Austin (not that one)

 As we headed out on "the loneliest highway" (aren't they all around there?!), we left behind Area 51 references and mentions of extraterrestrial visitations.

The señor was anxious to return to Austin (the one in Nevada) after a brief visit some decades ago; unfortunately, we found that it had slid down the scale from quaint to decrepit, a decline possibly hastened by the 2020 pandemic, but one that seems inevitable at any rate.

There are no RV parks at all there, only a couple of unmanned, untended hookup sites.  Ours is the best, relatively speaking, because it is associated with the Baptist church and has the use of their bathrooms.  I have to say it is a pretty novel way to support a church

Previously, there were two local eateries, now replaced by one hamburger food truck.  The gas station remains open, fortunately, because it is a heck of a long way to the next one.  The short strip of main street on the highway is lined with a motley assortment of decaying structures.  Of course the bar in the former International Hotel is operating.

On the plus side, the weather at 6,500 feet elevation is lovely with cool breezes.  Unseasonably, we are seeing lots of rain.

Hot springs, ancient art, chasms . . .

Not to be deterred, though, we ventured out into the surrounding mountains and across vast sagebrush-covered plains to discover quite a variety of interesting sites.  And when I say vast, that scarcely describes the hundreds of miles of flat featureless valleys, always surrounded by geologically varied mountains.  At one point, we spotted a small herd of wild burros, and later a herd of 13 wild horses.  This photo of the horses offers a sense of the space.

Roads in these parts are laid out as long - very long - straight as a string byways;  out there on the valley floors, there are nearly no obstacles to go around.  We set off on one of those with the intention to visit some places we had read about.  Fortunately, we had done some research prior to arriving; we have no internet service here for delving into more depth, much to my dismay.

We were bound for a mostly undeveloped hot spring.  It was known to be a clothing-optional place, which caused me some consternation, not being interested in soaking with naked strangers.  What a pleasant surprise when we arrived that we had the pool to ourselves until a nice couple from Sonoma joined us, clothed.  We soaked, exchanged pleasantries and took photos for each other until they departed after their brief dip.  The water was about 103 degrees in the pool, but far hotter emerging from the spring.  By adjusting the pipe for more or less of it flowing through, the temperature can be adjusted.

We were under a nice overcast sky with cooler air, making it more enjoyable than if we’d been under a blazing July sun.  What a treat to relax there, gazing across to the distant mountains.  It would be a nice dry camp spot with the opportunity to soak by moonlight and marvel at the night sky (but then there might be those naked strangers).

Overreach much?

That very straight road eventually climbed into the mountains where it wound through thick piñon forest before summiting at 7,900 feet.  There we began our pilgrimage to Toquima Cave, a site of powerful energy.  Its walls are painted with ancient pictographs, dated as early as 3,500 years ago!  Toquima’s rock art is said to have been done by the ancestors of the Shoshone.  

We learned that these ancient inscriptions represent two different art styles: Great Basin curvilinear (dots, circles and squiggles) and rectilinear (lines, chevrons and tally marks).  And now you know as much as I do about it.

We felt it was an appropriate place to release more of Darren’s ashes.  It's lovely to imagine him accompanying us to such interesting places, and to feel his enthusiasm.

Our route continued on, down from that sacred place, and back out onto the vast plains.  One point of interest about which I can find no more information was at a ranch headquarters: a unique structure about 50 feet long made from horizontally placed willow branches and chinked with mud.  We weren’t able to get close enough for good photos.  In the first place, I can’t imagine what it was built for and in the second place, where in the world did all those willow branches come from?!  We haven’t seen a willow for hundreds of miles.  Another mystery.

We chose our direction trying to skirt around severe rain storms in the area, mostly successfully.  At day’s beginning, we had intended not to travel as far as we did, but it comes down to the “in for a penny, in for a pound” philosphy.  We’d gone that far, might as well continue on to something called Diana’s Punchbowl.

Boy howdy, nothing could prepare a person for that sight!  There it was in the distance, as expected: an 80-foot high white hill rising up from the valley floor.  A side road took us right to it and wound up on top.  What we saw there took our breath away - a huge chasm with steaming dark water in the bottom.  Even with storm winds cooling us, we could feel the heat rising out of the depth.  We later discovered the punchbowl’s water varies between 140 and 180 degrees!  There are surface hot springs around the base of the hill; because we had already risked our lives standing up there with lightning in the area, we declined to do more.

It’s hard to grasp the scope of that crater; that’s Chris standing on the opposite bank to provide scale. 

Ghost town . . .

A side road here and there often affords things of interest.  In this case, we veered over to Pott’s Ranch, an abandoned settlement in a beautiful setting with springs flowing by and grassy meadows for great distances, marking a relief to the usual landscape of what is known as Central Basin desert scrub, a perfect description of the monotonous vegetation.

The once substantial ranch buildings exuded a poignant atmosphere alone on that wide sweep of landscape.

There was little left of the rock root cellar besides the doorway.

 

 

Castles & mines . . .

The so-called Stokes Castle perches above Austin’s outskirts, visible from a distance.  What an oddity: the stone tower was constructed in 1897 for a family getaway, said to have been abandoned after two months of use, after the family sold their mining interests in the area.  Kitchen & dining were on the ground floor, living room next level and two bedrooms on the third floor, each level had a fireplace and balcony.  The grounds are littered with huge granite blocks that have fallen from the battlements that topped it.

We cavalierly trespassed to peer inside; in my defense, I was not the one who cut the hole in the fence.

Wandering up in the mountains past the bizarre tower brought us to more ruins and debris left from the glory days of silver mining.  Everywhere we looked were mounds of tailings, large and small, that make the countryside look as if giant gophers have been at work.

This structure appeared to be sound from the front . . .

. . . but was completely collapsed in back.

Distant views were wonderful from up top despite lots of wildfire smoke in the area . . .

. . . while springs provided flourishing green marshy areas as a relief from the ever-present gray sagebrush.

 

 

Interesting vegetation families throughout the region result in groupings like these graceful groves of aspens surrounded by sagebrush.

Eureka . . .

We visited another historic town, this one distant across yet another wide valley.  Eureka is more populous than Austin and thus appears more prosperous.  At least it has functioning businesses with a number of impressive structures constructed as early as 1879, after a major downtown fire.

Their museum was very impressive - not necessarily curated as a modern one would be, but with fascinating artifacts displayed in a most pleasing and educational way throughout the top floor of the 1879 building.

Ground floor of the structure remains as it was when the Eureka Sentinel ceased publishing there in 1960 after 81 years.  What a fascination to wander through there, trying to imagine the clacking of linotypes and printing press and to see the high walls papered with old broadsheets.  Amazing to find that antique equipment still in place where it was used for so long! I am certain I would have loved publishing a newspaper in those days!
 

We wandered into the opera house that sits waiting patiently for shows that never arrive.  The attendant told us they would like to have performances, but have not been able to attract them.  

We skulked around backstage until we found a piano hidden in the dark wings, so Chris played a nice tune to a mostly empty house.

Eureka’s 142-year-old courthouse is an impressive edifice inside and out.  We helped ourselves to the empty courtroom that remains in use currently, but that is reminiscent of an old movie set.

Despite the town’s relative vigor, substantial sections of downtown have nothing but facades remaining, like this once-substantial business enterprise now no more than a decaying wooden front wall with a forest growing up where floorboards once supported someone’s proud enterprise.

We lunched sumptuously at the Jackson House, adjoining the opera house.  Excellent hamburgers with handcut French fries that made me long for Kendall’s, formerly a favored staple in downtown Prescott.

Our waitress was friendly and talkative but only a little helpful when I inquired about what sights we should not miss in that region.  As an amateur genealogist (but not a very good one, as it turns out), she suggested we could visit the Chinese cemetery outside of town, and then proceeded to parrot things she had heard about how those foreigners were treated in Eureka’s early days.

Following her directions, we found the long-abandoned overgrown yard and bushwhacked our way up there through the thorny bushes.  While managing to tear my clothes on the rusted barbed wire, we grew near enough to one stone to read its inscription.  Expecting writing of an Oriental nature, instead we saw the name Berg, most decidedly not Chinese.

I followed up with a tad of research, and easily discovered that the graveyard was Jewish, not Chinese.  The only three stones still standing in all those weeds and briars are memorials for four children of Bernard & Enstina Berg.  As we deal with our grief over our son Darren’s death, I am given pause to imagine the horrible tragedy of that couple’s losses, not to mention the indignity and injustice of laying their little ones to rest in that shunned spot.

Native antiquities . . .

We hiked through a petroglyph site, Hickison’s, that I have determined via my untrained eye were depictions of a prehistoric comet sighting and its accompanying meteor shower.  Since no one else has a better guess even with a trained eye, I stand by my theory.

The Toyiabes . . .

As best as I can tell, all of central Nevada's landscape consists of immense tabletop-flat valleys ringed by precipitous mountains with nothing in between - no sissy little hills here.

Our Austin perch is in the Toyiabe range, a name said to be an ancient Shoshone designation for "mountain", appropriately enough.  We did some exploration from the town side; Chris' map perusals indicated a route that traversed the range through Kingston Canyon.  That sounded as if it would be an interesting drive, so off we went around to come up through the middle of the range.

For the area's dry season, we were constantly dodging deluges, not always with success.  As we approached the mountains, we found them often engulfed in misting clouds.

 

 

As is common throughout that area, we saw evidence of past extensive mining activity.

 

 

Our drive was along a single lane dirt road winding its way between incredibly precipitous peaks with only the most narrow passage possible.  The scenery was breathtaking, but we did little stopping as we ascended higher and higher.

 

 

 

 

   

 

The canyon carries a rushing stream of water almost completely obscured by dense vegetation.  The creek and a small lake are said to be good trout fishing.  One area high up flattens out and opens up where the stream ceases its headlong descent and instead wanders slowly creating a marshy meadow.

 

 

As happens with plans, best-laid and all that, we were stymied in our intention to go over the mountain like the proverbial bear: at about the two-thirds point, we were stopped by road washouts, so we reversed direction and came out the way we went in.  Disappointing not to get through, but so worth the drive for the stupendous experience.

We were very careful to keep our hooting to a minimum lest we cause a wildfire.
 

Our rambles took us through different ecosystems, allowing us to identify a variety of birds we wouldn't have seen in one area.  While touring out from Austin, we added to the trip list: Brewer's blackbird, mourning dove, black-headed grosbeak, Woodhouse jay, darkeyed junco, western meadowlark, common nighthawk, northern harrier, Bullock's oriole, American robin, loggerhead shrike, house sparrow, lark sparrow and starling.