribs. My left ankle has rock rash but nothing broke. Left arm is probably
deeply bruised. Ribs are intact.”
The Lady helped me get upright. At the base of the cliff, I
pulled my sock off and exposed the ankle. Abrasion was the only visible
damage. There was no swelling but I expected the bone was bruised. I was covered
with dry bits of rabbit brush.
“You know,” the Lady offered as she brushed me off. “At our
age we really need to watch falling.”
“Well then,’ I replied, “I’m damn glad we are not ‘our age’
because that fall could have killed me if we were.”
“After we get back to the truck and you sit for a while, I
bet you get really stoved up,” the Lady observed.
“’I’m so looking forward to that, thank you very much. Good
thing we’ve got a tub at Benton for tonight.”
The tub whisperer had scored once again.
“Well,” the Lady continued. “We better get going and keep
moving so you don’t get stoved up out here.”
We continued on and searched cliff bands for petroglyphs.
We found the three panels and more.
The storm was moving toward us as we worked our way back to
the truck. Wind and cold cut into our faces.
We stopped in Bishop for supplies. As I exited our truck, I
noticed the left sleeve of my Pendleton wool shirt was glued to the back of my
arm. I suspected it was blood and told the Lady as I carefully pulled my shirt off. The Lady grabbed the shirt, turned the sleeve inside out, picked up
her water bottle, and said, “This blood should come out with cold water.” As she
started to work, I added, “How ’bout we look at my arm first and get it cleaned
and bandaged?”
“Oh, yeah, we probably should look at that first,” she
agreed. “Get your first aid kit from your pack.”
It was minor and was easily bandaged. Ramifications from the
fall would plague me the rest of this trip.
The next morning, we drove over Westgard Pass to highway 95, turned
south and returned to the Nevada Triangle of Death Valley National Park. On our
last trip the issue with the loose stabilizer bar link cut our explorations
short. We arrived at the Strozzi Ranch site in the late afternoon. We set up camp at road’s end along the
line of old apple trees. The
temperature was 32°.
The big sage and rabbitbrush was chest high and nearly
impenetrable. This hindered our explorations to staying on the roads. We walked
down to the old ranch buildings dating from the first half of the 20th
century.
There was a collapsed rock building that possibly dates
earlier.
The temperature, with the sunset, plummeted but we kept
moving and exploring. Up another canyon we found a possible shelter site that
had been turned into a primitive corral.
We continued up this side canyon to the end of the road and turned around and returned to our camper. The temperature had dropped to
23°.
It was a quiet cold night. We slept like death. On our
morning wander with deliciously hot coffee, I made the comment that we did not
have to stay in this cold, we could go somewhere warmer. “Warmer” felt like a
much much better decision.
We had camping reservations for two nights – January 1st
and 2nd – at our favorite campsite in Atlatl Campground in Nevada’s
Valley of Fire State Park. For the night of News Years Eve, we returned to Buffington Pockets and arrived late afternoon.
After a night blessedly alone out here, we wandered at
dawn the following morning through the amazing sandstone.
We completed a loop and returned to the truck but the Lady
wanted to keep going.
We climbed down into a deep gully.
After exiting the gully, the Lady climbed up to a possible shelter site.
This site was immediately above the road. The Lady reported,
if there once were pictographs, they were now covered by recent spray can graffiti.
Unfortunately, this area is close to the urban sprawl of Las Vegas.
After breakfast we started on a quick hike to the top of the
prominent peak capped with dark limestone in the upper right of the photo below. Because my left ankle still hurt from the fall, we wore our light hikers as it was
too painful to lace up my high-top boots.
The sandstone colors and patterns were incredible.
Since the fall, everyday brought a new pain, often in places
I believed had to be unrelated to the hit. Today, on this hike, my right thigh
wanted to seize up. Why my right side? I hit on the left side. “I’m not
surprised at all,” the Lady counseled, “You fell hard and twisted all over. You
should hurt bad and be happy you’re not dead.”
“I’m happy I’m not dead every day. Nothing to do with
falling. I’m told there’s a lot you can’t do after you’re dead.”
It would be best to turn around and we did.
Taking a different route back we discovered surprising obstacles
we needed to get around such as this impressive gorge.
The Lady put her seek app to work with plant identification.
Coyote Brush (Baccharis pilularis)
“I can see our house from here!” I Lady announced.
We worked out a route.
Although it was a much more roundabout route back, it was lots
of fun. We discovered a partially buried fossilized alien head.
And more spectacular Aztec sandstone.
We were packed up by late morning and began our drive out
enroute to Valley of Fire. This was our first time entering the state park
through the west entrance, the direct route from Las Vegas. Yes, it was New
Years Day but crawling along in stop and go traffic for well over an hour, we
thought, was excessive. But people watching was pure bliss. “These are not real
people,” the lady remarked. “They are all cartoon people.” A funny, repeated occurrence
was when the CXT restroom at the entrance gate came into view. Vehicle doors
flew open and people – wearing entirely inappropriate footwear – would make a
run for it. Most looked like they had never run before in their lives. “And they’re
off!” I’d cry in my best horse race announcer voice, looking in the rearview
mirrors and seeing doors fly open. They all passed our truck on the way to relief. Hell, we were in Nevada. Why not sport
betting on all the races we watched?
“Well, you two are the only people laughing when driving up
to the booth today,” the young man at the entrance station told us. We filled him in on all our observations and asked how his
day was going with the crowds and if people were remaining polite with him. He
thanked us for the small bit of sanity we brought to his day.
We settled into our campsite amid the soaring red sandstone
walls.
Although we were staying in a campground, as much as possible
we walked away in search of peace and quiet.
Peace and quiet was not an option at the campground. Half the
campground has sites with hook ups for RV’s – water and electricity. They cost a
bit more for these conveniences. Mr. & Mrs. Bubba had their trailer set up
in a non-hook up site. No need to pay extra for quiet power, they had their
generator. And Bubba, being Bubba, had gone big and purchased the largest
yellow generator he could buy at the big box. Bubba placed it up against the sandstone wall
as far as the big cord would reach. It roared constantly whenever the Bubbas were
in camp except during quiet hours when generators are prohibited from 10 pm to
6 am. The Bubbas watched their clocks and complied with the rules. Other
campers were, understandably, angry about the noise and stink. We suspect the poor camp host was getting an ear full. We heard rumors
about setting up a “go fund me” for a new spark plug. Bubba rode his generator
hard and put it away wet. Some suggested paying for a hook up site for the
Bubbas, but no way would Bubba move to a high-priced campsite he didn’t need.
We returned from our night walk well away from the campground
and made a wide arc around the Bubbas. But, as we neared our campsite,
generator noise increased. Strange, foreign noises also increased along with flickering moving light that reflected off the sandstone walls. What in the world was
going on? A large motorhome was backed into the non-hook up site across
from us. Their loud onboard generator was operating at full rpm’s. A back panel
was open on the rear side of the RV revealing a huge large screen television
screen for outside viewing. It was on and the sound was up to full volume so it
could be heard over the generator on the opposite side. It was too cold for the
viewers to sit so they stood, ran in place to warm up, and shouted at each
other over the noise.
I don’t remember much about sleeping that night but I do
remember Julie closing the opaque window flaps on the TV side of our tiny
camper. We woke the next morning before the 6 am alarm went off down at Bubbas.
Our favorite campsite has a secret back door, a slot canyon exit and entrance.
Coffee was ready. We escaped.
We walked around Arch Rock and then returned via the main
road and stopped at the Atlatl Rock petroglyphs. We were completely alone out
here.
The sun was fully up when we returned to camp for breakfast
and to get ready for a long hike that would take us away to a place of solitude in this very
busy state park.
Our adventure continues. Please click here for Part Two.
