Once in a while – a great while evidently, a trio of brothers share an adventure. It is my 60th birthday, an adventure of its own; and while a decadal birthday is event enough, this one found Bryan with Darren and me at the foot of Rosebud Peak, in the Kamma Mountains at the edge of the Black Rock Desert playa. This excursion was set up several months ago.
My brother Darren lives close by here in Nevada, and he joins me on various wanders among the state’s highpoints. Bryan, our middle brother, lives in Texas where he manages an amazing family and a less adventurous plastic bag factory, taking great responsibility and pleasure in both. It means, however, that his trails wander among the concrete and steel of Dallas, Texas, as Darren and I follow a somewhat more natural topography across Nevada. Bryan was missing out, even as his passions focused elsewhere. Eventually, Heather, my sister-in-law, intervened. It was time to get Bryan to the desert, to join the fraternal adventures. A plane ticket appeared, he got on a plane, and he dropped into the Great Basin. We then began a simple adventure seeking my 120th highpoint; it would be Bryan’s first in Nevada, while Darren, focusing on the experience, does not really count these things. As we drove toward the Black Rock, I realized we had never had an experience involving the three brothers. Never; at least not one that expanded on a bunch of kids playing along the fields and creeks of north Texas. I am happy those kids could once again gather in the low hills of the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada.
Thunder. Wind. Dust. Obsidian. Miles of endless sky among shockingly green hills of the springtime desert. While I often rue the clear skies and sharp light of the desert – it would not be desert without it, my birthday was a gift of variability, giving us the experience of desert dynamics that make it memorable, whether you are here for the first or hundredth time.
Our drive took us along the puddled margin of the Black Rock playa, following the ‘high road’ toward Sulphur and Winnemucca, beyond. Blue skies turned dark as white dust rose to meet grey-black virga, an ill-formed haboob rolled toward the Jackson Range with churning dust devils leading the way. I had first thought of camping at the small playa of Wetweather Flat, but the name gave me second thoughts; if the clouds get organized, we might be wet soon. We had some time, however, so I led us on a few obsidian transects having seen reference to ‘obsidian’ in some archaeological notes written on a nearby mine project – I have spent some time mapping the Majuba and Seven Troughs toolstone sources but had been snowed out the last time I was in the area. We wandered among the dry washes of Granite Springs Wash and Rabbithole Creek where I had observed nodules previously. The obsidian is here in the gravel bedload, but most of the clasts are not of toolstone size.
During our afternoon wandering, we found a campsite among cottonwoods of the historic Rosebud Mine. The storm reached us just as we set up our tents, unleashing a refreshing rain punctuated by flashes of lightning and rolling thunder. It was the full experience, and we stood exhilarated under my awning for the short downpour. Things dried quickly however, and the sun raked toward its setting horizon, streaming warm light in a haze of remnant dust. We created our tailgate dinner and got a nicely contained fire going. This gave us the relaxing time we had been waiting for, and we settled in for a long evening of conversation and thoughts of an early hike to Rosebud Peak which rose gradually to our northeast.
Sunrise found us at the foot of a series of broad, gradually sloping pediments leading to a long series of rocky ridges bounded by steep, gravelly slopes. The pediments are old alluvial fans or long rocky steps beveled to gradual slopes by long periods of erosion; the ridges of altered volcanics jump from the beveled surfaces and rise in a long line toward the summit of Rosebud Peak. Below us, along the roadway, small alluvial fans push from small canyons delivering pulses of sediment to the generally dry, underfit drainage of Rosebud Canyon. The map of young landforms is obviously simple.
I had chosen this relatively gradual walk knowing that Bryan was coming from the low-elevation cross-timber country of northern Texas, and it was his first outing in mountainous country in a long time. The Kamma Mountains are cut by mining roads, and our walk is generally easy with only a few steep sections. The hills are open with dots of juniper trees tucked into rilled alcoves where volcanic tuffs form small, dramatic outcrops. If the outcrops are small, our views are expansive. While the hills and valleys seem barren, there is a green blush spread across the springtime desert; it makes for yet another splendid walk even as the wind builds into the early day.
We summit in mid-morning, following a two-track road to the rounded summit. Although we are only at 6,500 feet, Rosebud Peak is prominent at the southeastern margin of the Black Rock Desert and affords an expansive view of ranges that I have climbed and several that I will soon visit. The snow-lined crags of King Lear Peak rise to the north; I reached that summit in 1994, half a life ago. That makes no sense.
Our descent takes little time. , and we are soon back in camp preparing a well-deserved breakfast. As we clean things up our discussions turn to other mountains, especially the ones that at first seem uninviting or that are generally obscure when compared to the soaring summits requiring significant effort. The surprises are the ‘why’. I have repeated this often, and it is clear that this band of brothers understands. Rosebud Peak, almost chosen at random, has brought us together. We rallied and made it happen, coming from different directions to experience the subtlety of the little things. The prelude of dust and thunder set the stage for a relaxed morning of effort and conversation. Perfect.
Lost in conversation and the joy of unusual company, I did not spend time on photography, and I am surprised I came home rather empty-handed – I let the drama run its course, sharing the experience with my brothers. Many of the photos I share here are Bryan’s as he chronicled his adventure to Rosebud. Perfect, again.
Keep going.
