From 9/5/04:
Bart and I hit the road early Sunday morning, expecting an all-day drive to northern Colorado. As we drove south, the landscape got drier and hotter but we were chillin’ with our constant stream of satlitte-delivered music. That evening, when we turned down a lonesome road out of Rock Springs, Wyoming, we knew we had just left the last hint of civilization for a long while. Mesas and canyons, nearly barren save some sagebrush and dead grass - the only sight for miles and miles. The view was great, if you like dry, dead, and desolate. We drove down the road to nowhere…
Hours went by and the sun set. We crossed from the paved Wyoming border to the gravel continuation of our never-ending road into Colorado. This day, we drove through 5 states - Montana, Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado. Keep driving, keep driving… Soon it was pitch black, without a single light anywhere in sight. In fact, the only lights we saw were so out of place, we thought it was more likely a UFO than a human structure. “If I were an alien, I’d hang out here…”
After a few hours we finally reached a T in the road. The girl that had worked there last year had given us directions that contradicted the instructions on a road sign. Following instinct, we followed the sign and drove through the night some more. We saw a few massive bull elk, but none of the landmarks that we were told to look for; confused, we turned around and decided to try the directions we had been given.
Lesson learned: Follow your first instinct. Especially when following somebody else’s directions.
We went in the other direction. Still didn’t make sense with the directions we were given and finally arrived in the town of Maybell. Hmm, something isn’t right. I called the bunkhouse from the only payphone we had seen for hours and asked where we went wrong.
Go back exactly the way we had come from, to nearly the exact spot where we had decided to turn around originally. He told me how far it was. “Did you say fifteen miles?”
“No, FIFTY THREE.”
Oh, shit.
A 2-3 hour detour when all was said and done and we finally rolled up to the bunkhouse at Brown’s Park.
I think their version of “remote” almost beats Red Rock Lakes version of “remote”. At least they can buy beer at a small shop down the road.
There were 3 guys plus Bart at the bunkhouse, so I had my first experience living in a trailer camper. It was better than I thought and I had it all to myself. Luxury! The next day, we toured the refuge - it’s right next to Dinosaur National Monument and has some pretty cool canyons. It’s too dry for my tastes, but it was worth visiting. That’s when I got the good news that I was going to help with a prescribed burn at Fish Springs NWR in Utah. Bart had to stay and I would be going with a guy from Browns Park. Sweet!
And 24 hours after I had left Montana for Colorado, I was sitting in another truck on my way to the most remote refuge in the lower 48. Another 9 hours sitting on my ass. J And once again, we turned down a dirt road that led to the middle of nowhere, passing a danger sign warning of extreme desert environment. It seemed weird that there would be a wildlife refuge in the middle of the desert… And it really was more remote than anywhere I have ever been. Sand, scrub, grass, heat mirages sizzling over the salt flats… A few hours of this and then at last - water! A true oasis in the middle of this sunbaked land.
The headquarters/living complex was a welcome sight - attractive homes with green grass and trees. We toured the refuge and saw the burn units - lots of marshy areas, tall Phragmites and scrub. A few guys from Charles M Russel were also helping out - Mike, Nathan and Ben - and somebody mentioned another guy was coming from Bison Range. Hey! That’s the guy that we went to the gay bar with! Reunited already. All of us, including some contractors, crammed into the ghetto bunkhouse. One bathroom for 10 people… not comfy or homey but at least there was cable TV, and I got to tease Kevin about his choice of bars some more. ;)
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