Trip Date: March 20, 2019
Find this SpotThis was the 3rd consecutive year we would venture into the Mojave. Bob and I had explored quite a bit the first trip and I was able to connect the dots to some of the places I had seen decades earlier when Ingrid, Gabe, and the kids celebrated, or “survived”, New Year’s Eve at Afton Canyon. I know we came to see the Mitchell Caverns, the Kelso Depot, even though it was all fenced off and nearly in ruins before being transformed into the Park Visitor Center, to the Lava Tube, and some of the big red cinder cones in the area.
Bob and I camped near the Lava Tube and cinder cones and explored the North West area of the Preserve, revisiting the Lava Tube, the newly remodeled Visitor Center, the Dunes, and heading North to Tecopa for a couple outstanding hot spring soaks. We had a beverage at Amargosa River on the edge of the Dumont Dunes and Silurian Valley.
The following year, Bob, Steve, Bill, and I spent much of our time in the SouthEast corner of the Preserve; seeing much more of the Mojave Road and the springs scattered along the trail, Hole-in-the-Wall, Mid-Hills, and Fort Piute. We had an outstanding trip, but knew there was so much more to see. This trip we were headed for the New York Mountains as a base to explore that Northeast corner of the park. The elevation up there is around 5,000 feet, so we deferred this trip until March to have a little warmer temps. What do we know.
Tom has recently retired and moved back to San Luis Obispo, so he was driving alone. We weren’t aware that Steve wasn’t going until the last minute, so Bill and I also ended up driving alone. My son Jordan and his friend David would meet us in a few days, so 5 people; 5 rigs. Oh well. Bill and I ended up leaving right about 6:30 so we eventually saw each other on Highway 99. We stayed with each other the rest of the way and met up with Tommy at the crazy gas station at the Cima Road exit off I-15. We were off to a good start.
Unfortunately, a portion of the Ivanpah Road was washed out, so the more direct route into the New York’s was not available to us. We had to cross over Cedar Canyon/Mojave Road to get across to the lower stretch of Ivanpah, so across we went, one more time through this stretch we had gotten tired of driving the last trip. However, this time offered a very different experience. Although the sky was relatively clear, it must have rained quite a bit very recently as the roads were slick as hell. We were spinning tires, spitting up mud in huge chunks, and spraying the rigs with much muck in an ever more difficult attempt to make progress.
Out of the canyon and out on a flat stretch almost to Rock Spring, the road was slick as ice. Steering was optional and the back of the rig was often near the front. This being the better portion of road, before we got off onto the rough stuff, I figured we had better go to plan B, if only there was one. It was breezy and cold, and although we left early, made good time, met up, and had everything we needed, this was about hour 10 of the trip and we were getting to the time we needed a place to set up camp, have a decent fire and dinner. The options were few.
Once we turned around, Tom made a few exploratory runs down fence-line roads. We were nearly back to the intersection of Black Canyon Road which we often drove last year back to our camp. It led to Mid-Hills campground which at least was a destination. So off we went, searching for side roads along the way. There was one truck camped amidst a huge boulder pile which was a great site, but that was about the only site we saw before the campground. Reluctantly, we pulled into the loop, seeing a few occupied sites, but overall, almost as empty as it has been on our previous trips through. That was to abruptly change.
As we rounded the last loop, the spot we had “lunched” in the past, had a huge “Trump in 2020” flag waiving in the drive alongside a black and white or blue and white version of the American Flag. I just about threw up. What in the fuck is this shit doing in a campground? Does everyone have to shout every fucking belief they have to everyone all the time? Do I need to know that about this guy? Do I deserve to have his politics, his beliefs, his ideas broadcast to me?
Do I need to do the same? Do I need to plant my “FUCK TRUMP” flag in the front of my site? Do I broadcast “Trump and his family and his core are the worst people in history? That they are as disgraceful human beings as have infested our politics in our enitre history. Do I need a billboard to list his racist, hateful, dishonest, cheating, lying, criminal, bankrupt, sell the country to Russia, praise our enemies and screw our allies, use the office to rip off as much as you can and employ your unqualified money monger friends and be the biggest bitch in history on it? No! I keep all that to myself. I am here to camp, to enjoy peace and quiet, to get away from all that crap, not to bring it with me and blast it in everyone else’s face.
What a fucking douche bag!
None the less, we pulled into the site 2 away from him and got out to reconnoiter. It wasn’t far enough away from that dildo, and we needed another site with Jordan and David coming, and it could not be the one next to him. On the other side of the hill, all on its own, was a huge site that had a little white car in it, but no gear at all. Nothing was out and there was no evidence of anyone planning to camp there, but it was late, and we couldn’t sit to wait for someone to appear. Besides, I could easily imagine it was the Trump Fuck trying to reserve the site for later. We could do better. We HAD to do better.
I took another drive around the loop and Bill took another drive around the loop, but we couldn’t find the porthole to the sweet spot, so we wished we could find a great spot without neighbors, with a great view, down an accessible road, with plenty of room, and off we went. Bill stayed behind to keep our space and Tom and I left the campground and headed down Wild Horse Canyon Road in search of options. We hadn’t gone a mile when the truck turned right and up a descent little track we went. We turned left and rose up a steep pitch to arrive at our spot. It was just as we had wished.
We joyously went back to retrieve Bill, who certainly is too kind and strong to have let his viewpoints be known to Mr. “MAGA”. We were unpacking and celebrating our find in no time. The breeze was up and it was chilly, but we had plenty of daylight to set up, find tent spots, and get situated for the night. A fire lit, Billy at the helm of some outrageous beef stroganoff, a celebratory beverage, peace, calm, privacy, and the night was absolutely complete. The night was cold, but I was prepared. I had just come back from our property where my brother Mike and I had camped in the low 20’s. Bob and Steve joined us for the second night, but they didn’t warm it up much. Perhaps I was overconfident since these temps were only getting into the high 30’s.
But it is a dry cold. It is very true. The dryness of the Great Basin, desert, hi desert makes the cold temperatures much more tolerable. I tell the story of looking at the lake house with Mike and it was 37 degrees, but we were in T-shirts. I recall being in Missoula and the extreme low temperatures during the winter, and it just wasn’t that bad. Not nearly as bone chilling cold as a foggy, 55 degree night in San Francisco in my youth. However, these desert nights had a lot of moisture to them, so the temperatures more closely matched the expected discomfort. The breeze quickly and efficiently whisked away any available warmth near our bodies.
I woke up in the middle of the night to re-organize my bedding, change into clean clothes, and add a blanket. My big learn on this trip is that even though your clothes/socks may be reasonably clean and feel dry, even if warmed by the open fire before going to bed, they seem to retain enough moisture that cools at night and keeps my feet cold. Cold feet, cold knees, ass, hips, etc. The rest of the nights I changed into clean clothes when I went to bed and slept like a drunken baby. It was awesome. Plus, in the cold morning, you are already dressed for the day so that step can be skipped.
The morning wasn’t bad. A breeze, but only slight overcast; sun, fire, coffee. We needed to gather some wood from our fire ravaged surroundings to make sure my 2 barrels lasted the entire trip. Morning fires would be necessary, and possibly afternoon, evening, and late fires as well. We knew this was forboten, so we gathered and somewhat discretely piled the wood on the edge of camp behind trees and shrubbery. It was time to explore.
Tom had seen some campers up the road a bit, but that was all the sign of other humans we had seen or heard. We geared up and headed West, towards a rather prominent nipple. It was difficult to say how far away it was or what lay between us and it, but off we went. Before too long we were blocked by an old barbed wire fence. I studied it rather closely as it reminded me of our property and the fencing that is there, and additional fencing that may be needed. We wandered along the edge until it was no more, bearing a clear path to the top. We were surprisingly energetic and spry, reaching the top without difficulty or extreme pain. It was windy and cold on top, so I settled leeward below the summit for a celebratory beverage and to ogle the barren landscape below.
The wind was bringing dark clouds, flat bottomed rain buckets, virga veils in all directions, incredible light, shadow, blue and black, skies angry and comforting. It was quite a skirmish that seemed to encircle our position, but the nipple parted the clouds and kept our path back and our camp clear. I lingered on the rise for a bit after Tom and Bill headed back. It was glorious to watch the clouds and the moisture and the light and the dark and feel the cold but not be affected by it. Eventually I let go of the nipple and headed to a boulder field below, one that we could see from camp. On the way up, we noticed a balancing rock alongside a flat lounge shaped one I was wanting to lay down on.
I picked my way through the beach ball sized field and into the larger VW bug sized boulders and on through to the full sized pick-up rocks that seemed to line the edge of the hill. There was a dead Juniper that had perfectly formed in front of, and below, the large balancing rock, growing in a horizontal form, blocking access to getting up into the cave that had been formed. It turned out the balancing rock was not at all, as we were looking at the front edge of a massive boulder reaching far down the hill and only partially resting on the flat stone below. I carefully scrambled around the sharp pointy branch tips of the Juniper sculpture and hopped up onto the flat bed. Unfortunately, its surface was very rough and pointy, as if the City had put sharp points on the park bench to prevent the homeless from sitting. I laid down nonetheless and stared up at the speeding sky. There was so much motion, it almost made me dizzy. I sat up to partake of my last beverage.
The wind prevented it from being silent, although there were no branches or leaves for the wind to play on. The sound was enjoyable. I strolled aimlessly back towards camp, until cresting a small rise to take a bearing, I realized I wasn’t headed towards camp at all, but rather down the hill to the North. A slight course change brought me to our rigs, the fire, cocktails, and heavier clothes. Tom made these awesome marinated chicken tacos with chunks of vegetables and a delicious yogurt-like dressing, like a Tzatziki sauce and some shawarma rice. What a great meal. We had a fairly large fire as Bill voided our discretion protocol and began hauling large trees right into camp. It was our duty to burn all trace.
As we sat around the fire, the breeze died down and the cold was far more tolerable. We ventured away from the fire out to the outer ring of camp overlooking the bizarre stark landscape. We toasted the moment as it started to snow. What a freakin trip. It was coming in horizontal, but not on a wind we could feel; one from far far away that still pushed the large dry flakes into our faces. It only lasted a moment, but what a cool moment we shared. Time to get back to the fire and warm up my feets.
I changed into my SpongeBob bed clothes and slept extremely well. I awoke fresh as a daisy and excited to meet up with Jordan. We had agreed to meet at 11:00 in Cima, or really at the intersection of Cima Road, Cima-Kelso Road, and Morningstar Mine Road, as Cima isn’t really a community any more. After delicious coffee and fire, we headed out about 10:00 and found that, with the sun and the wind, the roads had dried out really well, so not knowing what kind of vehicles Jordan or David were driving, I was confident they would make it into camp. We got to the intersection and there was a huge guy standing next to a brand new Tacoma. I gave him a long look as I pulled up near him. Thank god it was David.
He looked great. Huge, trim, fit, handsome as ever with that great smile and laugh. It was great to see him looking so good and his brand new, crew cab, 4WD Tacoma was a very welcome sight as well. We greeted each other and drove to another pull-out nearer the intersection of the road I thought Jordan would come in on. I had reception, so I called AChristen with my new Verizon phone and was talking to her, when at 11:00 exactly, the boy arrived. Miracle of miracles; at the appointed spot at the appointed time. I was stoked. Although Jordan was driving his Honda Civic, I still was relatively confident he would make it in. At least we only had one rig to worry about.
We decided to see some sites since we were out on the pavement. This area was new to Tom and David, and Jordan didn’t recall much since it was probably 25 years ago and he was 4. We dropped into Kelso to check out the Visitor Center and leave my truck in the parking lot while we went on another 10 or so miles to the Dunes. Jordan and David were talking and joking and laughing like crazy. It was so much fun to be the observer in the back seat just listening and enjoying the reconnection of their friendship. David certainly is an aggressive guy, having been an Army Ranger in Afghanistan, MMA fighter, and current boxer, and his driving reflected his personality quite well. We flew past the parking lot with tourists and hiker and explorers all about. We were down the road a piece before I asked if Tom was still following us, which of course, we had lost him some time back. We returned to the parking lot as Tom came in. They were anxious to tell me that in all the excitement, I had left my truck door wide open, jumping in David’s new rig to enjoy the ride. Thankfully, they noticed and backed me up. Fortunately, I did have the key.
The Dunes parking lot was chaos, so it was easy to agree to head back down the road to just pull over and go from there. As if by design, we came to a side road leading along the West edge of the dunes, which remarkably came to a nice group of trees and a sizable campground. There were no signs, and nothing indicating its existence on the map, but here it was. A great place to remember.
We pulled over to unload ice chests and enjoy a celebratory beverage. It was fantastic to be altogether. It was soon evident that no one planned to journey onto the dunes, so we packed up and headed back up the hill. Everything was present in my truck, and we zipped back up the pavement to our turn off. I followed Jordan in to make sure he could handle to road. He did great; not a nick, scratch or piece of trim missing. He made it all the way in to camp without incident. It was great to be back in camp after a great day, with Jordan and David. It was time to celebrate.
Jordan and David set up their tents and organized their stuff. Jordan didn’t have an ice chest so all his meat and fish were just in the trunk in the grocery bags. We got everything situated on ice and were in good shape by late afternoon. Jordan pulled out a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon that I don’t think left his hand for 8 hours. We had shots and then he and David struck out West, with nothing but the bottle in hand. Tom, Bill, and I ventured up the road to see if there were still people camped and to check out the end of the road. We could see the boys on top of the nipple, 2 silhouettes’ against the distant sky.
We ventured beyond the end of the road to the base of the most prominent rock formation and sat in the sun, out of the breeze as much as possible. We could hear the boys’ voices from out across the boulder field, but we couldn’t see them. It was time to return to camp, but I lingered behind Tom and Bill, sure that I would eventually see them pop out from behind a rock or rise above a hill below. I kept hearing their voices, just a word or two and certainly each explosive burst of laughter, but I never saw them. I cut down off the road to a route I thought they might take back to camp, but we didn’t intersect. I got to the fire and reheating my root/pork roast brew.
The boys returned, bottle in hand, happy to have explored and burned some energy. It was great to see them together, joking, laughing, talking nonsense. I should have checked the moisture level in the pot before I added a beer because I think too much liquid boiled the meat and dried it out. The taste was good, but it was nowhere as juicy and tender as when I took it off the grill at home. The quantity was perfect and we filled up on a good, hot meal. The bottle rarely left Jordan, but for the occasional pass around. I couldn’t help but worry about him, but….I just went to bed.
The morning was the nicest yet. My tent caught the early sun and it was perfectly calm and warm. I unzipped my fly and pulled it wide open and just laid in bed, watching the light and shadows, and smelling the fresh, clean desert air. Suddenly a roar came up from my stomach and I had to race to camp, gather my gear, and race down the road for a massive pooper. The digging was grand and the evacuation even grander. Life was good. All systems operational. Bill had coffee and fire going. All had survived. A great day lay in front of us. What to do? What to do?
We decided to head towards the New York’s and see how far we could get. It was pretty incredible how quickly and significantly the roads had improved since we had tried to drive through here just 2 days ago. Our hopes were high, that even though we hadn’t been able to camp where we intended, we could at least get back in there and see what it was like. We made it easily past where we turned around, past Rock Springs, and finally turned on the well-marked New York Mountains Road. We passed a couple large solar panels on a commercial set-up, portending of a significant homestead or ranching operation behind the gates. We stopped in a bit for a celebratory beverage and to soak in the warm, open sky. All signs were good.
We dropped into a large arroyo, then some rough road, and up the other side. I could recall the images from Googly that we were getting close to the final leg up into Caruthers Canyon where the numerous dispersed camp sites were, but my excitement got the better of me, not remembering to try all the side roads and investigate potential future sites, but rather scurrying down the road to find the end. We did find the end of the road, unlike in past trips, and we debarked to see what was about us. We were way up inside Caruthers, surrounded on the floor by dense clumps of cacti and boulder strewn hillsides all the way up to the higher peaks at near 7500’. This was quite a place.
The boys of course were anxious to explore and the elder folks were quite content not to. Jordan and David loaded up smoked salmon, cheese and crackers, plenty of liquid, and headed up. I repositioned the truck in partial sun/shade, put on some tunes, and pulled out the ice chests for lounging. Bill, Tom, and I had a great time just chatting, and peeing, and wondering where the boys were. It was great fun for a while, but I was getting a tad anxious to see a few more sites on our way back, and get back in plenty of time for our final night. We left a note on the windshield and headed back, stopping at a small pit I had seen on Googly and gathering a few fine specimens.
I couldn’t help but turning left at a spot I remembered from the map and drove down a mile or so past a couple decent camp spots and what Tom thought was a half buried body. We came back to the main road and crossed over heading back into a spectacular site, large, flat, massive boulder formations to scramble upon, large trees for shade, just a great spot I would love to come back to with 30 or so people to all camp together with kids, and parents, family and friends. It would be a grand venture. We hopped up and down the various boulder fields, took in the sights, smelled the air, and warmed in the sun. This was a must return to spot.
We heard some great tunes on the way back and actually passed one car; our only for the day. With Ivanpah Road closed for the foreseeable future, this far NE corner of the park will become even more remote. We drove up to the rock cabin at Rock Spring so the boys could see. It was great to have all the memories come back as we faced into the breeze and faced back towards where we had left the boys. It was time the make the last run down Cedar Canyon, Black Canyon, and into camp, where cocktails, fire, and dinner awaited.
I was very happy to see David and Jordan pull into camp not long after us. Since Steve didn’t come on the trip, Jordan and David were filling in for dinner, so there was plenty of preparing and cooking to do. They provided a feast of Salmon, Catfish, skirt steak, and sausage. I barely remember eating the steak, which was excellent, and pulling a sausage off the grill at some point. Tommy out did himself with cocktails and the sunset was one for the ages. It was a magical night with my son, and friends; the days exploits, the music, the weather, the sunset, the sky show. A fitting end to an awesome trip.
I slept extremely well for the 3rd night in a row, among the best camping sleep I have had on a trip. I was happy that Jordan said he slept well as the nights were definitely cold. He had a real good bag we have had since the kids were small and my regular bag until it recently become a pillow prop when the zipper broke. Jordan also was in our old family tent, some 25 years old. I knew it was becoming frail and weak, and finally the zipper gave out, so we took it down and stuffed it for the last time. I saved the rain fly, but this was her last trip for us. We had coffee and mellowed around the fire a bit. Tom headed out first, leaving us to gather the final remnants of our 4 night home. As we got in the rigs, it was 10:00, exactly the time I had hoped to shove off.
Since the roads had dried out so well, I wasn’t concerned about Jordan getting out, but still, he had to be careful not to lose any body parts to the sharp dips and rises. Again, he did a great job. As we drifted along so slowly behind him, I told Bill I would stop to hunt a few specimens and pulled alongside a significant wash that had brought down a tremendous array of colors and sizes, and shapes. It was nice to get out one more time in the quiet and take it all in. I hadn’t gotten far down the road when we all caught up again and Jordan pulled over, noticing I had been gone for a while. With the “all good”, we headed down to the pavement for a final goodbye.
As David and Jordan chatted, Bill surprised me with quite a sizeable flat, triangular, piece of this white chalky rock I had gathered similar pieces of in the ravine. It was a sweet piece and I was grateful to have it. We said our goodbyes and headed up towards Cima. I was pulling over to check connectivity to call Kristen, when I noticed all the rail lines and a few interesting cars I had noticed on the way in. I got out to scout and gather a few train souvenirs, when David pulled up to say thank you and goodbye. It was a great trip with him. Just a few moments after David had left, Jordan pulled up and I showed him my booty. We ended up talking there for an hour or so and it was hard to leave him. We had a really good time.
My last few experiences with I-15 into Barstow have been horrific and this was no exception. Fortunately, I have learned to take Old 58, which seems to break off 15 just as it gets backed up. It skirts the North side of town and rejoins a newly constructed portion of 58 West of town. It is a great cutoff, but it just brings you to the hellacious shit show of the intersection of Highways58 and 395 faster. What a freakin joke. If anyone wanted to see the worst of California traffic, this would be a contender. Out in the middle of nowhere, no towns or communities anywhere. Two relatively low traffic roads come together in the middle of the desert with a stoplight. Like the scene in “Blazing Saddles”, traffic backs up for miles with no alternative, no choice but to stay in the shit for hours. Just a mess.
Once through the intersection, you want to just rage, but instead I had to look for gas in Mojave. Another freak show of a desert situation. The homeless/street people wondering the streets look like they need much help, unlike some of our folks that look like they are doing OK. I was starving and mowed through my large Maccadonado’s in great haste. My usual post stomach ache lasted much longer and just about carried me home. I was happy to be full and gassed up for the last time. On the back side of Tehachapi, I was amazed to see the narrow and unlikely gap the trucker made it through between the concrete overpass support and the overpass itself on our last trip over. He lost control maybe 100’ in front of us and bounced off the center divider and then ricocheted across all the lanes again to exit the road and find his way through this opening. It definitely saved his life, by the slimmest of margins.
I was happy not to have any such experiences on this run, although it was almost midnight by the time I got home. Just a great time with my son in some incredible country.
Find this Spot
Mojave National Preserve II Photo Gallery
