… Limitless?
A matter of debate, certainly. The two-lane highway follows the horizon: imperceptibly stretching into the ether. The Great Basin Desert beckons. Silently, save for the wind. That is a matter of all desert lands. No one is spared of it. The wind broadly sweeps across the arid high desert, through range after range and basin after basin, bringing forth the scent of sagebrush.
Eastern Joshua trees carpet the moderate slopes of basins interrupted by imposing peaks. A light dusting of snow affords a slight of character to these vertical harbors of biodiversity. And mystery. What secrets of time might be sequestered in the dark recesses of uplifted earth? Few other monuments to this world can stand the passage of history so gracefully. Stoic, it can be said, though that is an answer to be expected of any casual observer with the right degree of vernacular capacity.
It seems as though the innumerable ranges of Nevada never change. If they do, it is in increments not to be witnessed by the human eye. By the Bighorn Sheep perhaps? Or maybe by the deer, turkeys, or other residents of the sky islands that run north-south in their respective orientations. There are no bears to speak of. At least not in the one range that I have had the pleasure of exploring the most thoroughly, the Snake mountains of north-central Nevada, hardly backing away from the border with Utah.
Utah has a deserved reputation for being the land of dramatic canyons and breathtaking red rock scenery. Alas, the Nevada province of the immense Basin and Range geosphere merits comparable attention to its grandeur. Subtle and yet curiously compelling, the Silver state’s assortment of physical landforms is unmatched.
Highway 93, the Great Basin highway, allows for a preview. It is enough to pique the interest of one who has fallen for the desert’s spell. At times like a trance, a force of the land compels the chosen traveler to revel in its glory. It further manifests as an itch. Another way to describe it could be as a subconscious desire transmuted to the surface of reality as a longing for a more arid clime. The kind that, at the right time of year, can surprise with its biting chill as much as its scintillating heat.
Cathedral Gorge left a lasting reminder of the former. In the dead of winter, January, the hard packed remains of a snowstorm left clues to the apt observer of what was to be felt when night fell upon the park and its impossibly thin slot canyons. Even on a clear, sunny day it became imperative that a jacket be worn whilst traversing the myriad canyons of this lonesome land situated between agricultural fields. I can only wonder whether it was spared due to the difficulty of developing such a maze of muddy canyons, the unique draw of cathedral-shaped mounds of earth, or a combination of both. In any way, it is worth protecting.
Many iconic desert locales deserve a proper protective designation but are not wholly recognized for what they have to offer us in an age of constant human encroachment and dwindling wilderness. However, let it not be said that they do not have intrinsic value in and of themselves. To recognize that is of the highest priority and common good. Wilderness is not simply for the enjoyment of people, nor is it solely for the nourishment of the creatures that reside within its bounds. It is a mutual reflection of the relationship that ties together all things living and nonliving. There is such an apparent common thread, weaving its way through and among all aspects of our universe as it stands.
Look no further than the desert. As has been noted by others before, there is a common language that pervades the landscape while encompassing everything contained within. I think it has to do a lot with the energy emitted by each thing: people, animals, plants, even the stone walls of a canyon. It is in some way a common understanding not based upon words. Omens are an integral part of this equation. They must be recognized and heeded, as fully placing one’s trust in the desert is not a wise decision.
The element of trust when dealing with desert lands represents a careful line to walk. Respect for the land in this case comes in the form of loving it for all that it is, while at the same time meticulously checking emergency supplies and the weather. On the Great Basin highway, the latter can mean hurriedly tossing the tent into the car in order to leave before an imminent snowstorm. That this sequence of events occurred after a day as still and tranquil as can be is endlessly fascinating. It’s fun to wake up and dust snow off the ‘ol hiking boots for the first time.
On any stretch of the road, it is a mystery what one may encounter. On a dark, dank summer night, the world outside of that which is illuminated by headlights appears as a void. A portal in the blackness from which anything can conceivably emerge. This feeling must be at the center of the many conspiracies that pervade these arid places, be it UFOs, Pahranagat man, or the secretive military facility at Groom Lake. An open mind is all that is required to embrace the weirdness that emanates from the far flung reaches of forgotten lands.
Why is it that such a quality is intimately attached to this type of place? Perhaps, the desert rightfully demands it. Certain essential qualities of people, beings, and all aspects of existence in this sphere are reflective upon what the landscape gives and requires. The Mojave can attest to much of this. The Great Basin Desert can do the same. Burning Man, the epitome of desert oddity, draws many to the boundless playas of the Black Rock Desert north of Reno on an annual basis. Why there? When what we do and how we exist is irrevocably attached to a place, it is necessary to ask ourselves the precise nature of the relationship at hand.
I continually ask myself these types of questions. But the singular query at the root of this narrative is a matter of love itself. Why become enmeshed with the Great Basin when the Mojave, my first love, is more than enough on its own to satisfy the same desire? Both jointly fulfill a need for openness, humility, and communion in an environment that presents itself in a way that few understand intuitively.
Sometimes what is hard to understand is worthwhile to simply accept on its own terms. This is a lesson gathered as the miles accumulate on the odometer, while the ranges pass one by, their stark faces “timeless and fleeting all at once”, as said by another who too speaks the universal language. The path through the Great Basin as a whole is not dissimilar. The material and immaterial are one. What more can you ask of this land? Be not afraid of it. Avoid the pitfall of condemnation towards what someone else interprets as barren or lacking according to preconceived expectations. Seek to broaden a perception of what’s possible in a land that imposes limitations on life itself, but never the mind.
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