There’s backpacking and there’s truck camping and all manner in between. When my back gave out I became savvy about the latter. This one was a 3/4 ton 4 wheel drive Jimmy. I’d built a frame to hold a plywood sheet over the bed just at cab height; it gave protection from sun and rain, and was strong enough stand upon with tripod and view camera. This was in deference to Ansel Adams who felt that the foreground showed better in scenic photos from that height.

Three sons, a nephew and one dog; nobody at our home expecting us to return; the women of the family having chosen a home of their own – we were at home either here or at home. Traveling the desert in a pickup means regular stops at gas stations, super markets and liquor stores; ice, steaks and beer in the cooler. There’s no shortage of gun shops in the desert to replenish shells for the .44 magnum. Folklore says, and we bought it, that laying out a hemp rope around the sleeping area will keep rattlesnakes from entering; it’s just too scratchy on their bellies. Hemp is scratchier than jute, nylon useless. One evening as we lay out the rope we discovered that we had fenced a rattler inside and dispatched it shortly with the .44.

A desert thunderstorm is awesome in its approach, yet leaves so little behind: gullies and washes to be crossed cautiously, sometimes in granny gear. By dawn not a trace, no dew, no smell of freshness. Finally the 12 year old said, “I want to go home,” meaning the other one, and we did so. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure which just which home he yearned for.