Great Basin National Park...

featuring hikes to Wheeler Peak and a visit to a senior citizen bristlecone pine grove.

It was bad hair windy day on top of this 13,063' sky island summit. I guesstimated the temps to be in the mid-30's with the wind chill. What the heck! It's still August! 

I managed to shoot a few pretty scenes, without the camera being yanked out of my hand by that invisible force. As you can see from the photo of me and the mailbox, the US Post Office delivers to the darnedest places. (No wonder they are going broke!) 

From the saddle one could make out the green landing pads for earth-bound UFO's. Great Basin is very close to route# 375. (AKA the Extraterrestrial Highway).

I had to then pay a visit to some of the oldest living things on the planet. 

Here below the summit of Wheeler Peak at the cusp of tree line stands an ancient grove of Bristlecone Pines. Many of these true survivors are said to be 3500-4000 years old. 

There's a sad tree tale in this locale too. 

In 1964, Donald R. Curry, a grad student doing research on the Little Ice Age, received permission to cut a specimen down to obtain its true age from the cross section. This was after two of his inclement borers broke inside this crusty pine. The tree was felled and the ring counting began. The result was the ultimate "OH! S--T!" They had killed the oldest organism in the world! The pine was said to be 5000-5200 years young until this egghead showed up.

The tree was named Prometheus. August 7th, 2014 marked  the 50th anniversary of its demise. People from all over the U.S. gathered in Great Basin to pay tribute to one spectacular tree. If I had known, I would have made an effort to be here too.

Bristlecones know that slow and steady wins the race. People can learn a lot from trees.

It's raining here BTW. 

Good night Prometheus,

Deseret Peak Wilderness, Utah

Might not be a General Motors sized wild place, but don't let it's shrimpy size fool you. It's HUGH on views and oh yeah hunters. 

What heinous things have the brown-eyed Bambi's done to illicit such a response from these rifle-toting, camouflage wearing dudes? 

I dunno. I'm just glad I was wearing bright yellow on the trail.

I summited the 11,000 (and spare change) foot peak, despite the elevation gain of two Empire State Buildings within a scant 1.5 miles. Once on top, I was gazing out onto the Great Basin. An area comprising 186,000 square miles within 5 states. If you spill a beer here, it's not going to the Atlantic or the Pacific Ocean. It's staying put. There are no water outlets in this sink. (So don't spill your beer. There are sober people in Africa anyway). 

I'm now in Great Basin National Park in Nevada. I've included a photo of "home" in beautiful downtown Baker for the next two days. Do I know how to pick 'em?

Goodnight and don't spill your beer,

Jeff

PS. An alert reader informed me of the invasive questions asked if you want to leave a comment on my blog. Things like, "what is your favorite color?" And worse, "have you ever called in sick to work and weren't?". Stuff like that.

So...feel free to just comment to the source.

Jeffsambur@gmail.com

If the comments are of a critical nature, I can take it. Sniff. Sniff.

I'm waiting for one such as, "Do you own a shirt with sleeves?"

Bye again.

High Unitas Wilderness II

After waking up to (you guessed it) rain. I lost my moisture mojo for another backpacking attempt. Besides, all my gear was finally dry ("and that's the way! I like it! Uh! Huh! Uh! Huh!" quote by KC and the Sunshine Band). 

So... I decided to do a little day hike scouting along the Highline Trail, with a detour to Packard Lake. 

The wet stuff landed north of me, south of me but never on me! Hallelujah! 

Here's a few lake shots and one Duchesne Canyon shot. No explanations needed.

There was something not right about that human/horse packer picture. 

I got it! Silly me! I thought the hay burners were supposed to be the beasts of burden. If I ever come back this way again as a steed, (Shirley McClain might be right) I want these good old boy's to be my owners. 

The Despair Tire shot. 

Usually Barley the van drives as straight and true as an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting. Upon descending into Salt Lake City on Interstate 80, my trusty companion had the shakes and shimmies like an old "Whiskey A-Go-Go" dancer. Not good. 

I pulled off the first chance I had and discovered this OMG! scene.The guys at Goodyear said the rubber was close to catastrophic failure. Once again, I got away with one. Phooey on Michelin Tires. 

Have a good day and always keep your rubber side down,

Jeff

PS. If you are enjoying the ride please pass my blog address along to friends and family. If you don't like it send the link to folks you don't think much of. Thanks.

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