The weekend began like most do...on Saturday. Morning dawned bright and clear. The norm rather than the exception for these parts. Temperatures were a little low but not insurmountable and the beckoning blue skies were ample compensation for the anticipated wind chill.

I am a map geek. Got em on the walls, in the head and close to hand from the easy chair. Maps are cool. They tell you things you might not know. I see placenames on maps, interesting sounding places. And when those places are within reach, it makes good sense to go out and take a look. And so it was I saw this place called Devils Hole.

It appeared to be an easy day trip from Bend. I had to go see it of course.

Theres not a lot to show between here and there. Suffice to say the trip down to Devils Hole can go a number of different routes. The one I chose connected a few of my favorite desert jeep tracks out past Horse Ridge and Pine Mountain through Kotzman Basin, south past Dickerson Well, Antelope Butte and Watkins Butte. I stopped along the way to thaw out the digits and walk some feeling back into the toes:
Modern Art, Pine Ridge on the horizon:


When you see a fork in the road, take it:


Self portrait:


Scooter:


It's easy enough to find, hell, its right there on the maps, and I arrive at my destination.


Here we are, parked off the jeep track and gps and camera in hand I head off into the brush to see if I can find this place this (B flick horror music here) DEVILS HOLE .


I'm not expecting much. A mudhole depression wouldn't surprise me and I had a fun ride for it. More than good enough.
The terrain is easily walkable in biker boots and its a pretty quick "discovery". Well lookee here, a bonafide hole in the ground.


I get a little closer. Crap! Thats not just a little mudhole! This thing goes! Nice little cavern down there.



The neat thing about this particular hole in the ground is there's no cinder road right up to it. You have to go out of your way to get here and as such, it doesn't appear to have seen much activity. There appears to be what once could have been a jeep track up to it but its so faint it is difficult to discern and may simply be markings from erosion. The busted up ladder indicates access at some time in the past but I cannot see any evidence that anyone has gone down there recently. At any rate, there is an obvious lack of typical human presence like shotup tv's and hefty bags full of toilet paper and I like that. Here is still a nice spot with an interesting geomorphological element and I stop to enjoy the quiet. The wind rustles the sage and junipers and the birdies chirp and Julie Andrews sings the hills are alive.

I am enjoying this place. Gotta take some pics. I tuck the gps in my jacket pocket and gently manuever up to the edge of the hole. Its a good 20 or 30 feet to the bottom and I dont want to get a close look at that. I'm a couple feet from the lip and carefully I lean over and reach out with the camera in both hands to snap a pic of the down there and SOMETHING JUMPS OUT ONTO THE ROCKS IN FRONT OF ME! Immediately I recognize the gps has LEPT from my jacket pocket and is making its way across the rocks towards the edge of the hole! Its as if its on ICE as it skitters towards the edge and there it is almost in my grasp and no there it goes closer to the edge and...IT JUMPS! I make one final grab for it but I am too slow and self preservation and fear of broken body on rocks at the bottom of holes in the ground in the middle of nowhere hinders my motivation.

Its gone.

I hear it hit the rocks below at the bottom of Devils Hole.

I lean, carefully, hesitantly, over the edge and look down. Expecting the see an autopsy-like display of Garmin technology. But no, there it is, in-tact, face down lying on a bed of rock. Bedrock.


A little closer:


AAARGH!

I take a few more looks then cant stand it any longer and wander dejectedly back to the bike. The whole while berating myself to
Use
The
Zippers
On
The
Pockets

Lesson Learned.

Back to the bike and I stand around for awhile thinking: What would McGyver do? The only way into this thing is with a longass ladder or rappelling gear. Or a hook. Or a big magnet. Wait, scratch the big magnet idea. Next? With no bright ideas I jump on the bike and head back to town.
On the brighter side: You know what this means? A 60Cs HACHACHA! Maybe. We'll see.

I head out and come up on this little reservoir.
Another bike shot:


Side Note: The red spot on the right flank of the close in butte is a cinder quarry. "They" use it for this:

Which makes for quick travel through the desert. And I was in need of quick travel to get home to figure out how and if I was going to get my gps back. IF, I was going to get it back.

Back home I spend the afternoon scanning the garage. Fire up the welder and try to concoct some sort of grappling hook or scoop.
No go.
Then, at the low point when it seems all is lost, the angels sing from on high and there it is over in the corner glowing like one of those chemical snap glow sticks.
The fishing rod that has never caught a fish.
Maybe it can catch a gps.
Hotdiggity.
You may recall, the unit came to rest on its face. On the back is a small D-ring that holds the battery cover on. It could happen...it could...maybe.

Sunday morning.
The time change has thrown us off a bit but by the crack of 9:30 I am ready to hit the the road. My tank is full of lemon waffles and the bike is full of hi-test. Off we go.


Its a bomb run back to Devils Hole and the big red cinder road is, this morning as it was yesterday afternoon, a time maker's pleasure. The terrain is familiar and I get there without much ado.
GPS retrieval machinery:


Its been a few miles of washboard and rocks and such and everything appears to be in order. Except:

The little hand cranker thing that winds the fish line back onto the spool...IS GONE! Shit. Not being an avid fisher-type it takes me a few moments of fiddling with the contraption to realize that all I really need to be able to do is drop the line down there. Getting it back up can be a manual process!
Hey alright then there we go and we're through the brush back to Devils Hole.

Now, earlier, Teal was expressing some concern, rightfully so, that playing around a big hole in the ground all by one's self may not be the brightest of ideas. Right she is. The inner ear is a delicate contraption and who knows what it may do so I brought along some safety line and studied up my bowline knot. Here we are roped off to a nearby juniper:

All tied off sitting on the edge of Devils Hole with my boots dangling over the edge I drop my line. Down it goes and the neon green fish catcher comes to rest atop the gps. I tap the spinner around on the unit. I can see the little silver spoon flopping around down there. The length of the drop is such that the hook thing doesn't react to my input from up top quite as immediately as I'd like it to. There is delay. Which makes this exercise FRUSTRATING!
I stop dancing the spinner around at the bottom of Devils Hole. This is pathetic.
I am getting nowhere fast I think. I look up and stare off over the landscape and ponder.
This.
Then that.
Hey look, there's a plane, what a nice day, I wonder whats on OPB tonight, dragsters are neat. Distractions, avoidance.
I re-focus to the task at hand and commence to continue dinking around with this ridiculous attempt.
The hook catches...WHOOEEE! I think. Nope. Caught a rock. I keep dragging the hook around up over on top to the side. Everywhere it seems BUT where it needs to be to snag the little #^#%$$#%%#.
And then.
Tension on the line. Another rock, great piss off this blows I'm outta here. Look closer.
No.
ITS MOVING! HOLY SHIT ITS MOVING!
I lift up on the fish pole. IT RISES OFF THE ROCKS AAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!
I bring the line close to get a hand on it and slowly, gently begin to hand over hand the line up.
I'VE GOT A GPS ON THE END HERE!
I'm a little excited. Can you tell?
UP! Out of the hole it rises until I get a hand on it and set it on the rocks. Quick inspection says it isn't a busted up hunk of junk!

Little scratch to the face:




And what kind of tackle do you us to catch a gps you might ask? Bass rig, of course


I collect the detritus of my efforts and head back to the bike to put some juice to it. And.....Ready to navigate.


Bomb back to Bend with a stop at Camp II to meet KTM450SX(?) and BRPT4(?) and say hey to bacon and bacon Jr. and then celebrate with

Anderson Valley abbey ale, brown rice chips, brushcetta, and the pièce de résistance, raw chicken.

Remember: Use the zippers. Or velcro. Or snaps. Whatever.