Wrapping Up Great Basin National Park
Lessons learned and lessons yet to be learned in my new life on the road
I’m coming to you with a wrap-up blog post about Great Basin National Park, where I simultaneously learned a lot about living in a van and also, somehow, learned nothing at all.
Photos by Austin Stallings
I realized rather quickly that keeping four full jugs of water in my water cabinet was sketchy. The whole cabinet creaked and whined with each curve of the road, and considering the one road in the park winds its way twelve miles up a very steep mountain, there were lots of turns. It also didn’t like going downhill. I swear, I could practically hear it threatening to come loose from the wall if I didn’t lighten the load.
Even though I don’t really think it would come loose from the wall, I heeded its warning and dumped a tank of grey water ASAP.
The whining lessened after that, but then I, determined optimistic that I am, wanting to explore as much of the park as humanly possible before I moved on, decided it would be totally practical to take Danica up Snake Creek road.
Which, ok, as far as dirt roads go it’s pretty decent. However, it’s not that decent. Do you need 4-Wheel Drive and high-clearance to pass it? No. Do you need a vehicle that isn’t going to rattle itself apart and would all-terrain tires probably be a good idea, as opposed to the factory default tires? Probably a good plan.
I mean, Danica herself wouldn’t rattle apart on me. She’s a pretty sturdy broad. And Super Dad and I were pretty thorough securing everything in the build.
Even so.
I’m kind of afraid there might be one screw somewhere that wasn’t secured enough and is now on the verge of falling out, and even more slightly afraid that it might be the one screw that would cause the most problems for me. I don’t know which screw that would be. But I’ve taken to squinting suspiciously at everything, just in case.
Photos by Austin Stallings
I also, looking at the scenery and not paying enough attention, managed to run my right front tire right into a big, bulky, pointy rock. The thud was horrendous, and I was shocked the tire didn’t blow. I spent the rest of the drive back to the land of pavement with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, convinced the tire was just going to decide it had had enough at any moment.
It didn’t, and it’s still going strong, even though I managed to drive that same tire into a gnarly pothole less than a week later.
A photo from the descent of Wheeler Peak by Austin Stallings
You guys might have a wacky tire-change adventure to look forward to. I’m hoping not, but that’s also kind of what I signed up for. I mean honestly, if I don’t have at least one wacky middle-of-nowhere tire-change adventure, I’m never going to win Vanlife BINGO.
Anyway, I made the most of my time in Great Basin, both by exploring the park and by taking time to just exist in the van, practice living in it. I took a day off after Wheeler Peak, working on a blog post in camp, hanging out by Lehman Creek, and attempting to make fire with flint, steel, and magnesium. I probably wasted an hour trying to do it that way, before I caved and grabbed the lighter.
Lehman Creek just behind my campsite
My outdoor office at Great Basin National Park
The next day also turned into a bit of a rest day, because by the time I got back from Snake Creek (which was pretty cool despite the rough ride), a storm had set in. I spent the afternoon inside, tidying up the house, drawing on my chalkboard (if you follow me on Instagram, you saw my rendition of Winnie-the-Pooh’s Grand Adventure), painting my nails, and writing.
A rocky cliff along Snake Creek Road
Left, my rainy-day workspace in my van. Above, watching the rain fall with tea and painted nails.
My last day in Great Basin National Park I drove up the scenic drive once again, and at the top I set out to traverse Bristlecone, Glacier, and Alpine Lakes trails. They all sort of feed into each other, so I enjoyed a full day of wandering around the mountains, admiring Wheeler Peak from around 10,000 feet instead of 13,000, and listening to podcasts.
Morraine and Rock Glacier beneath the only Glacier in Nevada, nestled beneath Wheeler Peak.
3000 year old Bristlecone Pine.
This Bristlecone died in two halves. This half died nearly a thousand years ago, the other half, laying nearby, died only a couple hundred years ago — it lived on hundreds of years after this half died.
The rich colors of a Bristlecone Pine.
The Bristlecone Pines are worth a visit to the park all on their own. It’s difficult to capture the brutal elegance of their gnarled branches, the rich color of their weathered trunks. They cling, possessively, to the mountainside and are the physical embodiment of perseverance, a single branch living on hundreds of years after the rest of the tree has died, crawling determinedly towards the light again wind and snow and rock.
I learned how to stay home on a rainy day, I learned how to tie down my water cabinet more easily, I learned that leaving my bed up all day is way more difficult than just turning it back into a table, and I learned that living this way (on the road and in such a small space) is surprisingly doable. But at the same time, By the time I left Great Basin National Park, I still had no idea what I was doing, and I still didn’t feel fully comfortable in the van, which became apparent when I drove into the heat wave that settled over Salt Lake City.
Tune in next time for beautiful city gardens, me geeking out over cool space stuff, large birds keeping a close eye on me, vanlife getting unbearably messy, my fan deciding it’s fun to be a pain in the patooshie, and fun explorations with an old friend.
These photos are from Teresa Lake at 10,230 feet.
This post features some spectacular photos by Austin Stallings. A huge thank you to him for letting me use them! If you like what you see here, you can follow him @stallings.photo on Instagram.
Don’t forget to follow me on Instagram @thecarsoncosta for more great photos of my travels and sign up for my newsletter on www.carsoncosta.com for monthly updates and a peak behind the scenes.