Great Basin – backpacking over the hill

After a zero day in Pioche, I took off for another four days. Pioche is a former mining boom town. They have pivoted to tourism, but feel it is important to post on every business there is no public restroom.

In the early morning climb out, I went past the old mining operation and then down past an electric transmission repair facility. Next, a long basin walk went past an abandoned car and motorcycle. Most of us, at one point in our life, have been so angry at a machine that we wanted to take it out and shoot it. I recall an HP printer clearly. Well, out here people actually shoot their failed gear.

This trail is very difficult in so many ways. Take noise. The silence is all encompassing. When you are in a wide basin with mountains in the distance all around, it is disorienting to have no sound. You stop, strain and maybe pick up an insect or bird. Or take the wind. Most afternoons the wind kicks in. Sometimes it is just shifting breezes. Other times it is powerful gusts lifting sand and dirt to pummel and blast the unlucky hiker. Wind or silence. One or the other, never neither.

Margins are thin. Life is precious and water dear. So far, not a single cattle herd has been seen. Ranchers are reluctant to spend resources on a herd not knowing costs. Water is the thinnest margin. Every natural water resource has multiple paths and a variety of prints. I’ve seen terrible sights. There was a natural spring. It had been fenced off to keep animals out of the source. This year the source was dry. A wild horse’s hoof was twisted in the top two strands of barbed wire, its leg bones pointing down to the rest of the skeleton.

Nellis Air Force Base is south of here and uses the remote area for fighter pilot training. I have heard a few sonic booms. Often I hear the fighters overhead but cannot see them. The pilots are also pushing themselves and their machine to the margin.

Crossing the basin, my eye caught an upright pole about six feet high. Other than sparse junipers or cacti, nothing grew that high. I angled over to it, about a half mile away. A metal sign on a wooden post proclaimed “Dirk’s Place” and there was a rectangular memorial on the ground. It honored Eric Ziegler “Dirk” and there was a bottle of Jack Daniels with a few sips gone. I paid my respects and moved on.

A later Google search confirmed my fears. Captain Ziegler, from North Dakota, was on his last battle simulation flight before advancing to the elite U.S. Air Force Weapons school. Investigators say he blacked out in a maneuver, lost control and crashed in the Nevada basin. He went past the margin.

In spite of these challenges, the Great Basin Trail has beauty. I’m here in time to see many different blooms. I’ve also managed to find a nest with a solitary egg.