Seanholio
Don Quixote
A month ago, my buddy Allen asked me if I was interested in doing some 4x4'ing in Death Valley. For those not familiar, 4x4 high-clearance vehicles are necessary to see some parts of the park, and generally make it easier to see the others. A plan was formed, ambitious as it was, and we were off. I drove down on Saturday night (Nov 17), and he was to drive up Sunday with his friend Sarah, who was visiting from New York for her second-ever camping trip and first-ever OHV trip.
Saturday was a long, relatively boring drive from the San Francisco Bay Area to Death Valley. I kept my speed reasonable, since I did not want to attract undue attention from any representatives of the constabulary. Rolling in to Panamint Sprints "Resort"* around 8pm, I found that the campsites were poorly-numbered, and after erecting my tent, I was asked to move because I was in the wrong spot. So I moved. I started some charcoal in the firepit and made a foil dinner, which was not as tasty as I remember from Boy Scouts, so next time I need to remember better seasoning!
Sunday morning was cool and crisp, so I drove into Lone Pine to purchase a fuel bottle, as I was unable to find the one for my stove. I had a long and entertaining conversation with the proprietor of the only open sporting goods store in the town. If you happen to be interested in climbing Mt. Whitney, I would strongly recommend you visit this store if you need any equipment. The guy was nice, although I've forgotten his name (I'm terrible that way). After returning to camp, I pull out the fuel, only to find my fuel bottel hidden under my poncho. Dangit! That was a lot of fuel and money just to duplicate something already in my camp box, not to mention the time it cost me.
From there, I decided to go up above Darwin Falls to see what 4x4ing I could do solo, in the relative safety of being close to a major road. If anything went wrong, I could walk back and seek help. I had a good time, found an old mine and works, with associated foundations for housing and tons of old tin cans laying around. Returning to camp, I whipped up another foil dinner, set up a campfire, and waited for Allen to arrive. He was expecting to get there between 9 and 10pm. He arrived at 11:30pm. I helped him get set up for sleeping, and then we all retired to bed.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast and some hot tea, we got underway to see some of the sights with Allen's family, as they were in street-bound vehicles. We parted ways in the afternoon, making our way down to Warm Springs Canyon, where our first OHV adventure was to begin. It was already dark when we hit the bottom of the canyon, but pressed on. A minor technical section of trail was somewhat challenging, but we made it through with no troubles.
The night was spent at the old Geologist's Cabin, but we slept outside since the dirt was preferable to a concrete floor. Tuesday, we drove over Mengle Pass, and down to the Barker Ranch, where Charles Manson and his "family" made their last stand while fleeing the police. Passing out of the park, we stopped at Ballarat, where we grabbed a quick refreshment and then drove on to Hunter Mountain Road. The drive up was uneventful, and as we exited our vehicles, we commented on how cold it was. We doublechecked the map, and found that we were camping at 7000 feet. No wonder it was so cold. An evening was spent huddled around a campfire, consuming hot beverages, hot food, and putting on every ounce of clothing we possessed.
We bedded down, and shivered our way through the night.
If the story to now has been somewhat boring, this is the part you should read: At approximately 5:30am, it was still dark out, and I was asleep. I was awoken by something briefly touching my forehead. I was still fuzzy in the head, wondering if I had dreamed the touch when it returned, and pressed against my head through the tent wall. I pushed back, as I have done many times with my cats as they seek some affection in the mornings before the alarm goes off. At this point, my adrenal gland dumped 100% of it's lovely brew into my bloodstream, and I called out to my friend Allen to shine a light on my tent. Well, it was more like a little girl screaming, but nothing was to be seen. I yelled out, "Something just put it's paw on my head! I don't want to look!"
When I finally got out of my tent, I saw in the light of my headlamp a 5" diameter feline paw print. I had been awoken by a full-size cougar, which had been curious about the snoring noises coming from the blue tent. I can only guess that my pushing back against it spooked it, Tex Avery style, and it ran off. I spent the remainder of the morning holed up in my truck, trying in vain to sleep. I'm still awestruck by the notion that a mountain lion, easy capable of ending my life, touched me through the tent fabric, and did not decide to dine on me for breakfast.
From here, we drove down to the Racetrack, where rocks move across an alkali dry lake bed under the right circumstances, leaving a trail behind them as proof, and on down the Lippincott Mine Road, which has been described as a hair mountain goat trail to be attempted only by experts. It was not nearly so bad as that, after the efforts of local OHV clubs fixed the washouts. Exiting the park across the valley was tougher than that road, since there were several washes to be crossed which required specific angles of entry and exit to avoid hitting the bottom of the truck on the rocks.
I had a great time. I did not take any smokes, as I did not have a travel cigar case. I've fixed that, picking up an Extreme 10-cigar case while visiting my in-laws in Reno. I must recommend Fumare as an excellent location to purchase and enjoy a smoke. The place smelled a bit too much of stale cigar smoke, but was otherwise a comfortable and friendly establishment. The walk-in humidor was well-stocked and a pleasure for the nose.
Cheers all for reading my long, and probably boring post.
* Resort is a bit of an exaggeration. A campground and a motel with character is about how I would describe it.
Saturday was a long, relatively boring drive from the San Francisco Bay Area to Death Valley. I kept my speed reasonable, since I did not want to attract undue attention from any representatives of the constabulary. Rolling in to Panamint Sprints "Resort"* around 8pm, I found that the campsites were poorly-numbered, and after erecting my tent, I was asked to move because I was in the wrong spot. So I moved. I started some charcoal in the firepit and made a foil dinner, which was not as tasty as I remember from Boy Scouts, so next time I need to remember better seasoning!
Sunday morning was cool and crisp, so I drove into Lone Pine to purchase a fuel bottle, as I was unable to find the one for my stove. I had a long and entertaining conversation with the proprietor of the only open sporting goods store in the town. If you happen to be interested in climbing Mt. Whitney, I would strongly recommend you visit this store if you need any equipment. The guy was nice, although I've forgotten his name (I'm terrible that way). After returning to camp, I pull out the fuel, only to find my fuel bottel hidden under my poncho. Dangit! That was a lot of fuel and money just to duplicate something already in my camp box, not to mention the time it cost me.
From there, I decided to go up above Darwin Falls to see what 4x4ing I could do solo, in the relative safety of being close to a major road. If anything went wrong, I could walk back and seek help. I had a good time, found an old mine and works, with associated foundations for housing and tons of old tin cans laying around. Returning to camp, I whipped up another foil dinner, set up a campfire, and waited for Allen to arrive. He was expecting to get there between 9 and 10pm. He arrived at 11:30pm. I helped him get set up for sleeping, and then we all retired to bed.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast and some hot tea, we got underway to see some of the sights with Allen's family, as they were in street-bound vehicles. We parted ways in the afternoon, making our way down to Warm Springs Canyon, where our first OHV adventure was to begin. It was already dark when we hit the bottom of the canyon, but pressed on. A minor technical section of trail was somewhat challenging, but we made it through with no troubles.
The night was spent at the old Geologist's Cabin, but we slept outside since the dirt was preferable to a concrete floor. Tuesday, we drove over Mengle Pass, and down to the Barker Ranch, where Charles Manson and his "family" made their last stand while fleeing the police. Passing out of the park, we stopped at Ballarat, where we grabbed a quick refreshment and then drove on to Hunter Mountain Road. The drive up was uneventful, and as we exited our vehicles, we commented on how cold it was. We doublechecked the map, and found that we were camping at 7000 feet. No wonder it was so cold. An evening was spent huddled around a campfire, consuming hot beverages, hot food, and putting on every ounce of clothing we possessed.
We bedded down, and shivered our way through the night.
If the story to now has been somewhat boring, this is the part you should read: At approximately 5:30am, it was still dark out, and I was asleep. I was awoken by something briefly touching my forehead. I was still fuzzy in the head, wondering if I had dreamed the touch when it returned, and pressed against my head through the tent wall. I pushed back, as I have done many times with my cats as they seek some affection in the mornings before the alarm goes off. At this point, my adrenal gland dumped 100% of it's lovely brew into my bloodstream, and I called out to my friend Allen to shine a light on my tent. Well, it was more like a little girl screaming, but nothing was to be seen. I yelled out, "Something just put it's paw on my head! I don't want to look!"
When I finally got out of my tent, I saw in the light of my headlamp a 5" diameter feline paw print. I had been awoken by a full-size cougar, which had been curious about the snoring noises coming from the blue tent. I can only guess that my pushing back against it spooked it, Tex Avery style, and it ran off. I spent the remainder of the morning holed up in my truck, trying in vain to sleep. I'm still awestruck by the notion that a mountain lion, easy capable of ending my life, touched me through the tent fabric, and did not decide to dine on me for breakfast.
From here, we drove down to the Racetrack, where rocks move across an alkali dry lake bed under the right circumstances, leaving a trail behind them as proof, and on down the Lippincott Mine Road, which has been described as a hair mountain goat trail to be attempted only by experts. It was not nearly so bad as that, after the efforts of local OHV clubs fixed the washouts. Exiting the park across the valley was tougher than that road, since there were several washes to be crossed which required specific angles of entry and exit to avoid hitting the bottom of the truck on the rocks.
I had a great time. I did not take any smokes, as I did not have a travel cigar case. I've fixed that, picking up an Extreme 10-cigar case while visiting my in-laws in Reno. I must recommend Fumare as an excellent location to purchase and enjoy a smoke. The place smelled a bit too much of stale cigar smoke, but was otherwise a comfortable and friendly establishment. The walk-in humidor was well-stocked and a pleasure for the nose.
Cheers all for reading my long, and probably boring post.
* Resort is a bit of an exaggeration. A campground and a motel with character is about how I would describe it.
