Getting a taste of spending the winter in a retirement community

 

It was only a short drive from Tumco to Yuma, and we had no trouble finding Jeanne and Francis's place in their Bonita Mesa community. It is a smaller park, and we remembered the layout from our visit last year. Then, we stayed in a hotel on the outskirts of Yuma and visited for only a few hours; this time we would stay in their 'Arizona room' and get a taste of spending the winter in a retirement community in a warmer climate.

We found the two playing crib on their porch and spent the evening catching up on our respective news, enjoying the fact that we could finally sit outside and have a drink on this warm evening. The sun had long set when we walked over to the pool for a swim and a soak in the hot tub, often a gathering place, we heard, though there were only a few people left now. Floating on my back in the warm water, looking up at the stars appearing slowly between the crowns of the high palm trees, I relished the feel of summer. 

A variety of things were planned for the next day, a Sunday. Bonita Mesa borders on the desert, and after breakfast we went for a walk there and along the nearby canal, running nearly full. A group of small crosses caught our attention from the distance. Walking up we realized that we had happened upon a pet cemetery, the little graves lovingly decorated, some with the dog's favourite toy or drinking bowl but partly covered with sand from recent strong winds.

A 'washoo' tournament was next on the agenda. Trying to find out how to spell this (I still don't know :) ) I saw that it is often called 'washer game', named after the metal disks called washers needed for all kinds of machinery). For this game players have to toss washers at a slanted platform with three holes from about ten feet away to score points. The bottom hole scores one, the middle one two, and the top one three points. A group of about twenty or twenty-five people was assembled when we got there, and Francis managed to get the four of us registered. Never having tried this before I was not at all sure that I would be an asset to anyone's team, but I was assured that the main goal was to have fun. Everybody registered – I think there were 24 of us – was assigned a number. Five rounds would be played in total, and the coordinator put together the teams for each round, making sure that the combination changed for every round. The actual game is much like the bean bag toss we know from home, but the flat disks fly and land differently than a bean bag, of course, and it takes a while to figure out the best technique. Of course it is a great and easy way to get to know the people in the community if you are paired with someone else, play against two different people, each time. Horseshoes and bean bag tossing, shuffleboard and pickleball are all played regularly and are just a part of the many things to do in the parks. We could see the advantages to spend a winter here instead of in cold Alberta, possibly isolated on a farm without much chance to get out. For many people it is certainly better for their mental and physical health to be out here in the warmth, with the opportunity to engage with other people as much or as little as you want. So far neither Johann nor I could envision that for ourselves: we love moving around, getting to know new places or visiting old favourites, but it was nice to be introduced to this other way of spending time 'down south', and we enjoyed the hospitality and warmth offered by our hosts and the people we met here.

Since we had heard so much about Yuma being the 'lettuce capital of the world' (or was it North America?) but not seen much evidence of it last year, Francis and Jeanne were going to show us some of the agriculture in the area. On the way from Blythe we saw a few fields of broccoli and onions, and on the drive through the Yuma area in the afternoon we realized how much of this valley is dedicated to the production of vegetables. Huge fields of broccoli, cauliflower and various types of lettuce alternate with lush stands of alfalfa, some of it freshly cut, some with newly raked rows waiting to be baled. Surrounded by desert, brown and beige mountains in the distance, it looks almost unreal, much as the eye delights in the green. We drove by a date farm, long straight rows of trees for a couple of kilometres at a time. All this needs water and would not be possible without irrigation. Hopefully this winter's ample snows will help to replenish depleted water levels. Since it was Sunday harvesting was stopped; we saw only the machines standing in the fields. We hoped to get a look at the harvesting process on our drive through this area the next day on our way towards Mesa, our next major destination. 

The last 'adventure' of the day was something that provides entertainment at night for people living close to the desert: scorpion 'hunting'. For this, you walk around in the desert with a 'blacklight' flashlight which uses UV rays to make scorpions glow in an eerie green light when the beam catches them. Wouldn't we be in danger of being stung, we wondered. No, Francis assured us, we'd see the scorpions long before we were close enough to be in danger. It took a while until we found the first one, sitting under a creosote shrub, but in the course of the next twenty minutes or so we spotted several, some tiny, some a bit bigger. It's an interesting thought that these heavily armed warriors were likely there in larger numbers around our tent in the Painted Rock campground last year.

Once more we enjoyed the hottub in the evening and, refreshed after a good night's sleep, said goodbye to our friends at about 9:30 the next morning. We had reached the point furthest away from home; from now on we'd be on the journey back, even though we still had ten days of travel and many miles left to go. 

As planned, we took a little detour on a road parallel to the highway, through the fields, on our way. Now, harvesting crews were at work picking lettuce, and we were able to watch the process for a while. The harvester, equipped with conveyor belts, moves very slowly down the field while the Mexican workers - maybe twelve for each machine - harvest the heads. It looked as if two people worked together, one breaking off the head and discarding the bottom leaves, the other putting it in the box waiting on the harvester.

The conveyor moved the boxes right onto a platform higher up on the harvester where they were stacked by hand to be transferred to a high flat-deck wagon waiting nearby, which was pulled off the field to wait on the side of the road as soon as it was full. It was already hot, and while a canopy on the harvester provided some shade, it is hard work to do this job all day long. Without the Mexican workers this industry couldn't exist here in the same way. They are transported from field to field/job to job in school buses that pull a trailer with portable toilets; we encountered several of them on the road while we travelled in the area. 

Tumco

 We were now getting close to Yuma, where our neighbours Jeanne and Francis bought a 'park model' in a retirement community. We visited them last spring, too, when they stayed in their camper, and wanted to see what their new winter home looked like. Also, we wanted to give Yuma one more chance: last year we were not taken with it at all.

Since we try to hike every day at least for a while we looked for an opportunity along the way from Blythe to Yuma and found it in Tumco Ghost Town. To reach it, we turned off Hwy. 78 coming from Blythe, onto the narrow S 134 which later connects with the I-8 near Yuma. This area has been mined for gold for the past 300 years, first in small mines by Mexican settlers coming from Sonora. In 1894, during a mining boom, the previous mining camps in the area incorporated as the town of Hedges. Boom was soon followed by bust: by 1905 the mine was abandoned, due to poor management and overexpansion. In 1910 the United Mining Corporation re-opened it (thus the name of TUMCO), but only a year later its ultimate decline began, and the miners and their families moved back to the Yuma area. Only a few foundations and rusted remnants of mining vats and equipment are left, and, of course a multitude of abandoned mine shafts.

A sign at the start urges visitors to leave the artifacts intact and not remove anything, but most of the 'artifacts' we saw on our walk were rusted tin cans and broken bottles, likely accumulated at a much later time from the visitors to the area. It felt like utter desolation: hardly anything grows here besides a few scattered creosote bushes; hard to believe that at one time in the late 1800s this was a town that sustained up to 500 people and produced up to $1000/day in gold. We wanted to extend the walk beyond the 1.5 miles through the former town and mine site, but instead of a trail we hiked up a dry creek bed, clambered over rocks – but at last found some green, to my great joy. Palo Verde and Mesquite trees gave some meagre shade, the latter trying to claw at us, the long, slender branches of the ocotillos, totally dry and dead looking before this, were covered entirely in small green leaves, their tips sporting red buds and even blossoms, and, wonder of wonders, on a bank we found the first opened cactus blossoms, soon to be followed by many more right where we walked. 

Satisfied, I declared this a successful hike, and after about an hour we turned around and finished the round through the town and mining site. I found a few white wooden crosses on a hill, two bigger and three smaller ones, likely a family being buried here, each with an offering some caring soul, or maybe even a descendant, had left: a bundle of branches for the adults, stuffed animals for the small graves. On the way out we passed another small cemetary, this one without crosses; only mounds of rock, arranged in a line, indicated what lies beneath.

The area is now favoured for boondocking, and it might have its charms for that: it is remote and rather quiet, and trails to the many mine shafts provide ample opportunity to explore. For us, it was a suitable spot to do our daily exercise and learn a bit about the area, but by the time we returned from our hike we were ready to move on.

Finding Earth People near Blythe, California

 

The next day we crossed the Colorado to Bullhead City, right across from Laughlin, to drive to Blythe, California, where we had booked us in for the night. The idea that this road -Hwy 95 - would be the more scenic, quieter one of the ones leading south from Laughlin was soon to be dispersed, however: Bullhead City with its restaurants, commercial and professional buildings seemed to stretch forever, and traffic was heavy. Jet boat sales and rentals seemed to be a major business here. Only when we reached Needles, where much of the traffic continued on on the I-40 while we continued on Hwy 95, we could enjoy the more relaxed pace.

Looking for something to do around Blythe I found several hikes on AllTrails in the morning. Closer research once we reached our Motel 6 in Blythe showed, however, that most of the hikes I saw were in Joshua Tree NP, about an hour and a half or so away, and thus not what we wanted. The only thing left were the 'Blythe Intaglios' – but they, too, were not right around the corner: had I checked this out a bit more carefully I would have seen that we had to go back north on Hwy. 95 for about 20km, so it would have made more sense to do this on the way. There was nothing for it, we had to bite the bullet if we wanted to do anything but walk the streets of – from our end of town anyway – rather unappealing Blythe.

Google Maps and our Garmin GPS had slightly different ideas where to find the trailhead (in the end Google turned out to be right), so we drove past the turnoff and decided to go for a walk right where we were. There was no guarantee that we'd find the right one. This walk took us through the desert on a trail that seemed to be mostly used by ATVs, though we didn't meet anybody just then. Had we continued for a couple of hours longer we likely would have reached the foot of the mountains to the west of us, but we decided to turn around at a little knoll which – a nice surprise after the almost barren trail we had walked on – was studded with cacti, some of them quite close to bloom.

Lo and behold, on the way back keeping our eyes open even more than on the way north, we found the turnoff to the Intaglios and visited them, too. These geoglyphic 'Earth People' are giant figures made on the desert floor by ancient peoples. There are different ways they could have done that, but nobody knows for sure. They are just as mysterious as the petroglyphs we have seen elsewhere. 

Slowly catching up in Kingman, AZ: Finding out about Fulgurite in Laughlin, NV

 

I'm far behind with my blog entries, mostly because we spent several days at the homes of friends and neighbours who spend their winters in Arizona. Now, we are definitely on the way home, even if it will take a few more days until we are there. We stayed in Kingman, AZ overnight – yes, the city on Route 66 where we had lunch at Mr. D'z Diner not even two weeks ago. It is no warmer than it was then, but during the time in between we did enjoy some heat and encountered the most lush desert, most profuse desert bloom we have ever seen. It was still at its beginning, and once the poppies are out in full force it'll be incredible. I wish I could see that ...

There is no reason for lament, however: I found many plants I had never seen before and whose names I will try to find out once we are home. We had wonderful hikes in areas that seemed barren and forbidding at first and had their own beauty once I started looking closer. We also had interesting animal encounters – but more about that in due course. 

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After we dropped Dorothee off at the airport in Las Vegas on the 16^th we stayed one night at the “New Pioneer” hotel/casino in Laughlin, the 'mini Las Vegas' where we spent a couple of nights last spring as well. We had decided on this town because we didn't want to drive too far that day, and the location right beside the Colorado River is quite nice after driving through much desert. We only wanted to do a short hike, so instead of going to Grapevine Canyon, which would have required a drive of more than 20km on a dirt road, we turned off the highway just outside of Laughlin to take advantage of the hiking trails around the Davis Dam. This dam stretches the border between Arizona and Nevada and creates Lake Mohave, about 110km downstream from the Hoover Dam. 

A couple in the parking lot, whom we had asked for tips which trails to walk, showed us an interesting find, or rather something they had been looking for specifically. It resembled pieces of coral, maybe, or, faintly, antlers, at least in shape though not in texture. This was Fulgurite, 'fossilized lightning', which can be created when lightning strikes sand; we had never heard of it before. Although the man showed us the hillside where they found their pieces we weren't so lucky. Unfortunately I forgot to take a picture, but here is a link to the wikipedia article: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fulgurite 

We hiked to the hill that overlooks Davis Dam, then a bit downhill towards Laughlin. The hillsides were purple from low, creeping verbena, and I was especially happy to find a couple of desert lilies - Hesperocallis undulata - in bloom, but it was quite windy and not overly pleasant to walk. A heavy thundershower in the area had washed out sections of the trail, and there was still water standing in some spots. These rainfalls had caused major flooding in other areas, but what a relief to finally get these rains to help with the extreme drought many areas here in the southwest have been dealing with in the last few years.

Desert Lily, also called Ajo Lily because the bulb tastes a bit like garlic

 

A blustery day in Death Valley

 

When we emerged from the canyon leading out from the hotsprings the parking lot was once again nearly full. Our car was still there, with everything in it, thankfully, and after we stowed our packs we drove up to Boulder City to check on the sheep. Unlike last year when they were walking down the residential street from Hemenway Park where they often gather to feed not a single sheep showed its nose, so we took a brief detour through downtown. I was pretty sure I had read that the Coffee Cup Cafe closed at two, and we were well past that by now, but just for old times sakes – and still hoping a little bit to have a bite to eat here – we checked it out anyway. No success: it was closed for the day. A warm meal would have to wait until we arrived in Beatty, NV, our destination for the night and jump-off point for Death Valley NP the next day.

We had hoped to visit the 'Sourdough Saloon' where we spent a nice evening with our German friends at our last visit seven years ago, but, sadly, the owner died and it is, at least temporarily, closed. We had a bowl of chili in the 'Happy Burro' right beside it instead and walked back to our 'Atomic Inn' where we found three 'burros' – donkeys – roaming the motel grounds. They held still when I stroked their heads and long ears, but I soon realized the reason why they were so tame: they checked out the garbage cans and pulled out what seemed interesting, serenely munching on leftover hamburgers and plastic bags alike. Sad! The burro theme can be found all over town, but you'd think something could be done to prevent these animals from ingesting all kinds of garbage.

The next morning we started the long descent to the lowest place in the US. Unlike last time we drove down into the Death Valley when whole hillsides were in bloom, it still looked pretty dead, with only here and there a dot of colour. Here, too, spring didn't seem eager to make its entry. The forecast didn't sound too promising for our intended overnight camping at one of the campgrounds either: it was supposed to get quite windy, maybe with a bit of rain (yes, in Death Valley of all places!). We were going to play it by ear. A couple of hikes would be possible for sure.

A huge cloud of dust was moving along the valley floor, propelled by already strong winds, indicating we were nearing the 'Mesquite Dunes'. We remembered sand blowing from our other visits; this likely happens very regularly. We didn't stop at the dunes, however – one of the attractions of the park – but kept going until we arrived at the turnoff to the trailhead for Mosaic Canyon. An ugly wind drove dust into our eyes, but once we had turned a few corners hiking became a lot more pleasant. The main feature of this canyon is the variety of rocks, as the name suggests, its walls changing from almost wood-textured walls to a crazy black and white zig-zag pattern and many others in between. I always love the slot canyons, and part of this hike led us through these, too. The hike ends, like so many of these (at least for the regular, not overly adventurous hiker) a at a seemingly insurmountable wall which can, however, be avoided by scrambling up a wall a bit before that.

The "Red Cathedral'

One more canyon hike was on the agenda, this one in Golden Canyon, named very appropriately for its colour. Its actually more than one shade of golden, and after every few turns it changes, the different shades beautifully set off against each other. If you don't do the loop trail that includes Gower Gulch you will eventually arrive at the 'Red Cathedral', a huge sandstone feature. It towers over you and truly feels as if you're surrounded by the walls of a cathedral. Nobody was there when we arrived; the windy conditions must have deterred most hikers.

When we returned to the parking lot we had made our decision: we would not put up our tents in the park. Under these conditions it would be anything but enjoyable. We well remember our night of hanging on to the tent poles in Patagonia many years ago, and we didn't need to repeat that. Not even sitting outside on a picnic bench would be fun. Although it was a bit of a disappointment to miss this last chance to camp for Dorothee we'd take the road south out of the Death Valley and spend the night in Pahrump.

One more stop was obligatory, however: the lowest point in the United States – or is it North America, period? - at Bad Water Point. It was on our way out of the park anyway. It's a strange feeling to think that you're about 85.5 m below sea level here: a sign high on the rocky wall across from the parking lot indicates sea level. You can walk down to Badwater Basin on salt smoothed by wind and water, almost like a runway, but we turned around after a bit: we still had about a couple of hours to go before we arrived in Pahrump, and it would likely be dark by that time. Hoping for a night in the tent we hadn't booked a hotel yet either.

The highway south, narrow and not in perfect condition, follows the contours of the mountains to the left. We encountered very little traffic, and it stayed like that for most of the way. This would have been a really interesting drive through rugged country, but it soon was too dark to appreciate that fully. We passed through Shoshone and after some time reached the outskirts of Pahrump, a much bigger city than I had expected. The change from the wilderness through which we had just passed to the bright, blinking neon lights advertising casinos and fast-food restaurants and all kinds of other businesses was overwhelming. What was really disconcerting, however, was that the hotels Johann had found in Pahrump online the night before seemed to be fully booked for the most part. It couldn't be that we'd have to spend the night in the car?! By now it was 8:30 pm, and we decided to drive towards the centre of town and see if we could find anything along the way. Suddenly a police siren sounded briefly behind us, then briefly again. 'Should I stop?', asked Dorothee, who was driving. Johann and I hadn't even realized that this could have been meant for us. 'By all means,' we advised her once we did. The young police officer who walked up to the passenger window was very friendly. 'Your back lights aren't on,' he said, 'just wanted to let you know.' Asked about a hotel nearby he suggested a casino hotel we had just passed. Asked about another one right ahead he shook his head doubtfully, suggesting it might not be what we were looking for, then he wished us safe travels and let us move on. A call to the 'Golden Nugget' he had suggested revealed that it was totally booked out, but the 'Saddle West' casino-cum-hotel where we parked turned out to have a room for us. This town was definitely not the most desirable place, and it should have been no surprise for a town this size, so close to Las Vegas, that the influence of that city was noticeable here, from the many casinos to – which we found out later – a couple of legal brothels, one of them called the 'Chicken Ranch'. For us, it didn't make a difference: the most important thing was that we had found a place to lay our heads, and the room was nice and big and clean.