Gold Butte Road

Gold Butte Road begins nine miles west of Bunkerville, Nevada. Eventually it wends its way to an old mining community of the same name. The townsite is now a ghost town, which is not surprising in a place such as this. Those who settled there must have been hardy individuals, as would anyone who lives in an area as rugged as the Mojave Desert.

The first several miles along Gold Butte Road follow the Virgin River. About a mile-and-a-half into the drive, I see a large ply-wood sign painted yellow, with the inscription, “Bundy Melons” brushed across the front and an American flag waving off to the side. It's too bad that we're here in February because a juicy watermelon would taste really good. The climate seems perfect for raising melons.

The sign, however, reminds me of something else. We are in Bundyland! The melon patch, which is well-known locally, is owned by none other than Cliven and Carol Bundy. Their grand-kids help with the family business. Now days, Cliven is more famous for his stand-off with the Federal Government over the grazing rights of his cattle. The battle made big national news. Even though I can't pinpoint the exact location, I remember from the television clips that the scuffle took place somewhere close to here.

The drive along the riparian area of the river is green with several large ranches. A stop along the top of a butte reveals the the twisty and sinuous nature of the Virgin River. From here it travels south toward Lake Mead. No major roads follow the river here, which is a sign that this area is very remote and desolate.

The route that we travel would be considered a very unmaintained paved road. Along some sections, the surface is gentle and pleasant. Most of it, however, is missing the smooth layers and is very bumpy. Some of the lower sections along the river are covered in sand.

After several miles, the road leaves the company of the river and bends inland toward the desert. Moving away from the river and reaching slightly higher elevations, it is fascinating to watch the flora of the Mojave Desert in action. Creosote bushes are everywhere. This scrubby little tree wont win any beauty pageants, but it still amazes me how it can flourish in such a hot and arid place like the Mojave.

Next, I notice the cholla cactus creeping into the scene. Then come the tall California barrel cactus that sometimes have a red or pink tint to them. Finally, there are the Joshua trees. These are my favorite. These Gumby-like trees fill the landscape like a field full of scarecrows. Instead of leaves, the branches of these trees have sharp projections like the yucca plant. Right now they are beginning to bloom.

Juanita Springs

Roughly five miles from the point where the road leaves the Virgin River, a surprising oasis comes into view. This section is fenced off as private property, and is known locally as Juanita Springs. The palm trees and other lush vegetation that grow here stand out from the creosote bushes and cholla cactus. I don't see any water that gushes from beneath the earth, but the underground aquifer must be close enough to the surface to enhance the plant growth. An oasis is quite a site to see in this arid country. As the road climbs a hill, with the oasis on the right-hand side, there is a lone palm tree to the left. A mailbox sits in front of the premise, suggesting that someone still lives here. 

After traversing another small hill and entering another drainage area, we are rewarded with a distant glimpse of Lake Mead. A dirt road forks to the right and leads toward the water. Even though the shore is about twelve miles away, the combination of water and desert always fascinate me.

It is here that the Joshua trees are very prevalent. Juxtaposed with the barrel cactus, this Mojave landscape is blossoming like the rose. The barren mountains and the tooth-like Virgin Peak pose majestically as a backdrop.

We come to tall cluster of Navajo Sandstone. This is the perfect place to let the dogs out and eat some lunch. The kids immediately flee to the rocks and begin climbing all around the boulders. This cluster of rocks is interesting because it creates an island in the middle of the desert, about the area of a baseball field, and several stories high.

My two youngest, Jenna and Savanah, find the ideal venue to eat lunch: a large alcove that provides shade from the beating sun with a sandstone floor that furnishes a spot to sit and eat.

Our two schnauzers are having fun walking through the rocks and bushes and sniffing things out. Moqui is the mother and she is gray with silver streaks. Her black-furred little puppy, Lovey, is only a few months old and finding this experience as a novel idea. She nibbles at a small ball of cactus and quickly learns that it's a little pokey. Jenelle puts out a Tupperware of dog food and water next to the Trailblazer.

Next thing I know, Jordan is at the highest pinnacle of this rock formation yelling out, “Hey Mom! Look at me!” – He sure knows how to quickly find the top of anything. He's standing way too close to the edge and waving his arms. The drop-off right there is far enough that it would probably kill him if he fell.

I wander through the rocks, intending to explore, but then I see Kaitlyn following Jordan up to the very top. She is fourteen and very much a Tomboy. A very steep crevice leads to the top and Kaitlyn is almost there, attempting the trek in her cowboy boots. That worries me since I know that sometimes the tread on cowboys boots isn't so good.

As the protective father, I follow Kaitlyn to the top. The climb is very tricky. Small hollow rings in the sandstone become ideal hand-grips. I manage to find narrow niches to place my feet, and within a few minutes I am at the top.

I will admit that one of my objectives in climbing to the top to join my kids is to make sure they're safe. “Get away from the edge!” I repeat over and over. I confess that I am terrified of heights. I wish that Jordan suffered from at least a smidgen of acrophobia, but he is dauntless when near death's edge. I snap a couple of pictures to prove we were at the top, then I order the kids to climb back down. (The decent always looks steeper and scarier than the climb up.) I am grateful that we all make it down with no broken bones.

Nearby is an unmarked road that leads away in a perpendicular direction. We all load into the vehicle and drive along this rocky pathway, maneuvering around large rocks and taking it slow. We arrive at a place to park where we climb out of the vehicle and begin to walk along a trail that winds through sandstone boulders and Joshua trees.

The trail leads to a rock-face with a short three-foot gap in the rock. Above the gap on the rock wall are Indian petroglyphs of a cornstalk and some zigzagged lines. I crouch down to my knees and crawl through the window and enter into similar world of sandstone hilltops and rocky ledges. I look high and to my left and I see that Jordan has found the highest pinnacle again. He sits there, nonchalantly as if he was just magically poofed there.

The girls immediately find a group of faint petroglyphs of three big-horned sheep on a varnished rock. They admire the rock art for only moments before racing off to find another adventure. Then they find a small, but deep collection-pool of dark, murky water. They kneel down at the water's edge, press their faces down to the surface, and search for pollywogs.

I move in a different direction. Within minutes I find a large rock-face with well over a hundred glyphs etched onto the surface. This isn't the only place that I find petroglyphs. They seem to be everywhere! There are more around the corner, some high on the cliff-face, and others in the next canyon over . This must have been a major crossroads.

I look at the petroglyphs and wonder of their meaning. I see zigzags, footprints, multi-layered circles, sheep, scary-looking stick men, rainbows, combs, and corn. One glyph that catches my attention, that I don't recall seeing at other sites, is a simple cone with a loop on top. There are many ways you could describe it: a magnifying glass with a short stubby handle, an ice cream cone, a lollipop, or a stumpy spoon. But what could it be to the Paiutes who probably drew them? Perhaps a basket, although some are placed upside down. It could be a moccasin. One of the glyphs has a knob on top and is connected to a three-ringed chain. Could it represent a ceremonial pendant that was worn on a necklace, or a concho belt? In two other places I see the three-ringed chains by themselves. I see the “basket-looking” glyph multiple times and in various locations. It has to have some significance and can't be just random doodling.

Reluctantly, I know that it is time to collect the kids and the wife and the dogs and return the way we came. The shadows cast from the Joshua trees are now growing in size and I know that we have a good little drive ahead of us. Although I have found several different panels, I would want at least a full day to search every nook and cranny here and find all the glyphs I missed.

On the way out, we walk up a perfect crevice in the cliff and reach the upper level of the rocks and toward the gap that punctures through the rock-face. It is here that I make one last search for a petroglyph that I couldn't find earlier.

Then I see it. Exactly above my head about three feet, but directly below the pinnacle where Jordan climbed to earlier, there is stick-man, arms out wide and legs bent upward, and turned side-ward as if falling swiftly to the ground. Looking back up at the steepness of the cliff, I have no doubt that the Indian who chiseled this picture into the rock was recording history.