Friday, April 14
Reggie at our camp on Snowbird Mesa aka Poverty Flats, Overton, Nevada
Let’s take a look around, shall we?
This photo shows the main group of RVs. We aren’t camped in this area.
Poverty Flats is a Bureau of Land Reclamation area.
While out walking Reggie, I talk with a guy who has spent the past eleven winters on the mesa. He tells me there is a restriction, so to speak. You’re not supposed to camp here during August and September when temperatures can soar to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.
Okay . . . not a problem!
Hard as it is to believe, a family did attempt to camp during those temperatures. Rangers insisted they leave. The people refused and subsequently they were hauled off and their possessions impounded.
They were fined severely, but not as bad as the fine that nature would’ve levied!
It’s calm on the mesa this morning, after yesterday’s powerful winds.
I have to tell you what happened! See the nice camp chair with attached table in the next photo?
That is one, great chair.
I think every person that has ever set their butt into it has commented how comfortable it is. I bought it early in our vagabond days from a booth at Quartzite.
In fact, I bought two.
Well, yesterday, when the wind picked up considerably, I hurry to secure our campsite. I was aware of the wind advisory and I knew that if the wind is strong through Moapa Valley, it is even stronger up here on the mesa.
I make sure the stakes are pounded in well.
I fold up the lounger and the camp chair and place them on the mat to help hold it down. Also I add a few, big rocks from the fire ring and a couple one-gallon jugs of drinking water.
(In hindsight, I should’ve taken up the mat and put everything away. The pulling and flapping on the sharp rocks put some wear and tear on the mat.)
Back to the story . . . .
The wind is fierce!
A huge dirt devil dances across the mesa until it falls over the cliff and vanishes. Exciting!
Then, around noon, all is calm.
“C’mon, Reggie. We can go outside now.”
I set up my nice camp chair next to the Best Little Trailer, sit down in it, and enjoy a bowl of my fattening potato salad, a rare treat!
Later, while we’re inside . . .
The wind picks up again with even more velocity than before. I’m on the computer and don’t pay much attention until I hear the sound of metal against rock.
I jump up and wrest open the door.
The camp chair, my very nice camp chair, is SOMERSAULTING toward the edge of the cliff!
Quickly I slide my feet into my sandals and burst out the door. As I run the forty feet or so, I think of the times I’ve chased items blown across the desert — plastic bags, a piece of paper, even the doggie bed.
You know how it goes. Right before you bend to pick up the thing, the wind blows it further, as if playing a game of tease.
The chair stops about three feet from the edge.
Oh, please, please, don’t go over . . . .
Okay, RVSue, get a grip. You have two of these chairs. If one is blown into the badlands below, you won’t suffer any hardship.
But, darn it, I want to keep that chair!
Standing near the precipice, especially in wind like this, is not something I feel good about.
Quickly I grab the chair and fold it up before it acts as a parachute carrying me off to the silica plant in Overton. (See illustration below.)
Really. I kid you not. These wind gusts are boss!
Happy ending . . . .
I didn’t lose my nice chair!
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