Gardner Ranch to City of Rocks, Twin Sisters

Alma and I thoroughly enjoyed our stay with my Aunt Joyce and my parents. We slept in, had a "lovely" breakfast, watched the wagon train go by the house, and then I went over to the Raft River High School to update my diary and respond to my e-mail. I got all of my diary typed on the computer and then the fool things froze up on me, leaving me to re-enter it all. I would have much preferred to stay at Joyce's house and spend the day with family, but after receiving an e-mail from someone who had been with us during a particular tough week for me, I wanted to get my continued entries put on the internet.

This fellow had a lot of suggestions to make concerning my diary, wanting me to be less introspective and more descriptive of the history of the California Trail and the experiences of the other members of the wagon train. First of all, I don't know the history enough to write intelligently and accurately concerning it. I looked up the definition of "diary" and Webster's defines it to mean: a daily written record of one's own experiences, thoughts. Thus, I can't quite understand why I must keep up with everyone else's experiences. As for being too introspective, I can only say that this experience makes me very reflective, causes me everyday to look into my own feelings and thoughts, resulting in a vast amount of personal growth and strength. On July 7, I speak of a lost friendship and my e-mailer had a lot of tips for me on how to develop friendships. Quite honestly, my friendships with the majority of our group are the most meaningful relationships I've ever experienced, so I must be doing something right. For several days, this person's letter threw me for a loop and I felt stifled to continue writing. But then I realized that he was making a lot of observations without knowing his subject very well.

My parents and Aunt Joyce took us to our campsite at the City of the Rocks. It was difficult to say goodbye and both my mom and dad struggled to hold back the tears. They are concerned for our safety as we now enter into the arid climate of Nevada. I have a confidence, however, that we will be protected on our continued journey, that we will reach our destiny. Our hawk has not failed us one day to guide us on our route.

Janell, Alma and I spent the evening sitting atop a rock overlooking the view of those awesome formations, finding many figures of various persuasions in them from animals and birds to Viking warriors.

Chris Cochran Thomas
Copyright 1999

We stayed at Bedke's ranch tonight on Goose Creek, a nice ranch area for a campsite. We are leaving behind the hillsides with pines and quaking aspens and seeing more junipers and a lot of sagebrush, the hills varying more with butte ranges as well. There are quite definite distinctions we note traveling from one state to the other. Nevada looks before us all with her imposing deserts, miles upon miles of open ranges with no civilization to offer us solace if we should require its services, leaving us all a little more aware of the feeling the pioneers faced as they worked their way west.

As walkers, Alma and I are not able to travel as far during the day as we were because of the rising temperatures, reflecting a more intense heat from the sandy roads we're traveling on. Carrying enough water to support our needs has been difficult as well. I think we both feel a little as if we are failing to satisfy our expectations to walk all the way. But we both promised our families that we would be sensible and watch out for each other. We do our best each day and remind each other that we are the only two who have walked the majority of miles on any wagon train headed for California in commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the gold rush, she the only British woman and I the only American woman. That thought helps soothe our less than perfect record.

Bedkes offered the use of their bunkhouse bathroom so we all managed a good old bath, the doors swinging until past 10 p.m. The dust is incredible now, the roads deep with dirt the consistency of powdered sugar. We all look and feel like we've been out plowing behind the horse. Quite a contrast from the days at the beginning of this trek when we never thought we'd dry out.

Chris Cochran Thomas
Copyright 1999

Our directions weren't quite the same as how the wagon train went today but we enjoyed our journey along Goose Creek just as well since we walked on original trail ruts for quite a distance. Somehow, Janell, who drives the portapotty, ended up where we did at Trout Creek Ranch. She seemed to be misguided as well, so we hailed down a forest service person and he got us pointed in the direction of the wagon train. We caught up with the wagons as they were preparing to stop for lunch so we ate with them and then had Janell drop us off four or five miles short of the campsite. Unfortunately, the day was entering her hottest temperatures and we found the last miles difficult. We made it in, however, and are camped for layover at Little Goose Creek. Our surroundings are desolate, the winds blowing dust about us to a maddening point. When I ate supper tonight, my sectioned paper plate blew full of dirt in the various compartments that didn't contain food. I guess that means I ate dirt from the compartments that did contain food. I think my teeth are going to be ground down to small nubbins before long.

I've been suffering fatigue this week which hasn't enhanced my mood. Tonight, I fell into my sleeping bag, laid my discomforts, worries and saddened attitude aside, and allowed myself to just sleep.

Chris Cochran Thomas
Copyright 1999

I awoke this morning at 8, just in time for breakfast. However, I didn't really want to arise, longing to remain in that secluded state of mind I experience when I'm asleep. With the physical journey of this trip comes the mental journey, meaning that as my body wears tires of the walking and the constant exposure to the elements, so too does my mental and emotional state slacken in its pace, stumbling and nearly falling from these exhausting days. This is truly the epitome of a bittersweet experience. To successfully describe the daily living of such a journey is beyond my ability to express. One has to be here everyday, rain, wind, or shine, constantly ready to keep moving forward, willing to adapt to changing environments and the emotional elation's and bone weary tiredness to have a knowing of this travel. Recently, I heard of some people who were grumbling that my diary contains only the negative aspects of this trek and I'm dumbfounded by that implication, for haven't I continually expounded on the land - the pristine beauty of so many places, of the wonderful people I've met, of the awakenings inside my soul that have stirred me to a greater change and appreciation for the earth, its many vast offerings, for good people who remember those who walked these lands before us. To walk in my shoes or any member of this wagon train before casting quick judgments would greatly enlighten my worst critic.

Chris Cochran Thomas
Copyright 1999

We were all anxious to depart our campsite this morning because of its dry and dusty surroundings. We've had so many various campsites and none have affected me badly but there was something about this place at Little Goose Creek that felt contrary. Perhaps something occurred there at one time that was fateful or sorrowful. I did find a chip of arrowhead that Carl thought could be as old as 5,000 years. I held it in my hands, trying to envision its maker, and with his permission and willingness, I asked that his spirit be with me to give strength to me as I continue this journey, as well as my journey beyond, and placed it in my medicine pouch.

Alma and I walked about 12 miles today and because both of her feet were aching, we boarded the wagon train for our last ten miles. Our campsite was a welcomed change with our wagons and cook shack set up in a mowed and baled hay field.

We are in such remote country now, with acres of cattle range beyond one's imagination. The forage is so dry it crunches as I step through it and I wonder how the cattle manage to gain on it. Certainly the cows per acre are minimal.

The dry and brushy landscape, the unforgiving sun that beats upon my back doesn't invite my soul in as does the high mountains with thickly wooded areas. Yet, I don't like to portray Nevada negatively, for the sunsets, the varying horizons of mountain ranges and fresh water streams, and the untamed feel of the land is quite impressive. Occassionally, we will walk through mountainous areas where the juniper tree is prevalent and the scent of those trees leaves me wanting to linger. I can not say that any place I've walked the lands have I found it to be displeasing to the eye. Each place beholds a special beauty all its own.

Chris Cochran Thomas
Copyright 1999