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Virgins
We turned onto Gold Butte Road. For the first several miles, the road parallels the Virgin River. I saw the burst of activity out of the corner of my eye, and I quickly pulled to the side of the road. The rubberlegs pulled in behind us. We all exited our trucks.
“Let’s move back down the road,” I said. “A snake struck a rabbit and both went into the air. I hope it’s a rattler but I think it’s a gopher. They should be back here and I believe the snake still has the rabbit.”
We found the Gopher Snake (Pituophis catenifer deserticola) tightly wrapped around and crushing the rabbit to death.
The snake’s expression definitively said, “It’s mine! It’s mine!”
We did not argue and tried hard not to disturb, taking in this life and death drama on the shoulder of the road.
“We’re not in Disneyland,” Steve parodied a guide they had on a tour boat into ‘gator country in Louisiana. “This is the real world!”
The snake did not give Steve a nod in agreement or a wink of its eye. It was firmly focused on its task. The rabbit stopped struggling and was now obviously dead. The serpent slowly rotated around to the head, and started in on its meal, swallowing its prey.
And that was the demise of the Easter Bunny.
We first visited here in 2012 and that was the start of our love affair with Gold Butte National Monument.
Here are two sources for information -
and
We arrived at Whitney Pocket near lunch time. After eating, we took in the sights here, starting with the C.C.C. Dam.
One of the C.C.C. construction crew members?
The Lady was happy to be back!
We circled the outcrop of Aztec Sandstone, searching for rock art. We found much more.
We needed to get into position to climb Virgin Peak the next day. We’d heard the road was very rough so we started in with, we thought, daylight to spare. We spotted each other’s vehicles through several sections. The Lady walked ahead to reconnoiter.
“This rattler’s huge!” I heard her cry out. “It’s beautiful!”
I met her coming back down the road to get me. “I hope you can see it!” she exclaimed as she led me back. Steve and Deb followed, but the snake had made a quick getaway.
It was dusk when we were settled in camp. It took digging deep in the gravel to level our campers enough to be comfortable. We had made it about a half mile above Cowboy Campsite.
The cold wind bit into all of us the next morning. In the canyon bottom, the warmth of the sun was a long ways off. We climbed out of the canyon and into the sunlight. The views were glorious. Our camp is far down in the junipers, right of center.
Startling displays of flowering cactus welcomed us.
Now up on the southeast ridge of Virgin Peak, the vista opened up to the west - the Virgin River, Lake Mead, the colorful sandstones of Gold Butte and Valley of Fire, and the snow-capped peak of Mt. Charleston beyond.
The route up the ridge was more straightforward than the ascent of Grapevine Peak, but a rough, tangled, rocky, puzzle nonetheless.
Steve and I followed the women up to the summit.
The wind and dust obscured the views, but they were still grand.
It was windy and cold. We stayed low with most of our clothes pulled on. It was still a happy time on top. And with cell service, Deb informed her pen pal of our successful summit bid.
We retraced our route down the ridge.
Here’s where we turned off of the ridge to drop down into the canyon bottom. Our trucks are visible in the shadows - right of center.
The next morning, driving down canyon, we stopped at the Cowboy Campsite with the usual detritus - remains of water troughs, an old vehicle. The flowers stole the show.
We carefully - without body damage this time - spotted our trucks through the rocks.
We stopped at the Virgin Corral.
We climbed the red rock to investigate the remains of the water system.
The flowers continued to awe us.
Our adventure continues as we returned to Whitney Pocket in the upcoming Part Two.
