Trip Report: From the bottom to the top (almost)
- John Weishaar
- Dec 16, 2024
- 17 min read
In October I had a trip planned that started small and grew into a mini-epic 9-day jaunt around Southern Nevada, Arizona and Southeastern California. What started as a 3-day quail hunt turned into a trip with 3 distinct phases that were perfect in length to feel accomplishment but without each activity becoming stale and tiresome. It was the perfect time to get some mileage in on the straps, get some killer pics and get know a single watch.
I used to pack multiple watches for my trips. Grab something for outdoors/field work, maybe something a little dressier (for me!) for a nice dinner or walk into town and potential a diver if there is some water mixed into the trip. Recently, I've been taking a single watch on any of my trips and only bring straps if the situation requires it. I've found it really hammers home the love for a watch. For this trip, the Omega Seamaster Black Ceramic/Titanium. A watch I thought to be temporary.
Too often our burgeoning collections become an assembly of watches that we love but because of the desire to not leave a watch in the cold, we end up wearing each piece for a day or 2 and then rotating through the watch box. I rarely wear a watch for more than 2 days so the single watch through a trip really drives the love for the watch. You get to focus on it more, spend time with it and appreciate its flaws or better yet, question its long-term spot in your box.
Back to the trip, it had been 9 years since I walked the foothills of the Mojave in search of the Gambel's Quail. My brother and I grew up hunting this same area since the early-90's with my dad and a family friend who introduced us to the sport. First we started following in their footsteps, that progressed to walking it with a shotgun, and then onto creating our own path. Another trip was due and we got together planning a week in the desert.
Initially I was hoping to get a solid cluster of days on the hunt and because I'd barely taken vacation this year, I wanted to extend the trip through the weekend and potentially into the following week. I'd been talking to a childhood friend who lives in Orange County about linking up for the weekend. At first those talks involved a day of paintball, before he wanted to use it as an excuse to checkout some new areas in the Southwest. Thus phase 2 was born.
Phase 3 was a matter of convenience, time and proximity. My brother and I had on and off been trying to score a permit to day hike Mt. Whitney. Any time we actually won the permit something came up and the trip fell apart. Because this idea came about the month prior, my chances of scoring a last minute permit seemed dim which they were but I had a backup plan to summit My Langley as it required no permit and is frequently touted as the prettiest peak in the area as the trail meanders through a series of alpine lakes. I did not get the permit...
Chasing raisins
Parker, AZ
Prior to leaving, Amy, my brother, his fiance and I spent the weekend in D.C. Friday night we cruised into town late and linked up with them at their apartment in Penn Quarter after dropping off an adorable 4 month old Weimaraner puppy to a family that adopted him. Goodbye Cookie, hello Hugo!
Saturday was spent eating, drinking a little and doing the standard pre-race packet pickup and expo. Sunday we ran the Army 10-miler. The run itself was nice, especially the sections near the monuments but the distance is where the course shines. I'm not particularly fond of running, so not having to do the extra 3.1 miles for a half is delightful. Plus I hate training.
Early Monday we took a direct flight to Las Vegas, picked up our rental Jeep and got on the road to Parker, Az. In proper first order, we headed to an In'N'Out for double-doubles, took the top off the Jeep Wrangler we rented and were on the road.
We pulled into town, picked up our hunting licenses from the CRIT (Colorado River Indian Tribes) office and met up with our Dad and Duane who had arrived the day before, coming from Genoa, NV with coolers of Modelos and shotguns. The rest of the evening consisted of dinner, beers poolside at the hotel and after the guys went to bed, my brother and I freeing up a bottle of Smoke Wagon and a few more modelos.
We spent our first day on a furious blitz up and down the foothills surrounding the Colorado. Up drainage valleys, over train tracks, up and down foothills, through scrub brush and across anywhere we deemed fit for solid quail habitat. Some were immediately recognizable, others took a little while to set in. That day there wasn't a single track we hadn't walked dozens of times before but 10 to 30 years of desert growth and fading memories washed out the details.
That first day we put somewhere north of 10 miles in, stopping for lunch in town before heading back out for the afternoon hunt concluding with the "drop off", an area that has consistently produced lots of quail as the sun sets. We didn't see a single "fresh" track the entire day.
In this part of the desert the quail use an impenetrable field of thick brush for nesting and sleeping. It's close to the river for access to water which they'll use in the morning before heading into the valleys and foothills in search of seed and food. Even in slow years the drop-off always produced a couple of coveys and although this year seemed like the birds were in short supply, they must have all convened at the drop-off. Tracks were everywhere, they were fresh, crisp and looked like little highways meandering through the washouts from patches of trees to thick swathes of brush.
We all got on pockets of birds being careful not to shoot up hillsides or through brush. It's easy to swing around on each other. Greg was chasing birds about a half mile south, Duane at 90 years old was perched on a hilltop waiting for birds to be flushed towards him in Greg's maniacal back and forth and I was working a covey through a valley and down a hill toward our dad. Each of us scored a couple of birds and as the sunset in the valley we quickly cleaned them, enjoyed a post-hunt beer and bathed in the cooling desert air before heading into town for tacos and more beer.
The following day left the more senior members of our crew worn out from walking on soft sand and up hillsides so we took the morning to drive out to Yuma Proving Grounds, a military testing site for munitions, equipment and also the HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening) parachute school. Minus some stationary tanks, a few helicopters, 2-3 Ospreys and a group of soldiers prepping on the tarmac for a parachute drop it was quiet. Back to the hunt we go.
This night we went straight to the drop-off. We all got some more birds but it was the 15 minutes I spent seated on the hillside that I'll remember the most. Duane was about 50 yards away doing the same thing, Dad was across the valley hoping some birds would be pushed by Greg who was working like a pinball wearing himself out chasing birds. Despite your abilities, he is a great runner, you'll never run down the birds.
The sun was setting and about 70 yards in front of me a single Coyote emerged from the brush where I walked by just moments before. It stopped on a dirt road and nose to the air was surely sniffing us and nearby birds. Often we've done these hunts and outside our group it feels like we're the only ones there but this felt poetic that both we and the Coyote were the hunters, chasing the same thing. The difference lying in its ability to penetrate all that brush that was off limits to us.
Our next morning we struck forth the only area that was producing birds. I got a beautiful wingshot on a bird that tracked right to left but by then we had busted up most of the birds into 2-3 bird coveys that inevitably took shelter in the thick brush. We left into Arizona to not overhunt a single area and for a change of scenery. This hunt was woven through a large, wide desert washout flanked by alfalfa fields. Although areas presented ample fresh tracks, none of us saw or heard any birds. Our hunt was over but the trip was not. Greg and I headed north towards Las Vegas and Dad/Duane left back to Genoa.
Valley of Fire
Nevada
Somehow, this became the bougie part of my trip despite sleeping in a tent. An afternoon drive across the desert from Parker to Las Vegas was beautiful and uneventful, especially if you don't mind staring at stones (joke to come).
The last hour was spent furiously consulting the phone for something great to eat yet also convenient to get in and out of. Strip casinos were a no-go but fortunately there have been a ton of off-strip casinos built over the last decade where you don't need a 15-story parking deck and a 45 minute walk to the car.
After 4 days of de facto desert town epicurean delights featuring Mexican, burgers, mediocre pizza, more Mexican and not a single fresh vegetable in sight, we needed something fresh, something crisp and something boozy. Turns out that was sushi, and not very good sushi BUT it hit the spot and the cocktails were excellent. Turns out the roulette wheel also treated my brother well, as did the continuous stream of IPA's.
Decent dinner, check. Cocktails, check. On time drop to the airport, check. Hotel room booked, check.
The day next morning I ran into an REI to grab supplies for the Whitney hike, mainly a water filter and headlamp, both of which turned out to be crucial pick-ups. Another stop into Walmart for some snacks and provisions for the weekend and lastly, my quick stop at Tacos El Gordo also turned out to be a crucial pick-up! A plate of Adobada, Cabeza, Suadero and Lengua tacos took the edge off the previous evenings excess. Bonus points, it was across the street from Shelby American. I regretfully did not stop in...
From Las Vegas I took the drive across Lake Mead recreational area and into Valley of Fire, arriving around 4pm with no cell service and all the visitors centers closed. A snap of a park map taped to the glass and I made my way to the campsite. If you've never been to Valley of Fire and you happen to be in Las Vegas. Make the drive. I arrived with a gray sky and brisk windy conditions but you could still make out the vibrant nature of the ultra saturate red rocks. It's stunning and an hours drive from Vegas. Rent the car, make the trip.
From here, I arrived at the campsites, beautifully nestled in within the rocks. Wow, this is a really cool place to car camp! Turns out I would spend the next 6 hours waiting on my friend from Southern California to show up. I spent an hour or so next to the campfire, which the wind deemed too dangerous so it was snuffed out. Time to take a nap in the car.
Around 10pm my buddy showed up, late departure, car trouble, packing etc put him way behind a nonexistent schedule but I at least got a tent to sleep in instead of either the car or a tarp on the ground. A couple of beers, sips of whiskey and it was bedtime.
In the a.m. we left to hit a gas station and cell service, he needed to make a few calls to his mechanic being that his VW GTI went in for service the morning before, which turned into an oil consumption issue, which ended up turning into a rebuild or just buy a new car. He bought a new car. We poured his desperation into 2 plates of the largest Navajo style tacos I've ever seen.
Back to the park, as the morning warmed up, the clouds started to dissipate and gray speckled clouds gave way to crisp blue skies. Those vibrant red rocks just became electrictrified like they were illuminated from within from incandescent light. The collision of red rocks and blue skies is otherworldly.
We proceeded to hit every trail in the park with exception to the 8.7m Prospector Trail. In hindsight, I should have done it early and had him meet me at the finish. Regardless, it was a great day. Absolutely beautiful scenery, relatively low crowds, relaxing trails and a great drive through the Valley of Fire Highway where we were able to catch the sunset and head back to camp.
The next morning I awoke early, as was a theme through this whole trip. Before the rest of the campground fell out of their slumber and before the morning sun crept over the horizon I went for a walk in the cool, dry desert air. I was hoping to grab some shots of the Seamaster with the rising sun in the background. Cloud cover limited the success but I was able to grab a cool slo-mo.
On the way back to the campsite, I crossed paths with a jackrabbit. It felt like that moment in "Always Sunny" when frank sees the rabbit looking into his soul. We both just stood there staring at each other for what seemed like minutes. I was able to snap a quick pic before it ran off into the brush but it was a great micro-moment shared with nature, in the early morning, with only the breeze in our ears.
Back at camp, we ate a quick breakfast, packed up the cars and hit one or two stops on the way out of the park and into Las Vegas. A proper meal was in order so we ate Dim Sum at Palate Tea Lounge, said our goodbyes and I was back on the road towards the Sierras.
Range of Light
Lone Pine, CA
The drive was mostly typical desert driving, sand, rocks, small dusty towns with a gas station and a subway. I made my way through Death Valley and up to the town of Lone Pine. I had no sleeping arrangements, no definitive plan for the trek I was about to make in 12 hours and no care in the world.
Coming into town I pulled into a lot and checked the Rec.gov app for permits and still no luck. Mt. Whitney was going to have to wait, again. If Whitney was on the table I had planned to sleep on a tarp, not that this changed anything but I decided a good nights sleep was best prior to doing a 14'er. I checked into one of the one of the typical dinghy motels that lines the main drag and stopped in for a plate of spicy linguini at The Grill, prepped my gear and went to bed.
The drive to the trailhead took longer than expected, I probably should have woken an hour earlier as the drive was a winding chore of switchbacks that quickly gained elevation. Blind curves and steep drop offs meant slow going but I was in a Jeep not a sports car. About an hour later I was on the trail a titch after 7.
The first few miles were brisk, limited incline and rocky pine forests flanked the trail. The sun was just peaking over the nearby ridgelines and the crisp cool weather started to break just as my heart was settling into a solid pace. Although I was trying to make up time, I also wanted to enjoy myself, stopping here and there to take in the scenery. A quick sip of water, roll of the wrist, a snapshot and about a minute was all that was needed. Although at this point, I was feeling great and thought I'd be back to the parking lot by 6/7pm. Regardless, it was 4 miles until I had an actual stop.
'
Breaking at those pristine alpine lakes in particular, Cottonwood Lake no.3. Now out of the pine forests and into a clearer, open valley where you can make out the tree line a few hundred yards above, the wind picked up significantly. An area moments before was still shrouded in the morning shade. As I refilled my water in the lake, my hands now wet, it was the first and only time I was legitimately cold.
From here, the easier section was basically over. Ahead lies a vertical granite wall, imposing, tempting every bit of blood flow your little heart can muster and straining every major muscle group from your gluts to your calves. And as if that wasn't enough, the footbed of the trail ranged from the smallest particles of granite dust all the way up to softball and melon sized rocks and boulders. One and a half miles and 800' of elevation gain.
By the time I reached the top I was spent. I was now at 12,300' elevation and the thinning air was putting a damper on my morning energy. Any fading energy was quickly tamped upon raising my eyes to look back over the alpine valley below. The view was stunning. Behind, a continuous line of the Cottonwood Lakes surrounded by tall pines and rocky cliffs. Ahead, a soft decline into a sandy valley reminiscent of the mojave just days prior with no trees and low lying shrubs. I took a short break and chatted with a much younger hiker who was unknowingly pushing me up the switchbacks.
My optimism looking forward had no idea that getting to the top was going to be a grind. That desert valley descended and had a slow rise akin to a jam band taking all night to build a crescendo made up of soft sand and dozens of micro-breaks. The altitude was taking its toll.
The remainder of the trek up Langley was a cruel mistress. Soft sinking sand, some non-technical bouldering and a chase from one large rock cairn to the next all with a peak flirtingly out of view leaving you with no clue on how close you are. A garmin would have taken some guesswork out but mine was sitting cozily on my desk in North Carolina at a lazy 897'.
If New Army Pass killed the wind in my sails, this was a much larger ship. New Army Pass was a summer camp Sunfish, the final push was a Schooner. Guys love to insert boat/fishing references into all kinds analogies. I only started to realize I was at the summit when I could no longer see any more cairns. I nervously scanned the volkswagen sized rocks for something, flags, signage, a monument...anything. It was then I noticed a simple blue painted script on a rock face, Langley 02-03-13. Below it in the crevice of the rocks the ACTUAL wooden sign, Mt. Langley 14,032' and an ammo can filled with notes books with hand scribbles of names, trail names, dates, little jabs and notes about thousands of trips up Langley.
As much as I wanted to stay, eat my sandwich and enjoy the view, it was already 2pm. I was know 100% going to be walking back in the dark with an untested headlamp purchased 3 days prior. A stroopwafel and a hefty pull from my water bottle was going to be the only celebration outside a few choice watch pics and a brief elated view of the surrounding peaks including the elusive Mt. Whitney and LeConte.
Let's blitz, down we go, time to make up, hell yeah, ride this wave of newfound energy, not hell yeah...fuck yeah. I thought I could make up a ton of time in the descent, if it took me roughly 7 hours up, I think I can get down in 4, maybe 4.5? More like 5, maybe 5.5? All that loose rock, sand and absolute mess of a footbed did its level best at slowing me down. I at least made it down New Army Pass and a good ways into the Cottonwoods before darkness took hold of the valley.
Headlamp mounted securely to my head, I built back up to the brisk pace I kept in the morning. I blitzed past the lakes and into the pines. Every dark tree stump took on the menacing shape of a black bear watching my every step. This is no time to become dinner, you just summitted a 14'er, maybe it smells the half eaten club sandwich in your bag, maybe it was the bacon grease still emanating from your fingers when you picked it off because the smokey fatty taste was too much. Maybe its just you fucking with you. Keep. On. Going.
The last hour was hiking solely in the darkness. Fortunately the trail was wide and easy to make out. I stopped to pee and looked up. Every star illuminated, like an ocean of sunlit peaks sparkling through squinted eyes. For all the times I've spent in the desert or in the woods, never has the night sky impressed me like this. Maybe it was beaten down legs with 20+ miles underneath them, maybe it was the oxygen creeping back into my blood stream now being at a "flat " 10,000', maybe it was just the most impressive night sky I've ever seen?
In that final twisting and turning trail though black pines and black rocks and black...everything I could make out the crisp, blinding blue light of LED headlamps. A car, stopped at the trailhead bathroom, possibly the couple I passed near the summit? Hopefully they saw and admired the cosmos above, maybe they just needed a bath in a dinghy motel room and a late night celebratory dinner? My end to the trail constituted a black, empty parking lot, one last look at the sky and a "fuck yeah" next to the Jeep. Langley was finished, I felt great, the longest day hike of my life and I felt great. I figured the day ahead was going to be a soreness filled drive across the desert, likely a bad meal in a small town time forgot and my left foot screaming about its plantar fasciitis every time I stepped out of the Jeep. That all could wait for tomorrow. Time for that steak dinner and fifty cold beers.
Although that steak dinner and cold beer would have to wait. By the time I got down the mountain and back into Lone Pine, it was pushing 9 o'clock, right about the time when most of the local restaurants were closing on a monday night. I couldn't bring myself to sit down at a bar or table and order food. I was filthy, I was tired, and I needed calories. Even a beer didn't sound appealing. I was however the guy that got a Quarter Pounder meal and a coke at Mickie Dee's and preceded to house it on the hotel (motel!) room bed while watching reruns of South Park and debating just passing out instead of taking the shower I sorely needed.
I got my shower, I got my good nights rest, I got up in the morning, I packed the car, I got a great redeye at a local coffee shop and I made my way to the Western Film museum before leaving town. The museum was great but what made it better was the short film talking about the films made in the surrounding area. It convinced me of hanging around for another hour and exploring the Alabama Hills instead of making my way into Death Valley and onto Las Vegas for my flight home.
I felt awesome, my legs felt good, a little bit of that plantar was nagging but I even skipped out on the shitty lunch, that club sandwich that hung on like a tick through 12 hours and 25 miles was waiting for me in the front seat. It was even consumed in the vicinity of where Tremors was filmed, at least the pole vaulting rock scene. Time to take the Seamaster down to Badwater.
Thankfully the drive into Death Valley was uneventful and despite being in a Jeep, pretty easy. Our Jeep was a newer 4XE Hybrid, it's amazing how they've engineered a solid axle body-on-frame to be pretty damn compliant on and off road. It soaked up highways miles without the draining experience my XJ or even the last JK I drove is. I've gotten in the habit of renting Wranglers on our trips out west. They offer that perfect blend of capability, utility and comfort with the ability to drop the top and immerse yourself in the environment. For a bunch of dirtbags, they make for a great tool to get you places a normal car cant.
First stop in Death Valley was the Mesquite Dunes, which is what you actually think a desert looks like rather than the sagebrush filled rolling hills that the Mojave actually is. After this was Badwater. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring my Seamaster and JB Strap from the 9th tallest peak in the lower 48 to the deepest point. Plus, when we drove through Death Valley as kids, I don't remember going to Badwater.
From here my trip was mostly over, minus a drive into Vegas and dinner. I settled on Esther's Kitchen, a seasonal Italian kitchen with a phenomenal cocktail bar. I ate too much, bordered on drinking too much and spent too much but it was the perfect cap to an amazing trip. Highly recommended it you want to veer off the strip.
From here it was a gas station top off, rental car drop off, bus ride and walk through security on my way to a redeye back to North Carolina. This is exactly the type of trip that I love. A little adventure, spending a little time with friends and family, lots of outdoor time and a lot of exploring with a sprinkling of great food and drink. It didn't help that I had an awesome partner in the Seamaster and some great testing with the straps. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did doing and writing about it. Now go put those watches to good use!
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