Black Rocking with Friends of Nevada Wilderness Part 2: Summit Twins

Looking up the south fork of Mahogany Creek

This time—my second summer excursion to the Black Rocks with Friends of Nevada Wilderness—we were headed to Mahogany Creek. It is the primary feed for Summit Lake, which deserves of course more than its own entry, but is best known for its Lahontan Cutthroat Trout. I have many times been among the head canyons of the north fork of Mahogany Creek (whether I wanted to be or not) and have some of those great moments along its high ridges, but I had never been up the south fork at all (at least that I can remember). The closest I think I ever made it was one of my few "hunting" expeditions, when an older brother took me up to build fence he'd been contracted for on for the exclosure and then—I being generally worthless—sent me off "hunting" up through the upper basins of Mahogany Creek to spot deer. I only carried the 30-06 for the scope, but I'll never forget how heavy it was when I left my brother alone busting postholes into rock. I walked up, and then, pointed away, decided that I needed to give the 30-06 a try. I aimed up at a tree stump higher along the basin. And I gathered strength, and I did, then I just did it. I wonder how many people out there remember that, the first time they pulled the trigger on a powerful rifle? I bet it's a lot. What a blast it made against my shoulder when I finally did. And what a shock. Not for me, but I did wander higher that afternoon and remember seeing over into a far, deep canyon.

Driving the tablelands toward Summit Lake

Our camp in the aspens near Stanley Camp

This time on an entirely different mission, to remove old fencing that was around an archaeological site but that had fallen into disrepair and had become a blight. We met at the Friends of Nevada Wilderness (FNW) offices on a midmorning and then started the long, long ride up to Summit Lake via Winnemucca, Denio, Knott Creek, a little corner of the Refuge, and then, finally, over the rise, to the apparently magical wonder that is Summit Lake. I think you'll only understand if you've been there, perched on the tablelands above the Black Rock Desert, this big lake clings to the edge of the Great Basin. The Black Rocks from Summit Lake aren't the gentle appearing school of whales spouting down the desert toward the equator that they are from my usual perspective on the eastern side. Here they are massive crowned cliffs lining a meadowed desert jewel. Like everything, they hide their truth, or maybe better yet they have no one truth but a variety of perspectives.

Mahogany Creek on the first afternoon

Walking up the road through the still grove

We camped up above Stanley Camp, near the mouth of Mahogany Creek and below where the big forks met. It was idyllic, and as usual with FNW it was beautifully prepared. We pitched in to help set up the big camp with BLM and the Friends of the Black Rock people who had come. Then still had a little time to hike up into the shining afternoon light.

Saying goodbye to the light

In the morning, we started out early and rode up a steep road to the work site at the highest reaches of the south fork. It was definitely hard work. The wire and old fence posts were well within the wilderness, so we removed them the very old-fashioned way, with sleds and our backs. But we gathered two giant loads of modern manmade stuff to recycle and leave the springs a bit more alone and were fully loaded by early afternoon.

Getting to work in the morning

Some of the harvest of our morning

A bit of Summit Lake from the ride down

Old sheepherder's cabin on the south fork

Old oven

Arborglyph of woman (on tree on right)

On the way down, we stopped at the old sheepherders camp and wandered among the Basque (and well obviously a lot more) arborglyphs on the aspen groves. We found a couple of really good ones. And then were back in camp to still have a bit of afternoon left for a hike.

The north fork looking toward Dry Lake and Horseshoe Bend

Creek bottom aspens

Looking up the south fork

I found myself alone, walking up to the junction of the branches and then exploring among the rocky cliffs of the immediate draw of the south fork while the sun set itself down over those giant tablelands and then the California mountains toward the Pacific. It happens every day, but out there, with all that laid out before you, it feels different. It feels personal.

End of the day

Dinner and a fire in the firepit, then sleep under the blanket of stars that will hang above you out there in that still big dark spot.