Morning along Pine Creek.
A quarter mile from the Pine Creek Tungsten Mine, I remained fantastically horizontal for 12 hours while my body recovered from the ordeal of the previous day. As I climbed out of the tent to start my new day, I decided that perhaps I'd overdone things a smidge, and that I should take this as a rest day.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself a mile down the road - enjoying a big bowl of Wheat Chex - just outside the Pine Creek Pack Station, as the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter grew louder overhead. Initially unsure what was going on, I abandoned my crunchy breakfast delight and grabbed the camera.
Flying low.
Turns out that there was a utility crew working on a new set of poles, and the chopper ended up delivering several yards of premixed concrete to anchor the new poles in the ground. It was a pleasure to watch the pilot race in from the valley, effortlessly circle in the box canyon, and gracefully deliver the multi-ton payload right on target every single time.
Not bothered in the least by the load.
Bullseye.
I'd thought I might sit around and enjoy myself all day, but by late morning, I'd finished what little photo processing I wanted to do at the time, and I was starting to get hungry again - likely due to having burned several days worth of calories less than 24-hours earlier - so I decided to head into Bishop for a bite to eat.
An entire tub of fresh guacamole and a shoe-box-size bag of chips from Las Palmas was the perfect lunch.
My belly full once again - and with plenty of chips to keep me topped off for the rest of the day - I figured I might as well head toward the trailhead for the hike I hoped to do the following morning - to the top Boundary Peak - Nevada's highest mountain. That is, until I looked northeast up the valley and realized that I could barely see the White Mountains at all; they were completely socked in by clouds!
A few minutes on my phone and I'd made a new plan. With rain predicted in Owen's Valley for the next 24 hours - and snow forecast for Boundary Peak itself - I flip-flopped my schedule for the next couple of days, and decided to spend the afternoon puttering around on the Volcanic Tablelands, a place I was introduced to when Eric @ETAV8R posted a photo of a volcanic wave, and that I always enjoy.
This is still one of the coolest things I've ever seen.
This time, I was mostly interested in revisiting a few rock art sites, to see if I could get a better photo of them with the flying camera than I'd been able to get from ground level on previous visits, and to poke around to see if I'd missed anything in my excitement of finding the major attractions.
When visiting rock art and ruin sites, be respectful.
This is most easily done by following the Leave No Trace principles; leaving the place exactly as you found it and taking with you only photographs and memories. In case that is not clear enough for some reason, here are examples of respectful behaviors:
It was a stormy day as I climbed into the Tablelands.
My first stop was at ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ - so named because of its horizontal orientation, somewhat rare in the world of petroglyphs - in the hopes that I could find a magical new angle on this special stone. I didn't, but the stormy skies over the valley added a dramatic flair that I'd not experienced on previous visits.
Artwork of the Shoshone‑Paiute.
Next, it was over to a nearby site, where I was able to capture a panorama that I was happy with. I'd gotten good shots of this site on previous visits as well, but I liked the proportions this wide-angle version even more.
13 circles - each one representing one cycle of the moon, each year - and a single sun.
Since everything is a conspiracy theory these days... If Neil Armstrong was the first on the moon, how did the Shoshone‑Paiute draw it thousands of years earlier?
After half an hour of shutters clicking and propeller-assisted hovering, I ended up liking my non-drone shots of these two sites better than anything taken by my little flying buddy. So that it wouldn't feel left out, I sent it on a few-mile journey to capture some shots that would have been impossible to capture with my eye to a viewfinder, were I not falling out of an airplane.
Table's edge.
Then, I was off through the weather to the sundial and shield site. This was a spot that - the previous time I'd visited - I'd had a little trouble finding, a problem that wasn't likely to reoccur on this visit, my second time around. Still, as I exited that Tacoma and pulled on my wind breaker, I found myself wondering if all the rock art was one direction from the spot I'd parked, or if I needed to wander both directions along the wash. Ultimately, I chose the way that I knew for sure there was artwork, and wandered my way along the volcanic wall, admiring the display.
Luckily, I only got a few minutes of rain as I was out on foot.
This set of figures reminded me of the fertility figures at the Thunderbird site in Death Valley National Park.
The first sundial.
Falling Man. Very reminiscent of a glyph in Gold Butte National Monument.
I'm not sure I'd noticed this long feather the first time I'd visited.
A lot going on.
Sundial shield.
There were several examples of atlatls intermixed with the shields.
After reaching the furthest panel I'd seen on my first visit, I wondered - probably aloud, thank goodness there was no one around to hear me talking to myself - if there might be even more along the wash. With nothing better to do, I continued on for another half mile.
The elements of this panel really reminded me of a bird, with a feather as the upper body, concentric circles representing the lower body, and three-toed feet below.
This was a really neat panel to find, with a lizard so prominently featured.
I didn't recognize it at first, but this shield contains a spider!
A closer look at the spider.
Below the spider, this repeated geometric shape was similar to both the petroglyphs and multi-colored pictographs that we enjoyed outside of Las Vegas.
The entire experience was a great reminder for me that there's always more to see, and a reason to revisit even places that feel "explored." More often than not, some key aspect of a site is overlooked, and a second trip - often at a slower pace - can lead to new, cool, unexpected discoveries.
Glancing over at the White Mountains, my decision to abandon a hike up Boundary Peak the next morning still seemed like a good one.
It was a reminder that would be reinforced as I headed north into Nevada. My destination - in the Excelsior Mountains - was another that @mrs.turbodb and I visited two years earlier on our first trip to drop the Tacoma in Las Vegas for the winter. Shortly after that trip, I'd gotten wind that there was an ore cart - still rolling on its rail - somewhere in the vicinity. And this time, I was 90% sure I knew where it was.
It's funny how confident we can be with so much area to explore...
The Whole Story
