Camp Potosi - Part Three

Moving on after lunch, I fall back onto another animal trail. Almost expected, there are more signs of the burros. I am wondering if Mark phoned them, and told them to haunt me while I'm camping. I've heard stories from other campers that the burros will walk right up to sleepers and sniff at them from a few inches away. Not an exciting prospect...waking up with a giant face so close to your own.

The animal trail dumps out onto Road 582. Incredible. I could have followed the burros on a shortcut right to where I need to be. But there's another decision to be made, almost immediately. The road splits again. This time, the branch is 582 A. My memory tells me that I'm supposed to be on the far side of a ravine that runs down the middle of the valley, but the side road looks quicker, and I can always cross over if I find the need, so I chose, again, to travel on the offshoot.

There are a lot of mines around here. All are closed up with fencing, with warning signs: "keep out: unstable mine." They are not of interest to me. The cloud cover is making it darker, and feel later, than it really is, and a sense of urgency is pushing me to move faster. I really do not want to have to make camp, and search for firewood in the dark.

Somewhere I make some kind of mistake. Road A dumps me into a wash. I think I confused a crossing and picked the wash instead of the road to follow. It happens. It's often difficult to tell which is which. It keeps me headed in the right direction, so I don't let it bother me and keep moving along. When the wash becomes overgrown, I climb up the bank and take to ambling along through the desert again. Now, the area becomes familiar. The trees here are scorched. A fire swept through this valley during a previous storm. I have seen all of this from above. The temperature continues to drop, and there are fewer breaks in the clouds for the sun to peek through. The wind is also picking up, and the air is cool. It's a mild climb, but it's work with the pack that probably weighs between 40 and 50 pounds. I'm sweating. Being damp in a cold wind is not comfortable.


2:35

Panic!

A vehicle! On the road! Coming towards me!

I had stopped to look back towards the sun at the cloud cover, hoping to find that there would be some space for the sun to shine through soon, when I noticed the glimmer on the metal and the dust kicking up. It was just coming around the curve at the hills on road 582. Even with my binoculars, I cannot tell what kind of car it is, but I don't like it. The vehicle stops. Did they notice me looking at them and stop? Did the driver stop to use his own binoculars to look at me? Probably they stopped at the mines that are down in that area. I am thinking it could be the green truck I saw near Potosi Mine. Could be people just out checking out the mines. But I don't like it. I would much rather be alone out here. I turn and move swiftly towards the ridge that I will be going up, which is now in sight.

When I find a bit of a rise, I drop down into the wash a bit, and pull out the binoculars again. The vehicle has started moving again, and is closer. I can see it, now. It is the green truck, and it's moving along at a good pace. I use to wash to move and stay out of view, now. I don't want to be up on higher ground where I'm visible. I get almost to the ridge and I can hear the truck. Close. Just on the other side of the hill that protects me from view. I decide to equalize things. They cannot drive up the mountain. If they are going to chase me, it will be on foot. Up I go.

It's not a 'they', only a he. And it's not white supremacists out hunting. He waves. I wave back, feel foolish, now. He stops and turns off the truck, so he can hear me. He calls out a greeting and I answer. He asks what I'm doing. I tell him "going up," pointing towards the higher areas of the mountain, "to camp."

"Camping?!?" The expression on his face makes it obvious he thinks I'm a fool. The eyes are asking, 'Do you not know it's going to be freezing up there tonight? Are you an idiot?'

My sheepish nod answers, 'Yes. All of the above.'

We chat briefly. He's exploring the mines. He's a climber. But I'm eager to make camp before dark, and head off after saying goodbye.


4 PM

It's bad. The sun has dipped below the mountains, and I now know that I am lost. Lost bad. I have misread my map somewhere. What should have been a stroll up a valley has become a difficult climb up a rocky ridge. I may need to drop and camp in a bad spot before the freeze. I do not like heights and there are many spots where I have to remove my pack and push it up a rise, then climb up the rocks to get over. I have to take two breaks to rest my exhausted legs. I'm doing a lot of switch-back hiking to minimize the work.

I would love it right here if I wasn't in a semi-state of emergency. I'm high up on the side of the mountain, with a great view of mountains and valleys for miles and miles, with no signs of civilization or mankind. Really beautiful. Stopping here to jot notes for the blog is great. I would love to just sit here and write for hours. And now I have found my burros. I was right. Only about an hour behind them, at the most. I cannot see them, but I hear one of them braying. Where I turned to head into the valley, heading for the campsite, they continued on towards Red Rock Canyon.

I am terrified of getting stuck up here. I know I could have a real problem if I find myself up against a spot that I cannot continue climbing and am forced to go back down. Down is usually harder than up, because you are looking directly into where you might fall. I could end up searching for the best place to set up camp and waiting for search and rescue. It would be bad, because the mountain is covered with dry grass. There would be no campfire.

Fortunately, no unpassable area ever comes up. I keep working my way up and around the hill. Something is horribly wrong. I turn around and look down towards the valley. This is not what I've seen from above. The view I got from near the arch on previous trips was one of a casual, gradual slope. A walk. Not a treacherous climb. I'm in the wrong place. I think I know what happened. In my panic of encountering the green truck before, I have turned too early. I'm in the wrong place. I'm scared. This is bad.

As I keep pushing upward, I come across something interesting. A mine. Unlike every other mine I've seen, this one has no signs warning adventurers to keep out. There is no indication this one has ever been fenced up to keep people out. But it's not new. I might have passed right by, if not for the debris and discharge. There's a small amount of tailings, so it must not be very deep. But there is debris. Old bricks. Broken, aged lumber that looks to be old remnants of support beams from inside the mine. The opening to the mine is obscured from view by trees. If I were not right on top of it, I wouldn't have been able to see it from anywhere else. I may have found something long forgotten. If I wasn't at risk of ending up dead, it might be something to get excited about.

I think I can see the peak of the hill I am on. If I can get to that point, I should be able to see where I am. By the terrain, and my estimates based on my view of Potosi Peak and the radio towers, I should come out near the arch where the geocache we ventured after weeks before. From there, it's all familiar territory, and an easy hike to the campsite. But when I finally reach the peak, it's not what I expected.

I can see the arch from up here. And I'm not under it. I'm on the wrong part of the mountain. My earlier guess was wrong. I hadn't turned too early. I had turned too late. I've gone too far. And now there's cause for serious concern. I look past, between the peak I am on, and the peak where the arch is. It's down. Several hundred feet down steep, maybe unclimbable slope. I'm stuck. I look to my right, towards Potosi Peak. Searching frantically for some way to get across the valley, so I could follow the side of the mountain to my destination, but there is no easy route. This is terrible. I'm so far off route that it could be days before anyone looks here for me. I drop my pack and wander. I move to the edge of the ridge, measuring the risk of trying to get over to the arch. Now that I've pushed through the trees, I can see better to my left. Unbelieveable! It's a soft saddle valley to the next hill. All burned out valley. My valley. And I recognize the upper crest beyond. The campsite. The relief comes on so heavy I feel like I'm going to cry from joy. I go back and get my pack. In less than ten minutes of easy walking, I'm at the campsite.

I'm home.