Working our way south from Cave Draw involved a series of long, slow, dusty, bumpy, and all-around miserable roads between the lip of Bruneau Canyon and Rowland Rd. These are roads we've traveled before - usually to access the sketchy descent to Indian Hot Springs - making the misery even more miserable given that we knew how long it would last.
To break up the bouncing, we stopped to admire the afternoon clouds gathering overhead.
Usually in the Owyhee, graded gravel county roads are in reasonable condition - capable of supporting speeds upwards of 40mph - but it's the ranchers who determine the condition of tertiary roads. Those that lead to homesteads or to frequently visited corrals, barns, and reservoirs tend to be a little more comfortable. In the case of those we were on, the melon-size rocks - of entirely ungraded two-track - mercifully gave way to gravel 90 minutes after we'd departed, an indicator that we were passing through the Eastman Place.
From there, things got significantly more pleasant. We didn't have far to travel on Rowland Road and before long we were one again working our way to the edge of the canyon. This time, however, we'd wind our way down in the Tacoma, to a special spot we'd discovered the first time we'd visited the Idaho Owyhee.
A point worth returning to.
Layers of spring.
Reaching the edge, it was immediately obvious that something was different. The dilapidated gate that once marked the beginning of the descent was gone - or rather, lay in pieces along the side of the road - the handiwork of some disrespectful visitor who'd felt it was their right to clear the gate when they couldn't fit their vehicle through it's mangled frame.
Public Land Closures and Leave No Trace
It's here that I want to get up on my soapbox for the second time in as many trips. Last time, I ranted for a bit about UTVs. In this case, my guess is that it was not a UTV that destroyed this gate. Rather, it was likely the owner of a 4x4 - outfitted and overloaded with all sorts of gear for "overlanding" - that took matters into their own hands.
For years - even decades - the gate leading down to the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ Homestead has been in tough condition. The top, severely bent, has limited the height of vehicles that can access the route to ATVs, UTVs, and 4x4s under 8 feet tall. This has helped to keep the area reasonably untraveled and free from the destruction that comes with over visitation.
The gate, as it once stood.
Destruction of this gate - or any fixture on public land - was wrong. These lands - and access to them - are not a right, they are a privilege. A privilege that exists in few other places in the world, at least in the way it exists in the western United States. A privilege that is under constant threat, and that we must treasure and fight to preserve.
Time after time there are proposals to close or limit access to public lands. In fact, there is an ongoing proposal to limit access to parts of the Owyhee (BLM proposal) (Blue Ribbon Coalition call to action). Worse, today - literally - there are those in our government who are pushing sell off our public lands in the name of efficiency and cost savings.
The reason cited for these proposals - often - is that access has resulted in destruction of these special places, or that the country would somehow be better off with a few short-term dollars from a wealthy buyer, rather than with spaces that we can all enjoy.
In the past, the uproar created by these closures has been swift. In many cases, it has resulted in altered plans and compromises, ultimately maintaining access to these places we hold dear. Strangely, for some reason, the transfer of public lands to states - and subsequent sale to private individuals - has not rallied similar support. It is perhaps the perfect irony: much of the land we once took from Native Americans is now being taken from us, and we're so engrossed in our phones and social media feeds that we don't even realize it's happening.
Especially now, vigilance and respectful use of our public lands is critical. We all need to be better stewards of our wild spaces. Leave No Trace does not mean only to leave no litter; rather, it is much broader. It means we must respect and fight for these places as though every one of them were our own, because they are. We must treat them as we would the property of a close friend who was letting us visit for a few days. Because while some may say that it is "their" public land to do with whatever they want, it is not. The land is not only theirs, it is ours.
We will lose this land if we don't recognize that difference and act accordingly. And we'll have no one to blame but ourselves.
Now unrestricted access.
After discussing the gate situation with @mrs.turbodb and wondering whether it had anything to do with the proposed closures for the area, we slowly worked our way down the narrow trail. Not knowing if we'd come to a 2-ton boulder that'd rolled onto the road or a washed out section that would require us to back up all the way to the top, this was a nerve-wracking experience the first time we'd visited, and only slightly less-so our the second descent.
A nearly indiscernible path to paradise.
Halfway down.
We'd hoped to arrive much earlier in the day, but with our exploration of Cave Draw taking longer than we'd expected and the slow roads as we'd headed south, it was right around 5:30pm when we reached the bottom of the canyon for the second time in the same day.
The grass wasn't quite as green as it was at the top, but even with a golden hue, it was wonderful.
Before settling in, we took a quick look at the old ▮▮▮▮▮ Place, the exterior in much better shape than the inside.
Memories of the labor that once worked this land.
The entire reason we'd come back here was to relax, so after a short visit to the structures, we returned to a green patch near the end of the road and oriented the Tacoma in such a way that the breeze - blowing upstream - would drift lazily through the tent as we indulged in the ultimate luxury: a nap.
Slowing down.
As clouds danced in the sky, we savored the sounds made by the thin green belt that flowed through the golden hills golden hills around us.
It was nearly sunset - and three hours later - when @mrs.turbodb roused us from our peaceful nap. Were it not for a special dinner she'd put together, we might have continued to sleep, but, like lunch, we were looking forward to some fresh fare. We'd indulge in steamed sweet corn (that we'd picked up on a whim on our drive down), a capresi salad of tomatoes and mozzarella, and a plateful of chips and guacamole for good measure. With a warm breeze continuing to blow through camp, it was a great way to end one of the most relaxing evenings we've had on an adventure.
Keen to pick up where we'd left off when our bellies weren't yet so happy, we cleaned up the few dishes from dinner and stowed a few bits of trash in our new Trasharoo before starting our nightly routine. Soon, we were brushing our teeth and washing our faces before climbing into the tent to enjoy the sounds of the canyon that would lull us to sleep.
Last light on the rim.
Pastels of a desert sunset.
Darkness consumes the canyon.
The following morning...
There really is nothing better than sleeping in the tent when temperatures are mild-to-warm and a there is slight breeze blowing through the windows. Except, perhaps, when a night such as that is supplemented by the sound of a river - bursting at its seams - as it spills over rocks and filters through reeds along the shore. Thus, our night was nothing short of fantabulous, and in an attempt to take advantage as long as possible, we didn't climb out of bed until the sun had entirely worked its way down the canyon wall to our west. More than four hours after sunrise, it was 9:04am.
Our first order of business - after being in the tent for nearly twelve hours - was to take care of business. Dressing and breakfast - deliciously cool milk, a never-big-enough bowl of Wheat Chex, and some fresh strawberries - followed soon after, and as I put away the tent, @mrs.turbodb washed out our bowls.
Someone else's breakfast.
A Western Fence Lizard (left) and dragonfly (right) kept a close eye on us around camp.
Less than an hour after opening our eyes - but still late for us - we loaded up and pushed the A/C toward Max as we pointed the Tacoma the way we'd come and slowly navigated the rocky trail to the rim of the canyon. We'd spent only a little more than 15 hours in one of my favorite spots of the Owyhee, but it'd been a wonderful place to slow down and rejuvenate before a day that would turn out to be full of action.
Until next time.
The desert in the spring is surreal, the colors and the magnificent formations are breathtaking.
Thanks for the photos
Glad you enjoyed them Kenny; magnificent is the perfect way to describe Owyhee in the spring.
I remember your previous trip and the mangled gate that could barely be cleared, sad that someone destroyed it. I hate to see human destruction of such artifacts. As for the UTV's and the like, I get so tired of the people saying it's their desert/mountains and they can do what they like. They tear up the landscape, the roads, and trails that will take hundreds of years to return (if ever) to nature. I also dislike the radical nature nuts that want to put everything off limits to "save it," from humans. Closing trails in the Sierras and elsewhere makes no sense to me, close them so that no one can enjoy them? Why even have wilderness, National Parks, etc., if people were banned from visiting them! I enjoyed the days when we could hike/backpack whenever we wanted but no there are too many people so I realize that there have to be quotas/permits to limit the numbers at trailheads to protect fragile environments, it's just the way things are these days. Anyway, thanks for sharing your adventure. Oh, yes the sound of a river at night is restful. Some months ago we visited the mountains at the Kern River and could hear the river at night, very restful. We also enjoyed the sound of the ocean a few weeks ago in Morro Bay and the sound of the barking seals to lullaby us at night!
Here, here. I'm with you on all that you say John.
Having gone to school in SLO, the sounds of Morro Bay are fond memories; glad to hear you enjoyed them as well!
I last visited that homestead about 10 years ago, it looks the same. If you walked past the cabin ruins and follow the river for a mile or so, you will find where a landslide closed the road. There used to be another homestead up that way. I have talked with folks that hiked there in the 60's. Agreed, special place. there are small brown trout in that river.
Nice! That homestead you reference - further downstream - is still there, though it's overgrown.We hiked to it a couple of years ago, the first time we visited this spot, which was the impetus for us return and slow down for a nap!
Dan, I totally support and agree with your diatribe about the sort that would destroy that gate for convenience, and the one about UTVs. The Razr-type vehicles make it too easy for the lazy and careless--or malicious--to enter back country. I have friends who are super secretive about the location of rock art or caves, even far from the nearest road. I am much less worried as I have noticed vandals are very lazy, and very rarely are more than a half mile from a road. The arrival of the Razrs have made the problem worse, because they can go farther where they (or anyone) should not drive.
Even when they try to be conscientious, UTV drivers cause a little-used trail to shrink to their width. I don't mind pin stripes on my SUV (Xterra or 4Runner), but I object to the effect on usable width, and the creation of off-width ruts.
On the other hand, as I am in my 80th year, my contemporary friends and I say that when we can't hike, we might change our minds about UTVs. Never say never!
Finally, regarding your trips into this section of the Bruneau, why did you choose to drive down the broken-gate route, rather than hike down the stock trail to the northern homestead you carefully did not name?