Scenes from a Desert Road Trip

 

Treasure Hunting

 

“Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting/ So much as just finding the gold”--Robert Service

A few months ago, Debi had a yard sale and, while we got rid of precious little junk, we did get to meet a lot of our neighbors. One of them was a young man who had just moved into his father's house diagonally across the street from us. Immediately he was taken by the amount of rocks scattered all over our yard. It turns out he was a serious rock hound and, after asking to walk around the yard, started asking silly questions like “Where did you find this one?” Our answer was invariably a shrug and the reply, “In the desert somewhere.” He found this lackadaisical attitude towards prospecting maddening.

But it did start off a relationship and he has visited us several times since to talk about our explorations. We have compared notes about what we know about the local area and it soon became apparent that there was one major mystery in the area. We had all heard of Camp Verde blue agate but no one had ever found any or even knew where to find it. Our neighbor said the only reference he could find was the phrase, “in a wash east of Squaw Peak”—a very large area to be to sure. Invariably, our visits would end in the promise we'd go out and look for it some day.

A couple weeks ago, some day arrived and we made arrangements to go out for the day. But first a little research was necessary. Snooping around the forums and reddits, I found multiple mentions of rock hounding in the Camp Verde area. They were all maddeningly vague—even to what they were finding. Rock hounds are cagey when it comes to their “spots”--even going so far as to deliberately mislead and leave red herrings. For good reason. Especially on the internet. How many times have I witnessed a favorite scenic outdoor place overrun and destroyed by YouTube/Twitter/Facebook fame? Who wants their favorite rock area picked clean?

But still there were clues. In the Camp Verde mentions, there seemed to be three predominant geographical references: Brown Springs, Rodeo Flats and the Squaw Peak mine. All three areas are located are located off the same forest service road east of Camp Verde—though all are miles apart. The next clue was a YouTube video of rock hounders finding all sort of groovy blue gate pieces. There as absolutely no mention of the location except for the “Camp Verde area.” For most of the video the camera is pointed directly at the ground so there was little or no geographical landmarks visible. Still, watching it with the neighbor and stopping it quite often—we found one brief glimpse of the background scenery. There we were able to freeze the frame and take a screen shot for reference in the field.

After poring over a topographical map of the area and identifying some likely jeep roads and interesting areas, we were off. It was a beautiful Arizona winter day. Not a cloud in the sky and temps in the 60s. After the gray short days of December and January, it felt great to be headed outside and on an adventure. It had been a long time since I had been out that way. Some of the area I remembered fairly well and others not so much. The drive itself was fun—with the “crew” telling stories of other expeditions and adventures. Finally the road crossed a flat, cow-covered plain which we all agreed had to be Rodeo Flats. Here we found a nasty, overgrown two track that headed up towards the mountains. I felt this was the most likely trail—and since I was driving—we “agreed” this was the best route.

Admittedly, it didn't look promising. The terrain was nothing but gnarly black basalt and catclaw that a huge herd of cattle was grazing down to nothing. The only shiny things on the ground were the fresh glistening cow pies. Still, we had a ways to go to get up into the mountains. It had been a while since we'd been out doing some serious off-roading. I've never really understood the folk that do this strictly for fun. The slow crawl over giant rocks, the bouncing and lurching, and the often treacherous drop offs are a challenge, but I wouldn't exactly call it fun. Usually, I am impatient to get to where I'm going, but on this day, I kind of enjoyed the drive. It was good to know that, where outdoor adventure was concerned, I hadn't lost my nerve.

“Do you have any idea where you're going?” Debi asked.

“Of course not.”

A little later the road narrowed and the drop-offs got higher.

“You're going to get all all killed.”

“She always says that,” I told our passenger.

The road got even rougher.

“I hate this. I'm never going out with you again.”

“She always says that, too.”

I think our neighbor was pretty impressed. Or was wondering what the hell he had gotten into...

As we gained altitude, the views started to look more like the picture we took. Still the rock did not look promising-- still that gray, nasty basalt-- although ridges of it began to emerge from the mountain instead of just the scatted boulders. We came over a pass and alongside the road was a stake signifying a mining claim. Aha! Another clue. We must be close! We drove on past the claim a suitable distance and I found a spot big enough to park the truck. We all tumbled out and, after establishing that we were very, very close to where the video was shot, scattered in different directions.

At first there didn't seem to be much. Some glimmers of quartz here and there but nothing unusual. I took the dog and hiked up the road. It was a lovely day and if we didn't find anything at least I'd get a little exercise. The trail climbed pretty hard and finally dead-ended in a small canyon. I hadn't found anything. On the way back I reasoned that I obviously wasn't going to find anything by staying on the road, so I cut off and climbed a nearby hill. Right away I started finding all sorts of interesting rocks. Grape bubble rock, quartz clusters, and even a few thin layers of, yes, blue agate.

In the end, we all had discovered or own little pockets of treasure and when we met back at the truck we had fun comparing our discoveries. After much ooh and aahing, we piled the rocks in a bucket and stowed them in the truck for the drive home. Of course, the rocks themselves have no monetary value. And we have no idea what to do with them (they will undoubtedly be dumped in the desert yard with countless other remnants of rock hounding adventures), but I think we all knew it wasn't the treasure so much as the challenging game of finding the treasure that was the real prize. Everybody needs adventure and some sort of treasure hunting in their lives whether it's finding Indian ruins, rock hounding, gold prospecting, thrift store browsing, used book store exploring, eBay surfing, mushroom hunting or whatever.

What's yours?

A Drive to Pierce Ferry

 

When I was a kid, one of our family traditions was that of the “Sunday Drive.” Probably once a month in good weather, Mom and Dad would get in the car, stop at a store for a six-pack of beer, a couple of sodas and some snack food and head out. Sometimes the object was to “visit” someone. Sometimes it was just to visit the lake shore. In either case, random back roads were engaged as it it gave an opportunity to slow down and, well, enjoy the beer. Even from a young age I really enjoyed the drives and I continued to participate well into high school when most teens could no longer tolerate their parents. I just enjoyed seeing new things, taking the road less traveled and exploring even in that modest manner. To this day, I still love a good road trip. I am perfectly entertained by just looking out the window and watching the scenery roll by.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I took three days to go to Laughlin, Nevada and visit our son. Laughlin's kind of a unique place. A casino town on the banks of the Colorado River, it has been called the senior citizen Las Vegas or the Redneck Strip. For us, it is a convenient staging area. The hotel rooms are dirt cheap, there are multiple dining options and dive bars within walking distance along a scenic river walk and the place is surrounded by glorious desert and the great river itself. Last time we were there, we explored an old gold mining camp in Eldorado Canyon way out on the remote reaches of Mojave Lake. This time I wanted to go somewhere else I'd never been—Pierce Ferry, considered the end of the Grand Canyon.

Fueled by casino coffee and Cinnabons, we drove out of the river valley through the sharp-toothed peaks and the middle-finger rock that guard the river. Back through Golden Valley--one of those recently common sprawls of housing in the middle of nothing; its existence relying solely on cheap land prices. And back to Hwy 93-- AKA “the Racetrack” from Kingman to Las Vegas. Halfway to Las Vegas, though, we made a right turn at Dolan Springs and into another world.

Dolan Springs was like something not of this country. A ramshackle, almost third world collection of shacks, shanties and haphazard businesses that were built randomly among some of the largest Joshua trees, I've ever seen. Cows wandered through the middle of the “business district.” As we drove down the narrow two lane blacktop through the scenic Joshua tree forest, we were surprised to see so many houses seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Where did these people work? Las Vegas? Were they all snowbird retirees? Doomsday preppers? We passed many water tankers and noticed many of the dwellings had water tanks attached so apparently there was little or no ground water. Where was the water being shipped in from? How much did it cost? So many mysteries there.

We passed to the turnoff to Grand Canyon West—a newly developed resort on Hualapai land. You may have seen pictures of the Skywalk—the Plexiglas balcony hung over the edge of the Grand Canyon. For the lovely price of $66 per person you can walk over the Grand Canyon. No thank you. I have no quarrel with the Indians monetizing their land. I just have no need to subsidize it myself. Now we had the road all to ourselves, passing only one truck loaded down with Grand Canyon rafts headed back up the hill. Here, the Joshua trees became really thick. One of the thickest stands of endangered plant anywhere in the world. They really are amazing things to see. So unique and almost comical. It is hard to stand next to them and not smile. My wife spent most of the trip trying to figure out how she could grow one in our yard. Answer: not likely. Joshua trees need a very specific climate and conditions to grow—a fact that makes them rare and acutely susceptible to climate change. One study estimates that 90 percent of the Joshua tree population will be gone by the end of the century.

We passed through one more unlikely community in the middle of nowhere called Meadview. A small side town dominated by the strange sight of a church in the middle of the desert---looking like something out of New England. A scenic pullout gave us a brief view of upper Lake Mead. Yes, there was still water in it. From there the road twisted down, down, down eventually turning into gravel. Now we were all alone and slowly drove through a rich agave/cholla/barrel cactus desert full of arroyos and dry sandy washes. My kind of country. Down and down we drove. Ahead we could see the mud banks of another arroyo and rounding a corner saw that a river, seemingly appearing out of nowhere like magic, flowed before us. End of the road.

“Are you kidding me? This is the mighty Colorado?” Debi asked aloud.

Indeed in this huge landscape of emptiness, the river did appear modest. On closer inspection, however, it was a quiet force. Exhausted from his tumultuous tumble through the Grand Canyon, the river here sighed and relaxed. Still, there was a quiet power to it, the current deceptively quick and strong. As we walked along the sandy banks, it was hard not to both feel relaxed and energized at the same time. There are a few special places like that in the world, in nature. Places that contain an intrinsic energy, a spirit, a soul. They may be different for every person, but rivers—especially desert rivers—have always been that kind of place for me. I can understand why people drop out, become “river rats” and devote their lives to the place. It's hard to be stressed out standing next to a river. It's hard to be unhappy.

All too soon it was time to get back in the car and retrace our drive. Still, the spirit of the place would linger in me for quite some time. That was a drive worth taking.