Lincoln County explores

Pioche is putting on quite a show for us: so much to explore throughout the region, and a performance by the resident birds right outside the Wolf Pup's window.  Word quickly spread via avian news that a free breakfast/lunch/dinner/snack was available at the Wuehrmann's mobile casa, and the rush was on.

Bullock's orioles are actively tussling with each other for a turn at the nectar feeder a la hummingbird behavior: no, it will never do to allow multiple birds at the same time at multiple ports.  No indeed, a bird must sip sweet nectar while simultaneously fighting off others who arrive noisily and hungrily.  And then there's the matter of hummingbirds - black-chinned and broad-tailed  - for whom the feeder was intended.  They are required to get what they can in between oriole repasts.  The hordes are consuming about a cup of nectar per day!

Then there's the seed feeder which is equally popular.  The optimistic jays continue to attempt to land on it despite it being impossible for them to fit.  Their antics include diving at it, clinging to the tree trunk next to it and stretching as far as they can but never quite getting there, and hopping from branch to branch above it in their quest for the mother lode.  They are reduced to squawking and finding seeds on the ground below, raucously pushing aside other ground feeders: house sparrows, house finches, brown-headed cowbirds, lesser goldfinches, mourning doves, black-headed grosbeaks, collared doves, and then there was the Wilson's warbler that stopped by to see what all the fuss was about.

A cathedral of sorts . . .

Not having found any sort of literature that purports to be a guide to interesting sites hereabouts, we mostly take note of signage and maps with interesting names and track them down.  One stupendous stop was at Cathedral Gorge.

Millennia ago, the place was a vast lake that accumulated such silt-bottom depth that the water eventually broke out to drain downstream, leaving the sediment high and dry to erode over the years.  The result is a series of deep convoluted chasms - cliffsides that have been deeply etched by water and wind with hoodoos of every size and shape.

Viewing from the overlook might have been sufficient, but no, we had to slip 'n slide our way down (even where steps were provided, they were undercut) to the bottom and then hike the length of it.  There's a four-mile hike in another section; that will be our route another day..

We identified a sage thrasher while on that walk.

Charcoal kilns . . .

A side trip (aren't they all?!) took us to three beehive-shaped charcoal kilns and surrounding ghost town remains.

We saw mine tailings on the side slope of the next hill.  The kilns no doubt were to produce charcoal that was needed in the smeltering process.  This appears to be the back wall of the smelter.

Only the ruins of a couple of cabins are still standing . . .

. . . plus a bit of other rubbley remnants of undetermined usage. . .

. . . and the kilns that are approaching rubblehood.

Rainbow Canyon . . .

is a bit of a misnomer, in my opinion.  Yes, it is a canyon, and yes, it has a few russet-hued cliff walls, but I'm thinking it's just enough to dub it 3% Rainbow Canyon.  The other 97% consists of your usual everyday rock layers, albeit in interesting layers and contortions.

For me, the real attraction there was the riparian area created by a long series of beaver dams and the pools and backwaters that result.  That is yet another section of Meadow Valley Wash, although I'm still wondering why Nevada decided to name a perfectly good perennial stream a "wash" instead of giving it a more fitting name like "creek".  To my way of thinking, a wash is a waterway that is mostly dry except during storm flooding.  Sigh . . . if I were queen, I would take care of these things.

There is a 600-or-so-acre place for sale in there that clearly has my name on it.  All in all, the "wash" is a miraculous absolutely beautiful and intriguing ribbon of garden-like greenery in stark contrast to Nevada's vast sere desert.

While we were looking the place over, we even spotted a muskrat busily scurrying about its business as it scampered from one beaver pond to another.

A few ranchers reside through the area; others have moved on and left their various marks in the form of abandoned rock cabins, old school houses and various other detritus we humans tend to leave in our wake.

Wild game is in abundance in that Eden-like corridor; one deer herd we saw numbered 15 or more.  Most of them are so gentle that besides a few alerted ears turned my way, they didn't even bother to rise from their noon-time siesta spot.

More birds for the trip list: northern flicker, ash-throated flycatcher, yellow warbler, black phoebe, Gambel's quail and a smashing summer tanager.

The gargantuan size of this and other cottonwoods attests to the abundance of water.

Condor Canyon . . .

. . . is another that may be misnamed.  I suspect that no birds of that species are in the vicinity, but it did not stop us from seeing what we could see.  The dirt road that provides vehicle access between those very precipitous walls was at one time a railroad route.  Now it scarcely allows a truck to squeeze through the vegetation brushing up again our extended side-view mirrors.

Shortly after we passed the gargantuan cave the señor is perusing in the next pic, we arrived at a steep stream crossing that Ruby would have easily maneuvered, but we decided Taco was not quite up to the task, so we turned back.  Supposedly, a waterfall is splashing away somewhere back in there out of our reach, but we were in awe of that narrow deep canyon, at any rate.

A Mt. Wilson escape . . .

Not that it has been staying very warm at lower elevations (we're staying at over 6,000 feet elevation), the señor decided we ought to drive a high loop road around Mt. Wilson so we could get a little chillier.  We had the long dirt road to ourselves the entire way.  There are just not very many humans in this part of the country, so running across other people whilst we are exploring is the exception rather than the rule.

We were treated to some very nice distant views as we tootled along . . .

. . . and got a look at snow-speckled Wheeler Peak (it rises at the edge of the Great Basin, and is a place we hiked last summer after enjoying Lehman Caves) . . .

. . . and snow in the far-off Schell Creek Range, too.

We nixed the idea of a walk up to a summit; that slope looked plenty steep from my vantage point, and Taco could not have made the grade.

Our journey may have been peopleless, but we did see quite a more than trees, rocks and chaparral.  Sightings included one squirrel, one young coyote, a herd of more than 20 elk, wild horses, and one bull snake slithering, but not very quickly.