Mountain Island in a Sagebrush Ocean
03rd May 2010
An October morning at ten thousand feet; a breeze allowed the dainty crackling of aspen leaves. I stood enveloped by endless colors of crimson, yellow, amber and gold. My finger lay ready on the shutter button as I focused my eyes on the colors before me. The noisy chatter of a Stellar's Jay emanated from a cedar twenty feet above me; the bird's song repeating romantically every twenty to thirty seconds. An enormous ice field sits in the deep shadow of 13,061 foot Wheeler Peak. I slapped myself twice, admiring a glacier in the desert! Could this really be possible in Nevada?
Great Basin National Park is a place of many wonders, whether they are as subtle as a creek's babbling tumble, or as timelessly bold as a Bristlecone's life. The park is quietly celebrated among the national parks chain, receiving very little visitation from common American tourists. In comparison to such parks as Arches, Zion or Yosemite, Great Basin's beauty is often found when least expected. The park's isolation and unparalleled beauty truly strike a fine chord with the people who do decide to give it a chance.
Great Basin's wall of snow-clad peaks greets the visitors, a refreshing mountain wonderland of aspens, cedars, pines and firs caught in the middle of flat, robust desert, while a wooden brown sign welcomes me to "...Great Basin National Park". The rushing water of Lehman Creek swells on the left, a ribbon of icy-cold refreshment carving a sinuous path through the sagebrush. Six to seven inch Brown and Rainbow Trout dark in and out of cover, utilizing the creek's stream-side wild rose and willow as respite from the harsh desert sun. The tartness of ripe gooseberries and the sweetness of blue elderberries are a perfect treat in mid-June. However, back on the pavement, a junction lies ahead; the park's only paved road branches off to the north. The "Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive" leads thirteen miles to Wheeler Glacier; an ominous yellow sign to the right simply reads, "Steep Grades Ahead", yet says little to warm visitors that the road ends at just over ten thousand feet. A slow and winding ascent commands appreciation of the vast desert floor below. Such a stark contrast in scenery truly earns the park its title as an "island of mountains" caught amidst an "ocean of sagebrush".
Upon reaching the end of the road, visitors can ascend even higher; two trails climb to the base of Wheeler Glacier; another trail climbs to the forest of the Bristlecone Pine, described as the earth's oldest living things. The Bristlecone lives amidst a world of rock and ice, standing in spite of powerful arctic-cold winds, where the relentless shadow of Wheeler Peak allow only minimal sunlight. The Bristlecone stands ghastly and grotesque, twisting its trunk into odd and macabre shapes; exposed branches wrap around rocks, trying to capture every bit of moisture and mercy from nature. The tree's bark, splotched with beautiful arrays of gold and yellow - peppered by every shade of gray and black - remains folded and warped, eroding in every way it possibly can to preserve its life, if only for a second longer. On my last visit, I easily imagined that the forests made music. In such a symphony as one written by Nature herself, the Bristlecone's music would be monotone at best, a series of lonely sonatas dragging on without regard for any that might be listening.
An October morning arrived without fanfare at ten thousand feet, smiling at the experience before me. The noisy Stellar's Jay never once became obnoxious, nor did the arctic winds become too cold and blistery for me to bear. I looked left to right, ahead and behind, as I realized that the best things in life often come in the most inconspicuous of packages. Great Basin National Park is a dusty book, a neglected hard back that never sees an interested reader. Another book that's been judged by its cover.
Great Basin National Park is a place of many wonders, whether they are as subtle as a creek's babbling tumble, or as timelessly bold as a Bristlecone's life. The park is quietly celebrated among the national parks chain, receiving very little visitation from common American tourists. In comparison to such parks as Arches, Zion or Yosemite, Great Basin's beauty is often found when least expected. The park's isolation and unparalleled beauty truly strike a fine chord with the people who do decide to give it a chance.
Great Basin's wall of snow-clad peaks greets the visitors, a refreshing mountain wonderland of aspens, cedars, pines and firs caught in the middle of flat, robust desert, while a wooden brown sign welcomes me to "...Great Basin National Park". The rushing water of Lehman Creek swells on the left, a ribbon of icy-cold refreshment carving a sinuous path through the sagebrush. Six to seven inch Brown and Rainbow Trout dark in and out of cover, utilizing the creek's stream-side wild rose and willow as respite from the harsh desert sun. The tartness of ripe gooseberries and the sweetness of blue elderberries are a perfect treat in mid-June. However, back on the pavement, a junction lies ahead; the park's only paved road branches off to the north. The "Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive" leads thirteen miles to Wheeler Glacier; an ominous yellow sign to the right simply reads, "Steep Grades Ahead", yet says little to warm visitors that the road ends at just over ten thousand feet. A slow and winding ascent commands appreciation of the vast desert floor below. Such a stark contrast in scenery truly earns the park its title as an "island of mountains" caught amidst an "ocean of sagebrush".
Upon reaching the end of the road, visitors can ascend even higher; two trails climb to the base of Wheeler Glacier; another trail climbs to the forest of the Bristlecone Pine, described as the earth's oldest living things. The Bristlecone lives amidst a world of rock and ice, standing in spite of powerful arctic-cold winds, where the relentless shadow of Wheeler Peak allow only minimal sunlight. The Bristlecone stands ghastly and grotesque, twisting its trunk into odd and macabre shapes; exposed branches wrap around rocks, trying to capture every bit of moisture and mercy from nature. The tree's bark, splotched with beautiful arrays of gold and yellow - peppered by every shade of gray and black - remains folded and warped, eroding in every way it possibly can to preserve its life, if only for a second longer. On my last visit, I easily imagined that the forests made music. In such a symphony as one written by Nature herself, the Bristlecone's music would be monotone at best, a series of lonely sonatas dragging on without regard for any that might be listening.
An October morning arrived without fanfare at ten thousand feet, smiling at the experience before me. The noisy Stellar's Jay never once became obnoxious, nor did the arctic winds become too cold and blistery for me to bear. I looked left to right, ahead and behind, as I realized that the best things in life often come in the most inconspicuous of packages. Great Basin National Park is a dusty book, a neglected hard back that never sees an interested reader. Another book that's been judged by its cover.
