Slow walking it in the Amargosa Canyon

In no big rush this morning. 

Tecopa was some 12 miles further and I was ambiguous as to whether I wanted to go there or just stay in the canyon. I was a bit ahead of schedule and could easily make it to Tecopa where there would be beer and also steaks. That is, if the owners of the beer-and-steakhouse are in the mood to open their establishment. If not, Tecopa would be a fairly dismal hang. As usual, I decided just to walk and let the proper destination present itself without trying to force the issue. Being goal-oriented on a long walk pretty much defeats the goal of a long walk, which is to escape the tyranny of goals.

But there are other kinds of tyranny. Gravity is one of them. Foolishness is another.

The route proceeded up the RR tracks, which are situated 20-50 feet up the wall of the canyon and thus well out of the impenetrable tamarisk-and-mesquite jungle that comprises the canyon bottom. It took me a good half hour this morning to thrash through a hundred feet of canyon bottom from my camp up to the road bed and I was anxious to avoid the bottoms again.

It wasn’t long before another side canyon washed out  the roadbed. If I backtracked and slid down the embankment to the bottoms I would be in for another thrashfest trying to make it across the washout and back up to the tracks. That did not appeal to me.

Instead I decided to follow the faint use trail that led up the gully side and see if I could make it around the washout without having to descend into the jungle. I carefully worked around the bend into the gully, the walls getting steeper and the gravel footing getting less sure.

By the time I realized I was cliffed out it was too late. I couldn’t turn because my pack would bump into the hillside and throw me off balance. I couldn’t walk backward because I couldn’t see my footing. I was already starting to slip, and if I lifted one foot, I was pretty sure I would begin sliding down to the dropoff and would not be able to stop before the edge.

As it was, my footing was giving way and I didn’t really have time to ponder the situation. The drop looked to be 10-15 feet down to the gully bottom. It might be OK to slide off and down, but probably not.

I slid down on one hip and clung to a band of hard mud with my fingertips. From there I jumped my butt backwards, doing a reverse inchworm while sliding my fingers along the mud band, hoping it would hold. I only needed to go about 5 feet this way but it was slow going.

After a tense couple of minutes I got to a place where I could stand up and reflect (once again) on my foolishness. I recalled that there had been a line of rocks across the trail a couple hundred yards before the gully. That was probably a marker for where to go down to the bottoms and avoid sliding down a dropoff and breaking a leg. At least it was a marker for the thoughtful and the percipient.

The rocks did indeed mark a rough path down the embankment to the bottoms. To my great surprise and gratification, I found that some brushwork had been done and it was but a few minutes of light bushwhacking to make it across the gully mouth and back to the RR bed. That was a pleasant surprise, and it was not the last of the day.

A little further on I came to a trail leading to something called the China Date Ranch in about a mile. I figured I might as well see the sights and also see if they sold cold drinks as the temperature was already in the 90s. 

The Date Ranch turned out to be a classic quirky desert outpost. They sold date milkshakes (delicious) and had plenty of cold drinks. 

Of course there was a rock shop, a requirement for any self-respecting desert trading post. 

I nearly fell out of my chair when a group of older bikers pulled up. One of them was a dead ringer for Dad in his 50s and 60s. Same hair same goatee same cheeks and nose. His eyes I couldn’t say as he was wearing a pair of aviators just like Dad (who was a pilot) always did. Should have talked to him and seen if he was a relative but I didn’t think of it. 

I lounged there a couple of hours under the ramada, occasionally chatting with curious tourists. And of course I dumped out my salty sulfur water and filled up on the cold sweet spring water that irrigates the dates. It was a huge improvement on what I had been drinking, but the taste of the Amargosa River water just would not go away. It had permeated my water bottles, and kept leaching back out.

The rest of the trail up the canyon was maintained and well marked. It is only a few miles between the ranch and Tecopa, and I think the ranchers maintain the trail as an enticement to tourism. There were a dozen or more dayhikers out despite the heat, so the time spent maintaining the trail was not wasted.

I took long shade breaks when the opportunity offered as it was once again beastly hot. Ended up about a mile below Tecopa. Camped on the bottoms to get out of the sun but this may have been a mistake because the skeeters came out soon thereafter. However I was well-satisfied with my day, glad to have escaped the consequences of poor judgement and also to have enjoyed the hospitality of the China Date Ranch. A rush into town would have been a mistake.