Our First Down Day | Following Giants #5

There's a first time for everything.

In all of our adventures, it seems like we're always on the go. I've never really given it much thought - probably because I know there's so much more to see than we ever can - always trying to utilize as many daylight minutes as possible, wherever we happen to be.

This trip wasn't going to be any different. I'd planned six hikes over seven days, sure that - even with an extra day - we had more than we could possibly accomplish.

Then, our butts were thoroughly cooked on our hike up Tucki Mountain. Even looking back now, I can't put my finger on why that hike was so much harder than the others. It didn't have the most elevation gain or the steepest hillsides. It wasn't the longest hike, nor one with dangerous exposures. But, for whatever reason, as we arrived back at the Tacoma, our talk was of using the extra day in our schedule to recuperate.

The perfect time to do it was after our excursion to the top of Towne Peak, so after refueling our bellies with taco-rittoes, we sped through the darkness and eventually found ourselves in one of the most spectacular places we've had the privilege to experience in our time in Death Valley.

It would be our home for the next 24 hours. And those 24 hours would be some of the most stressful - for me - of the entire trip!

Camp in the stars.

Sleep came quickly after our long hike, temperatures warmer and more pleasant than we'd expected, given the elevation.

With nowhere to be the next morning, I climbed down the ladder just before sunrise, planning to take a few photos before heading back to bed to enjoy a relaxing morning of reading.

As wonderful as I remembered it.

Peek-a-boo view.

Perhaps predictably, the reading would never come to pass, though the morning - with me sitting on a rock as the sun slowly illuminated everything around us - was equally enjoyable.

Time for breakfast.

I had no idea at the time, but those few hours before breakfast would be the most relaxing of my entire day. Positioned where we were - overlooking the valley below - we hoped to have front row seats to see the jets that frequent this area. Their pilots skillfully navigating the terrain as the roar of their afterburners fill the sky, it's always a special treat to be above these magnificent beasts, and as we heard the first pair enter the valley, we sprinted to the edge of our knoll to enjoy the show.

The first two F-18s passed high overhead.

After waiting on the edge of our seats for twenty minutes - and not knowing when the next pass would be - we decided to check out a viewpoint (and old mine working) a couple hundred feet below our camp site. Worried that we might miss the excitement, I reassured myself that - surely - we had 40 minutes or so before there was any risk of the next pair entering the airspace around us.

Nearing the old mine, we started to see hints of what the old miners were after.

Soon, the teal ore was everywhere.

Takes a lot of force to snap off a 3/4-inch shank bolt!

@mrs.turbodb enjoying the view.

After taking a few photos of @mrs.turbodb above the valley, we both heard it at the same time. I was a sound that - for once - I'd hoped we would not hear. It was the unmistakable sound of jets racing through the valley toward our position.  Still a quarter mile from the overlook - the best photos are taken from a distance - I sprinted down the road as @mrs.turbodb scanned the alluvial fan below looking for the planes. We each spotted them at the same time - mere specs below us - and I whipped up the camera to capture their passage.

So small.

It was at this point that we both - but I in particular - should have realized that being above a jet is only amazing if one is closer than the usual situation of being below. Unfortunately for us, at approximately 6,000 feet, there was nearly a mile between us and the music to our ears, a similar distance to that which we usually encounter when they dance high overhead.

And yet, this did not register for me. I would therefore spend the remainder of the daylight hours on pins and needles. If I wasn't running to the edge in search of the sounds that filled the skies, I was sitting there on an uncomfortable rock, hoping that the next one would find itself somehow closer to my position.

At one point an F-15 did make a pass at a better elevation, but it was still more than a mile away.

We often find that the military takes lunch for an hour right around 12:30pm, so as that time rolled around, we too decided to prepare a meal. It'd be the main meal of our day - chicken pad thai - and one that required a bit more preparation than most of what we cook up on the tailgate.

Naturally, we missed two pairs of pilots as our feast was prepared, and none flew by below us as we savored the lime-y noodles and spectacular valley views.

A stressful meal.

Afternoon was much the same as the morning, our down day allowing our legs and bodies to recover from the torture we'd imposed upon them, but never seeming to be relaxing - at least for me - in the way that we'd hoped.

Why couldn't you be 4,000 feet lower, F-22?

It was only after the final flights of the day - perhaps around 3:30pm or so - that I was finally able to relax. Pulling out our Kindles and knitting, we watched the shadows stretch across the desert, high clouds and sunlight playing in the sky.

Savoring a simple sunset.

We had - for once - not moved the truck for a full 24 hours. It wasn't a smashing success, but you know what? With what we learned on this trip, I bet it will be something we try again!

 

 

The Whole Story

 

Filed Under