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Saline valley pres day 2010
I spend a week alone after linda and cathy decided not to come, doing t guide, perfect day wed, ski to wild willys hot spring in sunset.
went to ridgecrest for major toms potluck, good times with saline crowd hang at the cinder cone, visit sam and plot on the grand canyon trip in 2011. Prep on Monday work out, food buy, lunch with mark, to town, j calls, comin in tmw,
We party down prep stuff, then watch road warrior on the big screen.
Interminable prep, forgot fireworks, Johnny and I take off at 10 am to bishop, shop vons and then off to big pine and up death valley road, still no snow on, into eureka valley, mud puddles, big rain here, workers on rd grading, up behind the dunes, and spot garbage mike In his big green truck headed to dedecker canyon and the staircase of rock. Mike is there, not sure, until we slide right up, then he builds roads and comes on later. J and I cruise, stop and pics, and talk, grind down on the pass road, dodging and hitting rocks all along the road.
Make camp at checker gulch, no one else around here. we eat turkey and j soaks I cruise in the camper. Sleep. Mike comes down late, and he makes it. Johnny up early, me coffee, then up to upper, Mike talks and we have a good time again.
Check out the lower, get a book, visit lee, no one here either, Mike arrives and shows me his new telescope, made from some lenses and a pop bottle. We banter and talk, just like old times, I am greatly relieved.
Lazy day snooze in the afternoon, mike comes down for dinner, stuck chuck brings his dogs, going berserk, we play guitar into the night. And see the lights coming down from s. pass. They progress to the lake and then stop. Whutzup? A big mystery. We crash without knowing but figuring something stopped them.
J does a foray to lee and finds the nps has been notified a bulldozer is blocking the road at the lake. Shit. We hang and finally a caravan comes in Oregon john leading the pack, he and jeanette are getting married at the lower at 3 pm. With beer tasting after, a gathering of the tribe. So we partake, cute ceremony. They had to move a 2 ton boulder and then dig out the bank so people could get past. Put there sometime between Sunday aft and Monday aft. Johnny is ragin: Who what where why, who coulda? Who woulda? Mebbe miners. Oh well. We are here and dint have to deal.
Another fine evening, playing guitar, fun songs, chuck strumming also, no dogs thank god.
Saturday: perfect blue day, 67 years young; golf game, major bkfst, sausage, bacon, eggs, underdone pancakes. Soak, at upper, good crowd. I repair to camp and bake cake, sleep a bit, then to ball field for text to judy, back in time to warm up meat and salmon for the potluck, great crowd, great party, Christine and long hug remembering turtle jim, friend who died last fall, icon of the valley. Maj tom and Carolyn, finally trail off to bed and tubs.
Sunday ball game another perfect day,I hang out and announce teams, sing anthem, red coat and uncle sam hat, good times. Potluck, huge crowd, good food, remember turtle jim (and at ball game). Crash in inyos truck, and drives me home to rest. Left mug there, search to no avail.
Monday, yet another perfect day, not a cloud, now planning to stay till Friday, then come home to Benton for terrence stamp and bubbly Julie. We pack up for a day trip to the bulldozer and to macevoy canyon across the valley, Mike wants to go too, immediately in pain and whining about his back and loud stereo, which he turns down. We put up with this until the main road, and I switch seats with him, and he is better. NEVER ride in a vehicle with mike again.
Bulldozer scene, huge rock moved by handyman jacks and Flipper pulled with his winch and power wagon. Up to the mouth of snowflake mine canyon on a rough rd, hang, roll rocks and kk and Johnny slide down a trof of slippery talc pieces. Bad road out to n. main rd, but eventually back to the springs to another Terry’s perpetual beans dinner with tritip chunks and Johnny’s potatoes, to sleep early, read new Ludlum book. And fade away.
Tuesday, Kk and inyo pack up after a long morning and I head down to the lower to find Tequila Pete of Maine and Missy, and Skip and Terry from Colorado with great hugs. Pete and Missy were stuck on the s pass in the snow, got turned around, went to Ridgecrest and rented a 4 wd truck, come in over steel pass last night, ready to party. I settle into Colorado camp, skip and Terry, and the ft Collins crowd, Dt carving another face on a root, Skip cooking up a storm, waffle iron at the ready. Timbo gone back to work in Lancaster, 4 years from retirement, but having a good time at boeing. Kk and inyo come by to give goodbyes, and are off to women and babys over steel pass. I do a soak-nap-soak in wizard pool, and news of potluck at skip and terrys, so I prep for that. Visit major tom’s camp, with Carolyn, and buy a beautiful photo of the Inyo front from the wizard pool for my photo bank. We confab about the grand permit, and agree. Potluck steak bbq at skips, with a goodly crowd, record some outrageous conversations; mike lurking in the shadows. Getting ready to leave tmw. Get severely chastised for farting in the general vicinity of Terry. Double shots of tequila going around, I take a nip and head to bed.
Up early with the sun hitting camp at 730 am, another shitty day in paradise, clear as a bell, Johnny makes more salmon scrambled eggs for a grate bkfst. G mike has his and fades off into Lippencott land to escape the valley, headed for a desert survivors hike and campout near niland, socal east desert. J and I prep for hiking and head to the Black mt. Loop trail, rising steadily above the valleys, jets roaring by beneath us, grey darts zooming past the springs. At the music rocks and telephone ridge, I fire up the iPhone and get Judy up from a nap, have a short conversation before being cut off by the poor att reception. Hot up there, I take a snooze and j does also, then he goes long way around, through the canyon, and I kick back, talk to Little Linda, she has been at the house in Benton, leaving already for Kelso, and head back to camp for another snooze, and then upper soak, good conversation with neighbors with starlight camper up the gully. Back to camp, cut up the rest of the meet for a final go at tpbeans, thinking about leaving tmw, but the weather is so perfect the water is hot and friends are still here. What more do you need? Heat up the pot over the fire and Johnny arrives with a bottle of wine and we partake of the juice of the gods. I crash and think this is not a bad way to spend another day, so maybe ill stay.
Up to another clear blubird day,coffee ritual, j makes oatmeal and blubs and we settle in for another day. I write, he rides to the lower to do dishes, he fell off his bike yesterday, with a beer in one hand and hurt his shoulder, and is hurting, not leaving today, and neither am i. Ha ha haaaaaa.
Soak the upper, more new people, old Gif here for 2 weeks with great conversations about desert doins, and people. More tales, Major tom got turned around on south pass, high centered on snow, had to dig out and beat a retreat to Lippencott rd, passing g mike on both the valley road and Lippencott. Skip had eggs bene for all, I missed it, will be there tmw for waffles, he makes great ones. Cruise the camps, no one new that I know, talk to rob and dawn with another poptop next door, and he comes for a visit and a rundown of my camper setup. This takes about an hour and repeats itself every trip. People love talking about campers, comfort and little tricks we have learned. The solar cell is always a hit, and Im playing music on the stereo, charging the computer and batteries all at once. The new deep cycle batt is helping a lot with the depth of charge.
J and I fix another major meal, down a bottle of cab syrah and watch the darkness gather, punctuated by a fingernail moon high above with promise of more to come. Fighter jets rumble by high in the sky, a constant reminder of wars happening. Daytime flybys are deafening, with ears plugged as they scream 200 feet overhead, helmets visible, bristling with armament, bound for where men win glory.
We pack up more wine and treats and debark for evenings activities. No community fires happening, so we enter Pete’s sphere, a group of 10 revelers, playing guitars, partying, passing the lung, drinking tequila and micro brew from ft Collins, colo. They are a great group from all over, Pete and Missy from Maine with DK and Robin, other colo people, us from calif, Dave from bishop, all out for a good time and challenging survival in the deserts of the west. I fade and head for home, reading a bit, then fading off into dreamland with the brays of burros and the crys of coyotes echoing in the canyons.
Up again to a fuzzy day, high clouds, word of weather coming in, but Johnny is gonna hold tight, hes determined to spend 2 weeks here, and has a good start. I m leaving after 9 days, that’s good for me. And James and Julia are planning to arrive tonite in Benton. I putter, put things away slowly, eat more tpbeans now a stoop, and chip away at the job of packing. Finally off, with warm goodbyes with Johnny, my desert compadre.
To the lower for farewells and a skip waffle, 20 to them for food and beer, and to Lee for campground host payment. Now off up the hot dusty road to Steel pass, stopping for pix and pee and vistas, all great. No problems on the staircase, measure width to tell people how tight it is. We have conversations at the dunes about the road, and the road ahead, finally over the pass to Bishop, Vons and home for more fun times.
Another perfect bluebird east Sierra day, sunday, a day for puttering and then time for an excursion into the vast outback of the northern white mts, encircled by white streaked peaks and promise of adventure, people, hot springs, to see god.
But first things need fixing, the bolt on the negative lead on the battery of the venerable 88 tacoma has broken off. I made a special trip to Bert’s garage and fixit shop on the highway north of town. He shambled out from the front seat of his office, the beaten up pickup, with xm radio, where he presides over his kingdom, 3 acres of cars, parts and other junk, to some, to him, history. Banter first, leading into the real reason for my visit, the battery connection. I had jury rigged the ground when the bolt broke with a hose clamp, but I had to take it off every time I jumped Win’s truck, or the landcruiser huddled in the shelter of the old trailer mitch had given me for a bag of weed and gas money to haul it down from Carson city. His verdict was simple, replace the broken bolt with a new one after prying the mess apart, which he started to do with his knife, but stopped in time so I could get home and finish the job myself.
Anyway, I pop the hood, dig around in the tool box and found some bolt packs, ready made from the hardware, selected something that looked the right size and stick it into the hole I had vacated by prying the old bolt loose and send it flying to a snowy grave. The new bolt in place, all set, but I find the hose clamp is still in the loop, so I end up undoing everything and slipping the clamp over all the important parts that belonged there, and refastening the nut, and another nut to the bolt end, securing the ground forever. Cranking down on the screw end, thoughtfully oriented so I could get the screwdriver to it and 2 nuts on the other end made the whole rig bombproof.
Now what? Too good a day to waste, suddenly the whirling entities of fluid logistics packets aligned and said Fish Lake Valley, Mary Ahnger, warm weather , old friends and locals at the hot springs bubbling at 102 degrees, always an adventure. Prep takes a while and im outta there later than I thought: 2:30, but I realize the truck clock has been changed by the absence of battery, look at the iphone, more like 2 pm, now im happy.
Now for Mary, facebook has her number, but no response. I down a bowl of Terrys perpetual stoop, the latest incarnation of a smoked turkey from the freezer and the contents of the frig and bean suppository. Finally gas up at the corner and head up the hill, Montgomery pass, with the buttress of Mt Montgomery rearing its head to the south streaked with snow gullies like spiderwebs across the bare rock..
Grind up to the pass, over into Nevada and down the grade into no man’s land, a monster wildness of mountains, fans, valleys, time to space out. I take the turn onto 256 into Fish Lake and stop to photograph the glistening ridges in the sun, punctuated by sage poking through the blanket of snow. Drive slowly past a grazing herd of wild horses, looking fat and happy. Mellow out and head into the valley, finding the hot springs road on the left past the mine yard full of equipment. It is 50 mph dirt rd winding into the wilds of desolate desertdom. I hold it down and finally round the corner to see the springs and a trailer, and a gaggle of locals, kids splashing and big guys drinking cheap beer. OK whats this gonna be like? I’ve dealt with locals before, but never this crowd, by reputation a rough bunch, isolated from the real world.
We start talking. “hows the water?” to a bald older dude, tattooed arms blue sunglasses, “just fine, warm as always”. The others turn and sense my presence, I fall into the conversation, beautiful day etc. Younger bald dude talks about the area, I say “didn’t they dig some geothermal wells just over here?”. He sparks “yeah, and I worked on two of them, on the floor, running the prongs that lift the pipe, and the other guy ran the chain, that was dangerous work. We went down 5 miles into the earth,that’s a lotta pipe hauling”. “I’m a geologist, I’ve been on many rigs. “ He grabs my hand in a firm shake, “ya in the day, I was the main man on the rig, Halliburton ran the show”. “We geologists love you guys, you bring the stuff to us we cant see any other way.” We are instant friends. I see that I would be welcome in the tub scene, only kids in there now, with bathing suits on. I had anticipated this and repaired to the pickup and put on my trunks, grabbed my chair and a plastic goblet of wine, and entered the fray.
A big round Indian looking guy with a badly beaten up face, black right eye, lacerations on the left cheek, and very drunk, approaches me, and starts talking. “Are you looking at my face?” shit I’d better be careful, sounds like a volatile dude, and drunk at that. “How can I help looking at your face?” . I grab his shoulder in a friendly gesture and he smiles, just bsing me, oh well, I’m as good a bullshitter as the best of them, a match has been made. “Joe is mine, goodta meetcha”. “Terry is mine, I live over the mountain in Benton” waving at the long ridge of the northern Whites. Nods all around hes a local, “ya we know Benton, go through it on the way to bishop, the nearest big town.”
A large lady with the roughneck, “I’m from Minnesota, visiting, its different up there, down to minus 70, winds from the north, freezing pee before it hits the ground.” “My woman friend lives in Tulsa, she’s in the middle of an ice storm, the whole city is shut down” my rejoinder, it strikes a chord, and stories of cold start flowing back and forth.
We talk about the land, I mention the sump, and theyve all been there. Young baldie starts in " thousands of years ago the natives here used to drive mastadons and other game off those cliffs, main course at a mastadon bbq." "wow" I come back " can you imagine a monster beast bbq with hundreds of starving people around buiding a big fire and roasting it, chopping off steaks as they get done." All think about that and many grins come out. I can visualize with the best of them and they know that.
I descend the newly repaired ladder into the warm tank, and relish the penetrating heat, buffeted by bouncing kids, chattering, but mellow. A boy about 6 jumps in and out in his underpants, and an older girl finally hauls him off.
Another woman is drunk too, with 2 red haired girls, babbling about nonsense. The kids are running around. I complement one on her necklace, and she proudly shows it off, she made it. She asks about my necklaces, and I tell the story of the split twig figurine, 4000 years old evidence of man in the Grand Canyon, and the Alaska killer whale symbol of the Tatshenshini, they are all listening.
Talk turns to birds; several are poking around the edge of the pond. “Mudhens, that’s what they are called they taste like mud, bottom feeders all” Joe pontificates about the birds. “In Minnesota, we have loons” the large woman shakes her body and a cross on a chain bounces on her breasts. “I used to live in Maine” I rejoin”I found out how to cook a loon. The way you cook a loon is to put a loon and a rock in a pot and boil it until you can stick a fork in the rock, then you throw away the loon and eat the rock” to great guffaws all around. I love these people, living on the edge of civilization, on the edge of everything moral, physical and mental.
I check out the latrine, a concrete shithouse, park service type, then change out of my now cold skivvies and return to a monster fire in the making, of railroad ties, black smoke, looks like they are in for the duration. I listen to the fire talk, the women have disappeared into the trailer, and the men are having men talk. Time to take off, sun getting low on the high ridge of the White mountains to the west, streaks of light emanating from puffy clouds, and high cirrus in the west, a portent of things to come weatherwise.
Goodbyes all around, see ya laters and good feelings as I drive off into the sunset, over the pass, thru the bug station, eliza with her goggle dark glasses wishing me a good day, and home to the double wide to sip whiskey accompanied by the fading of the light on the monster view of my White mountains
Saline Valley, Another shitty week in Paradise: November2009
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In reality, things turned out the same, entered the valley in spectacular late afternoon, long shadows, ridges in sun, no incidents, Inyo co. road crew has been hard at work, and the track is smooth.Quick snooze at the North pass, one person goes by, no one on the road through Whiporwill canyons narrows, and out onto the interminably huge fans, nothing on them to give you scale, just a jumble of boulders, gravel and sand, sloping 20 miles to the patch of white that is the dry lake bed of Saline valley.It is called that because of the salt beds in the ancient Pleistocene lake beds. A mining operation in the late 1800's tried to make it profitable, constructing a tramway to haul the product to the high ridge of the inyos, then down to Keeler next to Owens dry lake.The railroad then transported salt to Tonopah, past Benton until it was not profitable, the rr museum at Laws has all the old engines "Slim Princess" and other artifacts of this age of extraction..
To Willow Creek camp with dashed expectations, no sign of Dave, and it looks like no one has been here for a while, brown grass, overgrown paths, oh well, I didn't think he would last here, victim of owners vacillations.A beautiful backhoe is under the trees, and cooking equipment and a funny duck doll lying around.I spent 5 days here in 98 with a field class, their ghosts haunting the buildings and lawn.Steve blew up 2 55 gallon barrels full of Prel, ammonium nitrate and fertilizer, and we felt the concussion wave 1/2 mile away.The same load that blew up the Federal building in Oklahoma City.
On slowly, taking my time, being careful of tires, mindful that I only have one spare, forgot my front rack with 2nd spare.Across the Bat road in the gathering dusk, mindful of the full moonrise impending.It does not disappoint, rising fast over the sawtooth profile of Dry Mountain, more pictures taken, then setting again as I get to the bat monument. I stop and get out to run around and watch it as it rises and sets on the rugged high ridge of Dry mountain.Great fun, we played this game in the Grand Canyon, with great results.
Up the long fan with banked turns, traveling faster now, to the springs, very quiet, i don't recognize any vehicles, or hear any familiar voices, so i roam up the road to my ridge perch and set about setting up camp.mostly throwing everything out of the camper, popping the top and snuggling in for a well-deserved rest.
Drumming and thumping accompany my nap, keeping my mind busy, gotta get outthe earplugs, but I drift off anyway. To wake to the full moon shining in my face, moonburn, always with a tshirt handy to cover the eyes.
Mustering a last bit of energy, head for the upper springs, the scene of many great times, but no one there, camps scattered about, one with 2 huge dogs that greet me vociferously. After a low-temp soak, time to head for the barn, checking out camps, mostly quiet, in bed early, daylight savings puts a cloak on the landscape twirly (like a pigs tail).
The dark jagged mountain profiles frame the void and its patch of white the lake, clearly visible in the moonlight.The silence is deafening, not a sound.Then a low rumbling, here come the F-18s playing cat and mouse in the dark, flaming afterburners marking the location of the huge chunks of organized metal screaming through the night.
Morning dawns as the sun tops the ridge to the southeast, one of Dry Mountains many tentacles reaching out to the basin. Slowly rising, set up camp, shade tarp, PV panel to charge the batteries, then time to soak it all in, 360 degrees mountains, the Inyo front 10 miles to the west rising like a picket fence, with the huge recumbent fold in middle ending at McEvoy canyon, gotta do another hike up there this time, many years have passed since the last time.
Time to check out thelocal population, down to the Lower springs, converse with a knowlegable dude with a great 4 wheel camper, and here is May, with her little dog also looking for information.We tour the setup, this guy is real handy and the interior has megaspace for storage, something my camper sorely lacks. I hear a familiar voice, a thick Maine accent, it has to be Pete, and it is, old friends from times past here.He has driven out across the country, through a blizzard in Denver, with his van loaded with firewood, which was almost confiscated in Benton at the Bug Station.We remake aquatences, with a bouncy lady flitting around, Evelyn, a friend from Maine who met him out here in benton.
More exploration is in order, down Gringo gulch to no avail, hailed by a couple in a tent camper deep in the arrroweed, Charley and Jane who live on the road, and at 2 cabins, one near Tombstone az and another in Olympia washington.we spin long tales of our lives, they are going to get more food tmw, so i ask them to pick up another bottle of wine for me, red of course.I purposefully came with 1 bottle, so i wouldn't drink to a stupor as is my wont.
Back to the crystal pool after a refreshing shower and soak and more people met, off to camp, nap, then a sojurn to the palm spring which is now very hot and watch the sunset on the mts. 360 degrees.Meet the Bishop crew, Frank and LIsa, Heidi and a couple others playing croquet with great glee and shouts.
After conciousness lowering and a glass of wine, head down to Petes camp with promise of partying with the mainiacs.No one home, leave my offering of smoked salmon on the table and my chair certain they will be back.I hear raucous laughter and Maine accent from the sunrise pool,and burst in upon a scene, 10 people in various states of rest in water, at the edge of the pool stories flying and great people.Pete andcrew head back to his van, and i stay and am entertained and entertain the rest, folks i havn't met, but of like mind.We get on the trail of Bear attacks, and i tell Cynthia's story of playing dead with her head in the Bears mouth, and losing her arms on a mountaintop in Alaska.She was dropped by a helicopter between a mother and her cubs, major mistake.
Back to Pete's van, unleash the smoked salmon, pay back the Germans, who were pissed at me in Benton for pushing their dog away from me, oh well, all is copescetic and the bouncy lady Evelyn is pushing food on everyone, they discover the salmon and she serves it on saltines, wheat thins and ritz crackers on a sort of taste test with a great performance, chatter chatter she's on something.The fire is lit and wood piled on, way dark now but the glow of the moon gives everything a silver sheen.
Pete and Just Bob play guitars and sing great old songs from rock n roll days, and Bouncy girl talks a blue streak about her life and how glad she is to be here and on and on and on. She is a mother, 2 young kids and has been away for the first time for 3 weeks.
I get tired, its only 8 pm, but I'm off to bed, after a great evening of talk and play, snuggle into my sleeping bag after a long last look at the silver scene of mountains, valleys and ridges of the most beautiful place on earth.
Lazy morning, wake slowly, set up the spare inverter, the main system is not charging up for some reason and i don't have the dvm to check it, another thing forgotten.Write on the blog, then crank up the T guide geology chapter and work hard on that for a while.The sun comes around to the view side (both are view sides now) and i move to the upstream side in a big shadow and continue to whale away at text.Finally read the abstracts about the Nevadaplano and integrate that concept into the text as the prep for the development of present topography.
Burger lunch, then a snooze, its still only 2 pm, so i venture out to the spring, find Just Bob playing guitar and we play and sing for a while, great guitar with new strings, a Hohner, $79 made in
china.Party with him and May for a while, her little dog scurrying around like a rat underfoot. I get a signal from my phone, and check it out, a message from Cathy, but i can't get a signal.
Out to the taildragger strip to call, and am intercepted by Jim in a similar rig, 4 wheel camper and Tundra pickup, we exchange pleasantrys, checking out his rig, and he realizes he met me at one of the Mono hotsprings some years ago, even remembers my name.We think about the day and a hike tmw, and i try to raise Cathy, get her voice mail, get cut off, not a good place for cell phone reception. Back to the Crystal pool, cruise in, to objection of one of the guardians, not showered, a major crime, but there are 3 women monopolizing the shower.The conversation doesn't pan out, so i repair to the sunrise pool, and find a more interesting crowd, talk of predator drones, the war, and bear stories,
Back to Just Bob's and dinner is served, i insinuate myself into the event and we talk about tmw and the hike to the river bed.Wedevour dinner, chicken and vege stir fry, good gomps.I gotta shit, so I borrow jbs headlamp and head for the shitter, now very dark, the moon not up yet.Emerging from the shit cave, i see two riders approaching (and the wind began to howl), its Charlie and Jan, back from their sojourn to town.They have my wine, a 1.5 liter bottle of cab/shiraz, ok, we hang at their camp, watch the moon rise through the clouds, now 2 days past full.we get 2 moonrises as it flashes through a gap in the clouds, is covered then appears again above.Great show.
Back to jbs camp, people are winding down, but pete is about to unleash some flaming drinks, promise of a show, but I'm off to camp, fire off some roman candles and settle in for the long winters night.The thump of bass at the party across the way with flashing lights looks interesting, but i put in the earplugs and bliss out.
Another day...... write as i watch the mountains come out of their slumber with knife sharp ridges and deep furrow canyons.Amazing that Canyon hiked the whole ridge with group from ds last spring, iron woman, now nursing an arm broken in pursuit of extreme hiking. In and out of canyons for water camps for 9 days on catwalking the highest ridge around, facing Mt Whitney to the west, the Owens valley and down to
Saline on the east.
Puttering, graduallly getting things together for the hike, my heavy Limmer boots, pack with water bladder and suck tube, fix the hiking sticks, some snacks, mentally going over the various routes we can take to the river bed.Down to JBs camp before 9, Jim is there, but he has to get ready, I leave my guitar for string replacement, and kick back.Jim comes by, and a lady, Jude with a big Akita dog, she's interested too.So its coming together, on valley time, herding cats for the big event, they scatter to the 4 winds, and i ready my rig and start heading over to Jim's camper.Here comes Jude, dogless, thank god, but with an empty leash in her hand.The object of her affections has taken off after a coyote, and shes in a tizzy about her getting eaten.She disappears again in search of her Dora, another dog person running her life around her charge.
Rhea, the little German lady comes down naked and hands me a sheet on a Mediteranian deli in Vegas, with all kinds of great stuff, havta check that out next time I'm down there. Maybe with Judy if she visits her family there again.
We agree that cats are being herded, and I'm ready to take off when Jude reappears with dog and we are assembled.Past the other germans, also naked, with a ham radio antenna huge, and have another bantering conversation. Germans love it here, cause all they know weather wise is cold and damp, this is heaven to them.
Across the interminable fan, rough footing, glad for my platform boots, and into the wash, down and around the foot of the lava flows and a long stroll up the granite wash, rougher near the top and there are the river cobbles, we rejoice and marvel at the find, actually found many years ago by Ranger Tim, and explored several times by us on field trips.The perfectly rounded cobbles stand in stark contrast to the modern angular blocks of dark basalt and light granite. An ancient river bed, stretching up the gully with foriegn rock types, from a far away, possible Precambrian source.We reach a perch, watch some F18s fly below us through the valley and up over the springs.One seems to be headed to the granite slope above for sheer destruction, but at the last second pulls up, guided by terrain sensing radar and blasts over the top of the ridge.These guys are having some fun, getting ready for Afghanistan, blasting the Taliban.
We rest and snack, and Jim and JB head up the gully toward the top of a knoll.I rest more and Jude and I talk of our lives, she a single mom, 62, living in Calaveras county, doing jewlery at vending events, travelling a lot.Her daughter grown, living in Truckee, divorced from a ski patrol/ avalanche guy, an extreme athelete, doing whatever she needs to get by.Jude with a MA in psychology, but not using it, semi retired and enjoying it with Dora, her dog.
There are high cirrus clouds building and soon the wind starts up, buffeting us on the ridges, dust kicking up on the lakebed.I hope i secured camp enough so nothing gets destroyed.Bungies on the tarp lines should save the shade structure, an old Mitch trick. The guys return and we pick out some of the best rounded rocks for display at camp, and start the return trek.We try the upper route, but Jude has bad feet and heads down another gulley, which loops around to our ascending path.Its a long trek back, but eventually we emerge from the wash and can see the lower springs.Back to JB's camp and rest and drink water, rehydrate. the wind swishing the trees above and a roar like a jet coming from the tall palms .The Park service wants to eliminate all non-native species, and if so these palms would come down, shit, i cant believe they would do that, that would be impossible, oh well, rumours have always bounced around and disappeared many times about closing the springs, or the Bat road, so you would have to hike in 8 miles to the springs. Fortunately they all dissipate one by one, but with big brother watching us, we are a thorn in the side of the park, definatly non-conforming to the park service picture of a pristine, untouched paradise.We don't need this, a fight would ensue and maybe civil disobedience.
I repair to the windy hilltop and secure the flapping flag and tarp, and roll in for a winters nap.Still blowing very hard, I fire up the stove and warm up the stewoop, with the smell of smoked turkey permeating the air. I spoon out a pot and carry it down to the lower springs, i enter the sanctuary from the wind and suddenly am hit by a whirlwind, a small lady shouting "Terry, Terry, where have you been?""Elizabeth, hows things in Gerlach??""Im having a blast, married a local, and doing all kinds of projects out there, living the bfe life in the Black Rock country".She is an old friend, camp host for Lee 4 years ago during the winter of great snows, we were trapped in the valley for weeks, food running low, both passes closed, people freaking out.I made my way out the Lippencott road easily and almost ran out of gas in an ice storm on the way to Goldfield. Inched over Goldfield summit propelled by the starter motor, not good for the machine, but it did the trick and i coasted in to gas.
The fire is going strong, and various people gather.Pete and JB arrive, then depart to find a new friend with pizza. I end up in the sunrise pool with a goodly crowd, pete got short circuited there, and Evelyn the talkative one, Elizabeth and JB.We have a jolly old time talking about the valley, experiences, yarn spins off to another yarn.A true storytelling fest.
Back to the fire,I offer up the stewoop, and it is devoured with great relish, ooos and ahhhhs, on how the flavors of mape, mango chipotle, smoked turkey and all massaged the taste buds.Another guy with a long handled sandwich cooker gives out samples of his wares. I fetch the guitar and sing some songs, longing to do pancho and lefty once again, and i do.fairly well.my favorite grand canyon tune, born on the river almost 30 years ago.
I don't see any major action going on, everyone wiped out from drinking all day (they had to start early), 4 lobotomy bock beers for lunch.Evelyn is effusive in her praise of my stewoop, saved her life, she was very hungry.Back at JB's camp, i deposit my guitar and chair, and take my leave for the night.All is quiet at the formerly raucous camp across from me, so i settle in, enjoying a good read of yet another LeCarre book, wonderful writer.Slide off into sleep as the wind dies, puffs rattling the camper occasionally, but looking forward to another sterling day in the desert.
Bluebird day, no clouds, perfectly clear air, no w-word, and the vista is incredible.The front of the Inyos is a sheer wall, 10 miles distant, and by now I've explored with my eyes every ravine, canyon, ridge of the 30 mile some length of the range.The dark furrows of gullys accentuated by deep shadow, the diorite and marble swirls miles long mute evidence of orogenies past.I write, watch the world go by and a small bird, a local. grazing for seeds and dropped food bits 3 feet from me.I am just finishing up when i hear the scuffle of footsteps and there is Jude, on a mission to me, "Blueberry pancakes are happenin' at JBs camp, c'mon down".we banter a bit and I gather my goods, a plate and fork and the mape, and we are off across the white hills down to the center of action at the lower springs. The usual suspects are gathered, and Just Bob has ammassed a pile of hotcakes, along with a plate of perfectly done bacon.We sit and visit, and talk about the desert, Pete comes by but he has already eaten, and hunkers down under the big top sun shade that May has set up.
The jets come by for a flashing visit, huge decibles, blocking ears.Patty is there from the bishop people's camp and she waves a towel and flashes her breasts, and Jude follows suit.They love to buzz the camp because women can't reisist showing off, and we can see the helmets of the pilots as they wheel sideways past, a hurtling mass of 20 tons of metal and technology, going faster than sound 200 feet above our heads. Story goes that they have a pilots room in Miramar, where most of these planes come from, walls covered with pictures of naked ladies taken over the springs.what power, I think as I kick back and listen to the rumble and scream of the death machines.
I'm in midmorning nap mode, and lie back in the recliner, letting the bustle of camp break over me like waves caressing the shore.My mind turns to the guitar, and JB fishes out a set of new Martin strings, top notch and I set about the task of replacing my thumpy worn out set.Low energy and short on patience, I solve several problems including a broken new string in the process.It finally comes together, I tune them up and play a bit to make sure it still works.Great sharp sound from the bass strings to support my melody lines, much better.
Now what to do, I hear voices in the bushes and make out Jude and Jim having a long conversation.I push my way past the mesquite trees and there they are, Jude in all her naked glory, well preserved in her early 60s, we talk more, and Jim and I plot an attack on my recalcitrant solar charging system.It seems to be working, but wont hold a charge.He brings over a DVM to loan, and Ill check the system out with that.He can't decide whether to leave today or tomorrow, no storms comin' so why not stay?.Its great to be at one with the environment, to have that as a major player in logistics, so unlike the default world.
I ask Jude about her jewelry and she brings out a cornucopia of glass beaded pendants and earrings to feast on.I pick out a set for Judy, and remind myself that her bday is right after thanks, and we will be at the band b at starved rock.Right for a present of beauty, as befits her and our relationship.Jude will make them up for me and ill send her a check when i get back to Benton.
The sun is high now, not much going on, so I retreat to my hilltop, praising the absence of w-word, settle into nap mode, more jets blasting by, people yelling at them as if they could hear.Sun lower, I check out the solar, and can't find anything wrong.Jim comes by and he performs some magic with the DVM, with the verdict that my old battery is shot, and draining the current from the new battery.We disconnect the old one, things seem to perk up, but now there's very little sunlight left, not enough time to fully charge the system.Oh well, there's always tomorrow left to charge.
To the upper spring for a sunset soak, visiting the Bishop camp, they are feasting on thanksgiving turkey with all the trimmings. I help myself to the proffered guacamole, and we talk about the desert, the valley, life on the east side of the Sierra, and all that that involves.Resourcefulness, community bond, a fierce environment, death on the hoof.A 73 year old man went missing a week ago while climbing Whitney, found after a 4 day hunt dead in a ravine, no word on the cause, but this kind of thing happens all the time out here.
Off to the upper, 2 guys talking about family and houses and repairs, not desert talk, I witness the sun setting over the Inyos, shadows spread like dark fingers up and eventually extinguishing the light on Dry mountain, and gone, the end of another day.Enough family talk, not a word to me, so i emerge from the Wizard pool and get set for the evenings entertainment, whatever serendipity brings to the plate.
It is truly a moveable feast here, akin to Hemingways experiences in Paris in the 30s.There is always a new party to go to, long conversations to be had, and friends to be made.Charlie and Jane are precious, their storytelling abilities and unusual experiences a stimulation for the mind.Just Bob's gracious hospitality, Pete's constant hi octane fun, just skimming the surface of the depth of experience here.
I load up and head off to the lower springs, in the bag more smoked salmon, bowl and fork, bottle of wine gettin lower, in my hand the stool with back rest, ready for anything.Pete and Evelyn and the new guy with the big dog are cooking up some pork tenderloin and settling in.A party is in the making at the camp across from me, with a hot bass player and several guitars, I'll hear that happening, so I head down, finding no one at JBs camp, a bunch of unknowns at the crystal pool, so I set off for Charlie and Janes tent trailer down in the arroweed to see whats shakin' them.They are cocooned up playing gin, but always ready for a visit, and i set up inside the tent trailer and we exchange stories of our lives.Charlie built a bunch of spec houses on the sly , made a pile of money so they bought a boat and sailed with 3 teenagers off to Mexico, Panama Canal, through the Caribbean and to Florida.Finally out of money, all went to work for cash per day to buy groceries, and survived for a year that way.Jane got a job in a yogurt shop when the oldest son looking for a job, found the propieter wanted a middle aged housewife.He allowed as how his mom was looking for a job too, and she was hired on the spot.
We emerge to watch the lightening of the sky signaling moon rise, and I head off for higher passages.Pete is still cooking, but is headed to the party by me, so i repair to the manse on wheels and kick back until the bass starts plunking and I can hear guitars following suit.I don the pimpdaddy coat and head over to the fray, a small group around the fire, with the strumming of guitars, JB, the new guy and Mike, the bass player from Mumbo Jumbo,a local rock band in Sacramento.He has a generator going, and is laying out some perfect lines. "great coat, mr pimpdaddy"i get complements all around, and im very warm.The down mountain evening breeze has kicked up and people are getting cold.Amy is being mother hen, bringing out blankets for anyone who needs them.
"Where"s Pete?"is the chorus all at once, he was eating and shoulda been here long ago.Oh well, he's on valley time, and is herding cats, the usual excuse.We watch as the ridge lightens and the moon pokes over the edge."That moon is severely disabled" someone quips."No, it is differently abled, gotta be pc."to laughs all around.
A car pulls in and Pete appears to cheers all around, they are old friends from the springs.Evelyn and Elizabeth are there also, along with the new guy.The group rips some good songs, the melodic bass keeping the rhythm, and mellowness starts circulating, laughter and quips flying back and forth. Pete is a sparkplug and the mood elevates.Nutterbutters from May, chocolate covered potato chips from nowhere, a growler of pale ale from Glenwood springs brewery and the final blow:Sobuku, a licorace liqueur , put in a shot glass, fired up with flame, then you put your wet hand over the top, form a seal, lift up the shotglass and drink the liquer through a small hole in your fingers, then take a straw and inhale the last fumes, which are supposed to have opium in them.A very involved process, but a major performance, and to the entertainment of all.
Thats it for me, I pack my kit, say goodbyes, and head off to the hilltop, no w-word at all, perfectly clear night, with the maimed gibbous moon shining the way.Settle in to the rhythm of guitars and bass, read a littleof the LeCarre African political novel and then fade away into dreamland.
The new day dawns, softer light on the mts, heralding a high overcast, nothing serious, but blue skys to the north from whence the weather comes.Another perfect day in paradise.I write while watching the lightening of the scene, now with Pat in the foreground, another geologist from UCSB, working as an engineer in LA, great guitarist, we raged last night around the fire. He knows all my friends there,The guys from next door walk by to pleasentries, tubward bound.
I write for couple hours, this and work on the Tuolumne book text, its coming together slowly, integrating the Nevadaplano into the story, new news from the brains of the Caltech crew.A big plate of Terry's perpetual beans with eggs and I'm ready to roam.Down to Just Bob's camp, and Jude the jeweler appears with a small bag and her card in hand.I write a check for 35 smackers and my Judy has a bday present.I hang with JB and others passing through, people leaving now, a steady parade, counter the stream of people coming in, 3 or 4 of them visible at once on the bat road.
Bunch of young macho newbies at the lower, tattoos and atitudes, so I pass through and end up at Charlie and Jane's tent trailer, to long stories of their lives, building houses, now a dual relationship with Olympia Washington and Tombstone Az, with a long trip visiting places like this on the way back and forth, and a shot over to Minnesota to visit their roots.She is part owner of a farm her grandfather homesteaded in 1893, he came from Finland, which was under Russian control at the time, and he had to swear off all allegiance to the Czar in order to homestead. Some life they have.We try the LED bulb in their overhead, but it doesn't work, oh well, they can get one to fit on the web.Back to the springs, inviting Elizabeth, JB et al to a potluck at my place, and repair to the manse on the hill for a well-deserved nap.
Into host mode, heating up the TP Beans, getting out the last of the salmon and the chevre, cutting up the tomatoes, and rearrange the furniture for guests.
Charlie and Jane appear first, and we settle in, watching the wall to wall view as the light fades on the picket fence of the Inyos. Long tales of survival in Minnesota, replanting the pasture with 50k trees donated by the forest service, ice storms with all trees down and 7 days without electricity. They left Minnesota in a 52 chevy and a 2 year old and baby in diapers, drove west for greener pastures, landed in Washington building houses.I respond with flood stories, in 95 when we were flooded in, and kayaked to the store with Kailen and I got interviewed for tv about partying in the flood zone.4 days without electricity and finally moving out of the house, leaving a drunken cici to wonder what hit her.Swinging with the punches of nature, you have to adapt, there's no way out.Some people do some don't, they move to Florida only to be hit by a hurricane.
Jude and Dora move in and her perspective is insinuated on the pile of words we have created.She is on hiatus from life with her dog, a big Akita, well-behaved, but underfoot no matter what. I hear my name called and a light from the party camp across the road, "the party's over here""no its over here" i respond, "I'll be over later to rage with you guys.The steady stream of conversation, yells and guitar sounds from the bass tells me they are having a good time.
We finish up our visit with a cheery fire and pancho and lefty, Jude singing along, she knows all these old songs.I repair to the manse, finding the electrical supply happening well or good or whatever.I snooze a bit till thethump of bass drives me partyward, donned in Pimpdaddy coat and Uncle Sam hat to great applause as i appear in the firelight.Its a reunion of the gang, Pete, JBob, pat, elizabeth, evelyn, may, Jude, Amy and a lady with a baby wrapped in a blanket.We sing, eat nutterbutters, may has an inexhaustable supply, and Jude shares hits of Jameson Irish Whiskey with me. I still soft pedaling the alcohol, sleeping better, more energy,
I'll be unstoppable if I can get my heart back in shape.All this walking around camp and hiking must help.
One by one, people fade into the darkness as the severely maimed moon breaks the ridge and is our flashlight home to the snug nest on the hill.I read a bit, but am soon enveloped in the reverie of sleep.
Up with the dawn, etching the lines of erosion on the face of the Inyos, puttering, writing, organizing for departure, not much to do thank goodness, and soon I am off up the fan for a soak at the upper after a visit with the mexican teachers, now ensconced in the hollow below California Hill.Ron and Lydia are old friends from LA, great fun people, and we catch up after several years of passing like ships in the night.They have finished their house in the northland, Shasta area, and Lydia is closing off teaching and getting ready for a life of leisure.
I hang in the Wizard pool with some Mammothites, good stories, good people.Then down to the Bishop folks camp.Frank is on top of his new camper van putting up poles from the teepee.They are headed out today, and Darla is there, my friend sans her husband Bob, they just back from a canoe trip on the Green River in Canyonlands.We catch up, then I ramble back to the camp, finish the packing and fire up the beast for the voyage ahead.All is smooth sailing, except for goodbyes to all those left behind.Off into the wildness of the Bat road, going slowly, caring for my tires, and listening to gregorian chant left over from sunday.Off at noon, on the road again, bound for glory.I take in the views, stop for lunch at the bat road jct, then to Willow Creek, still no sign of life, get some talc for my collection, and off up the long hill.Locate the jct of the Bunker Hill Mine rd on gps, and take some pix of the Lead Canyon anticline, liesurly trip out.At the North Pass the road becomes a freeway, 2 graders sitting there, pausing in thier work of smoothing the road.I step up a notch and soon am topping the hill at the Death Valley road.4 hours from the springs, a goodly trek, enough to filter out most ordinary souls, thank god.
Down the hill and up the valley to Bishop, no Mark, so I stash his sleeping bag under a tarp on the back poarch, and head to Black Sheep, get the big emails and respond, telling Judy Ill call at 7 or so her time. Von's is milling with all kinds of people, never seen, never seen again types, I hit the road again on the last stretch to Benton.I return Win's call, he is in big brouh haha with the neighbors, he hit Larry's dog which was chasing his car.This after he killed Dolly, Harry’s cripple dog several months ago, again chasing cars.Jim and Velma and He and Larry got into a shouting match over speeding which the dog owners think is the problem and controlling your dog, Win's point which I agree with enthusiastically. The sheriff came to adjudicate, and put a speed sensor up by Harry’s place.Goolsby ranch road dog wars, a microcosm of America, where people think their dog's shit doesn't stink and they should be able to run free, irresponsible to a fault.More grist for the Dog Manifesto mill.
All is well at the ranch, no major changes, and I settle in, drink too much wine, and long talk with Judy, reaffirming our love for each other and sleep feeling rosy and at home again.
Rock grotto-Benton Crags more pix on picasawebsite
Another blowy day, steady at 30 mph, i coccooned in working on projects, and the time flew. But i hadda get outta dodge, check the mail, see if the people at the cafe are still there, doing their cafe thing. Pulled out about 3, returned ann's new yorker which somehow got put in my box, they just cant get it right down at the po. then out on the road again, on a quest, for who knows what? first the line of aspens up toward the pass on the Benton crossing rd. Few leaves left, but those are glowing in the sun framed in pinons and adding an ethereal note to the landscape. I unleash the nikon d90 on them and get some fine results and collect some to send to judy.
I check out the cliffs east of the road on the way up, and recall there is a road from the top that might lead there. My fantasy is to do a hike from top to bottom thru the granite bosses, cut by fractures which erode out to selective paths, some blocked by pinons, but there always is a way through. It looks spectacular, like the Alabama hills, rounded bosses of granite sliced by furrows of fractures and light aplite dikes.
Out the track above find the road ends just above the maze of boulders. I am drawn to such places, they always harbor surprises, and beautiful sculptures. Head into the puckerbrush, sage and sand with a dusting of fresh snow. I focus on a dike, that reflects the fractures in the bedrock, and snap a few megapixels. It looks like a dropoff down the gully, so i peer over the top and look down 100 feet, not the right path. Scrutinizing the rocks, always on the outlook for petros, i see one, but its modern "HC" in fresh granite. Looking more closely there are other marks, faint but true, in the enigmatic shape of the local petros, by indians long ago. wow, if i can get down there, maybe there will be more, but ill have to find another way.
Breaking out of the gully, I try another route, again a major dropoff, guarded by a spire of granite and snap the scene, glass mt behind it, really cool, i can see this as another in a quiver of local hikes i can treat friends to. Back out and another path opens, a narrow slot between granite cliffs, but it goes, down into the next valley, through some tough trees, and along a snowy slope and into the bottom of the gully. I turn upstream, petro wards, and find a sculpture garden with arching grottos, carved by pleistocene torrents rotating rocks in cavities forming major potholes. This is very cool, I enter the grotto and admire the work of water. It still goes up into another grotto, and there on the wall is a fantastic display of petros, rivers, animals, paths, etched into the back wall. I try some flash pictures, and it looks like i got something , but its dark in there and there are rocks in front of the scene, so not a good place to be ansel adams. tricky light. oh well. i come back several times, try to get up into the shelf across the pond, but chicken out, no one knows im up here and it would be weeks before they found my truck if i couldn't get out on my own. Careful, careful, i keep saying, wishing i had my hiking sticks and helmet.
Back down the gully to the open meadow, and great vistas to glass mt and the valley over precipitous drops, another knickpoint, must be gorgeous with runoff from big rain or snowmelt. Getting late, and colder, i have on gloves, sweater, shell and merrills, not the best footwear, but i am careful. Return in my steps and take in the petros again, the place robert had taken kailen and friends, and ran into some indians having a ceremony, no one here now. Following footsteps in the snow, and back to the truck, a feeling of accomplishment, and joy at being here in paradise of the east sierra, with wonderment at every turn.
The two forms exploded out of the crowd, grabbed the doorlatch on my 47 chevy and breathlessly piled in chanting “we gotta go see Dylan”.Margie and Louise, bedecked in Woody Guthrie denim folk attire are on the warpath, we careen through the crowd to the big field and somehow shoehorn into a parking place and we are off at a run to the workshop tent.
OK, Dylan, I’d heard some echos of this new guru through folk circles, even had the first album, and had started singing his early songs.We’d even scoured Washington square for the dude to no avail one dark misty night in NYC, and here we were.
We made a grand entrance..high on our energy, working our way through the crowd, and theres this guy, I check him out.And he checks me out, scraggly beard, tousled hair---check.Stained workshirt with 1/2 smoked pack of Galoises in the pocket ----check.Battered levis, cowboy boots----check.Guitar over one shoulder—check.I look at him and say “whats with the bullwhip?”.He touches the coiled serpent on his shoulder, smiles and says “joanie and I are blowing minds doing bullwhip tricks around the pool at the motel”.“Cool, Bob sounds like fun”. And off we go.
We are blown away, the poetry most of all, and the style…gravelly voice, great guitar in all modes, and unassuming air.“Baby let me follow you down”,“Don’t think twice” “House of the rising sun”, all done in a howling style, immediately adopted by all folkies around.And the world had changed for folk music.
Newport RIfolk festival1965
The multitudes are gathered to hear the famous guru of folk, Dylan is now a superstar, with a mane of hair, followed by a wave of marmidons crossing the field to the workshop.You have to force your way into the crowd and fight for a space, and the poetry flows and the music bites hard into the words, the guitar sings for us all to hear.
We gear up for the evening concert, a big crowd in the football field, packed in to do homage to the new god of folk.But, there is a setup for a rock band, unheard of at Newport, and finally they come out, Paul Butterfield, band and Dylan with a very poor rendition of some songs, out of tune, feedback screeching, people outraged, a wave of booingrunning through the crowd. I’ve been talking to Pete Seeger, who was seated in front of me with his mom, Ruth Crawford, and he is outraged, jumps up and heads back for the stage.I hear later that he was going to pull the plug on the performance with an axe.Butterfield and Dylan screech some more, and finally quit.Bob comes out and does one song to mollify the crowd, still with boos echoing, and finally bows out, no apology, just an experiment in a new genre that the folkies weren’t ready for.
This set the pattern for his career, and each time we heard a new set of tunes and a new band (most notably The Band),a new page was written in the bible of Dylan.Nashville Skyline with some great country ballads, Slow Train Comin, songs of his Christian phase, Time out of Mind with some uptempo ballads. He continued the poetry, and the captivating presence in concert.
So when we heard about the Greek Theater concert October 10, it was time, I stalked the ticketmaster website and scored 2 tickets in the first public minutes, and was off to the music event of the year.
The Greek was packed, we got there at 5 and stood in line for good seats, which we got no problem, center up 10 rows behind the mixers, huge electronic affairs, studded with computer screens.We prepped for cold, and bundled up, with low back chairs, blankets and partied. The house beer and wine was lousey, so we had a little reserve and mellowed out, watching the people.I wore an Uncle Sam top hat so our late friends could find us.We got an early taste of the band during the sound test from the parking lot, and they were solid, with punching bass lines rumbling our chests
On time, they came on and introduced Dylan as an icon of
American music and master of many styles and genres.A shout went up from the crowd as he entered the stage, dressed in black hat, double breasted black jacket and red scarf, launching into the solid big beat reverberating around the amphitheater.
The playlist was eclectic, (see Bob Dylan website for list and other reviews) with versions of Mama you been on my mind and the Lonesome death of Hattie Carroll with very creative arrangements; interfaces with Highway 61 revisited during which I cried with happiness, Thunder on the mountain and old classics Like a Rolling Stone and finishing with All along the Watchtower.All done in the same style, big beat, up tempo, Dylan,s voice was gravelly and low as always, and occasional snippets of words came out, but I knew most of them and sang along.The faithful in the mosh pit were packed in, and well-behaved, and let out a collective spine chilling scream every time a favorite line came on.The crowd in general was mellow, I thought we were going to have some loud people behind us, but they mellowed out as soon as the music started.
The best part for me was to watch Dylan sing with his body, small movements and twitches, sometimes arms raised, leaning into the music, emphasizing the words with his body, Pushing into the lines sent chills up and down my spine.You can see him playing with the words.
“Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
Abe says, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"
God say, "No." Abe say, "What?"
God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin' you better run"
Well Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done?"
God says, "Out on Highway 61."
This says it for the poetry, It has always been a creative tour de force, and he can spout out rhymes with amazing words like a fountain.There is a clip in Pennebakers film where he is given 5 words and makes up poetry for 10 minutes, and incredible feat.
The band was solid, Charlie Sexton on lead guitar is top notch and the pedal steel, standup bass, and drums equally talented.They did make a lot of noise, but that’s what its all about in the new Dylan mode.The tour continues across the country, first to LA, then Las Vegas and ends up in BostonIts worth flying to.
woke at 3am to a thumping noise; outside at the source, i found the cover to the breaker box thumping in a north wind. very cold, front coming in, secured the lid and back to bed. phone rings at 7 am, like a pigs tail-twearly (too early), not for this neck of the woods, people are up and about 630-7. its Win, my neighbor, telling me to batten down the hatches for the incoming storm, the radio says 3-6" in the valleys, gotta run around now and drain the irrigation system, empty water outta the hoses, and a dozen other things before it gets nasty.....and so it goes.
Clouds over the mts, a quick trip to the cafe for coffee, i forgot it back in soco, gulp it down, wreathed in down jacked, crocheyd hat and 2 different gloves, un leash the load from the pickup, camping equipment piled higher and deeper in the office trailer. Enter the cafe, the door opens for me and its Jackie, smiling, i quip "the doorman, oops the door person" she laughs,the skin cracking around her mouth, great lady. She's off into the storm, coffee served by smiling indian waitress, $1.62 for a big one. I emerge to the vision of a blue puff ball, totally wrapped up, helmet, on a pink bike, its Katy, smiling and laughing to see me, one of my favorite recalcitrant kids here, doesn't do her homework even after i impressed on her that that was her most important job in life.
A silver sliver of light focused by the clouds in front of the sun breaking over the east ridge bathes the hills to the west, accentuating the moonscape of granite boulders, gravelly slopes. the mts behind dark and ominous, roiling around Glass mt, a taste of things to come. (twss).
Contemplate the day ahead of rest, gotta exercise or die, work on the tuol. guidebook and catch up with friends scattered like chaff up and down the eastside. This is a frame of mind, all very aware that nature is in control out here, in spite of long periods of sweet times, do anything any day, now we enter the time of conflict, man vs. nature, creative solutions to life-threatening, or at least uncomfortable events."people out here have to be resourceful" was Judy's observation. I've got 2 chords of wood, hard and soft for warmth and a flick of the switch activates the propane furnace, so i'm set, just some details like the irrigation system, drags from my reverie watching the mts go by, sun on the trees at the top of the vast fan of M. canyon, my viewscape. Lights were coming outta there last night, late, who was up there? an annual trip to the waterfall has to be planned and executed. Ill call some friends to see who might be up for it. Walt Hoffmann retired ranger, or Dancingbears? or even D? too many thoughts, not enough action, gotta get to it. Dylan on the radio spurs me on.
Into the driving snow flurries, comin down over the fan, drain the irrigation, empty the hoses, check the heater in the pump house, gotta check again. Look over Wins handiwork, neatly stacked cord of fir, awaiting their deaths in a blaze of glory. Raked and shoveled area to drain away from the house, trees still kickin some bursting at the seams from the rabbit fence looking like hourglasses. Cover the outside furniture, load the dump run, and so it goes. Ill post this, if you dont wanna hear it lemme know.
Its different out here on the playa. it was cool this morning and still, but windy and dusty yesterday on the way in and setting up camp in a crowded corner. we had total of 3 flats on the way in , 2 punctures which i plugged on the spot, and one trailer tire shredded at the gate to the event. i had picked up moondancer, another geezer to give him aride to his camp, and he helped change the tire. cathy, as is her wont, primped and put on her tutu and brought an out rageous cat in the hat hat which i promptly ripped off.
good times with canyon last night, we partied with her desert guardians group, then piled on board a salmon fishing boat mounted on a truck chassis, climbed up about 100' above the ground and toured the site at night. the man is beautiful, with free form waves or mountains around the base and 100' of neon above that perched on a double helix. brightly lit and outrageously decorated art cars, trucks, an articulated bus from england cruised with us. walked back from the temple with canyon, past the man again and over to more fire sculptures, with a line 200 feet long of propane nozzels spouting fire bursts all computer controlled.
Always the thump thump of techno bass gone mad in the background, generaters powering everything. my solar is doing well, so i have all the ions i need fo run my little stereo and charge my computer and run led lights.
had the shitz last night, used my portapottti for the first time. oops cathy and pete just came in, jabbering jabbering, so ill sign off, and write later when i get time. and maybe even put some pix up on picasaweb. love t
things gettin hotter, 98 today, and we are fortunate to have canyon's trailer with ac to hang out in. i did an ice run this morning, 5 10 lb blox, carried handily in my old ladys grocery cart, a fold up number, bot at flea mkt in mina for 5 bucks. wednesday, almost 1/2 way through, my hair is stiff, and needs washing, tonite, hopefully. problem is what to do with grey water. silver bob usted to bring a 55 gal drum for that, but he isnt here this year. i surruptitiously dump our gray on the road, where the water truck comes by and obliterates any trace of the very uncool move.
i cant see missing a year of this show, its incredible, the outpouring of passion and hedonism and artistic talent. we go on an art tour with the artists tmw morn, hopefull on a big art car bus, or ride our bikes behind and listen to the narrative on a huge pa system.
great roam last night with cathy on foot, several bar/night clubs are going full tilt boogie, including one next to our camp. loud thump thump music. went to a concert in a huge dome with electric bass and violin playing melodic and strangely woven tunes with a popping drum machine behind. then to a structure with towers and a set of tracking lazers on top, so when you walked or danced the lazers would follow you and play different notes on a big stereo system, all controlled by a guy at a computer.
moon cast an incandescent glow over the playa, punctuated by green lazers sweeping the dusty air and more art cars belching flame, and blaring techno (one had big rock candy mt on), with crowds of people waving and shouting their glee at being free to party their asses off. We (c and cyn) walked out onto the playa after a party with the earth guardians crowd (eg from now on) and gave the man a through going over, revelling in sweeping free forms of towers built from 2x4s . clouds did a warm air night, people stripped down to the bare essentials. we visited the temple already with many names and keepsakes, pictures, poems etc adorning the jigsaw cut walls, climbed up 3 stories to the top and watched a wedding happen, champagne open, cheers all around. I wonder if its for the duration of the event???
c and cyn head for a monster art car, an articulated bus with platform top spilling over with people, they can only fit 150 on the bus, and im feeling fat legged, so i head to my bike stashed at the man, loc by gps, and tottle on home, stopping at some great installations, a bank of light bulbs 10 feet thick, with 4 colors in each bulb and patterns all controlled by computer. people lying on the ground looking up from underneath.
quiet at camp, the disco is closed for the night, last night they went till midnight.
c wakes up at 9 am, ready to prep for the art tour, it takes an hour to do this, and i putter, fix things, find my sunglasses, charge my camera batts, and off we go, hot, windy, big crowd at the art tour place, so i opt out, hang in the jazz tent for a while, then to cyn, who has been barfing all night long with a migrane. we may not do the black rock tonight after all.
cyn recovered slowly and it is on, we hang with the eg crowd, c goes with the art tour, i do a psa (public service ann.) for the radio, and hand at center camp, big crowd packed in, bumping into each other, many performances in the center ring and at 3 stages.
we snooze, cathy bouncing in and out from various adventures. fire up cyns tundra and drive the dusty, crowded streets to our camp, organize and load up for the night at the black rock playacita. we return to the fashion show, one guy has wings of steel slats that pop open using a co2 cartridge, some outrageous costumes, cyn is in a long prarie dress and pilgrim hat, printed save the earth all over. a true devotee of the earth.
now for the safari onto the playa, we have the radio, the correct forms and our tickets, and we are out of the madding crowd, into the open at last, cyn cruising 40 mph across a perfectly flat white landscape. totally nuts, totally different perspective. we follow a track well beaten up the playa for 15 miles, then branch off to the right toward the black rock, totally visible for 20 miles. It looms up as we approach, and wind our way through the dunes into tthe shelf and there is water (140 deg hot), and an old wagon skeleton, part of the applegate trail. Another burner is there, guarding the hot spring for desert guardians, as part of their role as support for BLM. Talk and talk, a van arrives to take her home, and drops off tracy, another volunteer. she is off in a corner sobbing, very depressed, but canyon cheers her up, and we pile in to the playacita, a perfectly round 1 km playa in the hills above the black rock. we set up camp on the shore, and commence partying, watching the full moon up over the desert mts is spectacular, roaming around the vast flatness of the playa is great , with occasional views of a person for scale. i set up the fire launcher and start popping off fireworks, some mortors hundreds of feet up, and the ball of fire from the launcher gives an apocolyptic effect. we soon fade out, blessed with the silence, no thump thump of bass, no people crowding around, and perfect temperatures.
up with the hot sun, masked by clouds for a while, red sunrise, coffee, hb eggs, and puttering, i play guitar, tracy has a mandolin type instrumnet, and we plink a little. cathy washes her hair, and we pile into the monster truck and are off for the main event. back into the thick of things, everything is dusty now, pepole are dusty. c reviews the sched, and the little black dress (lbd) party is at 5 at spankys wine bar, so we aim for that, cowering , in the ac, until it goes off. oh well. tmw my talk and the man burns.
back to camp and snooze after a cruise on the blm covered wagon art car, with a painted nude, 2 guitarists doing doobie bros and niel young songs. we head home and dark falls, over sleep, 930, and head out to the spaceship launch on the playa. interminable wait, we cruise tthe art cars, watch naked fire dancers, and finally things start happening, a round of ground white explosions segue into huge rocket display with fire coming out of the bottom of the rocket ship, then suddenly a set of blasts from a row of sources with billiowing red, yellow and pink clouds the concussion wave hitting our chests like a sledgehammer. back to cyn camp to get our bikes, then back home to crash, the thump thump thump of the techno beat.
red sun, and coffee, great basin bakery bread, and prep for deep playa. to the temple, post dianes poem, don and lars holbeck passed. deeper we find a garden with columnar joints, and huge ss tables, then to the nest, a eagles nest with comfortable pads. back via the 10 oclock rave domes, pallets made into towers. putter at camp, have long talk with abalone al, and his crew, then prep for the talk. snooze and then off with cathy to the eg pavilion , set up, then people start arrivng, packing in to hear me and my geology presentation. cathy and canyon help with demos of volcanos and subduction. great fun talk, 240 people bilbo counted, and many questions, up to the balcony for a safety meeting, and guiness, and views of the playa fading into fog of blowing dust. a mournful cry of a foghorn echos across the playa. then to canyons for lowering conciousness, more costumes bilbo and darlene, a friend from grass valley. more blowing dust out there, but stilll visibility is good, so we'll do the burn.
lotsa wind yesterday, the burn was late and spectacular, I'll post a description to you soon. breaking camp, plan to leave 5 am after the temple burn which will be watched from a lift truck in our camp complete with balcony, couches, a bar (always a bar). cathy left early, lotsa stuff, i organized the trailer and stuff and all i have to do is throw it in and head out in the morning.
The burn started with a windstorm, packed into cyn's trailer, raging fun, crackling conversation. whoops and shouts, cathy and cyn changing costumes, dancing to classic tunes, wine bottles, champagne popping. we mount the platform and look out into the dark, nothing visible, but the rangers radio is announcing the start of the procession, the fire twirlers will be soon behind. finally we motorvate after interminable costume changes and gathering together of equipment. finally we enter the fray, people on bikes, on foot, art cars, scooters segues, you name it. now a huge wheeled vehicle 50' high roaming along all decorated with flashing lights, neon, video etc.
The density of people increases exponentially as we enter the perimeter, a line of nose to tail art cars 2 miles long, blaring techno, belching fire, people hangng on to platforms for a view above the playa. c and c and i play tag hard to find, several separations, i have them lead and follow, they hold hands to stay togetehr. the twirlers are twirling and a huge flaming dragon enters the mass of seething dancers, with flaming wings flapping. now we look for a spot, the girls want to be up front, and i settle down on my tripod chair to watch the show.
it begins with a spectacular fireworks display, with accompaning blasts , then the man starts spouting sparks from his hands, and soon the whole statue is on fire, now the understructure starts up, people throwing flares into the wooden columns, shoots of flame starting up,then the whole display is enveloped in a monster white billowing explosion the concussion almost knocking us over, leaving the wood flaming, consuming the whole base, that we hung out in and admired as art in the desert. the mans head falls off to a great cheer, but it has a superstructure of steel, and it isnt going anywhere. the vortexes start whirling off downwind. I am tired, but determined to watch the fall of the man, but it isn't happening, so i wend my way past some art cars, one with 3 stories and huge video screen, and a wall of sound, more huge speakers and a gut fluttering bass line.
quiet on the playa, stroll over toward the lightbulb cube and stare at that for a while, great patterns of lights with bulbs changing color constantly.
back to snug nest, just drifting and i hear cathy, "you wimp, its only midnight, get up and party with us" ok, the ladys are back with another bottle of shiraz open, i drink water, enuf for the night. visit some clubs, and now finally they leave me alone to repair.
On 9/6/09, terry wright wrote: > lotsa wind yesterday, the burn was late and spectacular, ill post a > description to you soon. breaking camp, plan to leave5 am after the > temple burn which will be watched from a lift truck in our camp > complete with balcony, couches, a bar (always a bar). cathy left > early, lotsa stuff, i organized the trailer and stuff and all i have > to do is throw it in and head out in the morning. >
sunday was busy with helping cathy pack and off early, then packing most of the camp myself, the plan to leave at 5 am with too tall sherry, fun fun debbie, pete and tahoe bob. segue over to canyons, tri the internet to no avail, snooze party visit watch the teardown of camp all going into 2 huge containers to be unearthed next year. the wind blows off and and on, we mosy out to central camp, it is crowded, no good music, a n amazing group of individuals and costumes and performance art. now a stroll out onto the playa picked up by an art car for a ride to the man, then back to eg, and fond farewells to cyn, her camp in tatters.
oh i forgot about spankys wine bar saturday afternoon, this was a hot spot with all kinds of people coming and going on the esplanade. 50 cases of wine in various states of disrepair sitting in the hot sun, cooled with ice. the name comes from the spankometer, a contraption where you pulldown your pants, bare butt, to be spanked by a board that repeatedly thwapped your butt. great sport. good music too, no techno, a few knopflers, joanie, jazz. great costumes and great performances with dancing, on the bar and a crowd gathering to celebrate life. also deep playa on sat morning early cool, to the temple to post dianes poem then a great garden with columnar joints and huge rock tables, and the eagles next high above the playa, snugging in pillows and watching the world go by.
back to sunday....back to camp and finish packing up, all i gotta do is turn the key and drive outta there, most stuff in a heap on the trailer covered with playa dust, gotta find a leaf blower to clean up. we have a low keytime on the lift truck balcony couch watching the temple burn, then turn in, sleep soundly until the neighbors fire up the stereo thump thump. finally at 1 am they calm down, i sleep till 4 30, and make coffee, secure the camper pop top, find the rrear taillight is out, and not fixable, and finally sherry and i roar off into the sunrise. a slow procession tot he gate, and out onthe road smooth sailing to nixon, where i try to get gas to no avail, they are out. oh well, fume it to the wigwam in fernley, no sign of sherry, a few other burners are there, 2 recognize me from the talk at bman, and im tearing into steak and eggs when sherry pulls in, looking hasseled, nailed for speeding in nixon and pissed. we have a good conversation about life and plans, she is 15 miles from her house in silver city, almost home, i contemplate my 3 hour drive to benton and am ready to hit the road. call heather to relay message i have emerged from the playa, and debbie and pete pull up, we visit for a short time then im off on the road again, snoozing several time to stay awake, sail past mina to montgomery pass, the bug station , the po store and home. to sleep perchance to dream.
things are low key in benton now, im gonna lie low, maybe do some fishing, clean up the gear after bman and visit around. my friend from tulsa arrives in reno on the 16th and we do the millpond music fest. that weekend, and im back for dr appts on the 24th. ill be around a week, but plan a southland odyssey to a weekend party in lancaster, then to santa barbara to visit cathy in her mansion about to be foreclosed upon, then gunkholing up the coast to a ranch on big sur and friends in monterey and santa cruz, then to the dylan/willie concert at the greek, then home for a while. oh well sieze the moment...
Being the record of my ramblings about the world and impressions of wilderness, activities, and things done to keep an old fart with a pacemaker going.
