The horsethief and the stars: back in Lincoln County

Arrow Canyon Range with pylon and agave

The drive up to Caliente is starting to seem familiar, and we look forward to all the little highlights of the road - the Arrow Canyon Range faults (we stopped and got some great photos this time), the sudden accesses of green as we come into the oases on the route north and east: Pahranagat, Ash Springs, Crystal Springs, Caliente, Panaca. The road passing over ranges of upthrust blocky hills, up and down but every summit a little higher than the previous one as we climb up towards the Colorado Plateau (further east than we will go this trip). The golden light of Friday afternoon turning to evening, turning to twilight as we swither between stopping sooner to have made camp while it's still light and continuing to where we had planned to stay. Resolutely declining all further diversions so we can at least pitch the tent while it's still dusk. Being glad I put the lamps where we will easily find them in the car in the dark ...

And finally, the last stretch of road. At this time of day, we drive with a careful eye out for deer crossing. This time, we turned east just north of Pioche and gradually climbed a small paved road into a river valley that has cut its way through lava ash tuff. The broad valley narrows quite abruptly and the road crests and dips like a mule trying to shake its rider. On either side, pinon and juniper, then a few houses, then volcanic rock soaring above on either side, grassy meadows, lines of trees showing where the water runs. Our destination was the Horsethief Gulch campground at Spring Valley State Park.

Easier to describe than to photograph!

The campground was more than half full already. We picked out a site, made camp, had a cold supper
by lamplight, and enjoyed a very mild evening - lying on a blanket and watching the stars brighten as the daylight slowly faded. We saw numerous satellites and several planets as well as the Milky Way. It was a perfectly clear evening. The late arrival of neighbours with trucks shining headlights straight towards our site put an end to our night vision; we went to bed.

Ranch Campground

In the morning, we went for a bike ride up the valley a couple of miles. (There is much more road available than we made use of.) We only went as far as the upper campground, where we saw swallow nests by the rafters of one ramada. There was nobody there. With its rock wall niches and slight air of overgrown neglect, the Ranch campground seems wilder and lonelier - and certainly quieter and less occupied - than its lower counterpart. Just goes to show, the name isn't everything.

Eroded holes? or MOUTHS?!!	Volcanic rock down a crazy steep hillside	Intrepid!

I have to describe Spring Valley (and the Eagle Valley reservoir) as yet another under-visited jewel in Lincoln County. The upper valley was seasonally occupied five thousand years ago or more, and then, much more recently, farmed by Mormon settlers in the second half of the 19th century. The park headquarters are in one of the old ranch houses. The lower valley, a couple of miles below the park at Ursine (great name!), is still farmed and many of the yards show a neatness that, rightly or wrongly, I associate with Mormon households.

Eagle Valley Reservoir

In the mid 1960s, the valley was dammed for agricultural purposes. The reservoir has since been
stocked with rainbow trout and we saw quite a number of people fishing while we were there. Theoretically there's swimming too, but up close, the water had a foul smell to it and what looked like an algal bloom - we left it to the fish and fisherfolk.

It is a beautiful spot though ...

Three views from our campsite at Horsethief Gulch Campground, Spring Valley State Park NV

... so beautiful that only a very great curiosity took us into Pioche where we spent much of the day.

Itinerary

Friday: 93 from Henderson to Pioche, 322 to Spring Valley State Park.

The smell of wet desert

Bike ride on Sunday at Clark County Wetlands Park. The trail crosses and follows the Las Vegas Wash, which drains the Las Vegas valley. Mostly that's not much of a job, except when it's a huge one. It never stops rains here but it pours. This region gets most of its rain as thunderstorms, and the rain runs straight off the parched, mineralised land, causing flash floods. The amount of water-management infrastructure in this desert city is perplexing until you've been in a summer storm here.

This park is downstream of a 'reclamation facility', so the jade coloured water, rich with fish and bird life, is 'reclaimed urban water, not fit for human contact.'

(Euphemism: level 'master')

Okay, so no swimming.

The trail is a fairly new paved path that twines around in gentle swoops and dips through low rises of sediment and conglomerate. There's a lot of creosote growing alongside the higher parts of the trail. (By the water, rushes and occasional stands of trees. We saw a white heron.) They've done a lot of planting - we were bemused to see irrigation systems all over the place.

And because there was all this creosote and all this water, there was the smell of wet creosote, which is to me the smell of wet desert. It's how this land smells during and after rain, and on damp mornings and evenings, even in those rare places where there doesn't seem to be any creosote nearby. It's hard to describe, but sort of like if dogs designed a pee-scented cologne? Not in a terrible way ... medicinal and peculiar, pungent and distinctive, and weirdly organic and alive.

And because it's a smell, and smells drill a core straight to the cerebral cortex, I will always remember the first time I smelled this. It was in the Lost City Museum at Overton, and I had no idea what it was, but the whole adobe building was redolent with it. (The small but wonderful Lost City museum houses the rescued remains of the Pueblo Grande de Nevada, 25 miles of Ancestral (Anasazi) Pueblo dwellings and structures, much of which was drowned by Lake Mead in the 30s (I wonder whether, like the ghost town of St Thomas, the receding waters have left anything to see? Overton Beach is now over 20 miles from the shore of Lake Mead. I have the 2014 and 2015 versions of the Lake Mead NRA official maps - their shorelines are noticeably different from one another.))

The next time I smelled wet desert, it was nearly a year later, on a day after rain - actually not far from the wetlands, downstream on the path to Lake Las Vegas. We had cycled out to have a look, the day being only 32 degrees or so (low 90s, Fahrenheiters), though the air was hanging heavier and moister than usual. This time I understood approximately what it was, because it was everywhere ... because creosote is everywhere here. Mind you, I didn't yet know what creosote was.

Creosote has little leaves shaped sort of like thyme, and stylish golden yellow flowers, and - to me, most strikingly, amazing little fuzzball seeds. Why wasn't everyone talking about this plant with the fuzzball seeds? It was everywhere.

When I finally understood, I felt like a bit of a muppet (again.) (Also did that just now as I realised it's also the same thing as greasewood. Gah there is so much to learn!)

And weirdly, two of the signature plants of this kind of desert, sagebrush and creosote, both have species names 'tridentata'. Coincidence? Hmmmm.