With EDO, I went out scrambling in Center Creek at dusk. A snow storm was moving in. We worked our way around a couple of rock faces and up a scree slope into a notch. After climbing through a snow filled basin we reached a sub-ridge overlooking the canyon. I was completely surprised. I told Ellen, "I've climbed every wash and ridge in this canyon at least twice, but I don't think I've ever been here."
I've become pretty good at hiding my flaws. After all, isn't that the point of blogging? Tell only stories that make one look good? Nowhere is my skill more obvious than in the business of house repair and maintenance. In fact, most of my house repair is what I call "carpentry by caulk:" Goop it back together and paint it. At 420 Grand most of the facia is rotted and should probably be replaced (above). How does it look now (below)?
Burros are not native to North America, they were introduced to the continent a couple of hundred years ago and were historically welcomed as working animals that carried loads for miners. Eventually, as they were released, or escaped captivity, they developed into large wild herds that adapted well to many of the dry rangelands of Nevada and other western states. Today, their presence is somewhat controversial: On the one hand, they are "invaders," but, on the other, no one likes the idea of harming them. I don't really have an opinion on the controversy, but I do have some advice for the wild burros: Y'all could go a long way towards improving your image by removing the sinister masks. I mean, the optics are not good: Standing around in tough-looking groups, staring threateningly at passers-by, and wearing the bandit-faces is not helping your brand.
I got as far as Smoke Creek before I turned around. (I was 25 miles from the oil and the days are short.) I was surprised by how much water was flowing. In this part of the Great Basin, the word "creek" often means "dry wash." Above the confluence, Rush Creek had water in it, too. But, more impressive than the trickle, was the cottonwood gallery: A dozen ancient trees superimposed on a landscape of basalt, sagebrush, and desiccating wind.
I've been on the skis just twice this winter. We are closing in on the middle of January, if something doesn't change, it will be (almost) a ski-free season. Today, I decided to get up on the plateau to see if there was enough snow for a tour. Barely. Two feet at the most, but probably around 18 inches on average. Still, it would have been arduous to walk: I'd have been post-holing. On the skis, I can glide. I did a few miles of gliding along the shore of the (dry) McCoy Reservoir. It was (are you surprised?) beautiful.
