“Miles from nowhereNot a soul in sightOh yeah, but it’s alrightI have my freedomI can make my own rulesOh yes, the ones that I choose.”
~Yusef/Cat Stevens
My spot among the ruins in Two Guns was not only (I thought) perfect, it turned out to be short-lived. On Sunday afternoon, a man who looked like David Letterman pulled into my spot and decided he’d park 20 feet from me. I looked it up—Two Guns is 320 acres. Cosmo and I had walked several miles that morning, covering nearly all of the landmarks in Two Guns, and counted exactly 3 other people camping in two guns. Why, WHY would someone with 320 acres to choose from decide that he should park within spitting distance of ME?
The site I was in was big enough for two or more rigs if Two Guns was crowded. But it was not. And I probably would not have cared so much had this guy pulled in at the opposite end of the big clearing where I was camped by a building farthest from the road. I racked my brain overnight trying to understand the thought process that one would follow to think it was a good idea—to think it was even an acceptable idea—to park that close to someone else.
Monday morning, I hoped against the odds that my neighbor would pack up and move. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat in the shadow of his car trying to read something on his phone. I decided he would irritate me until he left (and he could be settled in for days or weeks) so I packed up my stuff, put the key in the ignition and moved toward the opposite end of Two Guns. I had picked out a spot the previous day that I thought might be interesting for my next trip through Two Guns, but when I got there on Monday, someone had taken it. So Cosmo and I walked back beyond anything that was of interest to tourists and down a long dirt road. I found the spot I wanted to stay in. This was not the Two Guns that I was familiar with. I went far beyond the gas station, and up beyond where the KOA had burned down a few years ago and followed the dirt path about a mile until I found a clearing on Anderson Canyon. The Two Guns I know with all the falling-down rock structures, was no longer visible from where I was. I could not see the gas station or the old KOA pool, or any structure, except for a distant, snow-capped mountain in Flagstaff.
And although it was not where I expected to be on Memorial Day, it was quite nice. And quiet. And peaceful. And (fingers crossed) no one in their right mind would drive this far to the other side of the ghost town to camp by me.
The following days were extremely pleasant. Cosmo got to be off-leash every time we went out (during daylight hours, which were plentiful). That was SO good for our bonding, and we seemed to have developed a new non-verbal communication between us. He mostly stayed very close to me as we took walks, and with no people or vehicles anywhere in sight, I never had to worry about him chasing a car or running off toward another human. On one of our morning walks, I discovered where we were. When I left my first campsite, I traveled east, then south and then west. About half a mile north from my new campsite, I could look down across Diablo Canyon and see the exact spot of my first campsite.
On one of our walks, I took this photo showing just how far in the wild we were.
On our morning walks, I found that as my eyes (or brain?) adapted to the drab browns and sage greens of the desert, I started to pick up on how many different kinds of colorful flowers surrounded me.
I had a full tank of water, and since I was far from humanity, I took the opportunity to take a couple of outdoor showers without worrying that anyone would see me. This was the view from my shower:
But I was wrong about nobody seeing me. As I rinsed my hair, I looked down and saw I had company.
This is Liz. I saw her on and off throughout the week. She was quite beautiful, and didn’t seem too afraid of me. I think she enjoyed the puddles I made.
With the new moon this week and dark skies (except for a hint of Flagstaff in the west) I was sure I would be able to spot the Milky Way again. When I went out before bedtime, I couldn’t locate it, and thought perhaps my eyes just hadn’t adjusted to the dark. I took a test photo of where I thought it should be in the night sky.
Beautiful shot, but no Milky Way. I thought about it as I dozed off to sleep and decided that it is early in the season for our galaxy to be visible from earth, so probably it “rose” in the wee hours of the morning. I fell asleep, but I woke up at around 2:00 a.m. and went outside. There it was. Just where I expected.
I went back inside and fell asleep with a smile on my face knowing all was right with the world.
Lessons From The Road: With the seemingly never-ending invasion of my spaces by oblivious campers, I decided there must be a lesson I needed to learn. Am I just selfish and territorial? Nope. I don’t think so. I’ll gladly share with someone who is just a tiny bit respectful and has even a smidgeon of camping etiquette. In fact, most of the time I’d welcome hanging out with a kindred spirit who gave me some space within a shared camp. Had the intruder parked at the opposite end of my site, and checked in to ask if that was OK, or even if he ANNOUNCED that he was taking the opposite end, I probably would have been fine with that. I did a lot of self-analysis and came to the conclusion that because I camp in spots that tourists can find, I’m likely to end up with a tourist parked up my butt. So when I moved, I went to a more remote area of Two Guns to settle into my next favorite spot, a bit more removed from the tourist spots. It had already been taken between the time I arrived at my other spot and the time I decided this one would work for me. I drove past it and wasn’t satisfied with the proximity of other big 5th wheelers. So I kept driving, and turned down a very rugged, but clearly visible dirt path. About a mile in, I came to a clearing. I got out and looked around and could not see a single human being, or even any manmade thing, except for I-40 off in the distance to the north.
So the lesson is this: If I want to be with people, I’ll stay in a paid campground or any place where tourists gather. If I want to be alone, then go the extra mile down the road. Here above Two Guns I am far removed from other people. It would be extremely unlikely that anyone else would travel this deep into the wild and if they did, they would only do so to be alone. If they saw me, they would most likely continue past me or turn back.
Want a spot by a lake or river in the summer? Then be willing to put up with weekenders, rookie campers and annoying “influencers.” Want to be left alone? Then move to the middle of nowhere, far from amenities. At one point it was probably possible to have a lakeside spot, near a small town where it was easy to access supplies and be around other considerate and like-minded people. I think those days are over.
I’ve decided I can have ANYTHING I want in a campsite; I just can’t have EVERYTHING I want.