The Feather Diaries: The Hidden Forest

The Cabin

We rumbled along the empty highway toward Corn Spring, the sky darkening all around us. We were heading for Cow Camp to spend a night beneath a blanket of stars before climbing to higher elevations the following day. The FJ bumped and rattled over large rocks and small boulders as we made our way up into the Desert National Wildlife Refuge, just north of Las Vegas, Nevada. The night was calm and silent when we arrived, the air became still after the dust had settled. I picked over the site to find an ideal spot to lay out our tarp, sleeping pads and giant sleeping bag. Cypress started a fire while I kicked rocks out of the way and prepared our bed. Soon the fire was crackling and we were reading scary tales from the macabre mind of H. P. Lovecraft. We were engulfed by total darkness. There were no other sounds up here besides Cypress's voice, only the warm whooshing licks of the fire's flames.

The next morning the sun soaked our faces with bright, brutal rays as it peeked over a rocky ridge. We groaned our displeasure and rubbed our eyes. It was impossible to relax here in our sweltering two-person sleeping bag. I put water on to boil while Cypress packed-up our bed. We enjoyed cup after cup of creamy instant coffee before preparing peanut butter and banana oatmeal in our blue tin cups. Sufficiently fueled and feeling rested, we set about exploring our desert surroundings before heading deeper into the mountains in search of a century-old cabin hidden amongst the Ponderosa pines.

During our wanderings we discovered a cave guarded by an ancient desert tortoise who promptly scurried back into his den upon seeing us. The cave was large enough to sleep two people, the blackened roof appeared to have the scars of hundreds, if not thousands, of fires. We decided that we would return to Tortoise Camp in the future.

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We turned onto Hidden Forest Rd. driving up to the trailhead. It was only a 5.5 mile hike to our destination - with an elevation gain of some 2,013 ft. Used to car-camping and unaccustomed to backpacking, Cypress and I took some time to reorganize our gear and supplies in the hot 2 PM sun. We took only the essentials (beer is also an essential). Cypress was thoroughly weighed down with 2.5 gallons of water (plus three Sculpins) and I with a 3-L Camelbak and 1-L Nalgene. Rather than adding more weight by taking our foil dinner packs with us we hunched over them in the shade of the FJ and devoured them before setting off.

The trail was rocky and uncomfortable underfoot and our 30 lb. packs weren't helping. But it felt good to know we had everything we needed on our backs - water, tent, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, clothing, lighter, food, headlamps, and binoculars. The dry, open landscape slowly changed as we climbed higher into the mountains. Joshua trees gave way to Piñon pines and junipers. The succulent opuntias, decadently adorned with juicy, purple prickly pears, become scarce in the increasingly piney landscape. A large flock of Pinyon jays caw-cawed overhead in search of ripe pine nuts. A juvenile spotted towhee scolded low in a purshia. The birds were becoming plentiful and interesting. MacGillivray's warblers skulked just ahead of us, avoiding full views while the Wilson's warblers chased flies in plain sight. As we reached higher elevations the cute "ney-neys" of the pygmy nuthatches could be heard high above, as well as the thin whistle of the brown creeper. Hairy woodpeckers tapped at the tops of tall pines. Would we be so lucky as to see a Lewis's?

By 7,600 feet we were completely surrounded by towering giants. The damp rocky canyon walls closed in around us. Small ferns emerged from the wet crevices. Mountain maples crowded the canyon edges. We knew we were close.

Suddenly a light shape took form in the dark woods ahead. A roof. We were in the presence of the majestic old cabin. The forest was enchanting. The setting was idyllic. Multiple fire pits dotted the large camp. We unloaded our heavy packs onto one of the three picnic tables and turned around to behold a dripping pipe. Fresh spring water leaked from the earth even now in late August. We flushed an Oregon junco and juvenile chipping sparrow to fill our empty Nalgenes. While we replenished our water supply we explored the old log cabin, repaired in 2009 by several volunteers. The building was secure and solid and smelled of wonderful pine wood. Previous campers had left freeze-dried dinner packs, baby wipes, and water, as well as etchings of their names in the cobwebbed rafters. Saws hung from nails on the wall. Someone had built a lovely table, able to seat four. A hard bed was tucked in the far corner in front of a functional wood stove, uncomfortably able to sleep two. This would be an amazing place to visit in winter.

The sun was setting and the woods grew darker. Cypress set about starting a fire while I set up our tent. It was supposed to storm this night so we opted for shelter rather than sleeping out. After our cozy tent was erected and sleeping pads topped with sleeping bags, I helped Cypress saw some logs. The saw's teeth were heavily worn and it was hard work cutting through the thick, fragrant wood. We carried log after log over to the fire pit just as the rest of our crew arrived. It was pitch black now and we howled at the bouncing lamp lights.

Soon whisky, cheese and salami were being passed around the roaring fire. The air was chilly and the heat from the flames warmed us nicely. We drank and dined until midnight. Thoroughly tired and full of food, sleep came easily. I woke only briefly as thunder rolled in the distance and raindrops danced upon our tent fly.

The next morning our ears were met with the songs of Cassin's vireo and Cassin's finch, and the buzzy calls of lazuli buntings. The spring was absolutely flooded with thirsty birds. Black-headed grosbeaks, Oregon juncos, Western bluebirds, and mountain chickadees all took their turns drinking and bathing in the cool waters of Wiregrass Spring. Dusky- and gray flycatchers sallied from nearby branches of mountain maples, and rufous hummingbirds dodged the gaping maws of hungry cooper's hawks.

We would have to return before the migration ended.