Isabella Bird Miscellany

I was beginning to wonder whether it really existed. Maybe it only existed in the distant dreams of mountain men and bats leaving guano against lava walls ; tubes and tunnels and caverns weaving a web underground. It all began innocently enough while exploring cracks and crevices outside of the area surrounding Fort Rock.  We'd gone on a late season camping trip with some friends. You know the type, where nights are cold and stars are visible in the ink above, with days breaking into sunlit skies and moderate temperatures. The initial destination was Crack in the Ground and a roadside diner in Christmas Valley that dishes up darn good Reuben sandwiches. Like most park sites, there's always a map and legend with other scenic spots to check out. And, one such sign told of a cave that was cold and needed reliable illumination. The name, the words, set the marble into motion - the quest which became a crusade to find Derrick Cave. It seemed real enough. There wa...

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever. You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given. My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it. So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplat...

death valley, california - may 2017 During my journey in the desert, I had the comfort of writing.  I wrote of activities and sites. I wrote descriptive phrases for photos. I wrote pieces of poetry that express more than pages and pages in my journals. These words, I think I’ll keep close as they teach me a way to live in awareness and mindfulness. I hope  you, too will find some inspiration in the silent sounds of the desert. chartreuse desert bloom encircled with thorns I hear the silent sounds of the desert crickets, a few birds, my breath it’s a quiet more quiet than switching off everyday sounds At times I must strain to hear my own heartbeat or eyes blink listening with intention, I begin to hear a beetle in the sand; shuffling like old feet a bee’s wings as it pauses for nectar on a cactus blossom I hear the words of the one who created the zephyr that kicks at the sand; drying my very soul ...

desert road, open spaces, extra large sky I love the freedom of road trips; stopping when you want, turning on a side road or adding an extra day to a particular place just because you can. The freedom of the road is romanticized in novels and movies, but some of those depictions are reality when traveling with your love and best friend. stokes castle, austin nevada We left early afternoon, and after pushing through the Oregon high desert with water levels equally high and wildlife abundant, we stopped for the night in Austin, Nevada. It’s a small, mostly boarded up, for sale town wedged on the side of the Toiyabe Mountains. Austin is mostly dead and abandoned, but not in a cool ghost town sort of way. Its rugged beauty though, includes a castle, stories of colorful silver miners and hiking, biking and other desert exploring stuff.  big smoky valley,  lonely and lovely Leaving, we dropped into the Big Smoky Valley on the Loneliest Highway ...