The place initially looked like home, with big coniferous trees and aspens, but the granite rocks and prickly pear reminded me that I wasn't in Oregon.
The tent was more level than this picture makes it look. At least I didn't notice myself rolling in the night. It could be due to the fact that I had two dogs anchoring me in place. I wasn't cold at all, but they either had tired of sleeping on the ground and preferred me as a cushion or their spoiled and desert-accustomed bodies were chilly. Hard to say, but if anyone could have heard me in the night over the creek the conversation went a little like this: "Move. Lucy, dammit, move! Tate! Get off of me! Move! Grpphugh, NOT ONTO MY HEAD!"
The dogs survived the night, as did I, and the next morning was gloriously clear. This is what Wheeler Peak looks like from near my camp. It was the only view that I had stored in my childhood memory of the place until later when I drove up the "scenic drive." More on that in a minute. If you've never been to Great Basin National Park, GO. It is cheap to camp (It is ridiculous that I could stay here for $12 a night but I was stiffed $17 a night for a Nevada state park!), it provides some needed respite from the heat, since the lowest campground in elevation is 7,000 feet, and the above and belowground scenery is fantastic. The mountains are obvious and grand, but there is a large cave system here as well. This time I didn't venture into Lehman Caves because I didn't want to leave the dogs, but I remember being astounded as a kid. This is also where I learned the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. If you haven't been there and you find yourself hauling across highway 50, drop south a bit and go see it.
After supporting the local economy at the Lehman Caves visitor center ("Ooooh! Fossils in a bag! I must have them! Damn, these came from the Confusion Range. I just passed that!") the dogs and I drove up the Wheeler Peak scenic drive. I didn't have any idea how high in elevation one can get, but I soon found out. The drive meanders and switchbacks its way around the northeast side of the mountain until it presents you with the following view at which point you realize that the campgrounds are on the boring side of the mountain.
It seemed amazing to me that I could go from an expansive sage brush flat to this view in under 30 minutes. I also expected to hear yodels, but I resisted giving one of my own since the few people at the pulloffs already were eyeing me with suspicion. I think it was my hat. Or possibly it was my heaving breaths as the elevation steadily increased.
Finally, I reached the highest point one can drive. There is a large parking lot and potty stop, but no oxygen tanks, so I didn't stay long. Kidding, I was only mildly hypoxic and I could barely tell the difference between the headache from altitude sickness and my normal day-to-day headaches. There is a campground at this stop, which is roughly 10,000 feet in elevation. The view in the picture below is looking up at the 13,000+ ft peak. I had no urge to camp here, since listlessly sitting in a chair and reading a book is what I had been doing the previous day at 7,000 feet. It would have scared the ecohipsters to see me setting up a tent while periodically lying on the dirt gasping for breath. After taking pictures and marvelling at the elderly couple sitting on their tailgate smoking a cigarette, we departed for the lowlands.
That night, in celebration of surviving the mountain (it sounds like I scaled Everest rather than driving my sorry self up Wheeler) I decided to char a hotdog for dinner. Mmmmm, healthy.
Next up: the long, long, long drive home.
