The Great Basin

 The Great Basin

In the last post I referred to the foreboding 100 mile stretch of Great Basin where water that flows here does not go to an ocean and where its aridity prevented the pioneers journey west.

I didn’t tell you the truth. 

Sally and I left our Atlantic City apartment before dawn and set off into the cool morning air following an unsealed, but well packed road.  We were swift and chipper as we strode through the cool breeze and desolate landscape of flat desert whose dry sands were kept from drifting by the tens of thousands of acres of sage bush.  Ten miles had passed before ten o’clock and congratulating ourselves we took refuge from the warming sun under a bridge by Sweetwater River where we filtered water, drank our fill and topped up our water carriers.  There would be no more reliable water sources as we left the comfort of the road and entered the Red Desert.

And still we were perky, the oasis embankments of Sweetwater carved deep green fissures in the barren sagescape as I looked at the distant mountains of the Divide we had left behind.  Like hobbits leaving the boundary of The Shire, still with good spirits, we followed tracks in the sand south east ever deeper.

By half past two there was enough angle with the sun to cast shadow.  The heat without the shade of mountain trees was intense and an outcrop of rocks near a reported water source could provide enough shade for a comfortable lunch.  It was a way off the trail so I investigated whilst Sally drew water from a cow slurry infested puddle of mud as four of the black sheened offenders gave us space.

Off trail I followed cow paths through the tick infested sage bushes where rattlesnakes lurked.  For half a mile I made my way up to the the outcrop where we could crouch in its shadow.  

I carefully walked back to Sally, we had water, a spot for lunch and shade  for a siesta.

The water filter changed the colour from brown to less brown.  It tasted of cow pooh but it did add umami to our two packs each of Top Ramen which settled very nicely in our tummies as we lay tight against the rocks drifting off to sleep as sun blocking clouds began to drift across the sky.

Cool drops of rain stirred us from sleep and we packed away and set off deeper into the desert.  Quite content that despite the awkwardness of sand underfoot, that our journey across the Great Basin would not be arduous.  And then Special Agent Sally, the expedition’s snack controller, let out an “oh no” from behind.

It was a three and a half day trip across this section.  And if you remember we would have two Top Ramens each per day for our main meal.  Two people, three days, eating two packs of super delicious Top Ramen across one of Earth’s emptiest desolate places.  Now, Sally is a highly successful financial advisor in the real world, who holds numerous accounting qualifications and can wrap an ISA quicker than Eminem.  But can she multiply 2 x 3 x 2?  No.

“Shit, shit, shit.  We only brought 6 ramen John.” She said with distress in her voice.

“And we’ve just had four for our lunch?”  I enquired as gently as I could as I tried to process the facts.

She nodded.  Just two packs of Top Ramen were left. One each over the next three days across a desert that had claimed the lives of countless pioneers. Only one word came to mind and it wasn’t farts.

Thinking back to the lost pan episode I tried to match Sally’s composure; but inside I just seethed.  And it didn’t subside.  I didn’t say anything but I couldn’t chat, I couldn’t watch Pronghorn deer as they watched us trudge through the landscape.  And the more I seethed, the deeper the sand became and the heavier my pack became and the more my feet slipped in my shoes.  And I seethed some more.

I think Sally must have guessed that I was not my normal self.  She must have felt so bad and I tried my best to overcome this mental state.  But any positive focus that I had for this place had vanished.  

That evening we camped at the side of the trail where grass grew.  At certain times of year it must have held water, it was as empty now as was our conversation.

The following morning, I woke up; the sun rose - it dawned on me.  Whatever you want to call me, I was calling myself.  A new day, a new mindset and we hit the trail, so what if we were low on food.  We’d be fine.  We sat by a filthy pool, clogged up our filter with cow sediment - but we got by.  The sand was thick in our feet and the sun beat its heat early.  It was very tough indeed.  But we pushed on.  Long, straight, sandy two track meant for all terrain vehicles stretched out in front of us.  Endlessly.

Just a few days ago we sat by a creek in the shade of towering firs and gorged handfuls of wild raspberries.  Now nature’s bounty offered sage laced with ticks and snake, by the delicious truckload!

The monotony got the better of us, instead of listening out for rattles we listened to Jack Reacher’s latest adventures in ‘In Too Deep’ and instead of trudging through the sand we took the firmer cow tracks that ran parallel through the sage, promising ourselves thorough tick checks later in the day.

At one point we just lay at the side of the path and slept.  We were woken by a lady in a truck who asked if we were ok. She told us that there was a water cache, umbrellas,  cushions and pasta 🍝 just a half mile away.  In a shot we were at the box, there was indeed water, umbrellas and cushions, but no pasta.  

“Sally, can you see the pasta?  The lady said there was pasta!?”

There was a giggle and eye roll, “a Pastor, a pastor put this here.  Do something useful and sign the visitors book.”

Maybe this is what a food mirage is.

Typical cow pond with shade bonus

The monotony continued into the next day, Sally and I fell out again, I can’t remember why.   That evening night as I pitched the tent under a darkening sky I saw the distant headlights on the Interstate, like drops of dew moving along spider’s gossamer.  A world away.

The night was wild and stormy, we hardly slept and when daylight broke more desert awaited.  After six miles we stopped for breakfast by a 10 mile long straight road that lead to the Interstate - the road was empty as we sat in the sage bushes below the side of the road.  I said to Sally that if someone passed, that we would ask for a lift into the next town.  We had done enough.  Within a minute I heard the pound of a runner’s tread; how strange, so remote.

Back along the road we walked and the sun stripped some more of our will.  A few miles more and then the runners tread from behind.  She stopped.  “Are you CDT hikers? The trail is off this road a bit.”  I explained that we were just heading to the highway, and that we were done.  “I can give you a lift into Rawlins, it’ll take half an hour for me to get back to my van, I’ll come back and take you in.”  And off she ran to become a speck on the horizon that disappeared to nothing where the roads perspective ended.  We carried on walking, wondering whether she would return.

Randy did return with a huge 15 seater bus.  Close to tears we climbed aboard and spouted on about the brutality of the desert and our adventure from Canada. When I asked her why she was in the middle of nowhere she told us that she was out celebrating.  The doctors had given her five years, she was celebrating three years of fighting an inoperable brain tumour, having a break from her three kids and four adopted kids by going for a marathon run. I felt like a fake, spoilt and entitled.  The fall outs with Sally seemed petty and stupid, the adventure - an ego trip.

Rawlins, on the route survives on an aquifer.  It has hotels, fast food places and even a Walmart.  Randy dropped us off to carry on with her life - the rest of her life -and we ours.

Slightly rested the following day we set off again.  Remember I didn’t tell the truth?  In addition to the 100 miles already completed a further 50 miles remained.  A road walk shortened this to 35.  

Water Cache 😇 

The road was called Sage Creek Road and sage lined it with more promises of ticks ‘n’ snakes.  At mile 25 we stopped for the evening by a water cache left by Jim and as we pitched at the side of the long empty road, a truck pulled up and a man who introduced himself as a Trail Angel 😇 chatted away about CDTers he had met that we knew.  He had given lifts, had meals and put up so many people.  He had a note book with their names and the dates he had met them.  It was a truly wonderful and friendly encounter with this 64 year old, warm hearted and jovial man.  He said that he had lost his wife three years ago and, then the heart breaker, his son a year before.  We were his therapy.  Two people in two days. Clearly pointing out how precious our time here is.  That all we can do is help each other and look out for each other.  

The following afternoon Sally and I sat under the shade of Aspen eating our lunch and drinking our fill on fresh tasting water.  Yes the Great Basin was challenging and I will always remember my days there.  I just hope that I remember the lessons learned and treat life, good health, family, friends and strangers with openness and kindness.  

Jug, SAS and 😇 whose name was Sage!