The Secret of Mojave's Dusty Diary

By Ken Knox

The Mojave Desert is a complex place. Seemingly empty with sand, rocks, and creosote bushes, there is so much hidden life. Jackrabbits, coyotes, roadrunners, snakes, tarantulas, lizards, and…the elusive bighorn sheep.

Shawn finds himself there doing research for his university project about the bighorn in the Avawatz Mountains southwest of Death Valley. He has time to sit and observe or hike and explore. As Shawn realizes that the Big Horn sheep aren’t coming to him, he decides to hike around the Avawatz Mountains to try to find them.

As he climbs the face of the mountains, he sees the opening of a long-abandoned mine. There is both adventure and danger as he enters the mine with a dim flashlight and a sense of curiosity.

It wasn’t long before he is onto a trail to the mysteries of the mine and “Anderson’s grave” not far away. It’s complicated by another visitor.

He’s isolated…but not alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662467837

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dawn in the Mojave high desert. A quiet breeze disturbed the creosote bushes from their morning sleep, the only green in the abandoned tan-brown of burnt sand and rock. Age-old squatty bushes lying low to the sandy desert floor gave off the bitter aroma of creosote. The smell was still fresh from last evening’s light rain while the air has a crispness about it that only a spring morning can hold. The sun began its grin from over the distant mountains, beginning to bare its teeth from its morning hiding place like so many other days in this barren nothingness called the Mojave.

Shawn was here in this part of the Mojave alone. Not lonely, mind you, just with no one around…for miles…many miles, in fact. He’s far from the last sign of civilization. Out here, you could drive for miles and miles on old desert roads and pass little but the subtlest signs of life.

But Shawn had seen those subtle signs. He saw life where most might miss it. He had noticed the blossoming cactus, the lizards scooting from bush to hole and back to another bush. He’d noticed the beauty of the creosote bush in blossom and appreciated the thousands of years that took each to grow to even their modest size. He’d seen and studied the rocks exposed by the winter winds of the Santa Ana and beaten by the perpetual days of the scorching sun. He had heard the howl of the coyote and the track of the infrequent sidewinder.

There’s a beauty in this harshness, he had declared to himself so many times.

Shawn Anderson had walked the desert mountain edges more than a dozen times in the past two weeks as he persisted in finding bighorn sheep that are rumored to live here south of Death Valley. Shawn was looking for any sign of their existence in the area—maybe even aged evidence. Anything…just anything.

But so far, nothing.

Raising the binoculars to his eyes in the ceremonial look around the area, he slowly perused the mountain walls and the valley floor. Of course, he didn’t expect to see anything on the valley floor. Not bighorns, that is. He paused over the wadis¹ expecting to see motion—any motion—indicating a sheep is in the area. A long minute passed to totally scan the area visible from the perch on the Avawatz mountain range. He had nothing to show for his time spent searching.

The thought rose from deep within his mind that maybe this is a futile effort. Chasing the bighorn might not be a useful exercise, academic or otherwise. The animals just didn’t want to be found. On the other hand, maybe they just no longer lived in this area.

Dropping the binoculars to his chest, hands on his hips, he looked just once more across the area. Maybe just relocating once more across the crest and…wait! Yes! There was motion! A leap from within his chest as if a long-restrained force had cracked the shell of potential success of his study.

There’s hope! Yes! Maybe!

His binoculars reveal some motion in the wadi overlooking the valley around the Cave Springs area. The wadi was a steep, rock-lined dry gully that once carried vigorous water down the draw toward the valley. It’s mostly dry, but a summer rain storm had produced many gully washers that rattle the mountain walls and carry away some of its rocks, stones, and sand. In the wake of the wash-off lies even more hardened ground to be worn by more windblown sand.

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It’s a brown-gray color, dirty, and slow-moving. Then it was gone. Surely, he saw it! The heat of the desert sun often played games on your eyes, but Shawn was sure that there was definitely motion. An animal of some kind. Not just a creosote bush waving in the wind. No, that was the deep green color that he sees over every wadi. This was a dirty white, brown, or even gray color that moved forward steadily and not returning to its roots as a creosote bush would do.

Gotta go there! But there’s quite a climb between here and there. Moving quickly up here on top of this mountain was no problem, but as he approached the area, he must slow down so as not to scare the timid beasts. While he thought of this in a cursory way, he leaped forward, down the eastern wall of the Avawatz toward Death Valley but traversing strongly toward the draw that holds Cave Springs.

It’s quite a trip. Just because you could see something in the desert didn’t mean you could get there, and you surely couldn’t get there quickly. The deceptiveness presented by the crisp clear air with some rising heat waves magnified the distant images to make it seem so much closer. But it’s not.

As Shawn descended the steep slope of the Avawatz leading toward Cave Springs, he lost the perspective of exactly where the wadi was. He had been determined to fix his attention on its location but had to watch his step during a particularly rocky area. That’s when he lost track of the wadi.

*****

The high desert’s air is somewhat thinner than at sea level. The difference is seldom noticed but always there. Usually, the searing heat disguises the qualities of the air. Here is where it seems like you can see the air sometimes with the rising heat waves giving definition to the air and giving the thirsty the apparition of the desert oasis. But then one’s usually too busy out here seeking relief from the sun to take note of the air.

The towering mountains surrounding the desert floor are powerful. The hues of red and brown and even a rusty iron tint hide the coarseness of the incline. The faces of these mountains are not friendly, and the mountains’ solitude confirms this. The rock face, scoured from the blasts of winter winds and washed by infrequent rains, has left a barren rock pile in every direction. Too steep to drive up in any wheeled vehicle, too tough an opponent teamed with the sun for the unprepared to