Week 21: A Lonesome Drive Across the Silver State

Leaving a cool place is never fun, and that was especially true for Death Valley. Kes and I had such a great experience there that it was difficult to imagine enjoying being anywhere else. I mean Death Valley kind of has it all: epic campsites, amazing opportunity for exploration, and a deep sense of solitude.

When we travelled to Death Valley in 2019 our destination afterward was Joshua Tree. Not to say we had a bad time there, but I think planning the trip in that order was a mistake. Coming out of Death Valley, where you can literally go days without seeing another soul, and heading straight to Joshua Tree, which was the busiest national park I had been to, was like whiplash. And nobody likes whiplash.

This time around we learned from our mistake. Instead of heading right to another major destination, we decided to take a couple days to acclimatize to society again by camping at a spot that’s been on my radar for quite some time: Alabama Hills.

Alabama Hills

Written by Sam

The Alabama Hills recreation area has gained a lot of attention in recent years and for good reason. Even if you haven’t heard of this place, you almost definitely have seen it in at least one movie. Over 400 movies have been filmed there, including titles like Django Unchained, Iron Man, and Tremors. More recently the area has become instafamous and as a result visitation to the hills has exploded.

I know what you’re thinking: "Sam, Alabama Hills doesn’t sound that much different than Joshua Tree." Honestly, you’re right, but the difference is that, first, Alabama Hills is not a national park, and second, we’re camping in winter. This meant that our time spent camping at Alabama Hills was nice, quiet, and exactly what we needed after coming out of Death Valley.

The hills are at the foot of Mt. Whitney (the tallest peak in the lower 48) and look like piles of giant boulders that are slowly becoming unearthed. There are a few dirt roads that lead you through various parts of the hills, but aside from that it’s pretty much open for you to hike, jump, and climb wherever you’d like. Kes and I found a nice spot surrounded on all sides by rocks, just big enough for the teardrop and Jeep, and setup camp.

I don't know what was better - the views of Mt. Whitney or the 80 degree weather.

We spent the next couple days hiking, enjoying the rare warm weather, and cooking and eating with some of the best views from camp yet.

This arch perfectly framed Mt. Whitney, and us.

I love this picture of Kes.

Now, as much as I’d like to say everything was peaches and cream, I just can’t skim over the fact that there was something else deeper at play here. Remember when I said visitation to Alabama HIlls has exploded in recent years? Well, let’s revisit that for a moment.

As we all know, going outdoors was really one of the only things to do during the pandemic. While this was good for everybody’s peace of mind, all this traffic was not so good for the places themselves, and Alabama Hills is a prime example of this.

Before the gap year I used to think the signs of a popular campsite were trash, way too many fire rings, and more trash. I wish this was true, because at least trash can be picked up and extraneous fire rings destroyed. Unfortunately, the signs of overuse at Alabama Hills are a little more long lasting. People here don’t litter or deface places like you might suspect, but there are traces of past visitors everywhere. Can you guess what these traces might be?

The evidence: toilet paper and lack of vegetation. I seriously have never seen so much toilet paper in any single area in my entire life. In every single nook and cranny there were strands of toilet paper everywhere. As per the plants, well there really weren’t that many at all. Any path I might think to take had already been taken by hundreds of people before me. The only surviving flora were those that had found precarious footholds next to the boulders or in cracks too small for human feet.

Alabama Hills is still a beautiful place and it can be hard to tell the signs of overuse at first glance. But look closer and you can see a myriad of trails leading everywhere. Imagine plants where all the paths are and how much healthier this place could be.

The BLM had set out porta-potties to minimize toilet paper litter and signage to inform visitors of the trampling problem, but it all seemed like too little too late. The sad reality is that nobody wants to pick up toilet paper or be told where they can and can’t go.

During our visit to Alabama Hills, Kes and I tried our hardest to walk only on durable surfaces and take care of business at the designated toilets. We even spent an hour walking around camp picking up all the toilet paper we saw (we bought a grabber for toilet paper long ago and now I believe its a must-have for any camper).

All of this was found within a 100 foot radius of camp. Turns out all of the cracks between the rocks make for great exploration AND great pooping.

Alabama Hills was amazing, but it also brought to surface a dilemma I’ve been having ever since we started traveling. That is, Kes and I are undeniably part of the ‘loving a place to death’ phenomenon that many natural areas within the US have been experiencing recently. Even the most mindful camper cannot help but to leave some trace of their visit wherever they go, be it a little piece of trash that falls out of their pocket unknowingly, widening a trail just a smidgen, or even just leaving a footprint or tire tracks at their campsite.

So how do I justify continuing to be part of the problem? Well, that’s something I don’t have the answer to yet. I can only hope that the impressions these places leave on me are greater than those that I have left, and that I’ll be able to use these experiences to further the good in the world.

During our travels we have never once been the first person to an area. Most places have traces of human history that go back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Whether we realize it or not, all of the landscapes we experience today have been altered by human contact in some form. There is always a balance to be maintained, and it’s everybody’s responsibility to do their part in keeping this balance. Here are a few places where the need to maintain this balance has been the most apparent.

In Congaree National Park we explored the last remaining area of old growth floodplain forest. Do these giants have more value as an economic resource or a natural resource?

In Florida I learned that even in the wettest places there still needs to be a balance between the water used by humans and by the land.

At Big Bend National Park, seeing people in Mexico that were not allowed to cross a river because the other side was US territory was confusing to me. How is it that two adjacent areas so similar to one another can be governed so drastically different?

Mines in Death Valley are commonplace. They’re forever a part of the landscape and culture. Since most are over 100 years old, it’s difficult to see the negative impacts from these actions.

Now not all hope is lost. National parks and places like Alabama Hills are slowly coming up to pace with the over visitation problems. Just recently Alabama Hills announced that they are planning to limit dispersed camping by permit and to specific areas, better manage routes and trails, and install more toilets and trash cans. Similar permit systems that reduce visitation to the most popular national parks are also being implemented. While this means these wild places are going to become a little less wild and a little more managed, it also means they’ll stay more pristine for future generations. What do you think about this compromise?

Luckily, not all the places we go to are so well travelled. We were heading to Nevada next, and really I don’t think there are any other states that are as desolate and beautiful as the Silver State.

Nevada

Written by Sam

The first time I went to Nevada was probably the same as everybody else’s first experience: Las Vegas. While Las Vegas is quite a destination in itself, it definitely does not do a whole lot to represent the rest of the state.

While Las Vegas is large, loud, and bright, you’d be hard pressed to find another town in Nevada (Reno aside) that has a population over a couple thousand people. In Las Vegas water is everywhere - in fake Venetian canals in malls, in over-the-top water fountain displays, and being sprayed on you to cool you down as you walk down the street. Everywhere else in Nevada water is the most precious and most elusive resource. In Las Vegas you can’t walk five feet without bumping into somebody, but in the rest of the state you can literally travel 100 miles on a highway without seeing another soul.

If that sounds like the opposite of a good vacation to you, well, you can probably agree with most everybody else. But, for Kes and I, Nevada is one of those places we stumbled upon and just can’t stop coming back to.

This time around our only major destination in Nevada was Great Basin National Park, which sits next to the border with Utah about halfway up from Las Vegas. Everything between Alabama Hills and there was fair game to explore if we so desired.

This would be our third time driving through Nevada, and Kes and I were particularly excited for this visit because we were coming into it with so much more knowledge than the first two times. Nevada has a special place in our hearts because, in essence, it is the Basin and Range Desert. The Basin and Range Desert makes up 95% of Nevada, and this desert is really cool for a couple reasons.

First, this desert is probably not how you envision a typical desert. Red rocks, cactus, and blazing hot temperatures may be some of the things that come to mind when you think ‘desert’. While temperatures can definitely be extreme in the Basin and Range Desert, red rocks and cactus are not so common.

Instead you’ll find yourself in vast basins dominated by sage brush and bookended by massive mountain ranges. These basins can have elevations lower than -200 feet (Badwater Basin, Death Valley NP), and the ranges can be over 13000 feet tall (Wheeler Peak, Great Basin NP).

Death Valley is famous for having the lowest elevation in North America. Only after visiting the park did Kes and I realize there was so much more to the area than this point.

Wheeler Peak is the tallest mountain in Nevada. Fun fact, it houses the only glacier in the state as well.

The second really cool thing about the Basin and Range Desert is that this desert is not made up of just a few basins and ranges. No, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of basins, followed by mountains, followed by basins, and repeated. Driving through the state is a great way to really understand the vastness and repetitiveness of this geography.

One might think that driving through such a repetitive landscape would be boring, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The fact is that every single basin and range is unique in some way or another. Some basins are home to dry lake beds (which are my favorite places on Earth), hot springs (second only to playas), and ecosystems found nowhere else on the planet. The same goes for the ranges, as these can be tall enough to have their own alpine microclimates, similar to what you might expect from Colorado.

This dry lake bed is many miles across and flatter than any man made surface. That’s the reason why the land speed record has been broken here so many times.

It’s so strange that near the top of Wheeler Peak there exist these many alpine lakes, but in the distance you can see how dry the surrounding basin really is.

One last amazing aspect of Nevada: almost all of the land in the state is managed by the BLM or some other public entity. I really love this fact because it means that all this land is yours! For people like Kes and I, that means we’re free to drive, camp, and hike pretty much anywhere our hearts desire. There are no fences, no private property, and no asterisked regulations to have to worry about.

We entered Nevada north of Death Valley and planned on taking the Extraterrestrial Highway from Tonopah to Caliente, then heading north to Great Basin National Park. Along the way there were several sights I wanted to hit, including the International Car Forest of the Last Church, the abandoned Warm Springs Resort, and Cathedral Gorge State Park. Between those areas our only destination was the road itself, and boy was I excited to have those open Nevada roads all to ourselves.

The International Car Forest of the Last Church is a small art installation on one man’s private property. He no longer lives on site, but he keeps the area open for tourists, graffiti artists, and junk leavers to come and go as they like. People are encouraged to add to the forest as they see fit but ‘vandalism’ is not allowed. Seems like a bit of a fine line to me - what do you think the difference between the two is?

I was more enthralled with how people got cars in all these crazy positions than what’s actually painted on them.

Only a few miles away from the International Car Forest we followed an old highway, long since bypassed with a newer and more optimized route, to our first campsite in Nevada. Like I said, finding places to camp in Nevada is a breeze, and they always have fantastic views.

And we had this place all to ourselves.

The abandoned Warm Springs Resort was not as obvious a destination to visit as most. I saw this hot spring in a YouTube video a long time ago and, after doing some research, found out where exactly it was located. I’m not sure when the resort was actually in business, but if I had to guess it must have been sometime before the 1960s.

Now I’m going to be honest with you. This is one of those places where you might technically be doing something unlawful by visiting. Kes saw the no trespassing signs and took that to be 100% literal. Me on the other hand, well, I reasoned that if they didn’t want people coming in, then they would have at least put locks on the gates. I mean what would you do if you came across an oasis and the only thing stopping you from taking a dip was a little sign with red lettering?

Really, how can you turn down waters that blue and steamy?

Can you imagine driving hours without seeing anybody and then coming across this place? I would definitely stop to grab a bite.

After the Warm Springs we again found camp by just following an old dirt road. This camp was cool because just down the way was a low key natural spring. Unfortunately these springs weren’t very warm or deep…

King of the hill for the night.

Our last stop before Great Basin was Cathedral Gorge State Park. Kes and I have learned that state parks are great for taking showers (which are rare in the west), and this was at least half of our reason for paying $8 to get in. But I have to say, the park greatly exceeded my expectations.

The park gets its name from the Moenkopi formation (at least that’s the layer Kes and I predict) that has eroded into these deep mud ravines. We hiked a loop to see most of the surrounding area, then spent a bit exploring some of the ravines themselves. I was surprised by how narrow and far back some of the ravines went!

Can you see why they call this place Cathedral Gorge?

The transition from the undisturbed top to the jagged, badlands-esque bottom is really beautiful.

The Teardrop has a tendency of fitting in really well with all the areas we travel.

I couldn't believe how steep the gorges had eroded, almost like they were cut through with a hot blade.

After Cathedral Gorge we were all set to go to Great Basin National Park! We visited Great Basin once before a few years back, and during that visit I met a Ranger that told me all about exploring the back side of the park. The west side is way more remote and is about an hour or two away from the east side of the park. There isn’t much information about the west side, but cobbling together information from the ranger and from old maps I gleaned that the area used to be big into mining (go figure, it’s Nevada). What I was particularly interested in was an old road that takes you from the basin all the way near the top of the range, where you can drive and hike through ancient Bristlecone Pine forests. Exploring a remote grove of my favorite tree? Let’s go!

I fell in love with these guys during our first visit to Great Basin. Some of these trees are thousands of years old and still kicking - older than the Pyramids of Giza!

But not so quick. One important factor I failed to take into consideration is that when we first visited it was peak summer. Now we were in the dead of winter. That, combined with the fact that we would be entering Great Basin just as a massive storm was obliterating the entire western United States, really put a hiccup into our plans. Spoiler: we didn’t make it anywhere near the top AND we encountered the coldest, most brutal weather of the entire trip. Woo!

We got to our campsite as clouds were closing in on the area. Kes and I couldn’t help but to watch in awe as these massive clouds dumped water onto the land below them while everywhere else stayed nice and sunny. We managed to avoid most of these rain clouds on our way in, but as the night progressed there would be no way to stay dry.

I can always count on Kes to take the best pictures of clouds. Me, I'm more of a land guy.

As the sun set the clouds grew darker and darker.

That night it snowed several inches where we were camped and several feet at the higher elevations. I don’t remember exactly how cold it got, but I’m sure the night time low was in the single digits and the day time high was in the 20s. Our only saving graces were the facts that the Teardrop is super well insulated, and the warmth from the sun was just enough to thaw out our water lines during the day. If the Teardrop wasn’t so well insulated, I’m not sure how we would’ve faired. But lucky for us all we needed were a few candles and each other’s body warmth to stay nice and cozy through the night.

We peaked our heads out in the morning and laughed at the predicament we were in. Here we were, camped on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere Nevada while a major multi day storm was hitting the area. There were a few houses settled in the basin below us, but aside from them the nearest sign of civilization was many hours away. It had all the makings of an I Shouldn’t Be Alive episode, but our experience was the opposite of a worst case scenario.

It doesn't look very cold in this photo, but take my word, it definitely was.

I knew the chances of making it to the Bristlecone Pine grove at the top of the mountains was slim, but I just wouldn’t let myself live it down if we didn’t at least try. So, without much hesitation at all we jumped in the Jeep and pressed on up the snowy mountain.

We didn’t make it far before the few inches of snow that had fallen near camp turned into entire drifts that made following the road difficult, then impossible. Contrary to what Kes might believe, I usually don’t have a death wish while exploring and it wasn’t long before we were on our way back down.

Coming down the mountain wasn't any easier than going up it.

Satisfied that I knew with 100% certainty we were not going to make it to the top, we reverted to our plan B option: exploring some of the nearby mining towns. From some old maps I found I discovered that there once was what seemed to be a pretty large mining town by the name of Minerva. All around this town were dozens of mines, the most intriguing of them all being The Chief Mine.

When we got to the area that used to be Minerva, well there wasn’t much. Really the only remnants from this town were the mines themselves. A few of the most obvious mines had large metal cages welded around them to prevent people and animals from entering, but most of the rest were guarded only by flimsy barbwire fences. It was fun looking into the mines from above, and that’s about as far as I was willing to go (again, no death wish).

Lucky for us, mines are pretty easy to spot from far away due to these bright red tags.

Why do you think the cave in the back is partially walled up?

This is the same mine, just viewed from above. We could hardly make sense of how all the openings connected from the outside - I can't imagine how convoluted they were on the inside.

This was one of those mines with a metal cage around it. Looking down, I understood why they put special care in fencing it in. Talk about a rollercoaster of horror.

Some sort of old loading dock? Whatever it was, it was cool stumbling upon it just a few feet from camp.

This mine came with views of that classic Nevada skyline.

Even though most of the support structures were gone for these mines, I still had a lot of fun piecing together what all of the remaining equipment could have been used for.

The Chief Mine was different. This mine seemed to be the last operating mine in the area, due to how many of the buildings and infrastructure were left standing. Unfortunately the entire complex was fenced in so we weren’t able to get a closer look. I would love to do more research on the history of this area to see what exactly they were mining for and when the mines actually closed down.

Kes and I reasoned that these old houses were where miners used to live. These were some of the only remnants of the once booming Minerva.

We got back to camp just in time to make ourselves dinner before the sun went down. We scarfed down our food and started doing dishes right when the sun was setting - a major miscalculation. I’m not kidding, the second the sun went behind the horizon it was like all the monsters of the night were free to come out. The dishes I had just washed and Kes was drying instantly froze in her hands. A deep chill set into our bones and it felt as though my hands were two pieces of frozen meat that I was pushing around with sticks. The air was a vacuum void of any energy, and our only safety lie in the teardrop itself.

I don’t think we’ve ever completed our evening clean-up routine so quick.

We watched as the sun abandoned us behind the mountain, leaving us all alone with the cold.

The next day followed the same cycle: way freezing temperatures at night combined with a few inches of snow, the sun coming out during the day and providing just enough energy to melt the snow off the teardrop, and instantly below freezing temperatures again in the evening when the sun went down.

Despite the crappy weather, I had a great time. While the few days we spent at Great Basin hadn’t exactly gone to plan, the weather gave us the perfect excuse to take a break after many weeks of nonstop moving. We got out for a bit during the warmest parts of the day, but aside from that we pretty much just hunkered down in the Teardrop and made the most of each other’s company.

Cold weather is the best excuse to have breakfast in bed.

We played games, caught up on the blog, watched movies, and overall had a lot of fun looking outside and watching the weather pass us by, knowing we were safe and warm in the Teardrop. Even as I write this, nearly a month later, I look back at my memories at Great Basin with some of the most fondness of all the places we’ve been to so far. Funny how the brain works, isn’t it?

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I hope you enjoyed my first full length blog post! If not, don’t worry, I won’t be doing all the writing from here on out. Kes and I have plans to continue splitting up different parts of the blog depending on the week. This way we can ensure you’re getting the best coverage of our experience, and we still have time to do the traveling!

I really want to know you’re thoughts on compromising a place’s wildness for longevity. Is replacing dirt paths with concrete, obstructing open views with fences, and using permits in place of freedom of choice the only way to preserve a place? Is this what the future holds for all of America’s most beautiful destinations? Let me know what you think!

Next week we’ll be traveling to Utah - from the top of Angel’s landing to the orchards of Capitol Reef and much more. Oh, and the most amazing public shower you’ve ever seen. You definitely won’t want to miss some of the most awe-inspiring places we’ve been to yet!

See you next week,

Sam