Across Nevada's High Country: Tonopah to Denio

There's more than one way to get from San Diego to Seattle, and over the last few years, I think I've tried every logical (and illogical) combination of north-south traveling. A combination of friends, family and business brings the both of us to the Seattle / Portland / Walla Walla (!) nexus at least once a summer, and each time I attempt a different approach that might reveal new scenery, new towns, new sights. Jane tends to fly. She might be onto something there.

San Diego lies surprisingly far east compared to the rest of the west coast - the oft-repeated nugget is that San Diego and Reno lie along the same latitude. As a result, my drives to Walla Walla have taken me through areas as far from the coast as Nevada, Utah and Idaho. Other approaches have found me barrelling up the monotony of California's Central Valley, across the edge of the Sierras or poking along the entire northern coastline, from Astoria to Bodega Bay. Each time, I find myself wearied at journey's end and exhilarated by the sheer scale of the valleys, mountains and shorelines I've driven along. Cynic though I remain, the untouched beauty of the West can choke me up sometimes.

Our latest trip to Seattle/ Portland found me looking over various maps to piece together some new areas to explore, and I decided to journey up the middle of Nevada's high country before entering the dry Oregon interior and winding along to the foot of Mount Hood. My route through Nevada, especially, would follow secondary roads and hug the vast valley floors that run across the state like fingers dragged through soft clay. My fascination with the state of Nevada must have something to do with my love for lonely places and rough beauty, and the fact that most people think Nevada begins and ends with Las Vegas. While Vegas is certainly the largest urban area in Nevada, it lies in the extreme southern portion of the state, which is also the only portion of the state conforming to stereotypical "desert scenery". In fact, few states are as dominated by one single geographical entity as Nevada - the Great Basin Desert, or Sagebrush Country (Vegas lies in the Mohave Desert range, Nevada's only other geographic realm). Therefore, the majority of Nevada is not cactus and sand dunes, but sagebrush scrub and twisted pine, with cold winters filled with snow and even warm summer days giving way to surprisingly chilly nights. The state's average elevation is 5,499 feet (By comparison, California's average elevation is 2,900 feet), which limits agricultural attempts (the city of Ely sees 218 nights below freezing each year) and tended to support range land and mining (until the silver lodes ran out).

I did my best to speed through California, jostling for position along the I-15 with the masses streaming towards Vegas before pulling off the freeway at the desert town of Baker and picking up single-lane 127, paralleling Death Valley, lying just over the Black Mountains. After crossing the Nevada state line in the middle of the Amargosa Desert, I picked up 95 north and began steadily climbing in elevation. The three towns the route passed through on my way north exemplify the emptiness of interior Nevada - once bustling mining towns, now ghostly even with hotels, dining spots and gas stations sprinkled on the outskirts. The town of Beatty (1,154 people) lies at 3,308 feet. Much further north, the nearly abandoned (and cop-infested) Goldfield boasts a mere 440 people, which still accounts for more than half of Esmeralda County's population, of which it is the county seat (as of 2008, Esmeralda County has shrunk to 677 people total - at 3,500 square miles, it's more than twice the size of Rhode Island). And even further north, high among the San Antonio Mountains, lay my destination city of Tonopah - 2,600 people, elevation 6,030. Much of the city looks as if it has remained untouched since its creation in 1900 as a gold and silver mine community.

Outside the city limits the following morning, lonely Highway 376 took me through the enormous expanses of the Ralston and Big Smoky Valley, flanked on either side by tall mountains - the Toquima Range and the Toiyabe Range, with peaks topping 11,700 feet. This may have been the emptiest road I've ever driven on.

During an entire day's worth of driving, I only passed through five towns of any size, including the blink-and-you'll-miss-it metropolis of Carvers....

....and after a steep climb across the Toiyabe Range (look! trees!)....

.....and a maximum elevation gain of 7,484 feet......

......I dropped into the extremely lonely town of Austin, NV, elevation 6,575, population 340 (I love these towns with a higher elevation than population number!), where I briefly checked out their small cemetery at the junction of Highway 50 and 305.

After crossing the Shoshone Range and dropping into the Reese River Valley, I found some pleasure in spotting the many dust devils appearing here and there along the valley floor. At one point, I watched a pair of twins spiraling across the sage scrub.

After a brief stint in Interstate 80 and lunch at a Winnemucca-area Taco Time, I resumed 95 north until I came to the split with 140 East and a view into the enormous Quinn River Valley, the route which would take me into Oregon.

Just south of the small town of Denio, NV, I entered the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge, where I came across these curious and scruffy wild burros.

I left Nevada and entered the "Oregon Outback". After a sheer drop down the "Guano Rim" into the "Guano Valley," I only needed to skirt the edges of several lush rivers and canyons before entering the city limits of Lakeview, OR, lying between the enormous Goose Lake to the south (partially in California) and the equally large Lake Abert to the north. Both have seem significant drying in recent years, and Lakeview itself has not boasted a view of the lake in some time.

And that's my journey across the middle of the Silver State. I would like to note for the record that I saw not a single brothel or evidence thereof in over 600 miles of Nevada highway. Maybe next time.