Pup in the Truck | Owyhee #1

We've been going to the Owyhee for ages. Or at least, "ages" when taken in context of the time that we've been adventuring around the western United States (and Canada). In fact, our very first trip was to Owyhee, a trip that @mrs.turbodb planned on the same weekend in May, nine years ago.

In that time - as we've traversed many thousands of miles of road - we've learned much about this wonderland in southeast Oregon, including the fact that it's not limited to Oregon! The Owyhee extend into southwest Idaho and even into northern Nevada.

For the first time, we're headed into the high desert of the Nevada Owyhee. There seems to be a lot less known about this portion of the region, and even fewer visitors than found in the sparsely populated area to the north. As such, we have little idea of what to expect, but for the fact that we'll be in the middle of nowhere, and likely all alone.

We arrived just outside of Paradise Valley well after dark, so we didn't get our first look at the surroundings until we woke up the next morning.

Part of the reason we like to travel to Owyhee in the late spring is for the green grass. This is a bit of a dance - too early and the roads are impassably muddy; too late and temps climb, becoming unpleasantly hot and drying everything out - but when timed perfectly, the tall green grass undulates in the wind, and is magical. So, as we gazed around our camp site, we were a little concerned to see that everything was already golden. Hopefully, we commented to each other, we hadn't missed the green!

Our general direction of travel would be to the northeast, working our way from Paradise Valley along US-95 through the town of Owyhee, NV on NV-225, and then eventually to Jarbidge, where we'd turn north towards home. That meant a lot of ground to cover, so putting off breakfast for a couple hours, we got under way!

Only a few minutes into the morning, @mrs.turbodb's eyes lit up, "there's a hot spring up ahead on the road," she exclaimed. Unfortunately, when we arrived, it couldn't have been more obvious that we wouldn't be enjoying it.

Looks like the cows have enjoyed shitting in the spring. "Paradise Valley Hot Spring" is no longer a very descriptive name.

I just missed running over this gopher snake who was sunning in the gravel road. After a few glamour shots, I moved him along to safety.

With well-graded ranch roads, we made great time for the first few dozen miles. Gaining elevation slowly, we worked our way past Chimney Reservoir, the first hints of spring creeping across the terrain.

Just a bit of snow peaking out to the west as we had the reservoir all to ourselves.

I thought it was cool how the water changed color depending on the angle of the lens.

This willet was watching us closely as it worked its way along the shoreline.

Actually, it seemed that everyone was watching us. Guess we looked a little shady.

We'd see a lot of wildflowers on this trip, and they'd get better and brighter as time went on. Here, we got into a bit of lupine (left), Yellow Desert Evening Primrose (top right), and a white primrose (bottom right).

We soon found ourselves crossing the headwaters of the Little Humbolt River. Full, but still reasonably small, we might have been able to ford this body of water at a wider crossing, but most that we'd cross along this route - namely, the Owyhee, Bruneau, and Jarbidge Rivers - were swollen and deep this time of year. Bridges were a necessity.

The meandering waterway really greened up the valley, and we got our first "that's the Owyhee we were expecting," contrast between the green grass and volcanic outcroppings.

Even with a relatively low flow, we were glad for the bridge.

After crossing the creek, we climbed almost immediately. Up here, spring was in full swing, only a few hundred feet making a huge difference in the greenness of the grass. Our roads - now narrower two-tracks - worked their way across a deceivingly flat terrain, the enormous gashes - through which water slowly carved away the plateau - hidden from view until the flying camera gained a bit of elevation.

Even the clouds were starting to play nice up here.

A nice view of Milligan Creek from the air.

Despite getting greener as we gained elevation, one thing was for sure: the "soil" here - if you could even call it that - was a whole lot dustier than the Oregon and Idaho parts of the Owyhee. I don't know if this was due to lack of recent rains or just because the groundcover is different in this part of the region, but it was almost as though every road we drove was covered in a couple inches of silt. The fine material was easily lifted into the air even before the Tacoma fully passed the location of the front tires, resulting in a dusty white fade before we'd even made it an hour into our journey.

Thank goodness it wasn't wet, this stuff would have been slippery and impassable.

Hombre coating.

This dust would be present through the entirety of our trip, the wind seeming to change from one direction to another - but always blowing the same direction we were travelling - dusting us every time we got out of the truck! On the flip side, it made the ride much softer than the rocky roads in Oregon, so that was a plus.

Having climbed out of the tent significantly later than usual - due to our late arrival after a day of driving - we weren't hungry as we spotted a cowboy camp on the horizon right around noon. Consisting of two teepees, pitched near a small reservoir, we were greeted - timidly - by a small dog as we approached. Assuming that meant we'd find the cowboys in camp, we kept a bit of distance, and I called out a hello, as I hopped out of the truck to ask if it was alright to take a photo or two.

The irony of cowboys using teepees was not lost on us.

To my surprise, there was no answer. As I walked over to the tents - making plenty of noise and hoping to hear a return greeting - the cute little pup followed me in that "I want to be close, but not too close" fashion that might be associated with a combination of curiosity, subservience, and fear of the unknown. Things got even stranger as I looked into the teepees, sleeping bags and clothing scattered haphazardly on the ground, all of it very dusty. It seemed too dusty; what had happened to the cowboys?

As I walked back from the camp, the pups attention changed almost immediately. No longer was it interested in me, rather, it ran to the bed of the truck, looking for a place to hop up into the bed. I didn't think much of it at first - of course a pup would be accustomed to the "mount up" command as the cowboys drove off in similar vehicles, but after a couple "heys," and "nos," it was clear that this little guy was not going to be dissuaded so easily. Turning my back to put the camera away, I heard the scrap of toenails as it finally decided that it could bound up the quarter panel, secreting away under the tent. A stowaway as it were!

C'mon guys, I wanna go!

Coaxing him out of the bed - even with food - was impossible. Suddenly, we were asking ourselves if he'd been forgotten, or worse, abandoned. Taking him with us seemed like an impossibility; leaving him behind, possibly cruel. In the end though, we had to believe - with the teepees and belongings still in camp - that the cowboys would be back, or new ones along, who were in a better position to solve the situation than we were. And eventually, we were able to extract the pup from the truck and continue on our way.

It was 1:00pm as we pulled away, and to this point, we hadn't seen much except for the grassy plains of the Owyhee desert. That would remain the case for another 90 minutes as our route took us due north, only to turn 180° and head due south after skirting the finger of another canyon. Still, the clouds were beginning to play nice, and it combined with the greenery around us, we did our best to convince ourselves we'd made the right decision about the pup.

As far as the eye can see.

Blowing in from the west.

Turning south, more of the same but for the Tuscarora Mountains in the distance.

Pulling up to the ruins of Winters Ranch, it seemed like a small town had sprung up around the old rock ruins. My reaction to the half dozen pickups, several trailers, and a dozen more of the teepee tents we'd seen earlier - scattered here and there - was one of disappointment. I always like to photograph these places without modern trappings getting in the way, but in the end, this would turn out to be a bit of a blessing - at least mentally.

These folks were out here for a wild horse - of which they'd found a few - roundup.

As we exited the truck, we were greeted - only semi-cordially - by several families of cowboys and a few yapping dogs. Wary of us city slickers, only a few got up from around their fire - burning hot under the midday sun - to say hello and corral their furry friends, but most of them seemed to warm up a bit after our respectful greeting and asking for permission to go take a photo or two of the ruins.

Old and new, both close to the land.

We also related the story of the pup - and seemingly abandoned camp - we'd encountered near Elevenmile Hill. No one seemed overly bothered or concerned as they chatted amongst themselves as to whose ranch was out that way and theorized that the cowboys must just be out working the ranch, surely to return if the camp was still there.

Hoping they were right, we chatted for a few more minutes before wishing each other enjoyment and good times in the wonderful spring surroundings, at which point we climbed back into the Tacoma to continue on our way.

Now midafternoon, we had one final place to investigate before we'd turned our sights north again - the Good Hope Silver Mine.

The waste rock piles of the Good Hope.

The Good Hope Mine has historical significance as it shares its name with the mining district. While the extent of the mineralization remains uncertain and no significant production has been recorded, miners created 2 shafts (now collapsed), an adit, several winzes, drifts, and crosscuts. In the process, antimony, gold, and silver were discovered at the site.

Nestled into the hillside, an old boiler and foundations of the old mill - perhaps shared by all mines in the district - were the only other sign of activity we found.

More plentiful than any mineral, a field of iris cascaded down the valley below the mine.

With little left to see and a herd of cows mooing incessantly at our unwelcome presence, we headed toward our final destination of the day - the Owyhee Canyon Wilderness Study Area (WSA) - where we hoped to find a nice spot on the edge of the canyon to call home for the evening. Of course, getting there is the easy part; for us, getting there in a timely fashion is a much more difficult prospect.

"Better get a shot under this outcropping of volcanic activity."

"Wow, that's green. Better get a shot."

This is what happened to the last guy who couldn't stop taking photos.

Given the speeds we were able to achieve on the seldom-traveled-yet-surprisingly-smooth roads, we should have been able to cover the 55 miles to camp in something under two - or perhaps two-and-a-half - hours. Unsurprisingly, @mrs.turbodb knew this would not be the case, and soon she was snoozing in the passenger seat, my inability to keep the truck moving, a blessing in disguise for a peaceful rest.

Except when I needed someone to open a gate.

The Desert Ranch Reservoir.

Not far up the road, the historic Desert Ranch.

Thinking that the volcanic hillside seemed perfect for a few petroglyphs, I pulled out the binoculars and began my scan. This ranch brand was so large, it caught me completely off guard.

Putting a little muscle into a stubborn gate that kept cattle out of the Owyhee Canyon WSA.

First view of the canyon.

Even the slowest of us eventually make it to our destination but as we pulled up to the spot that we planned to call camp, we still weren't done for the day. Following a familiar pattern, I hopped out of the truck for a few photos, hoping that daylight would hold out long enough for us to complete the rest of our route.

Here, at a little more than 5,000 feet, the pink phlox (left) and purple aster (center) were both wrapping up their spring display. The white phlox (right) was a little further behind.

Light and dark and light again.

Having approached from the south, I'd mapped a road that looped around the northern tip of the WSA, knowing that there was little chance we'd be able to follow it completely around the wilderness. The only way to do so would be to navigate a narrow trail down the steep canyon wall before fording the Owyhee River as it exited the northern end of the WSA. Of course, even if there was no chance of success, we had to give it a try!

Down to the river.

End of the road looks passable, but that water is deep and fast this time of year.

If it hadn't been so buggy, we might have considered camping below the rim, but as it was, we spent little time outside the confines of the cab, sending the mosquito-proof camera into the sky to capture the gloriousness of a place seldom enjoyed by two-legged creatures.

Nearly an hour later - after retracing our path along the southern cliffs - we finally found ourselves at the most dramatic of the overlooks we'd discovered along the way. It was time to call it a day; time to setup camp.

Still a bit of sunlight left as @mrs.turbodb unpacked the kitchen and I worked on getting the tent deployed.

Dinner was our usual - tacorittoes with plenty of guacamole - with a twist. A few days before our departure, Mike @Digiratus had come over to refill a few of his 1-pound propane cylinders, and out of the kindness of his heart, he'd brought along some of his famous homemade salsa. The entire 24oz jar had come along with us on the trip, a nice treat to spice things up a bit!

The sun raced toward the horizon as we greedily stuffed our faces with tasty goodness and as a stiff breeze worked to keep the bugs at bay, pastel pinks and purples spread across the sky. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets we've seen in a long time, and one that the wind allowed us to enjoy in relative calm.

Fire in the sky.

Fading away.

Last of the light.

Even after getting a late start, we'd covered more than 160 miles in the course of the day, a tremendous feat despite the fact that it'd taken us longer than I'd hoped. That also meant that we were exhausted, and after a quick cleanup of the dinner dishes, and brushing of teeth, we were on our way up the ladder to enjoy a bit of time in a horizontal position. To our delight, the stiff breeze - that'd kept the bugs away during dinner - dwindled as we lay there, allowing us an earplug free night as we to nodded off to sleep.

 

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