17 Weeks in the Wilderness
There's not much we could say about our excursions into the
backcountry that these photos don't say. We met some memorable
people - ranchers, miners, recluses. We met one man hiking
the continental divide from Canada to Mexico. He had already
walked over 2,000 miles when we met him. He gave us a ration
of shit about owning a gas-guzzling Hummer. We apologized
and wished him luck. The strangest thing we saw was a mailbox.
It was in the middle of the Mojave Desert, set on a post.
The nearest road was 50 miles away. The nearest house was
over 100 miles away. We had been off-road for 6 days and had
not seen another person, jeep, road, beer can or any sign
whatsoever than human beings inhabited this planet. We opened
the lid and inside were about a dozen hand-written notes,
dating back to 1971. We read them all. One was a postcard,
stamped but not posted, that was addressed to a woman in Portland.
It was short and sweet, and read - "I hope you're happy
with him bitch! I took the dog." Apparently the journey
which brought him unknowingly to a mailbox in this vast emptiness
changed him enough that he didn't care anymore whether she
got the card. All the rest were letters intended for any others
who might come across the mailbox. We placed all the notes
reverently back into the box, added our own and closed the
lid.
We met a lot of ranchers - the salt of the earth. Without
exception, they were welcoming and helpful. We would frequently
follow a fence-line and end up at a rancher's home. We always
apologized for the intrusion, or possible trespass, and explained
our mission. More than once we were given detailed directions
on how to best cross their ranches, find gates and avoid hazardous
or dead-end trails. We were invariably reminded to close any
gates that we opened. "Two-tracks", the name ranchers
give to faint ruts or indentations caused by trucks repeatedly
traveling over the same path, became our superhighways. They
always led to a gate in a fence-line that we might otherwise
have had to drive beside for hours to locate. One such two-track
meandered uninterrupted for over 150 miles between the south
rim of the Grand Canyon and highway 40, passing through dozens
of different ranches.
Our most exciting moment came when we wandered into the Chocolate
Mountain Gunnery Range. It appears that they only fence and
patrol their borders within a few miles of areas accessible
by road. No-one considered that people might one day come
overland across the Chocolate Mountains. We knew something
was up when burned out tanks and personnel carriers began
to litter the landscape. We met a startled sergeant who was
out jogging (yes, this was the desert) and who apparently
had better things to do than spend a day filling out paperwork
caused by bringing us to the attention of someone who didn't
have anything better to do. He strongly suggested we leave
the way we came, and added that if we had arrived in the evening,
artillery practice would have been in full swing. John wanted
to hang out on the perimeter and watch the firing from a safe
distance. I said no.
Our advice to anyone doing ground reconnaissance for an aero-trek
group is to take more water than food, buy the toughest off-road
tires you can find (we used B.F. Goodrich Mud-Terrains), get
a winch installed on your rig, take a gallon of tire slime,
get a portable air compressor (the Hummer comes standard with
a factory installed compressor). Get at least a 6 inch lift
kit for your rig and have differential locks installed. If
we were to do it over again we would have an air intake snorkel
installed. You can get them for almost all off-road vehicle
brands now. Many times we traveled through rough country for
a day or two, only to be turned back because a river that
we were expecting to ford was too deep to cross.
And remember that you are in a different world when you leave
civilization. There are no emergency services. No help for
breakdowns or accidents. No anti-venom for snake bites. There
are no police. If you have the bad luck to meet an ill-intentioned
person 50 miles from the nearest road, that person may do
whatever they choose with absolute impunity. Be cautious.
And enjoy the exquisite emptiness that's waiting for
you.
