The notice said: Campgrounds full.
We had raced across Nevada on U.S. 50 from our home in Genoa—almost 400 miles—to Great Basin National Park. What with one thing and another, we didn’t arrive there until after 3 p.m.
Well, the park’s Web site did say if you want to stay in one of the four developed campgrounds in the summer, you should get there early.
Our teenage grandson, Andrew, chose to wait in the car while we asked for suggestions from the park ranger at the Great Basin Visitor Center in Baker. I wasn’t sure whether Andrew was embarrassed to be seen with such obvious dolts or was simply worn out from the trip.
Andrew tends the campfire as his grandfather, Gim, sets up the tent. Photo by Joyce Hollister.
The park’s handout map showed primitive campgrounds only minutes away from the main entrance. Several no-fee campsites were available. The idea that we’d be really roughing it woke Andrew up. This Las Vegas teen and his buddies simply grab sleeping bags and a couple of cans of beans before heading to the Mount Charleston Wilderness for a weekend, and not at an established campground, thank you very much.
“Real men don’t change their clothes or brush their teeth,” Andrew maintains. (Or as my husband, Gim, a retired rancher, puts it: “You only wash your jeans when your horse doesn’t recognize you.”)
I, on the other hand, had been Girl Scout. Not that that counts for much. Our troop leader forgot the can opener on one memorable overnight.
For this quick trip—we were returning Andrew home to Vegas via the long way—we had crammed sleeping bags, pillows, air mattresses and pump, tent, flashlights, lantern, charcoal, jackets, tarp, shovel, hatchet, cooking utensils, well-filled cooler, and our duffel bags into a Toyota Corolla. Andrew rolled his eyes. Since his iPhone batteries were dead, even he was glad I included a pack of playing cards.
We had a choice of two primitive campgrounds: Strawberry Creek, located north and west of Baker, or Snake Creek, which is accessed by driving southeast to Utah, then back into the park on a gravel road.
Snake Creek appealed to Andrew. After obtaining extra water at T&D’s Country Store in Baker, we bounced along the road, surrounded by sagebrush. As we turned onto the Snake Creek road and gained altitude—the highest campsite in this area sits at over 7,800 feet—we found green trees and shrubs shading the stream. The isolated campsites have concrete picnic tables and fire rings with grates.
Andrew ignites marshmallows for S’mores. Photo by Joyce Hollister.Downed wood from pinion pines, juniper and the deciduous trees provided more than enough for a fire. Andrew roused his troops (us) to collect materials for an after-dinner campfire and S’mores. True to his male camper’s creed, he disdained fresh food and ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.
The stream gurgled and splashed, the moon came up about 8 p.m. and the wind gently stirred leaves on the trees above our camp. Flames curled and smoke chased us around the campfire. Andrew ignited marshmallows for several S’mores and deftly smushed them between graham crackers and chocolate.
With Andrew’s mom hovering in the back of my mind, I mentioned teeth brushing. This didn’t meet with approval. OK, I thought. It’s only for one night.
We told tales of camping out and played gin rummy until turning in. Gim and I slept on air mattresses in our tent. Andrew curled up on the ground by the fire. Although I know he had a pillow, it looked for all the world as if he laid his head on the nearest rock.
Joyce cooks bacon and eggs for breakfast. Photo by Andrew Mayes.Predictably, we slept well. Bacon and eggs cooked over a fire made the morning brighter. Soon it was time to repack the car and head toward Vegas. Before we left, we drove up the Snake Creek road to check out the other campsites and visited the Baker Archaeology Site, a shelter where you learn about the region’s earliest inhabitants and follow an interpretive trail.
Barreling down U.S. 93 to Vegas, we drove through Pioche, had lunch at Caliente, and decided that a future camping trip would include Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge, where Andrew had camped with friends.
You might say it was a waste to drive like mad to Great Basin and not visit more of the park, but we had been here before with Andrew and his sister and hiked to the Wheeler Peak bristlecone pine grove and toured Lehman Caves. For us, it was the drive across scenic Nevada and camping out. For Andrew, the brief jaunt gave him a story to tell his Vegas buddies.
After we dropped him home—hopefully to wield a toothbrush—we headed toward Beatty, Belmont and Manhattan and a tour of Monitor and Smoky valleys, with stops at Pine Creek Campground, Diana’s Punch Bowl, and Toquima Cave.
But that’s the subject of my next blog entries. Stay, as they say, tuned.
If you’re visiting Great Basin National Park:
Info: Great Basin National Park
Campground fees: $12, Golden Age or Golden Access, $6
Primitive camping: No fee
Visitor Centers: Two, each with bookstores and restrooms
Lehman Caves: Open all year except Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day
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