Ophir Ravine

Looking East, from midway up Ophir Ravine

A few days ago I went out for my evening walk, heading West, as usual (East in the morning, West in the evening, to take advantage of the mountains as sunblock.) West, in Virginia City, means uphill. I had no agenda, no destination, beyond getting some exercise and looking around. I was crossing a parking lot, looking up at the “V” on Mt. Davidson, when it occurred to me, “This would be a great time to try to hike up there.”

Backstory: I’ve tried this mountain before. Haven’t gotten far. It’s been on my “to do” list for a year or so. Problems: I’m prone to altitude weakness and heat stress. After my last heat stroke incident (trying to find the grave of Julia Bulette) I promised some friends that I would knock it off and quit fainting in public, on this trip at least.

But this evening walk was different. It was cool, low 70s and dropping fast (first clue ignored) and the sun was already behind the mountain. I felt strong, ready to run to the top. I’d been sleeping on the shoulder of the mountain for weeks, so I must be acclimated to the altitude by now, right? And all those fluffy little clouds, flying over the crest (second clue ignored) would be great to see from up high. 

Reality check: I had no walking stick, no water, no hat, no socks, only a single layer of all cotton clothes, and nobody else knew I was heading up here. The only thing in my pockets were the key to the RV and my cell phone. I know better than this, BUT it’ll be OK, I assured myself, because this was only an exploratory sortie. I knew I wasn’t going to make the top, but I just wanted to see how far I could get and what the trail looked like up there.

The trail: yes, it would have been a good idea to look at a trail map before heading up there, if I had known I was going to be heading up there. But I didn’t so I decided to wing it. I could clearly see the “V” ahead of me, and a trail going up the mountain that seemed to head in that direction. Plus I tried this hike last year and sort of remembered the trail and this kinda looked like it. The key was the water tank. If I passed the water tank, I’d know I was on the right trail.

I never saw the water tank. 

And the “V” quickly disappeared from view. It soon became apparent that I was headed up some steep, unknown ravine. It was also obvious that a major thunder storm was rolling in above me. BUT this was the most exhilarating, terrifying, rejuvenating, mind-blowing experience I’d had in a long, long time and I could not stop.

There were hints of the alpine zone (late spring flowers, dwarfed shrubs and trees, mostly bare rock and lichen.) The little fluffy clouds started coalescing into big flat-bottomed clouds and when I turned to look behind me, toward the valley, it seemed like I was reaching the level of the cloud bottoms. I could see rainbows over the valley and the entire skyscape exploded into a riot of orange, magenta, mauve and blue. The trail narrowed to a line of scree suited to mountain goats, but I could not stop. 

A chest-rattling boom-crack from the clouds started me thinking about Gretel Ehrlich and parts of her book, A Match to the Heart, came back to me instantly. I hesitated. I was almost at the peak. I wanted to look over the edge and feel the sharp-edged rock on my hands and wet cloud bottom blowing through my hair. The rain started. The sky darkened. I looked back down the trail. It would be hard to traverse in wet darkness.

I remembered reading John Muir’s account of spending the night in a mountain top Douglas Spruce during a thunderstorm. I briefly considered spending the night up there on the rocks, or going down to the first dwarf Piñon Pine, for company. But it would be embarrassing to die of hypothermia, less than a mile from my nice, warm, dry bed. So I turned back.

The darkness accelerated and I started to jog, jumping over rocks, but still taking time to stop every few jumps and look up and around. Once I stopped by a tiny stand of willows, and heard the sound of running water and frogs. Frogs! On a desert mountain top! I felt blessed and ran the rest of the way downhill in a warm glow. 

I’ve been thinking about this evening since it happened, wondering, “what does it mean?” It’s wild nature (i.e. Life) and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s up to me to take these raw materials and make something out of them, with story, using words, pictures, and personal myth.  

I thought this story was going to be about what we find when we’re not looking. But in the writing down, I see it’s not. It’s about choosing Life over the Abyss. 

(Postscript - a later look at a map revealed that I had been hiking Ophir Ravine. Ophir was a Biblical, or mythical, city of gold.)