When one door closes . . .

. . . another door opens, we are told.  Our latest journey of exploration presented many closed doors, most as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic.  We were surprised at how many times our plans were dashed unexpectedly, but always we found other ways to spend our time, and sometimes the alternative was superior to the original plan.

Our final stop of the trip was at Ely, Nevada, in a region where we found enough to keep us busy, but some doors closed.  At nearby McGill, there was a warm springs pool that piqued our interest.  Suited up and ready to swim in the natural pond, we drove the short distance and found no one at home.  This sign greeted us: closed on Wednesday.  Our timing was off, but no matter, we would return on Thursday. . .

 

. . . and we did, to no avail.  Same sign, same deserted pool: so enticing, but so fenced off and locked up tight.

 

We were really disappointed not to enjoy that lovely clear warm water in that large natural pool (I'm still whining).  The señor rejected my idea to squeeze through an opening and have the place to ourselves (what a wet blanket!).

As we drove away from the location and as I continued to whine, we spotted the McGill Drugstore Museum.  Remembering that we had read about an old-fashioned soda fountain (I love those almost as much as hot springs) in the area, we called a halt right there as thoughts of chocolate ice cream sodas danced through my mind.

Alas, the building did not house an operating soda fountain but what we found therein was astounding.  Now relegated to museum status, the former drug store ran from 1915 to 1979, when it shuttered its doors.  The owner transferred the deed to White Pine County with the stipulation that it remain intact as it was.

A veritable time capsule of vintage medications, potions and powders, all the prescriptions are handily filed in various ways, depending on era - from cigar box storage to bound books to drawers full. 

Keith, our volunteer guide, explained that the inventory is being catalogued.  As he delved into the fascinating contents, he even found a prescription that had been written for him in the 1930s.  Suffice it to say that he is a life-long McGill resident.  Despite the expression I caught in the photo below, he was a charming and fun guide, excited to share the many finds stashed in labeled drawers and back room shelves.

It was fascinating; the place merited far more time for perusal than the hour or so we spent there; however, the operational soda fountain issued its siren call, which we answered when we entered Economy Drug & Soda Fountain in Ely.  The young woman behind the counter offered up a perfect and delectable chocolate ice cream soda, an art that is fading rapidly.

A glacier and a reluctant hike . . .

Out there in the vastness of the Great Basin National Park is the Snake Range with its massive Wheeler Peak at just over 13,000 feet.  On its northern flank is a small rock glacier: the ice visible on the surface is only a portion of the overall, with the remainder covered by debris.

We were there some 30 years previously, and could easily discern that it has reduced in size since then.  Nevertheless, we were drawn to the idea of viewing it, but when we were there to gaze up at the beautiful rocky prominence, the 10,000-foot elevation somewhat sapped our inclination to hike upward.

We have edged ourselves into other excursions in much the same way that we did there.  Should we do it?  Maybe we are okay with just looking up at the mountain from the viewpoint.  Maybe the trail is too steep; maybe it's too late in the day.  Maybe we could just take a "stroll" for a little ways and then decide . . .

And that is how we managed to get ourselves completely around the three-mile loop that went past two alpine lakes, and how we managed to do it without taking our packs, water, rain gear or pretty much anything else that would be sensible.  Once we were started, we just kept going; it was so beautiful that we couldn't resist.  Of course we had binoculars and camera, but we were fairly foolhardy with our lack of preparation for a high-country hike.

We did get rained on slightly, but were very fortunate to make the trek without a problem.  The second half was much rougher footing as it wound through glacial debris. 

Oh yes, I did have my phone along - no service, but it allowed us to take a selfie (where did that top knot come from?).

A grove of ancient bristlecone pines is a little higher along, and a trail also goes to Wheeler's summit.  We felt fortunate to get as far as we did, and opted to skip both of those endeavors.  Typically, when I hike at elevations higher than about 9,000 feet, I get headachy, but for whatever reason, I was perfectly fine that time.

Most of our admiration centered on the higher slopes and our immediate surroundings, but when we turned in the other direction, it was incredible to see the distant valley spread out below us.

 Lehman Caves . . . 

In that distant past, we had also toured Lehman Caves.  Recalling that underground beauty, we were compelled to see it once again; however, on our way to our scheduled tour, we encountered a structure fire.  We entered the isolated homestead to offer help, but we saw the building was completely engulfed in flames.  A State Parks vehicle was just exiting, so we departed with the hope that the nearby unique circular residence and other buildings would not also be consumed.

Continuing on, it became worriesome.  From the height of the cavern's location, it was obvious that the fire was expanding out into the forested surroundings.  Because of the remoteness, we and the cave's staff were concerned that our route out might become blocked.  Concern of possible evacuation grew.  A number of the rangers were former firefighters able and willing to tackle the blaze; however, they said they were kept from jumping in to help because they lacked the necessary federal certification.  Their frustration at forced inaction was obvious.

 

As our tour time approached, we put away concerns and fully embraced the fascinating underground world.  Others from long ago had also enjoyed exploring the caves; they made their marks with names, dates as early as 1915 and initials burned onto cave ceilings with candles.

Lehman is unusual among caverns in that it contains so many different types of water-created features.  Although it is a wet cave, still dripping, drought has clearly taken a toll.  During our previous visit, the place was lake-like and all surfaces were drenched.  Now the floor is no longer pooled with water and stalactites are barely dripping.

A happy ending after the stunninng tour: the fire was extinguished and the house was saved.  A possibly disastrous wildfire was avoided!

Charcoal ovens,  the rigors of time past . . .

In the past, there was mining activity in the region of the Great Basin National Park.  One interesting remnant of that is a row of beehive-shaped charcoal ovens for the mining smelters at Ward, now a ghost town.  Built in the mid-1870s, the structures are remarkably well made.  I was fascinated with the domed construction and arched openings.

 

 

Each 30-foot-high oven held 35 cords of wood, which was burned for 12 days to produce 50 bushels of charcoal per cord.  Between 30 and 50 bushels of charcoal was required to reduce one ton of ore.  Each filling of an oven required the total tree crop from five or six acres of land, so it's easy to see that the land around a mining camp would be deforested for a great distance.  The advance of railroads that could deliver coke made from coal eventually eliminated the need for charcoal ovens.

 I thought this illustration of how an oven was filled was interesting.

As if all that work wasn't enough, mortar for holding the oven stones in place had to be manufactured from materials at hand.  For that task, lime kilns were constructed; we saw the remains of a couple of them nearby.  The process involved crushing limestone, baking it in a kiln, then mixing it with sand, crushed volcanic tuft and water to create the mortar. 

All that just to process the ore that had to be extracted from the ground, an extremely laborious job.  It was strenuous work all for the miners and for their families, who lived in primitive conditions, moving often to be wherever the mines were working.

At the small Ward cemetery, the hardships are obvious in the headstones that remain, although most have been removed even from their wood fence surrounds, likely by vandals.  One woman, Margaret Liddle, bore five children - 1872, 1875, 1880, 1882, 1887 - in five different towns, and most likely lost some in the interim.  Certainly, she would not have had the advantage of running water, electricity or good medical care.  There is no way that people of current times can fathom how difficult life was then.

Their nearly forgotten lonely resting places:

 

 

Great Basin sights . . .

We tried a spot of birding at a lake that appeared to be a likely place to add to the bird list.  There were a million birds, almost solely American coots except for an eared grebe that was a new find.  Others we added to the trip list were mountain bluebird and pinyon jay.

 

 

We walked around the area of the Baker archaeology site, a Fremont culture pit house village, according to what we read.  In my infinite knowledge, however, I strongly disagree with the conclusion; I believe it was a ceremonial site only, constructed to coincide with seasonal solstices and so on.  What do those professionals know anyway?  At least the professional archaeology señor by my side did not disagree with me.

 We took a drive out to Garnet Hill to try our hands at finding the gemstones.  Probably would have had better luck if we had done a little research on the best process first . . . we did locate pieces of the rhyolite that held traces of garnet within, despite our lack of preparedness.

 

Clearly, many others are equally hopeful, although they were not present when we were there.  We saw much evidence of their diggin's, though.

The Bureau of Land Management even provides rock crushing platforms that would be handy if a person could tolerate the deafening reverberations and vibrations that set shoulders loose from their moorings.

Because the place was one in which we knew Darren would have dug right in to with great enthusiasm, we scattered some of his ashes there with a blessing.

We did have a view of mountains of tailings out of the Ely mines from up there.

As do all mining towns, Ely has had its share of booms and busts, depending on the price of the minerals being extracted from beneath the earth.  The Robinson Mining District there consists of three gigantic open pit copper mines, slated for shut-down in the not-too-distant future.

During a 1999 downturn that saw a thousand or so people leave the community, an unusual idea surfaced and has taken the town by storm.  Utilizing several revenue avenues and fund raisers, the community has come together with a mural project that memorializes Ely's history - mining, ranching, railroading and scenic beauty - while honoring the many diverse cultures and ethnic groups that were a part of it.

Murals adorn nearly 30 buildings throughout town, painted by various artists in different styles.  We photographed a sampling of them, some of which I was especially drawn to, such as a Basque sheepherder, men enjoying a hot spring, the Pony Express and railroading.  I loved the aspen scene at sunset that covers two sides of one building.

 

 

The Nevada Northern . . .

There were other attractions we would like to have had time for while in Ely, but one that we were very grateful not to have missed was the Nevada Northern Railway Museum!

Although we were not there on the day a steam engine was pulling a tour train, which would have been our preference, we decided to take the scenic ride with a diesel engine.  With that came the option of an engine house tour; we and one other couple did that.

Our guide, Con, is the archivist for the NNRY, a National Historic Landmark, and an incredible fount of knowledge about its history and workings, with enthusiasm to match.  For two hours, Con regaled us with stories of the past glory of that historic railroad and the people who kept it operating and who continue to do so.

The museum - unique in that it not only displays the artifacts of the golden days of railroading, it continues to function - is a full service rail yard encompassing 56 acres and 63 structures.

 

 

We heard the tales, tall and otherwise, about Ely's ghost engine number 40 . . .

. . . and we met Dirt, the railroad's mascot, a 13-year-old cat of nearly indistinguishable hue under the soot.

We learned about the multitude of huge tools handmade for unique job needs . . .

Even more astounding to me were the paper records, blueprints, vintage posters, personnel files, handwritten job application letters, ledgers, maintenance records: virtually every paper relating to the railroad's operation since its inception in 1906 is extant in those buildings, hidden in cabinets, drawers and trunks, stashed on shelves and anywhere else there was space.

Con has been a driving force in maintaining the historical record of the railroad and is striving constantly to organize, preserve and digitize every bit of it, a monumental job that volunteers assist in.  Not only is it all being digitized, it's being done in accessible searchable forms.  

I am inspired to do some transcribing for my small part in the efforts, something completely out of my usual realm but which I think I will have fun contributing to.

And then our ride out from the rail yard to Keystone and back - enjoyable, but almost an anticlimax after that astounding fact-filled journey.

Our journey of five-plus weeks is complete.  We've returned home to the reality of a life without our oldest son.  We would never have embarked on such a trip so soon after Darren's death, but it had been set in motion before that tragic event, and I believe that it did help to get us through the shock, especially helped by the extensive time enveloped in the love of family who grieved with us.

We are changed, of course, inevitably so when a child precedes his parents in leaving the planet.  We continue in gratitude for our time with our son and for the love we shared.  We never doubted his love and concern for us, often expressed in conversation, and know that he would want us to live life as fully as possible.  Darren's enthusiasm for and excitement about the world around him, combined with his quirky and understanding sense of humor make me want to honor him by carrying on in his stead, but oh, how I wish he were here to share it with me.