Friday, March 27
The crew and I enjoy our usual morning routine. At noon we climb into the Perfect Tow Vehicle and zip over to the hot springs pool. Before I take a soak, the crew and I walk a nearby road. Then I pop them back into the PTV.
“You wait here. Take a nap or something.”
I luxuriate by myself in the pool for twenty minutes or so.
The afternoon passes quietly. I read. Bridget and Reggie hang out in their pen.
Late in the afternoon we go to the dam at Lower Dacey Reservoir.
Rather than drive across the dam, I park the PTV and the crew and I walk across on the dirt road. We come upon a young man and woman fishing. We exchange hellos.
“What are people catching here?” I ask.
“Bass and trout,” the woman answers. She tells me they haven’t caught anything yet. “We just got here and it’s too early in the day.”
The crew and I continue our walk.
On the return to cross the dam, the couple is near their truck and we strike up a conversation. I learn their names are Kenny and Jasmine.
Kenny’s work is associated with the copper mine in Ely. Jasmine is in her last year of school, about to earn a degree in natural resources.
“We’re going to be married in three months!” Jasmine announces, grinning, her eyes bright.
The black dots on the water are American Coots.
I ask Kenny and Jasmine if it’s okay for me to mention them in my blog.
I tell them the name of the blog and Kenny reacts.
“RVSue? I’ve heard of you!” he exclaims. He pulls an electronic device out of his pocket and immediately brings up the blog. “Yeah, here it is . . . rvsue and crew dot net.”
The time arrives for the fish to bite and for the crew and I to return to camp.
“I wish you both many, many years of happiness together,” I say in parting.
What a nice couple, well-matched . . . . I do wish them well.
When we return to the campground, the weekend campers arrive.
By nightfall we have campers all around us.
Saturday, March 28 and Sunday, March 29
Dave Deacon Campground is full. Up until now the campers were quiet people, here to fish the reservoirs.
Most of these new folks are here to fish, too, but they’re a noisier bunch. I’m happy to see people who work all week having fun.
Adults gather in small groups or fuss around grills or set up picnic tables. Children run around. Music plays. The ever-present generators rumble. The obnoxious sound of a television pours out our neighbor’s open doorway.
It’s impossible to read outside. The crew and I stay in the BLT a lot. After dark big campfires glow all around. More campers arrive in the dark with their OHV trailers. They park near us.
Monday, March 30
Rather than walk the crew around the campground, after breakfast I toss them into the Perfect Tow Vehicle and drive across the flat, sage-covered desert until we come to a rarely-used lane.
“This looks good. Let’s walk this little road.”
Bridget, Reggie and I follow the two-track to a tank of water set out for cattle. No cattle are within sight.
At last, Reggie begins to slow down.
“Far enough, guys. Time to go back.”
What a beautiful morning. Blue skies, no wind, no noise. We should move to a new camp even though it will put us at higher elevation. I’ve had enough of people and their machines. I could stay here where it’s warm and be irritated or move to where it’s cold and be happy.
An easy decision!
When we return to camp, I leave the crew in the PTV and set to work.
In a short while we’re packed up and hitched up. Before leaving the campground, I stop at the dump station. A couple is filling their water tank and dumping waste tanks.
“Nice set-up you have there,” the man remarks. “Mind if I take a look?”
Of course, I take that as an opening to brag about the Best Little Trailer, the PTV, solar power, and my lifestyle. I learn their names are Russell and Cathy and they come to Dave Deacon Campground from Las Vegas.
They go on their way and I complete the necessary tasks at the dump station.
“Goodbye, Wayne F. Kirch Wildlife Management Area. It’s been fun!”
How I want to remember our camp at Dave Deacon
It’s great to be on the road again!
I always feel a rush when setting out to a place we’ve never been. We travel northward through White River Valley on Route 93, through the town of Lund, and stop for gas. I’m relieved that gas is $2.89 a gallon since it’s the only place to buy gas for over a hundred miles.
Our new camp!
We turn onto Route 6 and head toward Ely, Nevada. (pronounced EE-lee.) Gradually we gain elevation until we reach Murry Summit. Shortly past the summit I turn into Ward Mountain Campground which is ten miles southeast of Ely (very handy!). The elevation is 7,400 feet. (I must be crazy. It’s the end of March!)
Ward Mountain is 10,800 feet, the tallest in the Egan Range.
The campground website says it’s closed. I’m assuming it means closed to reservations. In real life, there is no indication it is closed. No sign. No gate. Well, we’ll try staying here. If we’re told to leave, we’ll leave.
The pay station doesn’t indicate a fee. In fact, the drop box for payment envelopes is open and empty.
The campground is large with three loops and it’s empty!
Some campsites have two picnic tables.
I drive around looking for the best campsite.
All the campsites are well designed, neat, and level. Gee, not a soul here! Everything is in like-new condition. Very nice.
I step out of the PTV at a site I like. . . oh, that lovely pine scent! It’s not cold up here. Of course, tonight may very well be a different matter.
This one looks good . . . level, sunny, and no steep drop-offs . . .
I unhitch, set up a basic camp, walk the crew around the loop, and then we go into town for supplies.
I know! I’ll pick up a rotisserie chicken for supper!
Nestled among the cedars and pinyon pines
rvsue
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