desertislands.org (Exploring the Great Basin!)

Wheeler Peak and Great Basin National Park
White Pine County, Nevada

For every rule there is an exception, it seems. This page is living proof. No page on desertislands.org receives more attention or is more worthy of the numerous submissions by site visitors than the Wheeler Peak Page. When Great Basin became the first and only National Park within Nevada's borders in the early 1980's, many wondered, "why?". Precious few celebrated and said, "it's about time." Great Basin National Park and its crowning jewel, Wheeler Peak, have since become the mouthpiece for what is wonderful, unique, and beautiful about Nevada's back country. Its remote location has kept the crowds manageable and the scenery pristine, while giving many a new appreciation for this region.

The Rule: Ryan and I have long held that visits to National Parks are too often bested by busloads of camera-weilding morons, litterbugs, snot-nosed pseudo tree-hugging college kids with dreadlocks, birkenstocks, and no underwear; burger stands, souvenir shops and "lodges". Hence, we have not frequented the parks near where we live. Great Basin, however, is a refreshing exception--in every way.

Two recent submissions from site visitors are more than worthy of their own pages. These photographs deserve to be kept in their original large format, but that would limit some viewers from seeing them. I have compromised by downsizing them some, but not as much as on other pages of this site. Please enjoy the reading as you wait for them to load.

I will begin with the thoughtful words and photography of Ger Muehle of Tuscon, Arizona.

#1 PROMETHEUS (Gerhard von Müehle, 2005)

Great Basin National Park is known for its bristlecones, including what was once the oldest living thing on the planet, Prometheus - around 5,100 years old, until it was cut down in 1964 by the US Forest Service to support a 'research' project. In my view, one of the more outrageous crimes against Nature.

Serendipitously, I stumbled upon Prometheus last fall after looking for the tree for the past few years. Not far in from the harsh edge of rock and timber, in an ominously quiet, somewhat sheltered, alcove at 10,700 feet, lies the deathly gray, skeletal form. The low cut stump is close by. In the cold morning air I shuddered, death stalked here. A great V-shaped gash has been cut out of the trunk’s side. Even the beautifully brilliant day cannot hide the foul killing.

The Murder Of The Ancient,
His Furrowed Trunk Laid Waste,
By The Hand Of Ignorance,
And Minds In Thoughtless Haste.
von Müehle

Standing in tears, after finally finding Prometheus, I try to make some sense of what transpired here exactly forty long years ago. The occasional black and white photographs one sees of the Prometheus Tree, before it was cut down, show a massive, stained, bare wood, bifurcated trunk alive with only a single strip of bark culminating in low green branches. My imagination takes wing. Seeing the marvelous variety of existing sculpted and polished wood forms on the slopes around me, I brood on how radiant and aglow Prometheus must have once been in the early morning sunlight. Aesthetically speaking, Prometheus’ regalia must have been grand, befitting a monarch. So old, most of the twiggyness of the crown of the typical odd-branched tops of bristlecones was gone. Worn away through hundreds of years by savage elements under the high altitude cerulean blue vault. Running down the twin forked trunk were alternating ribbons of what must have been dark mahogany and burnt umber, fading to delicate cinnamon. The more exposed surfaces, I imagine, had the polished patina of old ivory. Sun and ice burnished wood must have blazed like fine gold, as it still does for the remaining bristlecones in this forest.

Not many people have actually seen Prometheus, or photos of 'him'. Below are a couple of samples I took last fall.

Photos and text contibuted by: Gerhard von Müehle.

"Prometheus" aftermath | Gerhard von Müehle | 2005

#2 Wheeler Peak in Winter
Nathan Hughes, Salt Lake City, Utah

I had hiked wheeler peak and seen the bristlecone pines in summer. I always dreamed of being there in the winter. Nobody around for miles, no trails, just snow and rock and of course, the ancient bristlecones. I am also an avid snowboarder and was able to find some wonderful riding up there. My friend Ted Warner and I camped for two nights on a snowpack that was 10+ feet in the Wheeler Peak campground.

The first day was difficult. We had to travel from upper Lehman CG to Wheeler peak CG on skis (or split boards) with 60 lbs of gear each. Once we set up a base camp we were able to lighten our loads and (after a good night's rest at 9,800 feet) do the trip I had dreamed about. My advice, when camping in winter make sure you set up your tent near trees on the west side of an open field, you will get wind protection from the trees just to your west and you will have a clear view to the east so the sun will hit your tent and give you some warmth first thing in the morning.

We were able to ski and climb up above 12,000 feet on the shoulder of Wheeler peak but didn't summit. We were more interested in amazing views, good skiing, and old trees and were running low on time. We had scoped out a good looking and relatively safe route for skiing down the shoulder of Wheeler peak and then back to the bristlecones. I wish I could have spent a lot more time in the bristlecones but the sun was getting low in the sky when we finally got to the grove. The trees in the snow were amazing! Trees, rock, snow and sky mingled perfectly for the camera. I can't say enough, I plan on coming back again during the winter and spending more time with the trees. Enjoy the pictures.

We roped up for the last 500 feet of ascent but didn't need it because the wind died completely off once we hit 12,000 feet, strange.
skiing through the bristlecones: Skiing down toward brown lake on our way to basecamp -we were careful not to get too close while at speed for fear of crashing into one.

On way down to basecamp, near brown lake area.

Perfect camping conditions, a warm sun and hot oatmeal (even if the air is still cold) just before our trek.

It looks cold because it is, my 5 degree bag and down jacket kept me warm though (wheeler peak CG).

Saturday morning and it's a beautiful perfect day, just leaving basecamp. Looking south.

Almost above the timberline, saturday morning. Looking south.

Skiing towards a large tree near the glacial cirque This shot really captures how deep blue the sky was.

Portrait of a lone tree near the glacial cirque and rock moraine. I noticed that the south side of many of the trees are dead while the north side flourishes still. The south side faces uphill on this particular slope, I can imagine the south side of this tree withstanding countless avalanches and rockslides. These photos were taken looking north.

Looking west-northwest, I was breaking trail while Ted followed.

The stuff dreams are made of... We made it through the deep snow to a windblown rocky icy ridgeline and put the skis on our backs, this is what it was like from about 11,000 feet upwards.

Me...Awestruck

Ted half way down. Our planned route is through the chute on the far lower right. This gives a good feel of how steep it is. Notice the aluminum shovel peeking though his pack, we had avalanche probes, beacons and shovels. We rode down the slope in sections, one at a time so we could keep an eye on eachother in case an avalanche broke free.

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I could fill up a whole memory card trying to capture just how dark blue/black the sky is at high altitude in the snow. I stopped half way down to take a shot of my tracks and the sky.

Looking southwest at our downhill route, Ted cut loose a small slide near the steepest area (the chute).

You can see our uphill route (it is different than the normal summer route around the shoulder). Notice the straight zig zags near the right side of the pic as we made our way to the ridgeline. The zig zags are already being filled in by the snow and wind. We hiked up through the sparse trees on the right with the assumption that if there are trees, it is less likely to be an avalanche path. We had originally thought we would hike the normal summit route but it was exposed to the west winds and had cornices and plumes of wind-driven ice billowing off it most of the time. Ted is telemarking towards me in the lower center of the shot.