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TO NEVADA, WITH BEN
(AND CHRIS, DON, ETC)




May 28th - June 1st, 2004

Four nights of car-camping in northern Nevada, in and around the Black Rock Desert. We hit the dirt just north of Lake Winnemucca, and didn't come out for four days.

On the way to Nevada, we stopped in the mountains near Donner Pass for a little mushroom hunting. It had rained the previous day, and this burned area seemed to present a good 'shroom hunting opportunity. Ben is something of an expert, and it was his birthday. (This trip was my present to him.)

It can be hard to leave the beautiful green High Sierra, and head down to the brown Nevada desert.

Cruising through the Pyramid Lake Indian Reservation. Fifteen minutes later, we'd leave the pavement and hit the dirt, not to return again for four days.

That's some very un-desert-like fog clinging to the top of Juniper Mountain. It rained a little the first night, keeping things interesting once we made camp.

Morning of Day 2, with Kurniva Dry Lake about ten miles away. We camped next to an excellent little outcropping of granite (the beginning of which is visible at right), near the foot of Mt. Kurniva.

Sailing Lake Kurniva. Ben must be checking the water's depth.

Black Mountain, above Kurniva Dry Lake. And me, and my car.

Playing a little Playa golf. I spray-painted the golf balls black, which really helped. We still managed to lose a ball, and drove around in ever-wider circles to find it.

Heading north for the Black Rock Desert (dry lake), just visible in the distance to the left of Sleeping Elephant Mountain. It was about 50 miles from our Night 1 camp to the Black Rock, via dirt roads.

Putting the car through its' paces, near Bordello Hot Springs. It's amazing what you can do with a small car, if you're not afraid to use (and abuse) it. Poor little thing!

Nights 2 and 3 were spent at camp, with Chris and Don and about ten other swell guys and gals. We BBQ'd, played guitars, sat by the fire, and above all, drank beer. Lots of beer. Etc.

Actually, while everybody else chooses to sleep in camp, I leave every night (when the party ends at 12:00 or 1:00 or 2:00) and head down-playa to find a private place to camp, like the one above. I guess I'm just a private kind of guy. On previous expeditions I've noticed that, when really drunk, it's easier to drive than to walk. As long as I can stagger to the car, it's no problem to drive a mile or two across the salt flats, and find a place to pass out. Pretty cool. (I remember one time, I really was too drunk to drive, and barely made it to the back seat of the car. Fortunately, the desert is a great place to throw up -- it dries up instantly, and doesn't smell at all!)

On Day 3, we went on a shooting expedition to the dump near Bordello Hot Springs. Here's Ben, studying Don's technique. Learn from the masters.

Ben gives it a go.

Jim and his wife, exercising their 2nd Amendment rights. $5000 worth of them.

"The family that plays together, stays together."

I think Jeff prefers finesse to brute force.

On the way back to camp, we literally ran over this little guy. Fortunately, I seem to have missed him with my car's tires.

Ben says that rattlesnakes can only strike as far as their body length. It's a little hard to see, but that rattler is coiled and ready to go, and he's pissed -- he was rattling up a storm. Experienced desert travelers know that, when trying to piss off a rattlesnake, you should use a really long stick.

On Day 4, we said goodbye to the remaining party members, and headed to Trego Hot Ditch for (another) dip. Freight trains run frequently next to those telephone poles, and it's customary for female bathers to wave to the Engineers. I don't think Ben and I fit that particular bill.

Contrary to popular belief, those aren't rare and endangered Black Rock Sphincter Fish swimming near me, at least, not so far as I know. (And ignorance really is bliss.) But I really should have left my glasses on -- I'm blessed with an almost magical ability to shut my eyes when the camera is triggered, despite being unable to see or hear the actual event. Very strange, not very wonderful.

Afternoon of Day 4. We had driven back the way we came, via the dirt, taking a "shortcut" (hah hah) past Cowles Ranch, the only residence in this entire valley. That's the ranch to Ben's left. The cattle were spread throughout the 300+ square miles of the valley.

That's Ben on top of the rock outcropping. This area, on the northern shoulder of Mt. Kurniva, is extraordinarily beautiful, and verdant by Nevada standards. We spent several hours hiking amongst the granite peaks, getting back to the car so late (7:00ish) that we decided to stay a fourth night.

Yet Another Stunning Vista. Actually, this is the same vista as the one shown two frames above. That night, we ended up staying awake til 3:00AM. (The latest night of the trip, but just barely.) It seems that my friend James had stashed a 12-pack of malt liquor in my car that morning, and we payed the price, into the wee hours. When Ben awoke the next morning, his first words were, "Fucking James!" But then, I guess that's what friends are for.