Into the Quinns

In southern Nevada, a bit more than 100 miles north of Las Vegas, lies a mountain range known as the Quinn Canyon Range.  I first became aware of it when I was pondering over some vegetation maps of Nevada, and noticed that this range had an unusually high diversity of trees.  Some, such as white fir and bristlecone pine, are obviously Pleistocene remnants.  A high diversity of flora often translates into a high diversity of fauna, so I thought it was worth checking out.    A few two-tracks join old mining camps, providing some access, and there was a small, primitive campground in the heart of the mountains.  Online reviews mentioned the necessity of being self-contained, as the odds of not seeing another soul were very high.  It sounded like an ideal place to get some good nature recordings!

I headed that way in late June.  The drive was made longer by having to take the incredibly scenic trip from Carson City to Lee Vining, after a recent earthquake damaged the highway on the shorter route through Tonopah.  It was late afternoon by the time I found the road that crossed the mountain range.  The road had recently been bladed, which left it covered in inches of choking dust.  When I finally arrived at the little campground (a couple of picnic tables and fire rings), the most shaded one close to the creek was already occupied.  So much for not seeing another soul.  The remaining site under a couple of pinyon pines was quite suitable, so I pulled in and set up camp.

It was late June, bone dry and the fire danger was already extreme.  Camp fires were already discouraged, if not banned, though much of the national forest.  But that didn’t stop my camp neighbors from having a campfire.  It was a bit breezy, too; any wild fire that started would spread quickly.

After a quick dinner, I set about finding spots for my microphones.  I decided to set up a couple of drop rigs (mics and recorders left to run all night) in addition to microphones I would monitor from my car.  I set one drop rig in a lush cottonwood-willow gallery next to the stream below camp, and one along a dry wash, in a small grove of mountain mahogany and pinyon pine.  After all the mics were set up, and darkness was falling, I took Shadow for one last walk for the evening.  Gun shots echoed through the canyon as my camp neighbors started target shooting.  The microphones recorded it quite well (see Quinn Evening, below).   The target shooting didn’t last long (luckily, as Shadow is very gun-shy), and soon the canyon was enveloped in the calm of the breeze through the trees, poorwills calling, and the distant stream.

The mics next to the stream recorded a rich dawn chorus of towhees, warblers, vireos, and others (see Quinn Dawn 1).  The mahogany grove yielded western bluebirds, towhees, robins, flycatchers, and poorwills (see Quinn Dawn 2).   The mics in camp were mostly wind blasted, so the recordings of Northern Saw-whet Owls and Hermit Thrushes did not come out well.

The next morning, I took Shadow for a walk up a side road that headed further into the mountains.  The canyon was full of life.  Lots of butterflies and birds near the springs; squirrels, chipmunks and bunnies darting into the brush.  I even saw cliff chipmunks and rock squirrels, at the very western edge of their ranges.

On the way back to camp, my camp neighbors drove by on their way out of the canyon.  Their campsite was now vacant although the campfire was still smoldering.  They had dumped one bucket of water on it, but it took me another 4 buckets of water to get it fully out.  The campsite was littered with shell casings.  But I moved into the campsite anyway, as the deeper shade of the cottonwoods was a welcome relief from the heat.  And at last, I had the entire canyon to myself.

The campsite was also the parking area for a trailhead, with the trail following the creek into the Quinn Canyon Wilderness.  The trail had not been maintained in a long, long time, and I made it less than 1/2 mile before the deadfall and brush became impenetrable.  So I returned to camp, and spent the afternoon watching a pair of Dusky flycatchers feeding their chicks.

The loud sound of the stream masked any calls by the owls, but the dawn chorus was full of warblers, vireos, and thrushes.   The vibrant bird song was nearly overwhelmed at times by what I’ve begun to think of as the signature sound of Nevada – military jet overflights (see Overflight).

I decided to head out that day.  There were a few other mountain ranges I wanted to check out on my way home, and rain was in the forecast.  I’ll probably go back to the Quinn Canyon Mountains someday.  Like many Nevada mountain ranges, access is limited.  Canyons are steep and brushy, and finding decent campsites can be difficult.  But the rewards can be worth the effort.